The Routledge Handbook of Urban Cultural Planning (Routledge International Handbooks) [1 ed.] 1032509902, 9781032509907

Table of contents :
Cover
Endorsements Page
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
About the Editors
About the Contributors
Acknowledgments
Foreword: Why Culture Is Our Super Power
Introduction: Urban Cultural Planning Now: Some Thoughts and Executive Summary
Section 1 Belonging in the City: Arts and Planning for Equity/Social Development
1.1 Cultural Planning, Cultural Policy, and the Civic We
1.2 Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail”
1.3 The Importance of Storytelling to the Individual, the Community, and Its Implications for Public Mental Health
1.4 Place, Cultural Planning, and Immigration in Australia
1.5 Civic Imagination: An Artist Offers Ten Proposals
Section 2 Planning for and with Culture in Urban Planning
2.1 Cities for the Imagination (or, Seven Provocations on Potential Futures for Urban+Creative Practices)
2.2 Reflections on NYC’s First Cultural Plan: A Conversation between Eddie Torres and Tom Finkelpearl
2.3 Cultural Districts and Cultural Policy
2.4 Cultural Asset Mapping in Urban Communities
2.5 Identity and Place Attachment in Cultural Planning
2.6 Transforming Communities: Addressing Housing Instability through Art, Advocacy, and Collective Action
2.7 Painting a Strategy, Dancing a Meeting: What Can the Arts Lend to Transit Planning?
Section 3 Creative and Cultural Industries and Global Tourism Planning
3.1 The Creative Economy So Far in the 2000s
3.2 A Glance in Brazil: Creative Economy Policies Aimed at Mitigating the Effects of the Pandemic
3.3 Night Time Economy: From Cinderella Policy to a Global Movement
3.4 The Making of a Music City: Catalysts, Approaches, Benefits and Challenges of Enactment
3.5 From Wellington to Wellywood: Mapping the Emergence of a Global Screen Production Hub
3.6 World Design Capital 2024 San Diego – Tijuana: Preparing a Region for a Global Designation by Owning Your Foibles, Warts and Scars
Section 4 Financing Arts and Culture – For What Goal?
4.1 The Eight Pillars of American Cultural Policy
4.2 Artists as Allies in Economic Justice
4.3 Financing A Diverse Future through Community Ownership
4.4 Culture, Community, Equity, Belonging
4.5 Cultural Land Trusts as an Emerging Solution to the Arts Space Crisis
4.6 Reimagining the Cultural District: From Economic Transaction to Collective Cultural Thriving
Section 5 Cultural Institutions and Buildings, Public Space and Public Art
5.1 The Future Is Promised to No One: On Museum Precarity, Adaptability, and Sustainability
5.2 Museums: Growth, Crises and Prospects
5.3 Transformative Urban Regeneration in Victoria Yards
5.4 Case Study: How We Created the World’s First Publicly Accessible Art Storage Facility
5.5 Practicing in Public
Section 6 How the Past Informs Our Future: Heritage Planning
6.1 The Preservation of Urban Heritage. A New Frontier for the Governance of Cultural Assets. Lessons from Latin American World Heritage Sites
6.2 Site-Based Pedagogies: Connecting Heritage Education and Critical Heritage Practice
6.3 Heritage as a Way to Interpret and Inhabit the Territory
6.4 Urban Heritage Conservation and Revitalization on Japan’s Shrinking Society: A Challenge to the Picturesque Historic Port City of Onomichi
Section 7 Culture and the Climate Crisis
7.1 Sustainable Development in Cultural Districts, a Research Report Exploring Practices of Ten Cities around the World
7.2 Integrating Culture and Disaster Risk Management in Urban Planning for More Resilient Societies
7.3 The Cultural Dimensions of Climate Change: An African-Indigenous Framework
7.4 A Feral Commons: Methodologies for Commissioning Sustainable Public Art
7.5 Conservation Regulations and Urban Planning in Climate Change Era
Section 8 In Closing
8.1 Communities Deserve Creative Outlets: A Conversation between Chair Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson and Senior Advisor Jen Hughes of the National Endowment for the Arts on Artful Lives and Equitable Community Development
Index

Citation preview

‘This is the first book to map the emerging field of Urban Cultural Planning through an international lens. With a global perspective, urban designers and community leaders from six continents share their on‑the‑ground experience and insights about how to mobilize the power of culture and the arts to transform urban spaces, enrich community engagement and develop their creative economy. It is an invaluable resource for planners and policymakers as they work to design and sustain more vibrant, creative, equitable and livable cities.’ Joan Shigekawa, Former Acting Chair of the US National Endowment for the Arts ‘Over the past three decades, culture has emerged as a critical component in strategies for human, social, and economic development. This book contributes to the ongoing conversa‑ tion about the impact of cultural policies on urban management by showcasing a wide range of case studies from across the globe. It explores how cultural heritage, the arts, cultural institutions, and districts, as well as the creative sector, assist planners in preserving urban identities, landmarks, and places, while creating economically attractive areas that mirror local identities. This book offers planners, citizens, and professionals a wealth of examples of successful cultural integration in urban planning and management, providing an essential toolkit to navigate future challenges.’ Francesco Bandarin, UNESCO Assistant Director‑General for Culture (2010–2018) ‘Amirtahmasebi and Schupbach have deftly collated perspectives that challenge our im‑ agination about making cities solely through the material artifacts of architecture and physical infrastructure. The voices in the book remind us that culture, the implicit rules in any society, is continuously being made and remade, and is in fact dynamic. The book reminds us that through planning for cultural production, we can facilitate addressing a range of issues from economic growth, public health, the arts, and design to questions of equity, participation, justice, a sense of belonging, and, finally, how we collectively mold our future on the planet.’ Rahul Mehrotra, Professor in Housing and Urbanization, Harvard University Graduate School of Design

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF URBAN CULTURAL PLANNING

This book provides a manual for planning for arts and culture in cities, featuring chapters and case studies from Africa, the Americas, Australasia, the Middle East, South and East Asia, and more. This handbook is organized around seven themes: arts and planning for equity and social development; incorporating culture in urban planning; the intersection of creative and cultural industries and tourism planning; financing; public buildings, public space and public art; cultural heritage planning; and culture and the climate crisis. Urban planners are often tasked with preserving and attracting new art and culture to a city, but there are no common rules on how practitioners accomplish this work. This handbook will be an invaluable resource for city planners and designers, cultural workers, elected officials, artists, and social justice workers and advocates seeking to integrate creativity and culture into urban planning. Rana Amirtahmasebi is an economic development and cultural planning strategist and researcher. She is the founder of Eparque Urban Strategies in New York and previously worked at the World Bank, Aga Khan Programme on Islamic Architecture at MIT and several other entities. Jason Schupbach is the dean of the Westphal College of Media Arts & Design at Drexel University. He is a nationally recognized expert in the role that arts and design play in improving communities.

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF URBAN CULTURAL PLANNING

Edited by Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach

Designed cover image: ® Getty Images First published 2025 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 © 2025 selection and editorial matter, Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach 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 utilised 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‑Publication Data Names: Amirtahmasebi, Rana, editor. | Schupbach, Jason, editor. Title: The Routledge handbook of urban cultural planning / edited by Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach. Description: New York, NY: Routledge, 2025. | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2024030179 (print) | LCCN 2024030180 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032509907 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032509945 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003400592 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Sociology, Urban. | Arts and society. | City planning—Social aspects. Classification: LCC HT166 .R6965 2025 (print) | LCC HT166 (ebook) | DDC 307.1/216—dc23/eng/20240922 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2024030179 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2024030180 ISBN: 9781032509907 (hbk) ISBN: 9781032509945 (pbk) ISBN: 9781003400592 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592 Typeset in Sabon by codeMantra

CONTENTS

About the Editors About the Contributors Acknowledgments Foreword: Why Culture Is Our Super Power Justine Simons, OBE Introduction: Urban Cultural Planning Now: Some Thoughts and Executive Summary Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach

xi xii xxix xxx

1

SECTION 1

Belonging in the City: Arts and Planning for Equity/Social Development

15

1.1 Cultural Planning, Cultural Policy, and the Civic We Roberto Bedoya

17

1.2 Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail” Anne Gadwa Nicodemus

24

1.3 The Importance of Storytelling to the Individual, the Community, and Its Implications for Public Mental Health David O. Fakunle, Nymisha Herrera Nimmagadda, David Feldman and Arjun Chanmugam

44

1.4 Place, Cultural Planning, and Immigration in Australia Deepti Silwal and Carl Grodach

55

1.5 Civic Imagination: An Artist Offers Ten Proposals Michael Rohd

69

vii

Contents SECTION 2

Planning for and with Culture in Urban Planning

75

2.1 Cities for the Imagination (or, Seven Provocations on Potential Futures for Urban+Creative Practices) Gabriella Gómez‑Mont

77

2.2 Reflections on NYC’s First Cultural Plan: A Conversation between Eddie Torres and Tom Finkelpearl Eddie Torres and Tom Finkelpearl

98

2.3 Cultural Districts and Cultural Policy Adrian Ellis

113

2.4 Cultural Asset Mapping in Urban Communities Julie Goodman and Andrew Zitcer

125

2.5 Identity and Place Attachment in Cultural Planning Tom Borrup

140

2.6 Transforming Communities: Addressing Housing Instability through Art, Advocacy, and Collective Action Jules Rochielle Sievert and Miso Kim

155

2.7 Painting a Strategy, Dancing a Meeting: What Can the Arts Lend to Transit Planning?169 Katherine Dirga SECTION 3

Creative and Cultural Industries and Global Tourism Planning

181

3.1 The Creative Economy So Far in the 2000s Edna Dos Santos‑Duisenberg

183

3.2 A Glance in Brazil: Creative Economy Policies Aimed at Mitigating the Effects of the Pandemic Christiano Braga 3.3 Night Time Economy: From Cinderella Policy to a Global Movement Laia Gasch Casals

199 207

3.4 The Making of a Music City: Catalysts, Approaches, Benefits and Challenges of Enactment Christina Ballico

222

3.5 From Wellington to Wellywood: Mapping the Emergence of a Global Screen Production Hub Alfio Leotta

233

3.6 World Design Capital 2024 San Diego – Tijuana: Preparing a Region for a Global Designation by Owning Your Foibles, Warts and Scars Jonathon Glus

247

viii

Contents SECTION 4

Financing Arts and Culture – For What Goal?

255

4.1 The Eight Pillars of American Cultural Policy Randy Engstrom and Jasmine Mahmoud

257

4.2 Artists as Allies in Economic Justice Laura Zabel

282

4.3 Financing A Diverse Future through Community Ownership Angie Kim

289

4.4 Culture, Community, Equity, Belonging Caroline Woolard and Natalia Linares

301

4.5 Cultural Land Trusts as an Emerging Solution to the Arts Space Crisis Erika Hennebury

317

4.6 Reimagining the Cultural District: From Economic Transaction to Collective Cultural Thriving Jennifer Gilligan Cole

330

SECTION 5

Cultural Institutions and Buildings, Public Space and Public Art

345

5.1 The Future Is Promised to No One: On Museum Precarity, Adaptability, and Sustainability nico w. okoro

347

5.2 Museums: Growth, Crises and Prospects Gail Lord

357

5.3 Transformative Urban Regeneration in Victoria Yards Brian Green

365

5.4 Case Study: How We Created the World’s First Publicly Accessible Art Storage Facility Winy Maas, transcribed and edited by Rory Stott 5.5 Practicing in Public Jane Golden

377 395

SECTION 6

How the Past Informs Our Future: Heritage Planning

411

6.1 The Preservation of Urban Heritage. A New Frontier for the Governance of Cultural Assets. Lessons from Latin American World Heritage Sites Eduardo Rojas

413

ix

Contents

6.2 Site‑Based Pedagogies: Connecting Heritage Education and Critical Heritage Practice Jayashree Bardhan 6.3 Heritage as a Way to Interpret and Inhabit the Territory Catalina Valencia Tobón and Pedro Eliseo Sánchez Baracaldo 6.4 Urban Heritage Conservation and Revitalization on Japan’s Shrinking Society: A Challenge to the Picturesque Historic Port City of Onomichi Yushi Utaka

425 442

448

SECTION 7

Culture and the Climate Crisis

463

7.1 Sustainable Development in Cultural Districts, a Research Report Exploring Practices of Ten Cities around the World Dr. Helen Kearney

465

7.2 Integrating Culture and Disaster Risk Management in Urban Planning for More Resilient Societies Barbara Minguez Garcia

475

7.3 The Cultural Dimensions of Climate Change: An African‑Indigenous Framework489 Denise G. Fairchild 7.4 A Feral Commons: Methodologies for Commissioning Sustainable Public Art Tairone Bastien 7.5 Conservation Regulations and Urban Planning in Climate Change Era Poonam Verma Mascarenhas

497 515

SECTION 8

In Closing

531

8.1 Communities Deserve Creative Outlets: A Conversation between Chair Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson and Senior Advisor Jen Hughes of the National Endowment for the Arts on Artful Lives and Equitable Community Development Maria Rosario Jackson and Jen Hughes Index

533

541

x

ABOUT THE EDITORS

Rana Amirtahmasebi is an economic development and cultural planning strategist and researcher. She has worked in different regions of the world, has published widely and has led and facilitated technical meetings and workshops to formulate urban policy and cultural plans. Rana is experienced in policy analysis and program design and implementation in projects focused on urban planning, culturally focused economic development and community resilience and cohesion. She holds Master’s degrees in both City Planning and Urbanism Studies from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and graduated with a Master’s degree in Architectural Engineering from Azad University in her hometown of Tehran, Iran. She is the founder of Eparque Urban Strategies in New York and previously worked at the World Bank, Aga Khan Programme on Islamic Architecture at MIT and several other entities. Jason Schupbach is the dean of the Westphal College of Media Arts & Design at Drexel University. He is a nationally recognized expert in the role that arts and design play in improving communities and was the federal liaison to the design community in his role as director of Design and Creative Placemaking Programs for the National Endowment for the Arts. He has held multiple other academic, government and foundation positions.

xi

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

Dr. Christina Ballico is a lecturer in the Department of Music at the University of ­Aberdeen. Her research examines the structure and function of place‑based music industries and scenes, including their associated career, business and infrastructure development, and music‑­ related urban governance. In turn, it considers the role of music in creative and cultural cities paradigms – including the music cities concept and the emergent music ecosystems frame‑ work  –  and places a strong focus on the influences of locality, particularly geographical isolation and peripherality, on the ways in which music industries and scenes function. She is the editor of Geographically Isolated and Peripheral Music Scenes: Global Insights and Perspectives (Palgrave, 2021) and the co‑editor (alongside Dr. Allan Watson) of Music Cit‑ ies: Evaluating a Global Cultural Policy Concept (Palgrave, 2020). A collaborator with the global research NGO Center for Music Ecosystems, she is presently also Member‑at‑Large of the International Association for the Study of Popular Music (IASPM), having also served on the Editorial Board of the IASPM Journal (2019–2023). Pedro Eliseo Sánchez Baracaldo is an anthropologist and architect from the Universidad de los Andes in Bogotá, Colombia, with 30 years of experience in the coordination and devel‑ opment of territorial planning instruments. He is an expert in the design of methodologies related to social management and citizen participation from the field of urban planning and consultant to matters related to cultural heritage. He is also a professor in courses related to urban dynamics, policies, cultural practices and social management. Jayashree Bardhan holds a Master’s degree in World Heritage Studies from BTU ­Cottbus‑Senftenberg, Germany, and a Bachelor’s degree in Architecture from CEPT Univer‑ sity, India. She has more than 12 years of professional experience of working on diverse ar‑ chitectural projects in urban and rural settings, mapping and heritage assessments. Jayashree was the recipient of a research grant from ICOMOS International in 2020, to investigate the ‘Heritage at Risk’ sector. Her Master’s thesis titled, ‘Optimising ICOMOS’ Heritage at Risk Initiatives: Towards a Comprehensive Framework for Cultural Heritage at Risk’ was xii

About the Contributors

conducted through the collaboration of ICOMOS’ International Board and BTU. Jayashree is a member of ICOMOS and an associate member of the organization’s international scien‑ tific committee on risk preparedness (ICORP). She is currently the program lead for Assess‑ ment and Training at Center for Heritage Conservation, CEPT Research and Development Foundation (CHC, CRDF), where she provides expertise on varied heritage assessments and develops educational initiatives for training and capacity building. She is a Visiting Faculty at the Master’s program in Conservation and Regeneration at CEPT, wherein she teaches a studio on heritage‑led urban regeneration. She also supervises directed research projects on indigenous heritage for the university’s Master’s program in Architectural His‑ tory and Research. Tairone Bastien (he/him) is an independent curator, writer and assistant professor in the Criti‑ cism and Curatorial Studies Program at OCAD University in Toronto. In 2019, he co‑curated the inaugural Toronto Biennial of Art titled The Shoreline Dilemma, followed by the second edition in 2022 titled What Water Knows, The Land Remembers. He is also the co‑editor of Water, Kinship, Belief, a book that serves as a third site for the two biennials, published by the Toronto Biennial of Art and Art Metropole. Tairone’s current project is a transnational, multi‑site public art exhibition titled A Feral Commons that opens in Dubai, Johannesburg and Kingston in 2024. The project proposes public art as a form of feral infrastructure, analyzing its ecological impact, processes and visual languages. Tairone established the art commissioning program at Alserkal Avenue in Dubai and developed solo projects for art‑ ists including Farah Al Qasimi, Maria Theresa Alves, Mary Ellen Carroll, Vikram Divecha, Mehreen Murtaza and Lantian Xie. He was also a curator for the first three editions of Per‑ forma, the ground‑breaking biennial of live performance art in New York City in 2005, 2007 and 2009. Tairone has an MA in Curatorial Studies from the Center for Curatorial Studies, Bard College in Annandale‑on‑Hudson, New York; and a BA in Art History with a Minor in Critical Studies in Sexuality from the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, Canada. Roberto Bedoya is the Cultural Affairs Manager for the City of Oakland where he shep‑ herded the City’s Cultural Plan – ‘Belonging in Oakland: A Cultural Development Plan’. Throughout his career, he has consistently supported artist‑centered cultural practices and advocated for expanded definitions of inclusion and belonging in cultural sector. His essays ‘Creative Placemaking and the Politics of Belonging and Dis‑Belonging’; ‘Spatial Justice: Rasquachification, Race and the City’; and ‘Poetics and Praxis of a City in Relation’ have reframed the discussion on cultural policy to shed light on exclusionary practices in cultural policy decision‑making. He is the recipient of the United States Artist 2021 Berresford Prize. As founder of Creative Community Builders, Tom Borrup consulted with cities, founda‑ tions and nonprofits in 28 U.S. states and multiple countries since 2003. His 2006 book, The Creative Community Builders’ Handbook, remains a leading text in the field. His 2021 book, The Power of Culture in City Planning, was published by Routledge. He is a co‑editor of the 2021 Routledge Handbook of Placemaking and author of many articles, chapters and studies. His co‑edited book with Andrew Zitcer, Democracy as Creative Practice: Weaving a Culture of Civic Life, will be published by Routledge in 2024. Tom earned his PhD in Leadership and Change from Antioch University and MA in Communications and Public xiii

About the Contributors

Policy and BA from Goddard College. He was a 2001–2002 fellow in the Knight Program in Community Building at the University of Miami School of Architecture. Tom is a direc‑ tor of Graduate Studies and senior lecturer for the University of Minnesota’s Master of ­Professional Studies in Arts and Cultural Leadership and for the Master of Professional Studies in Civic Engagement. He is a visiting professor in urban strategies at the University of International Business and Economics in Beijing, China and teaches for the University of Kentucky’s PhD Program in Arts Administration. ­ ulture Christiano Braga is an economist with a Master’s degree in Economics and Politics of C and Creative Industries with a specialization in Foreign Trade, Cultural Management and Cultural Development. He has a Master of Business Administration in Management with a focus on strategy. He was responsible for developing international promotion programs for creative economy sectors in Brazil through the Export and Investment Promotion Agency (APEX‑Brazil) during the 2000s. He managed the creative economy department at the Secre‑ tariat of Culture and Creative Economy of the State of São Paulo from 2019 to 2023 where he was responsible for promoting reading, broadcasting of culture and creating funds for the development of audiovisual activities and the attraction of cinema productions to Brazil. Currently, Christian is working at the International Tourism Promotion Agency (EMBRA‑ TUR) and is responsible for the marketing and promotion department of cultural tourism, film‑induced tourism and gastronomy. Arjun Chanmugam is a professor and vice‑chair of Emergency Medicine at the Johns Hop‑ kins University School of Medicine. Dr. Chanmugam’s interest and experience is in explor‑ ing transformational methods to increase accessibility for behavioral health and addiction services and developing creative ways of improving longitudinal healthcare relationships in communities experiencing poverty. Jennifer Gilligan Cole is the Jordan Schnitzer Dean of Pacific Northwest College of Art at Willamette University in Portland, Oregon. Prior to her appointment as Dean, she was the chief of staff and executive director of Programs & Public Affairs at the Herberger In‑ stitute for Design and the Arts at Arizona State University the largest art and design college in the U.S. There, she led the MA in Creative Enterprise & Cultural Leadership and founded The National Collaborative for Creative Work – a research center studying equitable policy and practice related to artist work and social change in America. Cole served nearly a decade as Nashville, Tennessee’s chief cultural officer working with the mayor, elected officials, art‑ ists and cultural organizations to explore how arts and cultural participation were central to community prosperity. While there she led national models in equitable creative place‑ making, public funding and policy for the arts. She is a thought leader in cultural policy, artist economies and urban arts ecosystems and has held board and advisory positions with Americans for the Arts, IL Arts Alliance, Western State Arts Federation, ArtPlace America, Creative Capital, Grantmakers in the Arts and the National Endowment for the Arts. Cole is the co‑founder of the Cultural Policy Action Lab, a professional development community practice program for public sector workers who seek to advance racial equity through arts and culture and public policy. She holds a BA with honors in English from the University of Mary Washington in Fredericksburg, VA. xiv

About the Contributors

Katherine Dirga is an artist and public art specialist with 20 years’ experience. After ­beginning her career at Laumeier Sculpture Park in St. Louis, Katherine served as program manager of Atlanta Airport’s public art program, where she commissioned and implemented $3.5 million in large‑scale permanent artworks for the Maynard Jackson International Ter‑ minal and curated temporary exhibitions and ongoing live music series. Katherine joined the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority (MARTA) in 2017 to develop an Art in Transit program: ‘Artbound’, comprising permanent and temporary public artworks as well as live music, theater and dance presented in and around MARTA’s train stations. Katherine has a passion for community building and has served curatorial organization Dashboard as founding Board Chair, on the Ft. MacPherson (Atlanta) Public Art Council and on the ­Living Walls Advisory Council. She currently serves on the Mayor’s Advisory Council for Arts and Culture, the Transportation Research Board Sub‑committee for Art and Design Excellence in Passenger Facilities and the National Steering Committee for Mpact Transit + Community. Katherine received her Master’s degree in Fine Arts from Georgia State Univer‑ sity, and she is a member of Arts Leaders of Metro Atlanta (ALMA). Adrian Ellis is a director of AEA Consulting (aeaconsulting.com, 1990) and the founding chair of the Global Cultural Districts Network (gcdn.net, 2013). He served as executive director of Jazz at Lincoln Center from 2007 to 2013. Prior to founding AEA in 1990, he planned and managed the establishment of London’s Design Museum as development direc‑ tor and then executive director of The Conran Foundation. He began his career as a civil servant in the UK Treasury and the Cabinet Office. He is recognized as having contributed to the cultural sector’s deeper understanding of a number of areas including the development of successful cultural infrastructure projects, the role of cultural districts in social, economic and cultural development, capitalization needs and the evaluation of impact. He serves on the International Advisory Committee of the Master’s program in International Arts Man‑ agement, a joint program of Southern Methodist University, HEC Montreal and Bocconi University, and is a member of the advisory board of All Arts, a multimedia platform created by public television’s WNET. Adrian received his BA (first class) and MA degrees at Univer‑ sity College, Oxford, where he served as a college lecturer in Politics. In 2012, the Jazz Jour‑ nalists Association named him Jazz Hero of the Year. He has been a Scholar‑in‑Residence at Columbia University in 2011. He lived in New York from 1998 to 2020 when he and his wife moved to Central Italy. Randy Engstrom has been a passionate advocate and organizer of cultural and community development for over 20 years. He is currently the owner and principal of Third Way Crea‑ tive, a collaborative consulting studio focused on cultural policy, racial equity and creative economy. He is also an adjunct faculty at the Seattle University Arts Leadership Program teaching cultural policy and advocacy and a regular lecturer at the Evan’s School of Govern‑ ance and Public Policy at the University of Washington. Most recently, he served as director of the Office of Arts and Culture for the City of Seattle where he expanded their investments in granting programs and Public Art, while establishing new programs and policies in arts education, cultural space affordability and racial equity. He also led several multi‑department subcabinets, including Affordability and Livability, Youth Opportunity, Future of Work and COVID Recovery. He served as chair of the Seattle Arts Commission in 2011 and was chair xv

About the Contributors

of the Facilities and Economic Development Committee from 2006 to 2010. Before joining the City, he owned Reflex Strategies, a cultural and community‑based consulting practice. From 2005 to 2010, Engstrom was the founding director of the Youngstown Cultural Arts Center, a multimedia and multidisciplinary community space. In 2009, Randy received the Emerging Leader Award from Americans for the Arts and was one of Puget Sound Business Journal’s 40 Under 40. He is a graduate of Evergreen State College and holds a Master’s in Public Administration from the University of Washington’s Evans School of Governance and Public Policy. Denise G. Fairchild, PhD, is president emerita of Emerald Cities Collaborative (ECC), a nonprofit organization of community, business, environmental and labor organizations coa‑ lescing to advance high road sustainable development projects nationwide, after previously serving as the inaugural President and CEO (2010–2022). In that role, in addition to over 40 years of work and accomplishments, her natural ability to influence both the grassroots and grass tops sets her apart. She does not focus on outcomes alone – she builds relation‑ ships. Denise is a recent Climate Breakthrough awardee, the largest individual global award in the climate field. Denise’s breakthrough strategy at its core is energy democracy – a move‑ ment seeking to understand and unravel the multidimensional root causes of climate change. Having co‑edited an acclaimed book on the issue, she wants to disrupt the foundation of America’s fossil‑fuel‑dependent economy by prompting large and enduring cultural shifts in energy consumption norm and seeks to advance value‑based approaches to decarbonization. This vision represents something novel in American climate efforts. Denise is an urban plan‑ ner earning degrees from Fisk University, University of Pennsylvania, and a doctorate in the field from UCLA, with expertise in sustainable community and economic development, and works with and in low‑income, and communities of color. David O. Fakunle is a ‘mercenary for change,’ primarily serving as assistant professor of Public and Allied Health at Morgan State University in Baltimore. David’s interests include stressors within the built environment, manifestations of systemic oppression and the utili‑ zation of arts and culture to cultivate holistic health through humanity, justice, equity and ultimately liberation. David Feldman is a social entrepreneur and passionate advocate for sustainability, commu‑ nity development systems change and virtues‑based leadership. He currently serves as execu‑ tive director of two nonprofits, Bethesda Green, a nationally recognized community hub and green business incubator, and Virtues Matter, a mission‑based venture, co‑founded with his wife to positively uplift people in all areas of their lives. Over the last four decades, Tom Finkelpearl has worked as a curator, museum director and at a government arts agency, including 12 years each at PS1 MoMA, the Queens ­Museum and the NYC Department of Cultural Affairs (DCLA). He organized 15 shows at PS1 in the 1980s, worked on over 100 public art commissions at DCLA in the 1990s, spearheaded a 50,000 square foot expansion as director of the Queens Museum (2002–2014) and oversaw nearly $2 billion in cultural funding when he returned to DCLA as Commissioner (2014–2020). Finkelpearl worked as a consultant to the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation (2020–2021), xvi

About the Contributors

advising on their funding priorities in New York City, while initiating a book on the future of museums in collaboration with the artist and museum educator Pablo H ­ elguera. He has published two other books: Dialogues in Public Art (MIT Press, 2000) and What We Made: Conversations on Art and Social Cooperation (Duke University Press, 2013). ­Finkelpearl is a Social Practice Teaching Scholar‑in‑Residence at CUNY which i­nvolves teaching under‑ graduates and MFA students at Queens College and working with social practice fellows and faculty across the CUNY system. Finkelpearl holds a BA from Princeton University and an MFA Hunter College, CUNY. Barbara Minguez Garcia is a Disaster Risk Management and Cultural Heritage Specialist, with 14 years of international experience. She is currently holding the position of senior as‑ sociate, Cultural Heritage Resilience at McAllister & Craig Disaster Management. Barbara has worked at the UNESCO Emergency Preparedness and Response Unit, the World Bank and the Global Facility for Disaster Reduction and Recovery (GFDRR) in several countries and projects, including Central America region, Ecuador, Myanmar, Bhutan, Uzbekistan, Saudi Arabia, Iraq and Japan, among others. Before she worked at the Cultural Offices of the Embassy of Spain in Washington, DC, and the Spanish Consulate in New York, NY, and collaborated with the U.S. National Parks Service (NPS). She holds an International Doctor‑ ate in Classical Archaeology from University Rovira i Virgili of Tarragona with her thesis carried out in Rome with an Italian government research grant, where she also collaborated with the Ancient Topography Department of the University of Rome La Sapienza. Barbara is a member of the International Committee on Risk Preparedness (ICOMOS‑ICORP), men‑ tor for ICCROM’s First Aid and Resilience for Cultural Heritage in Times of Crisis and Net Zero: Heritage for Climate Action Programs and visiting researcher for the Institute of Dis‑ aster Mitigation for Urban Cultural Heritage, at Ritsumeikan University. Laia Gasch Cascals is a director of World Cities Culture Forum, the leading global network of civic leaders from over 40 creative cities across six continents who share ideas and solu‑ tions to build a world where culture is at the heart of thriving cities. She was previously senior advisor for Culture at the Mayor of London’s office, where she played a central role in creating innovative policies including the world’s first Creative Enterprise Zones, a new ­Culture at Risk Office protecting grassroots venues and London’s most pro‑culture urban plan with the first ever Cultural Infrastructure Plan. Laia shaped the development of East Bank in the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, the most ambitious culture and education dis‑ trict in London for over 150 years and led the establishment of the UK’s first Night Czar and a new London Borough of Culture Award. Previously, Laia led high‑profile and award‑win‑ ning creative programs including for the BBC, the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games and Tate Modern. Jonathon Glus is the director of the City of San Diego Department of Cultural Affairs, where he leads that city’s efforts in the arts, culture and creative industries. Glus has di‑ rect oversight of the region’s largest annual arts and culture grants program, a downtown performing arts theater and civic art collection and an extensive program portfolio includ‑ ing cultural districts and cultural tourism. Under his leadership, the city is currently con‑ ducting its first citywide cultural plan and has recently launched its first creative economy xvii

About the Contributors

analysis. Externally, he works closely with partners in philanthropy, tourism, community ­development and b­inational and international initiatives. Jonathon has more than two dec‑ ades of experience in public sector executive cultural leadership roles. Prior to San Diego, he held similar positions in Sacramento, Houston, Pasadena, CA, and Evanston, IL. His arts career began at the International Sculpture Center in Washington, DC, where he wrote for Sculpture magazine and traveled exhibitions internationally. He studied liberal arts at Earlham College and urban economics and public policy at Indiana University. His Master’s work was in art and architectural history at the University of Illinois. He received a certifi‑ cate in British urban policy at the University of Kent, in Canterbury, England. He lives with his husband in downtown San Diego where he can walk to the ocean every day and be in dinner for Tijuana. Jane Golden is the founding and executive director of Mural Arts Philadelphia, having been with the organization since its founding in 1984 as the Philadelphia Anti‑Graffiti Network. She was first hired to teach a group of graffiti writers who agreed to lay down their spray cans in exchange for part‑time employment and classes in painting and drawing. She has been with the organization ever since, building it into the U.S.’s largest public art program, having produced more than 4,300 works of art (murals, mosaics, performances, installa‑ tions and monuments) over 40 years. Thanks to her vision and determination, Philadelphia is now known by many as the Mural Capital of the World. Gabriella Gómez‑Mont is the founder and CEO of Experimentalista, a novel type of no‑ madic and creative office specialized in cities – and that constantly shifts shape to accom‑ modate high‑level, transdisciplinary collaborations across the world. She was also the chief creative officer of Mexico City and the founder of Laboratorio para la Ciudad (2013–2018), the award‑winning experimental arm and creative think‑tank of the Mexico City govern‑ ment, reporting to the Mayor. Besides her fascination with all things city, Gabriella has been a journalist, visual artist, curator and director of documentary films, as well as a creative advisor to several universities and companies. She has received several international recogni‑ tions for her work in different fields such as the first prize in the Audi Urban Future Award, the Best Art Practice Award given by the Italian government, The Creative Bureaucrats Award by the city of Berlin and the TED City 2.0 Prize, among others. She was also named one of the 100 most creative people in business by Fast Company magazine. Gabriella is a Yale World Fellow, TED Senior Fellow, MIT Director’s Fellow, Georgetown University Visit‑ ing Fellow, Canadian Urban Institute Senior Fellow, Institute for the Future Fellow, Senior Policy Fellow at UCL, Salzburg Seminar Fellow, FABRICA Alumni and a World Cities Sum‑ mit Young Leader. Gabriella is currently a visiting professor of Practice at UCL’s Institute for Innovation and Public Purpose and the director of The Institute for Everything In‑Between. Julie Goodman is an associate professor of Arts Administration & Museum Leadership and Department Head of Arts & Entertainment Enterprise at Drexel University. Her research explores intersections of policy and practice in arts and culture. She is an editorial board member of the American Journal of Arts Management and served as chair of the Mayor’s Cultural Advisory Council for the Philadelphia Office of Arts, Culture, and the Creative Economy and the Philadelphia Cultural Fund. She lives in Northwest Philadelphia. xviii

About the Contributors

Brian Green is the co‑founder and the creative inspiration behind Group 44 Properties in Johannesburg, South Africa. The company is focused on urban renewal, both as consultants and as owners of a property portfolio. Since its inception in 2003, the company has redevel‑ oped vacant and derelict inner‑city high‑rise and industrial areas into highly sought after re‑ tail and commercial precincts. The property portfolio includes 44 Stanley (www.44stanley. co.za)  –  an 8,000  m2 vibey retail precinct and the latest project which is Victoria Yards (www.victoriayards.co.za) – a 30,000 m2 artisan development precinct. A major feature of these is the integration of not only the architecture but also the adjacent residential commu‑ nities into the schemes. Originally from a photographic background, Brian has a particularly good eye for identifying the elements in a derelict site that need to be retained and enhanced to inspire the rejuvenation. He is highly regarded by the Heritage officials in South Africa. Carl Grodach is foundation professor of Urban Planning and Design at Monash University. His research focuses on economic development planning in relation to the arts and cultural industries, urban manufacturing and circular economies. His books include Urban Revi‑ talization: Remaking Cities in a Changing World (Routledge) and The Politics of Urban Cultural Policy: Global Perspectives (Routledge). He is a co‑editor‑in‑chief of City, Culture, and Society and was the inaugural director of Monash Urban Planning and Design from 2017 to 2022. Erika Hennebury (she/her) is a senior cultural affairs officer and co‑lead of the Office for Cul‑ tural Space with the City of Toronto’s Economic Development and Culture division. A queer cultural planner and theater producer from K’jipuktuk (Dartmouth/Halifax), Mi’kma’ki (Nova Scotia), she has over 30 years of experience in the cultural sector as an artist, cura‑ tor/producer and cultural planner. Erika has worked with Toronto Arts Council, Public Recordings Performance Projects, Buddies in Bad Times Theatre, The Rhubarb Festival, Small Wooden Shoe, Secret Theatre and many other small arts organizations during her career. Erika holds a certificate in Municipal Cultural Planning and Development (UBC), a certificate in Real Estate from the Urban Land Institute, a Master’s in Environmental Stud‑ ies, Planning (York University, Faculty of Environmental Studies and Urban Change) with a major research focus on community land trusts and a Bachelor of Arts in Theatre from Dalhousie University. Erika is an associate member of the Canadian Network of Commu‑ nity Land Trusts. Jen Hughes serves as senior advisor to the chair for partnerships, expansion and innova‑ tion at the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA). She is responsible for supporting the chair’s strategic vision by advancing partnerships with federal agencies and philanthropy to extend the mission and reach of the NEA. She joined the NEA in 2011 and has held multiple positions during her time at the agency, most recently serving as the director of design and creative placemaking. Trained as an urban planner, she previously worked for the District of Columbia government and is passionate about the role of arts and design in furthering community‑led goals. She received a Bachelor of Science degree in Management from the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania and a Master’s degree in City Planning from University of California, Berkeley.

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About the Contributors

With 30 years of experience in advancing art as a critical element of healthy and just ­communities, Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson has pursued her work through applied public pol‑ icy ­research, philanthropy, academia, the nonprofit sector and government. For 18 years she was based at the Urban Institute in Washington, D.C. where she was a senior research associ‑ ate and founding director of Culture, Creativity and Communities program. She has worked with national, regional and local foundations as well as governmental organizations advis‑ ing on just and equitable program design and program evaluation and research. Throughout her career, she has served on governing and advisory boards of numerous l­ocal and national organizations and programs. In 2012, with Senate confirmation, she was appointed to the National Council on the Arts by President Obama. She is a tenured professor on leave from ­ erberger Institute Arizona State University where she holds a cross appointment in the H for Design and the Arts and the Watts College of Public Service and Community Solutions. In 2022, with Senate confirmation, President Biden appointed Dr. Jackson as Chair of the ­National Endowment for the Arts. She earned a Master of Public Administration degree from the University of Southern California and a doctorate in Urban Planning from the ­University of California, Los Angeles. Dr. Helen Kearney is a historian, writer and urbanist whose professional practice includes project management, heritage operations and research. She has managed complex, multi‑ disciplinary, built environment projects in central London with a particular focus on cul‑ ture‑led regeneration and public space design. She is also a qualified Planner, specializing in sustainability practices in cities, in relation to the UN frameworks including the Sustainable Development Goals. Helen has a PhD from the Royal College of Art in London, in which she explored the history of communications in Victorian London and the impact that com‑ munications technology had on the development of the city. She is adjunct professor at Syracuse University in London, where she runs a Collaborative Design Studio and a new, experimental and multidisciplinary course on the theme of Sustainable Urbanism. Helen is a founder of Kerbside Collective, a sustainability‑led creative studio that offers research, consultancy and artistic projects with a focus on heritage, public space and the environment. Alongside Kerbside co‑founder Kat Pegler, Helen has recently completed a research report for the City of London Corporation that investigated sustainability practices in a number of cultural districts across the world. Dr.  Angie Kim is the president and CEO of the Center for Cultural Innovation (CCI), a U.S.‑based nonprofit supporting artists, arts workers, creative entrepreneurs and cultural ­anchors and shaping the systems of their support. She is also the founder of CCI’s time‑­ limited, pooled fund initiative, AmbitioUS, which invests in alternative economic para‑ digms of those most dispossessed  –  primarily African American and Native American ­communities – who are seeking financial self‑determination in order to preserve and support their cultural identities and artistic expressions on their own terms. Through this work, she learned about East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative, which eventually received funding support from CCI. She is grateful to EB PREC staff for sharing their stories, experi‑ ences and learning, as well as for fact checking the essay. Angie is also the founder of CCI’s advocacy work that ­researches, advocates, incubates, and capitalizes alternative systems

xx

About the Contributors

that humanize protections for gig workers and all those who share artists’ precarious social and economic conditions. She is contributing to building alternative solutions that are equi‑ table and ­hegemonic to reflect the diversity of society. Before CCI Angie had various roles in grantmaking, public policy, evaluation and communications at the Getty and Flintridge foundations, and as director of programs at Southern California Grantmakers. In addi‑ tion, she worked as a consultant helping arts and social justice foundations connect strate‑ gic program design with evaluation outcomes. She has been a lecturer on philanthropy at ­Claremont Graduate University and the University of Southern California and has served as an advisor of numerous arts, impact investing and equity initiatives. She served on the boards of Open Collective Foundation, California Humanities, Leveraging Investments in Creativity and as vice‑chair of Grantmakers in the Arts and council member of American Alliance Association of ­Museums Center for the Future of Museums. She received her BA in Art History and English Literature from Linfield College, MA in Art History from the University of Southern California and PhD in Public Policy from Walden University. Dr. Miso Kim is an associate professor of Experience Design in the Department of Arts + Design at Northeastern University. She is also the design director of the NuLawLab at the Northeastern University School of Law and the founding co‑director of the Health and Wellness Design Lab in the College of Arts, Media and Design. She studies service design through humanist frameworks. Specifically, she is interested in enhancing dignity, autonomy and participation in service. She holds a PhD in Design, an MDes in Interaction Design and an MDes in Communication Planning and Information Design from the School of Design at Carnegie Mellon University. She also holds a BS in Architecture from Sungkyunkwan Uni‑ versity in Korea. Prior to joining Northeastern, Miso worked as senior user experience de‑ signer in the Cloud Collaboration Technology Group at Cisco Systems in Silicon Valley. She has published in key journals and conferences such as Design Issues, International Journal of Design, The Design Journal, Design and Culture, She Ji: The Journal of Design, Econom‑ ics, and Innovation, the ACM Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI), Design Research Society International Conference (DRS) and the International Association of Societies of Design Research World Conference (IASDR). Alfio Leotta is an associate professor in Film at Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand. Alfio’s primary research interests focus on the relation between film and tourism; national cinema; the globalization of film production; and film genre. His first book Touring the Screen: Tourism and New Zealand Film Geographies (Intellect, 2011) examines the rep‑ resentation of landscape in a number of film productions shot in New Zealand, which have subsequently been used as marketing tools to attract tourists to the country. He is also the au‑ thor of The Bloomsbury Companion to Peter Jackson (Bloomsbury, 2016) and The Cinema of John Milius (Rowman & Littlefield/Lexington, 2018). Recently, he co‑edited Audiovisual Tourism Promotion (Palgrave, 2022) with Diego Bonelli. Alfio is also an award‑winning filmmaker who produced and directed a number of poetry films and fantasy short films that have screened at festivals both in Aotearoa New Zealand and overseas. Alfio is the founder and director of the Aotearoa Poetry Film Festival (https://www.aotearoapff.com), the only major festival devoted to the convergence between film and poetry in Australasia.

xxi

About the Contributors

Natalia Linares is a cultural and communications organizer and a founding co‑organizer of Art.coop. She comes to the solidarity economy movement after a decade of witnessing ineq‑ uities while working in the music and media industry. She grew up on the island of Shaolin, also known as Staten Island, New York City  –  close to both the world’s largest g­ arbage dump and the oldest continuously inhabited free Black community in the U.S. Gail Lord is one of the world’s foremost museum planners. She is also an art critic, commen‑ tator, public speaker and co‑author of six museum planning manuals and several books. Her latest book is the Manual of Museum Management for Museums in Dynamic Change, Third Edition, 2024. Gail co‑founded Lord Cultural Resources with her husband, Barry Lord, in 1981 with the aim to deliver specialized planning services to the museum and cultural sector. Since then, the firm has grown into one of the world’s leading cultural planning firms with offices in Toronto, New York, Los Angeles, Madrid and Mumbai. With a focus on museums, cultural districts and the creative economy, Lord Cultural Resources has conducted more than 2,700 projects in 57 countries and 450 cities. Gail has worked with cities across the world such as Vienna, Salford, Bilbao, Chicago, Toronto, Ottawa and Johannesburg, to de‑ velop cultural plans for their museum hubs and cultural spaces where knowledge economy, diversity, inclusion and community engagement have played significant parts. Gail has been honored as a member of the Order of Canada, Officier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres de France and Doctor of Letters from McMaster University. The ‘M’ of Rotterdam‑based architecture office MVRDV, founding partner and principal architect Winy Maas has received international acclaim for his broad range of urban plan‑ ning and building projects, across all typologies and scales. These are often self‑generated, innovative, experimental and theoretical. Driven by his dedication to green, user‑defined, sustainable cities and spaces, Maas’ leadership drives many of the office’s award‑winning projects, including Rotterdam’s Markthal (2014), the Tianjin Binhai Library (2017) and the Depot Boijmans Van Beuningen (2021). In addition to his work at MVRDV, as a professor at Delft University of Technology, Maas leads The Why Factory, an internationally engaged think‑tank that challenges the boundaries of established standards to produce solutions that reimagine how we live, work and play. Jasmine Mahmoud is an assistant professor of Theatre History and Performance Studies at the University of Washington, with affiliate appointments in the Departments of Art His‑ tory and Comparative History of Ideas. Mahmoud’s research engages contemporary per‑ formance and art practices, race, feminist and queer of color critique, public policy and geography. She focuses on performance theory, minoritarian aesthetics, performance eth‑ nography, cultural policy, racial capitalism and urbanism. She is a co‑editor of Makeshift Chicago Stages: A Century of Theater and Performance (Northwestern University Press, 2021) with Megan Geigner and Stuart Hecht and on the editorial board of the Journal of Urban Cultural Studies and the American Journal of Arts Management. A scholar and arts journalist, Mahmoud writes about minoritized artists often excluded from official archives, including in journals Modern Drama, Performance Research, TDR: The Drama Review and Women & Performance, and publications, including ASAP/J Online, Canadian Art Review, Crosscut’s Black Arts Legacies series, Howlround, Hyperallergic, LitHub, South xxii

About the Contributors

Seattle Emerald and Variable West. She has curated three exhibitions with attention to Black aesthetics. An arts advocate, Mahmoud founded the Seattle Arts Voter Guide and serves as a Gov. Inslee‑appointed Washington State Arts Commissioner and committee member for Tacoma Art Museum’s The Current Black Artist Award. Poonam Verma Mascarenhas is an architect, historic building and urban conservation spe‑ cialist, researcher and writer with three decades of domestic and international experience of more than 100 projects. She is the founding director of the Goa‑based design studio Archinova Environs. A former Charles Wallace Fellow, she was one of 27 international nominees for the 2023 DIVIA Award announced by the Berlin‑based foundation, Diversity in Architecture. She has collaborated with several national and international organizations like AKTC, JVF, INTACH, HECAR, UNESCO and ICOMOS and as consultant to govern‑ ment departments of Indian states of Kerala, Rajasthan, Karnataka and Himachal Pradesh. She is the co‑founder of Goa Heritage Action Group and serves on the first Scientific Council Steering Committee of ICOMOS India and was on the Senate of SPA Vijayawada (2020– 2022). She is a published author and has contributed numerous articles and her books include The Mapped Heritage of Panaji‑Goa, Silent Sentinels‑Traditional Architecture of Coorg, and ‘Vernacular Building Tradition of India,’ in Schittich C. (Ed) Vernacular Ar‑ chitecture – Atlas for living throughout the World. Her latest conceptualized and co‑edited book is ­Conservation and the Indian City: Bridging the Gap. Anne Gadwa Nicodemus leads Metris Arts Consulting, a research and planning consultancy that seeks to improve and measure cultural vitality. She has helped shape arts‑based com‑ munity development via reports, journal articles, book chapters and public speaking. She co‑authored Creative Placemaking (2010), the report for the National Endowment for the Arts that helped define the field, and has given over 20 talks on the topic, nationally and in‑ ternationally. Nicodemus directed Metris’ work on WE‑Making: How Arts & Culture Unite People to Work toward Community Well‑Being (2021) for a consortium of major funders. This suite of resources explores how place‑based arts and cultural practices can help grow social cohesion to encourage community well‑being. For the Chicago Monuments Project (2022), Nicodemus led Metris’ development of the culminating report and synthesis of data from a comprehensive, community‑focused engagement process with thousands of Chica‑ goans from diverse communities – the first of its kind in a major U.S. city. The report helped the City of Chicago address the hard truths of its racial history and develop conscionable solutions for its 41 problematic public monuments. Nicodemus holds a Master of Urban and Regional Planning from the University of Minnesota. She is an ex‑choreographer/arts administrator, queer and adoptive mom of two. Nymisha Herrera Nimmagadda is a community‑centered public health professional working as an Independent Consultant on global health projects. Nymisha’s interests include elevat‑ ing community voice in health decision‑making, localization of health systems, community and cultural engagement, social determinants of health and health equity. nico w. okoro is an independent arts consultant, curator, educator and writer. An advocate for artists of the global majority, she works across sectors to build equitable representation xxiii

About the Contributors

within the canons of modern and contemporary art and nurture reciprocal relationships ­between artists, communities and cultural institutions. As a consultant, nico delivers cultural strategy to artist‑entrepreneurs, cultural organizations, philanthropic foundations and gov‑ ernment agencies. She is founder and principal of the bldg fund, llc, a collaborative engine for the cultivation of place‑based projects in New Haven, CT. An independent curator, nico’s most recent exhibition, Century: 100 Years of Black Art at MAM, will be on view at the Montclair Art Museum in the spring of 2024. She has served as an adjunct professor of art at the Yale School of Art (2022–2023), Brown University (2021), Barnard College (2017– 2019) and Hartford Art School (2016–2021). nico is the author of Museum Metamorphosis: Cultivating Change through Cultural Citizenship, published by Rowman & Littlefield and the American Alliance of Museums Press (2022). This book platforms critical perspectives from across the arts and culture ecosystem, offering tools to reshape arts institutions into cooperative sites of collective impact and social change. In recent posts, nico served as inau‑ gural executive director of NXTHVN (2019–2020); director of Public Programs and Com‑ munity Engagement at the Studio Museum in Harlem (2014–2019); curatorial director of Rush Arts Gallery (2007–2010); and curatorial assistant at The Studio Museum in Harlem (2006–2007). She holds an MA in Creative & Cultural Entrepreneurship from Goldsmiths, University of London (2011), and a BA in Art‑Semiotics from Brown University (2006). Michael Rohd is a theater‑maker, process designer and facilitator. He has a 30+ year history of projects across sectors bringing cultural activity to the work of public engagement, com‑ munity planning and coalition building. In 2012, he co‑founded the Center for Performance and Civic Practice, a collective of nine artist/facilitators who partner nationally around com‑ munity research, transformational process and system change. He is a civic collaborations director for One Nation One Project (with National League of Cities) and he co‑created Art‑Train, a virtual technical assistance program in partnership with Springboard for the Arts. He leads the Co‑Lab for Civic Imagination at the University of Montana. Eduardo Rojas is a Chilean architect and planner specializing in low‑income housing, herit‑ age preservation, urban rehabilitation and municipal governance. He is a lecturer on historic preservation at the Stuart Weitzman School of Design of the University of Pennsylvania, USA. He was the Principal Specialist in Urban Development at the Inter‑American Develop‑ ment Bank and prior to the IDB he worked at the Regional Development Department of the Organization of American States, was the Deputy Director of the Institute of Urban Studies at the Catholic University of Chile and a planner at the Urban Development Corporation of the Government of Chile. He holds a degree in Architecture from the Catholic University of Chile, an MPhil in Urban and Regional Planning from the University of Edinburgh, UK, and an MBA from Johns Hopkins University, USA, and is a doctor of Urbanism from the Universidade Lusófona, Portugal. Edna Dos Santos‑Duisenberg is an economist that became well known for her pioneering work in shaping the research and policy agenda around the creative economy and its de‑ velopment dimension. She developed an international career of 30 years at the United Na‑ tions in Geneva. In 2004, she set up and became Chief, Creative Economy Programme at the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development – UNCTAD, director and main xxiv

About the Contributors

co‑author of the first UN Creative Economy Reports 2008 and 2010. She launched the UNCTAD’s Global Database on Creative Economy providing world trade statistics for crea‑ tive goods and services. Edna articulated intergovernmental policy debates, implemented projects and promoted partnerships and networking among governments, practitioners and academia. For years, she chaired the UN‑Multi‑Agency Group on Creative Industries promoting inter‑agency cooperation and policy coherence. Currently, she is an advisor for International Affairs at World Creativity Organization (Brazil); a vice president of the In‑ ternational Federation on Internet and Multimedia (Canada); a counselor at the Global Creative Economy Council (UK); and an associated expert, United Nations Institute for Training and Research – UNITAR. She collaborates with universities and provides advisory services to governments and institutions in all continents. She has an academic background in economics and business administration. She holds Master’s degrees in International Trade from Sorbonne University in Paris and International Economic and Diplomatic Relations from the International Institute of Public Administration, ENA Paris. In 2014, she was an International Fellow at the Allworth International Institute, College of Liberal Arts and Cul‑ tural Entrepreneurship at University of Minnesota, USA, and she was a visiting Professor at Creative Economy Master at Universidad Juan Carlos in Madrid. Edna has authored several UN official documents and academic articles published in different countries. She is also a lecturer (in four languages) on creative economy and development strategies. Jules Rochielle Sievert, an academic, design researcher and educator, is also the Creative Director at NuLawLab, Northeastern University School of Law. Since 2013, Jules has been integral in steering NuLawLab toward its innovative and impactful vision. Currently, Jules is pursuing an Interdisciplinary PhD at the Northeastern College of Art, Media, and Design, delving into the convergence of design research, legal empowerment and societal impacts. Jules’ career extends beyond NuLawLab. As an Ambassador for Health Equity at Policy Link, they advocated for equitable healthcare policies. Their academic expertise is further highlighted through a fellowship at the University of Westminster Law and Theory Lab. From 2017 to 2019, Jules embraced the role of Creative Placemaking Policy Fellow at Ari‑ zona State University, Herberger Institute for Design and the Arts. Additionally, Jules has participated in several artist residencies, collaborating with institutions like the Stroom Den Haag, the Center for Artistic Activism at Art Action Academy at the Queens Museum, New York’s Mayor’s Office of Veterans’ Affairs and Department of Cultural Affairs and Califor‑ nia State Fullerton’s Grand Central Art Center in Santa Ana. These experiences highlight Ju‑ les’ commitment to merging art and activism, resulting in socially relevant and impactful art. Deepti Silwal is an architect and urban planner. She teaches planning and urban design courses to undergraduate and Master’s students at Pulchowk Campus and Thapathali Cam‑ pus, Institute of Engineering, Tribhuwan University in Nepal. Deepti has research experience and interests in community‑led, inclusive and resilient planning. Deepti received a Master’s of City and Regional Planning from the Georgia Institute of Technology, USA, and a Bach‑ elor’s of Architecture from Pulchowk Campus, Tribhuwan University, Nepal. Justine Simons, OBE is a Deputy Mayor for Culture and the Creative Industries in London and founder and chair of the World Cities Cultural Forum. Justine has driven the cultural xxv

About the Contributors

transformation of London for two decades. She was awarded an OBE in 2015 by Her M ­ ajesty the Queen Elizabeth for Services to Culture in London. An influential voice for culture on the global stage, she founded the World Cities Culture Forum – the principal leadership network on culture and the future of cities. It has now grown to over 40 global cities, all placing culture at the heart of city planning and investment. Justine led the capital’s biggest ever festival for the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic Games with over 5,000 events and is now over‑ seeing its legacy. East Bank in the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park is a new £1 billion culture and education district, the most significant for over 150 years. She has grown the influence of London’s creative industries on the world stage, shaping the capital’s investment strategy for film, fashion, games and design. She established the Fourth Plinth as a global exemplar and co‑chairs London’s Commission for Diversity in the Public Realm. She has designed major policy firsts – new Creative Enterprise Zones, a Culture at Risk O ­ ffice to protect fragile cul‑ tural infrastructure, established the London Borough of Culture and hardwired culture into London’s planning system with the first Cultural Infrastructure Plan. As an editor at MVRDV, Rory Stott is responsible for translating the office’s bold and com‑ plex architectural approach for a variety of public audiences. After studying architecture at the University of Newcastle, Stott spent four years as managing editor of ArchDaily, the world’s most visited architecture website, helping to advance the goals of the website as a platform for the dissemination and discussion of the topics most relevant to the world of architecture. Since joining MVRDV in 2018, he also took part as a member of Winy Maas’ editorial team for the guest editorship of Domus Magazine in 2019. Eddie Torres (we/us) is a social change leader in the nonprofit, philanthropic and public sectors. Torres currently serves as president and CEO of Grantmakers in the Arts. Torres most recently served as deputy commissioner of cultural affairs for New York City, where we played a leadership role in the development of the city’s long‑term sustainability plan, the city’s first cultural plan and a study of and efforts to support the diversity of the city’s cultural organizations. Prior, Torres was a program officer with The Rockefeller Founda‑ tion, where we supported arts and culture, employment access and resilience. Torres has also served in the dean’s office at Parsons School for Design, at The Ford Foundation and at Bronx Council on the Arts. Torres serves on the board of directors of United Philanthropy Forum, as well as serving on its Public Policy Committee. Torres holds a Master of Arts in Art History from Hunter College, City University of New York (CUNY), and a Master of Science in Management from The New School. Yushi Utaka is working as a professor at the University of Hyogo with a research interest in Asian urbanism with a special focus on built environments and cultural diversity in Asia. Utaka has been conducting field research in Southeast Asia for the past 30 years. Currently, Utaka is involved in heritage conservation and site management in Japan and the Asian region under the auspices of the authorities and international organizations. While joining these field projects around the cities in Asia, Utaka has spent time thinking and writing about the following topics: (1) Globalizing Heritage Conservation: Place, Society and Politics, (2) Cultural Diversity and Multi‑ethnic Built Environment and (3) Reinventing Traditional Built Heritages, Cultural Landscapes and Community. xxvi

About the Contributors

Catalina Valencia Tobón is a dancer, choreographer, manager, teacher and researcher. She has her Master’s degree in Cultural Management from the University of Buenos Aires and a degree in Choreographic Composition by the National University of the Arts of Buenos Aires, Argentina (UNA). She is a professor of the Chair of Sociocultural History of Art of the UNA Department of Movement Arts. As a cultural manager, she has been an advisor to different organizations of the national and district level such as the Secretariat of Education, promoting the integration of arts into the curriculum for early childhood. At the District Institute of Arts (IDARTES), she was one of the organizers of the World Summit of Art and Culture for Peace in Colombia. She has also collaborated in the cultural and artistic strat‑ egy of the Commission for the Clarification of Truth, Coexistence, and Non‑Repetition of Colombia. She was the director of the 24‑0 Foundation (2016–2018), an organization in charge of promoting the reduction of homicides through art and culture, which developed the strategy 24‑0, meaning 24 hours, 0 deaths. It was a part of the World Movement for Nonviolence in more than 15 countries and more than 20 cities in Colombia. In 2018, she received the YLAI Young Leaders of the Americas Initiative scholarship from the govern‑ ment of the U.S., which is a recognition only granted to a select number of young leaders from Latin America and the Caribbean. In 2020, she became Director of the District Insti‑ tute of the Arts (IDARTES), a public institution attached to the Mayor’s Office of Bogota. She oversaw the execution of policies, plans, programs and projects for the effective exercise of the cultural rights of the inhabitants of the city. In 2022, Mayor Claudia López appointed her as Secretary of Culture, Leisure, and Sports of Bogota. Caroline Woolard is an artist and a founding co‑organizer of Art.coop. She is the co‑author of three books: Making and Being (Pioneer Works, 2019), a book for educators about in‑ terdisciplinary collaboration, co‑authored with Susan Jahoda; Art, Engagement, Economy (onomatopee, 2020), a book about managing socially engaged and public art projects; and Trade School: 2009–2019, a book about peer learning that Woolard catalyzed in 30 cities in‑ ternationally over a decade. Woolard’s artwork has been featured twice on New York Close Up (2014, 2016), a digital film series produced by Art21 and broadcast on PBS (https:// carolinewoolard.com/). Laura Zabel is an advocate and champion of artists and their role in building healthy and just communities and systems. For more than 20 years, Zabel has worked to imagine and grow a more durable ecosystem of support for creativity and culture. Zabel is the executive director of Springboard for the Arts, an economic and community development agency run by and for artists. Springboard’s mission is to support artists with the tools to make a liv‑ ing and a life and to build just and equitable communities full of meaning, joy and connec‑ tion. Through their free toolkits, training and resources Springboard’s programs have been replicated in over 100 communities across the U.S. and internationally. In 2021, Spring‑ board launched one of the nation’s first guaranteed income programs focused on artists, putting artists at the table of a national economic justice movement. Springboard’s work has been featured by the New York Times, PBS, Wall Street Journal, Stanford Social Innova‑ tion ­Review and The Guardian. Zabel has been honored with numerous awards, including the YBCA 100, Gard Foundation Award of Excellence, Common Future Local Economy ­Fellowship and the Bush Foundation Leadership Fellowship. Laura is also a theater artist. xxvii

About the Contributors

Andrew Zitcer is an associate professor at Drexel University’s Antoinette Westphal College of Media Arts & Design, where he directs the Urban Strategy graduate program. His book, Practicing Cooperation: Mutual Aid Beyond Capitalism, was published by University of Minnesota Press. An edited volume, Democracy as Creative Practice: Weaving a Culture of Civic Life (co‑edited with Tom Borrup), is forthcoming from Routledge. His research has appeared in the Journal of Planning Education & Research, Planning Theory & Practice, Antipode, Journal of Urban Affairs and more. He lives in West Philadelphia, PA, with his wife and two children.

xxviii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book is a partnership between the editors and the World Cities Culture Forum, a net‑ work of civic leaders from over 40 creative cities across six continents who share solutions to build a world where culture is at the heart of thriving cities (World Cities Culture Forum, 2024). Leadership at the forum, including Executive Director Laia Gasch, provided signifi‑ cant assistance in helping to structure the book and identify authors. In addition, the editors are grateful for the assistance provided by Global Cultural Dis‑ tricts Network, including Founder Adrian Ellis and Director of Special Projects Stephanie Fortunado, in finding authors and identifying key issues. Also, we are grateful to the staff of the National Endowment for the Arts for assisting identifying authors, including Chair Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson, Senior Advisor Jennifer Hughes and Director of State, Regional and Local Partnerships Michael Orlove. Tashera Dean assisted in copyediting. The editors both studied with Professor J. Mark Schuster at MIT, who died in 2008. We are forever grateful for the direction and guidance he provided to us and his encouragement to enter the field of cultural planning and policy. His legacy lives on in the work of his stu‑ dents around the world.

xxix

FOREWORD Why Culture Is Our Super Power

It is a genuine honor to write the forward for this book, which is filled with brilliant insights and perspectives. It shows how change is often driven by people and communities, rather than bureaucratic systems. As the playwright William Shakespeare said ‘what is the city but the people.’ In these pages, you will discover diligent and inspiring leadership from all corners of the world. From conservation to housing, urban policy to storytelling, artists and social change to planning and the creative economy, I see this every day, as the founder of the charity the World Cities Culture Forum, which is the principal leadership network on culture and the future of cities. Leaders from over 40 global cities are all working hard to place culture at the heart of city planning and investment. And as Deputy Mayor for Culture and Crea‑ tive Industries in London, we have our work cut out too. Despite being a cultural capital, we cannot rest on our laurels so we are working to protect and nurture culture as London grows rapidly. A global movement is becoming visible with individuals, institutions and communities all unlocking the transformational power of culture. This is important work because we live in a world where culture is often at the bottom of government priority lists and vulnerable when budgets are tight. Fast paced development is often at odds with much loved creative spaces. Politically it is challenging too, although citizens value culture and often say it’s the main reason they live, work and travel to a city; when it comes to elections, they want their leaders to fix the environment, solve crime and get the trains running on time – which are all important priorities of course. In many cities around the world, the challenges are even more daunting: millions of people live in poverty with poor sanitation, energy and food shortages. Others are dealing with war, conflict and the resulting mass migration. With such pressing concerns, a legitimate question is why worry about culture, the arts and heritage? My answer is simple, because culture is a human right. Culture is not only for those who can afford it, but for everyone. It speaks to our i­dentity and our values. It brings us together for shared human connections, nurtures our souls and xxx

Foreword

fires our imaginations. But despite how much value culture brings to our cities and to soci‑ ety – the jobs it creates, the tourists it attracts, the civic pride it generates and the joy it brings to us as human beings – it is fragile and we can’t take it for granted. So, if we want to protect culture long term, we have to ‘hardwire’ it in our cities infrastructure. With the rapid growth of global capitals, our culture and our heritage are under threat. Urbanization means building essential housing and transport infrastructure, but how do we make sure that our valued creative spaces aren’t lost? How do we protect the spaces that make our cities vibrant, dynamic places we want to spend our time in? While there are well‑established systems of protection for heritage and architecturally sig‑ nificant buildings in many countries, the focus is on the bricks and mortar – not the magic that happens inside them. So grassroots music venues, LGBTQI+ clubs, artist studios, pubs and skate parks don’t tend to make the cut. That’s why safeguarding and growing these in‑ formal spaces have increasingly become a policy focus in many cities across the globe. Why? Because these places matter. They are where generations of world class talent start out, a vital part of the ecosystem that drives our creative economies. They help build a shared sense of local identity and civic pride and, as audiences, they give us the nights we remember. And city planning is key to their survival. Of course, culture doesn’t only happen inside buildings. It is our food, our festivals, our craft and it is in the public realm too. Our statues, murals and street names must reflect who we are as a city, our diversity and the breadth of the stories, the people, the movements that have made us – and planning must reflect this with an inclusive approach to culture. A sound planning system is essential to protect culture, but it’s fair to say it has an image problem. Planning sounds ‘technical’ and ‘bureaucratic’ and on the face of it pretty dull. Planning and creativity are not words that the public tends to associate with each other. So as a society while we might not care about the process of planning – we very much do care about its real‑world impact. Another challenge is data. We have well‑established facts about the economic value and tourism benefits, but the full value of culture cannot be counted on a spreadsheet. Culture is bringing communities together, building civic pride, revitalizing neighborhoods, dance is reducing dementia and theater is giving young people at risk the chance of a new life path. Culture is also our identity and in this increasingly globalized world, it can be the distinc‑ tive story we tell about ourselves to the world. It helps set us apart from our competitors, attracting investment and talent. So the value of culture is multifaceted, it can deliver against all city priorities with depth and sophistication. Culture really is our superpower. Advocating for culture needs to bring all of this into play, but just sharing the good news isn’t enough. It’s important to set out what is at stake and why anyone should care. Or as I often say – the data is key but just as important is spelling out what is at risk, the jeopardy! The good news is all around the world, cultural policy and planning are rapidly moving from a niche to a mainstream idea. At the World Cities Culture Forum, we see culture as a golden thread, woven through all aspects of policy, helping to solve the problems cities face. There is an increasing recognition of the wider, systematic role it can play and in fact, if you want to be a successful city in the 21st century, you can’t do it without culture. So it is not surprising that at the World Cities Culture Forum cultural planning has be‑ come a core theme. As city leaders we are collaborating and sharing our best ideas which is leading to an acceleration in policy at a global level with cities at the forefront of planning xxxi

Foreword

innovation. The dial is shifting on equity too, from New York to London, Sao Paulo to Syd‑ ney, work is happening to democratize the planning system to give communities a louder voice in who we honor and celebrate. In London, we have been on our own mission, working to future‑proof our city as a world creative capital, hardwiring culture into the fabric of our city – and planning is at the heart of our work. In a political context, there is always pressure to have the answer yesterday and solve the problem by the end of the day – whereas planning is a slow burn. However, with Mayors like Sadiq Khan, who has made culture a top priority, we have permission to be ambitious and the leverage to get a seat at the decision‑making table with our colleagues, and be bold. Cities have strategic planning powers. The London Plan is the spatial policy for London, from which all planning decisions flow across the capital. Each new Mayor publishes a new one, and Sadiq Khan’s is the most pro‑culture London Plan ever. We have written our first Cul‑ tural Infrastructure Plan, setting out what London needs for the next decade. It is informed by a live open‑source digital Culture Infrastructure Map, so London now has a detailed picture of our cultural assets, and we know so much more about our artist studios, small grassroots venues and independent cinemas. It has become an essential resource for local boroughs and developers alike as they plan the infrastructure and imagine the placemaking of the future. Visibility is key because you can’t protect something if you don’t know it exists. London has invented Creative Enterprise Zones, providing affordable creative space long term, so that the creatives are not pushed out by rising rents. These zones are helping turn the tide of gentrification and enabling artists to put down roots in communities. The key here has been the hardwiring element. Creative Enterprise Zones are not a branding exercise or a vaguely defined ‘hub.’ They are designated in the planning system and they have to meet a clear bar, the heart of which is long‑term affordable space. The idea is paying off and today London’s 12 zones are on track to deliver 71,000 square meters of affordable permanent creative workspace. But it has not happened overnight. Over a decade ago, we started collecting the data on informal cultural infrastructure in London and realized that artists’ studios and grassroots venues were on the verge of freefall. We got to grips with the technical landscape and some of our team did planning qualifications, helping us co‑design the planning policy. We also could not ignore the immediate issues, whether that might be a licensing or fund‑ ing issue, so we set up a Culture at Risk Office – which I like to call the Batphone! It provides frontline support, advice and help to creative organizations facing space‑related crises. It has helped over 1,500 creative organizations since 2020 and the policy been adopted by the Mayor of New York as part of their pandemic recovery plan. So there are lots of reasons to be cheerful. The time has come to embrace cultural plan‑ ning, because as much as cities need great housing and transport, they also need a soul. Justine Simons, OBE Deputy Mayor for Culture and the Creative Industries, London Founder and Chair of the World Cities Culture Forum

xxxii

INTRODUCTION Urban Cultural Planning Now: Some Thoughts and Executive Summary Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach

Arts, culture, and heritage are the glue that connect people in a city, building a sense of belonging beyond its buildings and infrastructure. Arts and culture in cities define the civic sphere through physical and symbolic objects, events, and ways people live together that are emblematic of a place. In short, culture creates meaning for a place. The arts and the cultures of people generate cultural activities and define the values and identities of places – the rea‑ sons residents feel a sense of belonging and non‑residents want to visit. In the past few decades, the social and economic benefits of culture and creativity have been better defined and acknowledged. Culture and creativity are more appreciated for their critical contributions to community vitality and the future of people’s well‑being and liveli‑ hoods. Many cities have learned the constructive value of embracing and supporting the multiplicity of cultures and heritages that contribute to a sense of belonging for increas‑ ingly diverse residents and that provide needed sparks for innovation and prosperity. Hence, many cities support a vibrant art and culture sector and its relevant policies, develop art and cultural plans and maps, validate and support artists and culture bearers, build cultural spaces of importance, and understand how cities’ tangible and intangible cultural heritages are essential for their quality of life and local economies. Most cities are working hard to build more equitable futures for their residents. Imperative to equitable development is a sense of shared identity, belonging, and social cohesion. Urban cul‑ tural planning often begins with identifying shared values, mapping cultural assets, exploring place history, and getting a good handle on the people currently occupying the city, their cultural interests and creative talents. Effective planning processes engaging a variety of residents and stakeholders builds both a sense of shared identity and greater social cohesion among diverse players and residents. A stronger sense of belonging and shared responsibility for community also emerges. Creativity and culture can generate more meaningful community engagement in planning. When the engagement process is done well, cities can connect with organizations and individuals working within the cultural space. They can establish these relationships for future information gathering or for potential partnerships and collaboration. Hence, urban cultural planning serves many purposes for those who care about the future of their place. 1 DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-1

Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach

Why Arts, Culture, and Creativity? Practitioners of urban cultural planning have different reasons for the work they do. This book attempts to cover some of these reasons, stemming from all over the world. Incorpo‑ rating arts and culture in urban development has many proven benefits. All urban planners know that to build equitable communities, one must seek the coordination between hun‑ dreds of tactics – environmental, transit, housing, safety, food, etc. Arts and culture should be added to this list of tactics for every urban planner – it should be seen as a critical tool in the tool box of building equitable communities. A plethora of research supports the positive effects of arts and culture on social, commu‑ nity, and equitable economic and community development, as well as health and well‑being. Art spaces build social capital – the trust, mutual understanding, and collective identity that roots cultural communities to place – building belonging in communities (Bedoya, 2021). Building social capital for individuals may reinforce the social networks that enhance in‑ volvement and economic development within a community (Grodach, 2011). The interplay between high human capital and the arts then is one of mutually reinforcing supply and demand (Currid, 2009). Here are some considerations:

Belonging: Social Development, Cohesion, and Resilience Arts and culture play a crucial role in social development, social cohesion, and resilience. For instance, in London, spatial practices in the arts sector have been identified as contributing to building resilient artistic careers (Pasquinelli and Sjöholm, 2015). In Hong Kong, unauthor‑ ized artistic practices have been recognized for their potential in enhancing urban resilience and solidarity (Valjakka, 2019). Additionally, in South Africa, embodied arts‑based commu‑ nity practices have been utilized to address intergenerational trauma, showcasing the healing power of art within a collectivist philosophy (Swanepoel and Conradie, 2023). Furthermore, the arts have been instrumental in promoting resilience in various contexts. In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, creative thinking was found to play a significant role in fostering re‑ silience among affected communities (Metzl, 2009). In France, urban art among the French Hmong community has been studied for its role in visualizing trauma and sensitizing resil‑ ience, highlighting the agency and creativity of underrepresented minority artists (Shen, 2022). Moreover, the “We Light the Fire” project in Indigenous communities has demonstrated how strengths‑based creative arts programming can build resiliency and connections among youth (Fanian and others, 2015). In terms of social cohesion, culture and the arts have been piv‑ otal in bridging knowledge systems and fostering understanding. In Nunavut, Canada, artis‑ tic processes have been shown to bridge knowledge systems about social‑ecological change, emphasizing the role of art in enhancing social‑ecological resilience (Rathwell and Armitage, 2016). Similarly, in Boston, the framing of arts policies has been linked to sustainable cultural development, underscoring the importance of cultural sustainability in fostering social cohe‑ sion (Li and others, 2021). These stories and many more exemplify how arts and culture can be mobilized by urban planners to build belonging in communities.

Equitable Economic and Community Development As with any tactic urban planners use to develop equitable communities, arts and culture can have both positive and negative effects on economic conditions for residents. Arts and culture 2

Introduction

is sometimes the “lipstick on the pig” of unfair development practices, and many c­ ommunities view the increase of arts and culture activity as a harbinger of potential gentrification of a neighborhood (Harvey, 1989; Schupbach, 2003). In places like the United States, there are multiple cases where artists moved into a neighborhood, and former residents have been priced out by capitalist speculation on housing and commercial properties. Urban cultural planners must be aware of these dynamics, as they plan for and support arts and cultural activities. While we do not believe communities should pursue arts and culture solely for the sake of eco‑ nomic development, there is overwhelming evidence of its vital role in creating jobs, ­attracting investments, and generating tourism and consumer spending. Community arts indirectly ­support local economic development by fostering interaction within and between communities (­Grodach, 2011). In many cities, arts and culture have become integral to broader economic develop‑ ment strategies, as they can draw in younger residents, firms, tourists, and investors (­Currid, 2009) – again these strategies must be applied carefully to avoid negative impacts, such as gen‑ trification. Additionally, art spaces can nurture new talent and foster creativity by ­providing resources and programs that support artistic and business skills development (Grodach, 2009). Social capital, crucial to the local or state economy, is bolstered by social cohesion, which can be reinforced through arts and culture (Markusen and Schrock, 2006). The concept of arts‑based community development has a rich historical background, with artists collabo‑ rating with communities for millennia. William Cleveland underscores the contemporary movement’s belief in the arts as a potent force for personal, institutional, and community change, which has evolved since the 1970s into a widespread approach to both art‑making and community building. This movement has demonstrated success in numerous neighbor‑ hoods and for marginalized groups (Cleveland, 2002). Internationally, studies highlight the significance of cultural inclusion and the role of arts in fostering inclusive organizations and communities. In Australia, diversity and multicul‑ turalism are emphasized (Azmat and others, 2015), while in Malaysia, art and culture are recognized as crucial elements shaping community identity and cohesion (Thani, 2021). Similarly, in Hong Kong, urban community art promotes creativity, symbiosis, and intel‑ ligence, contributing to urban development (Xuesen, 2021). Community‑based arts programs have proven instrumental in empowering underserved populations, such as children, by fostering academic skills, cultural awareness, and social action, thereby enhancing their overall well‑being and empowerment (Lee, 2020). Moreover, the arts address inequities and historical harm in low‑income and marginalized communi‑ ties, offering a platform for reframing community concerns and driving social change (Jack‑ son, 2021). Cultural events organized by communities also contribute to environmental sustainability, entrepreneurship, and tourism, bolstering community vibrancy and resilience (Yunikawati and others, 2022). Hence, Arts and culture‑based economic development can foster cultural authenticity, while leading to equitable economic growth.

Health and Community Well‑Being Another positive impact of the arts and culture on communities is on health and wellness impacts. Studies indicate that arts engagement can offer tools to combat mental health is‑ sues in an equitable and accessible way (Rodriguez and others 2023). Engaging in arts ac‑ tivities more frequently has been associated with greater well‑being benefits, sometimes being essential to generate such benefits (Wheatley and Bickerson, 2019). Participating 3

Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach

in leisure activities like the arts can improve overall quality of life, promoting well‑being, ­self‑development, and social and cultural connectedness (Wheatley and Bickerton, 2019). Additionally, community arts programs empower voice, promote healing, and engage in decolonization efforts. Educators utilizing creative arts in classrooms facilitate learning, re‑ silience, and resurgence, empowering students to embrace their cultural identity (Tabor and others, 2023). Arts o ­ rganizations engaging youth in sociopolitical consciousness work foster opportunities to address injustice, mobilize for change, and cultivate cosmopolitanism, con‑ tributing to a more socially aware and active community (Ngo and others, 2017). Moreover, arts and culture have been shown to positively affect elderly adults’ health. Research by the National Endowment for the Arts demonstrates that older adults engag‑ ing in art‑related activities exhibit better health outcomes compared to those who do not, including lower rates of hypertension and higher cognitive and physical functioning (Rajan and Rajan, 2017). These findings are particularly relevant in the context of the COVID‑19 pandemic and its aftermath. Both psychology experts and individuals have recognized the positive impact of arts and culture on mental health during this challenging period. The essay in this book by Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson and Jennifer Hughes makes the case that these positive health outcomes from cultural activities are imperative to building communi‑ ties’ social and civic infrastructure, and therefore must be included in urban cultural plan‑ ning efforts.

Cultural Planning and Cultural Policy Urban cultural planning is a set of strategic approaches to integrate cultural elements into urban development processes to enhance community engagement, promote cultural vibrancy, and shape the identity of cities. It goes beyond traditional urban planning by considering the cultural values, heritage, and creative expressions of a community in the design and manage‑ ment of urban spaces. Cultural planning aims to invigorate urban planning and policy through a holistic ap‑ proach that emphasizes cultural awareness and the integration of cultural elements into the mainstream of the planning process. By incorporating arts, culture, and community narra‑ tives into planning practices, cultural planning seeks to create inclusive and vibrant urban environments that reflect the diverse identities and histories of residents. Cultural planning and cultural policy are two distinct yet complementary approaches to fostering cultural vibrancy, community engagement, and sustainable urban development. Cultural policy encompasses the legislative and programmatic support for cultural activi‑ ties, while cultural planning focuses on the spatial and social organization of urban spaces to promote cultural values and community well‑being. Cultural planning involves strategic visioning, community engagement, and the physical design of urban spaces to reflect and promote cultural values, heritage, and creative expres‑ sions. It aims to reshape urban environments, nurture creative activities, and enhance civic identity. By establishing cultural precincts and reevaluating public life, cultural planning seeks to promote cultural vibrancy and community engagement. In contrast, cultural policy pertains to the regulatory and programmatic framework imple‑ mented by governments or organizations to support cultural activities, heritage preservation,

4

Introduction

and artistic endeavors. It provides systematic guidelines and initiatives to s­ upport cultural expression and heritage conservation within communities. Overall, cultural planning and cultural policy play essential roles in integrating cultural elements into the fabric of cities and supporting artistic endeavors and heritage preservation. They work together to shape the physical and social environment of cities and contribute to sustainable urban development. While this book contains articles that are focused on urban cultural planning, it also contains articles that exemplify cultural policies which planners should be aware of.

The State of Urban Cultural Planning Urban cultural planning has evolved significantly over the past several decades. Two years ago when we started to talk about the need for a new handbook on urban cultural planning, we first discussed how the field has changed since we both started our careers. Our collec‑ tive experience in this field includes working globally and within the United States. We both have worked as funders of the arts and culture and we both have adapted a cross‑sectoral appreciation for the impact of the arts on social development and cohesion. Twenty years ago, one could count the number of books about urban cultural planning, on the one hand. Now, because of significant investments from governments and foun‑ dations and the efforts of many dedicated researchers and practitioners, you could fill a small library. In our experience, the field of cultural policy and planning has been heavily influenced by rapid urbanization, equity issues, racial and colonial awakening, environmen‑ tal concerns, and social dynamics. From small towns in America to Small Island States in Africa, to mega cities in Asia, our field scan shows that transition toward more sustainable, inclusive, and participatory approaches in urban development has promoted the integration of cultural elements, heritage preservation, and creative placemaking/placekeeping practices. How artists and culture bearers relate to and can have critical impacts in traditional com‑ munity development planning fields like agriculture and food, economic development, envi‑ ronment and energy, health, housing, immigration, public safety, transportation, workforce development and youth development have been well defined (ArtPlace America, 2020). Routledge has published important books on topics related to planning, creative indus‑ tries, cultural planning and creative placemaking/placekeeping. Important policy efforts like city cultural plans, cultural districts, creative city designations, creative industry industrial ­policies, cultural asset mapping, public art support, cultural institution support, night time policies, heritage planning and support for individual artists and culture bearers have grown in sophistication. Forums of debate exist to push forward these policies around current issues important to planners like climate change and racial justice, and many existing urban cultural planning policies are being challenged for their history of colonial practices and repression. That said, the field of cultural planning is still relatively new to the planning community. Traditional urban planners are often tasked with preserving and building on creative and cultural assets, but there are no common rules on why or how practitioners accomplish these goals. In addition, cultural plans are mostly done outside of the city planning process, and rarely adopted as policy by cities, partially because these tools have not been studied in as much detail as other equitable urban development and regeneration strategies.

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Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach

In addition, many communities fail to properly support and activate their cultural r­ esources to the benefit of their residents, and to the benefit of the artists and culture bearers themselves. There are communities where artists and culture bearers are being systemati‑ cally repressed and where culture is purely viewed as a mechanism in service of the worst of capitalism’s/communism’s/other economic governmental systems’ impacts. The COVID‑19 pandemic had sometimes devastating and game‑changing effects on our cultural resources, the long term effects of which we are all still just beginning to under‑ stand (NEA, 2022; UNESCO, 2021). The shutdown of many organizations during the pan‑ demic – museums, performance spaces, etc. – disrupted large parts of the cultural ecosystem of cities, and disconnected residents from the belonging and well‑being that the arts bring to us as humans. As we rebuild, we are finding that people are not returning in the same ways to these spaces, that how we collectively want to view, value and pay for culture is rapidly changing, and the systems we built to support culture might need drastic rethinking. These facts mean that cultural planning must also change to understand the new reality.

Where We Are Going Reading and editing articles for this book, we could not help but remember Khaled Al‑Assad, the 82 year old archeologist who died protecting the cultural heritage of Palmyra. He was held for a month before his mutilated body was hung on a column in a main square of the historic Palmyra (Shaheen and Black, 2015). He refused to reveal the whereabouts of historic articles that had been moved for safekeeping. His death is a testament that culture is an important part of our shared history, worth dying for. We also remember how the ­Taliban destroyed the World Heritage site of Bamiyan Buddhas in 2001. In the United States, the conflict over historic statues and their significance reveals how important storytelling and memory is to our contemporary cultures. In another example in post‑war Bosnia, the former adversary groups of Muslims and Christians came together to build the historic bridge of Mostar as a sign of reconciliation and international solidarity. These examples show how culture is interwoven into our daily struggles and cohabitation as human beings and will continue to be in the future. As urban cultural planning policies grow in sophistication, this human‑centered approach to development is key. We must remember our artists and culture bearers are humans and that extractive practices are unacceptable – they must be engaged as full partners in any work go‑ ing forward. We are excited to see the developments of intersectional thinking in policy in the United States outlined in Dr. Maria Rosaio Jackson and Jen Hughes article – creating policy that holistically positions culture as part of building a healthy and just community. A recent article by Andrew Zitcer and Johanna Taylor interviewed many people from the creative place‑ making movement in the United States about what is next. In that article, and from articles in this book, it becomes clear that movements to include culture in solidifying democracy and labor rights, in climate crisis remediation efforts, in decolonization and racial reckoning efforts and other policy areas are growing in urban cultural planning circles. There are also exciting new policy movements happening, including direct funding for artists as part of the infrastruc‑ ture for community development, innovative new financing models for culture (co‑operatives, social impact bonds, etc.) and more. However, to achieve this work, “organizations and the field both need to support these administrators with a network to share resources and build community. Erica Rawles of the US Water Alliance says that an outside network is not enough 6

Introduction

to support isolated arts staff, suggesting that ‘organizations need to consider investing in more robust arts and cultural strategies positions and programs like they might do for other ini‑ tiatives that fulfill their organization’s mission in addition to supporting administrators with a network and community building opportunities’” (Zitcer and Taylor, 2024).

Why a Handbook of Urban Cultural Planning? This book attempts to help advance the practice and provide ideas for the preparation of those involved in urban cultural planning and culturally informed city planning. The book contains essays from innovative international thinkers across the multiplicity of different ways that culture intersects with our communities, and to help communities to help fight against the sometimes negative impacts of city planning through culture. The editors are keenly aware that there is knowledge and voices missing from the book. Despite our best efforts, we were not successful in collecting essays from many geographies, many policy areas, and voices across a multitude of diversities. For example, we would have loved to have had more articles from Central America, Asia, the Middle East, and Africa; would have loved to have more voices from diverse cultures; and have deficiencies in policy areas such as festivals, monuments, performing arts organizations role in place, artist housing/workspace, the role of community art centers or what Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson calls “cultural kitchens” in neighborhoods, and more.1 The world of culture and its role in place is vast, and we hope this book captures some of the best current thinking from a wide enough scope to tempt the reader to look further, question more, and continue to push this policy area further.

Outline of the Book Because of great varieties of practice, policy, funding and language with how cities across the world support and mobilize culture through planning, the book contains authors from six continents, and attempts to frame the current conversation around urban cultural plan‑ ning in seven sections. In addition, the book has a foreward from Justine Simons, OBE, Deputy Mayor for Cultural and Creative Industries for London, UK and Founder and Chair of the World Cities Culture Forum and ends with an interview with the Chair of the United States cultural agency the National Endowment for the Arts, Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson, which challenges the readers to imagine a robust cultural policy future. To assist the reader, each author was asked at the end of their article to summarize “lessons learned,” and many authors did so. We hope these are collectively of value to the multiple audiences that might be interested in urban cultural planning.

Section 1: Belonging in the City: Arts and Planning for Equity/Social Development This section of the Handbook addresses the people‑focused approach to cultural planning, outlining how culture can address some of our most “wicked problems” in our societies. Through an asset‑based development lens, these articles talk about how to build more cul‑ turally equitable cities, how culture builds belonging and social development for a city’s residents, and how it can impact well‑being. 7

Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach

Most cities face challenges of affordability, structural inequality, and issues of quality of life. Some of these cities have embarked on analysis of equity‑related metrics, which indicate that cultural assets are not equitably distributed and/or supported across populations. Some are visiting their colonized past to understand their way forward. These cities have included strategies to increase arts access and diversity in the arts. For example, Oakland’s cultural plan (2018 and written about in Section 1 by Roberto Bedoya, the instigator of the plan) calls for an analysis of current programs and policies within the realm of racial equity. New York City’s cultural plan (2017 covered in Section 2) describes mechanisms for funding al‑ location toward neighborhoods identified as low‑income and underserved. In this section, the mechanisms for engaging artists and creative processes into equitable economic and community development structures are examined and outlined from several angles, including an analysis of the history of and future potential of the “creative place‑ making” policy movement which emerged from the United States as a major policy in the 2010s from Anne Gadwa Nicodemus (one of the original and consistent scholars of creative placemaking). Carl Grodach and Deepti Silwal’s article outlines how to think about belong‑ ing and cultural planning for immigrant populations from their research based in Australia. Dr. David Fakunle and his co‑authors outline the power of the creative process of storytell‑ ing as a powerful tool in addressing disinvested communities’ plague of loneliness and “out‑ line arts and culture’s ability to facilitate and cultivate opportunities for human‑centered approaches to individual and collective healing, growth, galvanization and empowerment.” This section ends with an artist’s perspective on cultural planning and belonging – Michael Rohd outlines in detail his work of artistic civic practice, of the intentionality needed when engaging in government actions for the public good.

Section 2: Planning for and with Culture in Urban Planning Continuing in the thread of equitable development in urban planning, this section works to outline how culture can be planned for and supported, the role that culture plays in good city planning, and the integration of these ideas. Authors outline and address the issues that many cities face in supporting culture in their communities through cultural plans, the crea‑ tion of unique cultural policy offices and the policies like cultural districts, and the integra‑ tion of culture into city planning practices in areas such as housing and transit. In addition, they address how cultural organizations, government agencies and local creatives all can plan essential roles in the development of good city planning and policy, and how planners must include cultural workers and get their ideas at the planning table. The section opens with an article by Gabriella Gomez‑Mont that outlines her work start‑ ing up the first ever Lab for the City: an experimental office and creative think‑tank of the Mexico City government, and its interdisciplinary experiments that incorporated more cul‑ ture and imagination within the city. It continues with a conversation between the two lead‑ ers who led New York City’s first ever cultural planning process, Tom Finkelpearl and Eddie Torrez. We hope this honest and direct commentary helps readers understand some of the pitfalls and benefits of this kind of process. It is followed by Adrian Ellis’ analysis of cultural district policies (a major urban cultural planning policy practice that has emerged in the last 20 years), and a “how to” document about cultural asset mapping by Julie Goodman and

8

Introduction

Andrew Zitcer. Asset mapping is typically the first step in any planning process, so for those who are interested in how to start, one might read this article with great interest. Both Tom Borrup and the NuLawLab Directors Jules Rochielle Sievert and Dr. Miso Kim write in great detail about how cultural organizing, shared identity and healthy attachment to place con‑ tribute to the social cohesion needed to achieve a multitude of community goals, telling the story of how to mobilize cultural planning practice for social benefit through examples from around the world. The section closes with an article from Katharine Dirga on how creatives can improve planning processes for transit projects.

Section 3: Creative and Cultural Industries and Global Tourism Planning This section addresses the conversations around the economic competitiveness of cities as it relates to culture. While the “Creative Class” economic regeneration theories of the early 2000s have been found to be flawed, large and cosmopolitan cities continue to plan to mo‑ bilize their cultural resources for global positioning and attracting tourism – and many of these policies have potentially troubling inequitable outcomes. Generally, cultural industries are those that relate to the dissemination of culture and cultural media, including artisan products, the visual and performing arts, etc. Theories surrounding creative industries are simultaneously more nebulous and more in‑vogue; creativity is more encompassing than just the work that results in the production of cultural items, such as graphic design, computer science/IT and web design. There is a wide range of activities called creative or cultural in‑ dustries. This can be problematic in developing plans to encourage creativity and creative and cultural industries. For some practitioners working within urban contexts, creative in‑ dustries have become synonymous with images of regeneration (and/or gentrification) and the repurposing of unlikely spaces in urban cores. For others, they represent opportunities for tourist activity, including specific plans for nighttime activities. Here, authors examine these strategies and suggest policy methodologies for approaching urban cultural planning from these frames. This section begins with a broad overview of the creative economy policies at a global scale, written by one of the world’s leaders in these theories, Edna Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, the former chief of the Creative Economy programme at the United Nations. This article is followed by a summary of Brazil’s response to supporting its creative industries during and after the COVID‑19 pandemic by Christiano Braga. Many cities have adapted new planning policies related to their cities functioning at night – Laia Gasch walks us through these poli‑ cies through her personal history in enacting them while working for the City of London. The final three articles by Dr. Christina Ballico, Alfio Leotta and Jonathan Glus summarize planners’ efforts to mobilize specific creative industries (music, film and design) in cities across the world for economic, tourism and community change purposes.

Section 4: Financing Arts and Culture – For What Goal? This section addresses how different cities with different public finance structures use vari‑ ous methods to finance arts and culture, and how those investments can help achieve plan‑ ning goals. There are programs that enable artists and arts organizations to access financing and those that will also better enable the development of cultural facilities. There are also

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methods to integrate private sector funding in development of arts and culture spaces. Many cultural plans identify potential financing sources for plan implementation to varying de‑ grees of specificity. This section includes authors who not only outline these financing mech‑ anisms to reach goals but also offer ideas for financing and models that break free of the current capitalism confines and suggest new ways of financing culture with more equitable outcomes. The section starts with Randy Engstrom and Jasmine Mahmoud’s summary of Ameri‑ can cultural policy financing mechanisms, told through a policy frame of “eight pillars.” Each pillar tells the story of specific American cultural policies and how money flows through them. Laura Zabel follows with the story of a recent policy innovation – guar‑ anteed income for artists – which is being piloted by planners across the United States as a way to stabilize artists economically. Angie Kim, Caroline Wollard and Natalia Linares take a hard look in their two articles at the broken models of neoliberal capitalism and suggest new collaborative economic structures being piloted that can help to both sup‑ port culture and also drive greater sense of belonging and equity in communities. Erika Hennebury outlines for the reader innovative new land planning and ownership structures through Cultural Land Trusts policies which are being created around the world. Closing the chapter, Jen Cole explores financing for cultural districts, outlining emergent policy models led by “Indigenous and other marginalized cultural leaders focused on land regen‑ eration, community ownership and collective wealth that demonstrate a new blueprint for government leaders shaping cultural districts to normalize human, cultural and com‑ munity thriving.”

Section 5: Cultural Institutions and Buildings, Public Space and Public Art This section addresses policies around strategies for cultural facility development and management, and the roles of arts and culture in improving the public realm. Authors address the robust conversation about the impact of this work – good and bad (gentrifica‑ tion/colonization) that is occurring around the world. Articles in this chapter specifically address the world of museum management and facilities, and includes two case studies of unique projects – one of the first ever accessible art storage facilities and the redevelop‑ ment of a large industrial site in Johannesburg, South Africa into a sustainable space for creative industries. To address art in the public realm, our author outlines the importance of integration of arts/culture via public art displays, pop‑up spaces, and the activation of public space. The section opens with two chapters from leading voices (nico w. okoro and Gail Lord) on the building of, and management of museums in their contemporary role in our places. Ms. Okoro’s essay “translates critical perspectives from the fields of architecture and public art into actionable tools with which to both address the crisis of relevance currently faced by the museum field and rebuild museums into more accessible social and physical spaces.” Ms. Lord similarly addresses the future of museums’ inclusivity, sustainability, authenticity and community relevance in her essay. These chapters are followed by our two case studies, described above. The section closes with an essay from one of America’s leading voices in public art – Jane Golden – in which she describes how to learn to imbue communities with the power of public art through her personal experience. 10

Introduction

Section 6: How the Past Informs Our Future: Heritage Planning It is clear that much of cultural policy in the world shows up in the form of support for “cultural heritage.” This heritage includes both the tangible assets of objects and buildings, but also intangible traditional cultural practices. Urban cultural planners will frequently find themselves navigating complex laws that relate to the conservation (or not) of this shared heritage. In addition, authors address the complications surrounding issues of cultural herit‑ age and its implications for community belonging going forward. The section opens with an article by Eduardo Rojas in which he analyzes efforts at cul‑ tural heritage conservation policy efforts in three Latin American cities, and outlines the positives and negatives which occurred in these communities. It is followed by an essay about heritage conservation through academic efforts in India by Jayashree Bardhan. Cat‑ alina Valencia Tobon then outlines how the city of Bogota embraced tangible and intangi‑ ble cultural heritage as a critical part of equitable community development and planning. To close out the chapter, Yushi Utaka takes us to the historic port of Onomichi in Japan to discuss how conservation of cultural heritage sites has led to cultural and economic growth in the city.

Section 7: Culture and the Climate Crisis While the world consistently faces political and financial emergencies in multiple ways, per‑ haps no greater threat to human life is the current climate crisis. As this section reveals, crea‑ tives and cultural institutions have certain roles to play in our fight to sustain our planet as a livable place for humans. These roles vary from planning for sustainable physical cultural developments, to activating artists and traditional cultural practices into the political and economic systems attempting to mitigate the crisis, to projects which raise the visibility of the issues through educational public displays and public art. This section starts with an analysis by Dr. Helen Kearney of ten cultural districts around the world and their efforts to build sustainable practices into their development. It con‑ tinues with an essay by Barbara Minguez Garcia that describes how not only culture is at risk from climate change, but also that much is possible in terms of adaptation, mitigation, and preparedness if we position culture at the core of the risk management actions. Denise Fairchild further describes how traditional cultural practices have the power to unlock the societal and economic change necessary to prevent the climate disaster. Tairone Bastien outlines for us his methodologies behind a tri‑country public art project with a basis in sustainable practices. The chapter closes with Poonam Verma Mascarenhas describing how in Goa India art is “mobilized as key medium of communication to facilitate an enhanced understanding of environmental implications of heritage and planning policies, building by‑laws and infrastructural projects; empowering the citizens for an informed participation in the community’s future.”

In Closing In our final chapter, Chair Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson of the National Endowment for the Arts is interviewed by Senior Advisor Jennifer Hughes in an exploration of where urban cultural planning has been, and where it is going. Dr. Jackson is the highest ranking cultural officer for the United States and both she and Ms. Hughes are trained as urban planners with 11

Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach

a speciality in cultural planning. Their conversation captures this moment’s best thinking on what every reader should know about urban cultural planning.

Note 1 If you are interested in readings in these areas, they can be found in Jackson (2011), Silber and Rosenstein (2010), Monument Lab (2023) in the references in this article, and many other places mentioned throughout the book for further readings.

Bibliography ArtPlace America (2020). ‘Artplace America 10 community development fields.’ ArtPlace America website. Available: https://www.artplaceamerica.org/areas‑of‑work/cross‑sector‑initiatives [Ac‑ cessed: 12 March 2024]. Azmat, F., Fujimoto, Y., and Rentschler, R. (2015). Exploring cultural inclusion: Perspectives from a community arts organisation. Australian Journal of Management, 40(2), 375–396. https://ideas. repec.org/a/sae/ausman/v40y2015i2p375-396.html Bedoya, R. (2021). ‘Podcast: Belonging in Oakland.’ Interview by Miriam Magaña Lopez at the Othering and Belonging Institute [online] 17 November 2021. Available: https://belonging.berke‑ ley.edu/podcast‑belonging‑oakland [Accessed: 11 March 2024]. Cleveland, W (2002). Arts‑based Community Development: Mapping the Terrain. www.LACount‑ yArts.org Chan, E. Y. Y., Huang, Z., Lo, E. C. M., Hung, K. K. C., Wong, E. L. Y., and Wong, S. Y. S. (2020). Sociodemographic predictors of health risk perception, attitude and behavior practices associated with health‑emergency disaster risk management for biological hazards: The case of Covid‑19 pandemic in Hong Kong, SAR China. International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health, 17(11), 3869. https://www.mdpi.com/1660-4601/17/11/3869 Currid, E. (2009). Bohemia as subculture; “bohemia” as industry. Journal of Planning Literature, 23(4), 368–382. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0885412209335727 Fanian, S., Young, S. K., Mantla, M., Daniels, A., and Chatwood, S. (2015). Evaluation of the kts’iìhtła (“we light the fire”) project: Building resiliency and connections through strengths‑based creative arts programming for indigenous youth. International Journal of Circumpolar Health, 74(1), 27672. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.3402/ijch.v74.27672 Grodach, C. (2011). Art spaces in community and economic development: connections to neighbor‑ hoods, artists, and the cultural economy. Journal of Planning Education and Research, 31(1), 74–85. Grodach, C. (2009). Art spaces, public spaces, and the link to community development. Community Development Journal 44(4). Harvey, D. (1989). The Condition of Postmodernity: An Enquiry into the Conditions of Cultural Change. Blackwell, 1989. Jackson, M. (2011). ‘Cultural Kitchens: Nurturing organic creative expression.’ GIAReader website [online] 7 December 2011. Available: https://www.giarts.org/equity-forum/2011/12/07/culturalkitchens-nurturing-organic-creative-expression [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Jackson, M. (2021). Addressing inequity through public health, community development, arts, and culture: Confluence of fields and the opportunity to reframe, retool, and repair. Health Promotion Practice, 22(1_suppl), 141S–146S. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/1524839921996369 Lee, S.‑H. (2020). A community arts program for underserved children: Getting things done and member development. Scimedicine Journal, 2(3), 138–150. https://www.scimedjournal.org/index. php/SMJ/article/view/127 Li, X., Wyszomirski, M. J., and Zhu, B. (2021). Definitions matter: Dynamic policy framing of the arts in Boston’s sustainable cultural development. Sustainability, 13(24), 13661. https://www. mdpi.com/2071-1050/13/24/13661?type=check_update&version=2

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Introduction Markusen, A., and Schrock, G. (2006). The artistic dividend: Urban artistic specialisation and economic development implications. Urban Studies, 43(10), 1661–1686. https://www.giarts.org/ sites/default/files/The-Artistic-Dividend.pdf Metzl, E. S. (2009). The role of creative thinking in resilience after hurricane Katrina. Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts, 3(2), 112–123. https://psycnet.apa.org/doiLanding?doi=10.1 037%2Fa0013479 Monument Lab (2023). ‘National Monument Audit’ Monument Lab research report.’ Available: https://monumentlab.com/monumentlab‑nationalmonumentaudit.pdf. National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) (2022). ‘New data show economic impact of COVID‑19 on arts & culture sector.’ National Endowment for the Arts website [online] 15 March 2022. Available: https://www.arts.gov/news/press‑releases/2022/new‑data‑show‑economic‑impact‑covid‑19‑arts‑ culture‑sector [Accessed: 11 March 2024]. Ngo, B., Lewis, C., and Leaf, B. M. (2017). Fostering sociopolitical consciousness with minoritized youth: Insights from community‑based arts programs. Review of Research in Education, 41(1), 358–380. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.3102/0091732X17690122 Pasquinelli, C., and Sjöholm, J. (2015). Art and resilience: The spatial practices of making a resilient artistic career in London. City, Culture and Society, 6(3), 75–81. https://www.researchgate.net/ publication/276364895_Art_and_resilience_The_spatial_practices_of_making_a_resilient_artistic_career_in_London Rajan, K. B., and Rajan, S. B. (2017). ‘Staying engaged: Health patterns of older Americans who participate in the arts.’ Available at: https://www.arts.gov/impact/research/publications/ staying-engaged-health-patterns-older-americans-who-participate-arts [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Rathwell, K. J., & Armitage, D. R. (2016). Art and artistic processes bridge knowledge systems about social‑ecological change: An empirical examination with Inuit artists from Nunavut, Canada. Ecology and Society, 21, 21. Rodriguez, A. K., Akram, S., Colverson, A. J., Hack, G., Golden, T. L., & Sonke, J. (2024). Arts Engagement as a Health Behavior: An Opportunity to Address Mental Health Inequities. Community Health Equity Research & Policy,  44(3), 315–322. https://journals.sagepub.com/ doi/10.1177/2752535X231175072 Schupbach, J. (2003). ‘Artists downtown: Capitalizing on arts districts in New England.’ Thesis (M.C.P.)‑‑Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Department of Urban Studies and Planning, 2003. Shaheen, K., and Black, I. (2015). ‘Beheaded Syrian scholar refused to lead Isis to hidden Palmyra antiquities.’ The Guardian, August 19, 2015. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/aug/18/ isis‑beheads‑archaeologist‑syria. Shen, T. (2022). Visualized trauma, sensitized resilience: Urban art among the French Hmong community. Cosmopolitan Civil Societies: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 14(2), 40–51. https://epress. lib.uts.edu.au/journals/index.php/mcs/article/view/8089 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Silber, B., and Rosenstein, C. (2010). ‘Live from your neighborhood, A national study of outdoor arts festivals.’ National Endowment for the Arts Research report #51. Available at: https://www. arts.gov/impact/research/publications/live-your-neighborhood-national-study-outdoor-arts-festivals-vol-1-summary-report [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Swanepoel, M., and Conradie, U. (2023). The medicine in the circle: A case example of embodied arts‑based community practice to address intergenerational trauma in rural South Africa. Dramatherapy, 44(2–3), 119–131. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/02630672231214649 Tabor, S., Bavel, M., Fellner, K., Schwartz, K., Black, T., Water, C., … and Pepion, J. (2023). Healing, empowering, engaging, learning, and decolonizing through culture: Living wellness, resilience, and resurgence in the classroom through creative arts. Canadian Journal of School Psychology, 38(1), 86–104. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/08295735221147322 [Accessed October 23, 2024].

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Rana Amirtahmasebi and Jason Schupbach Thani, W. J. I. B. W. A. (2021). ‘The sustainability of art and culture: The Malaysia perspective.’ https://eudl.eu/doi/10.4108/eai.4-11-2020.2308899 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. UNESCO (2021). ‘Culture and the pandemic: What was the impact of the crisis on the creative industries?’ UNESCO website [online] 15 December 2021. Available: https://www.unesco.org/ en/articles/culture‑and‑pandemic‑what‑was‑impact‑crisis‑creative‑industries#:~:text=The%20 unprecedented%20outbreak%20of%20the,Assessment%20of%20the%20impact%20of [Ac‑ cessed: 11 March 2024]. Valjakka M. (2019). Co‑authoring the space: the initial Lennon Wall Hong Kong in 2014 as socially engaged creativity. Cultural Studies, 34(6), 979–1006. Wheatley, D., and Bickerton, C. (2019). Measuring changes in subjective well‑being from engage‑ ment in the arts, culture and sport. Journal of Cultural Economics, 43(3), 421–442. https://link. springer.com/article/10.1007/s10824-019-09342-7 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. World Cities Culture Forum (2024). ‘Definition of World Cities Culture Forum.’ World Cities Cul‑ ture Forum website [online]. Available: https://worldcitiescultureforum.com/about/ [Accessed: 12 March 2024]. Xuesen, C. (2021). ‘Creativity, symbiosis and intelligence: The practice and optimization strat‑ egy of urban community art in Hong Kong and Shenzhen.’ https://www.atlantis-press.com/arti‑ cle/125955158.pdf [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Yunikawati, N. A., Priambodo, M. P., and Sidi, F. (2022). Cultural events: Local sustainable tour‑ ism development and entrepreneurship. E3s Web of Conferences, 361, 03017. https://www. e3s-conferences.org/articles/e3sconf/abs/2022/28/e3sconf_iconard2022_03017/e3sconf_ico‑ nard2022_03017.html [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Zitcer, A., and Taylor, J. (2024). ‘Creative placemaking in transition part 2.’ Grantmakers in the Arts, 20 February 2024. Availableat: https://reader.giarts.org/read/creative-placemaking-in-tran‑ sition-part-2 [Accessed October 23, 2024].

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SECTION 1

Belonging in the City Arts and Planning for Equity/Social Development

1.1 CULTURAL PLANNING, CULTURAL POLICY, AND THE CIVIC WE Roberto Bedoya

Context The entanglements of Cultural Planning, Cultural Policy, and the “Civic We” inform how one works in the field of community cultural development.1 It is discussed through this reflection on the Oakland, California’s cultural plan “Belonging in Oakland: A Cultural ­Development Plan,” and what it has generated since its release. As Oakland’s Cultural A ­ ffairs manager, I shepherded the plan that was started in 2017 and released in 2018 and will reflect on its development and emergence as a prompt that enlivens civic life and place. The prior cultural development plan was 30 years old, and it was time for a refresh that acknowledged the cur‑ rent ways Oaklanders care about culture in their city. Oakland CA’s population is 433,403. It is the largest city in the East Bay region of the San Francisco Bay Area. The racial makeup of Oakland is White 33%; Latino 27%; Black/ African American 22%; and Asian 18% – it is a racially majority minority city. Oakland has a rich and deep history in its arts community that has been addressing the racial and social justice intentions of a fully realized democracy and within that address the subject of trauma  –  racial trauma, sexual trauma, and police trauma  –  for decades. These community members are creating valuable artworks that prompt the social imaginary of how we live together – our democracy, our understanding of place, of beauty. In these works, is the pronoun “I” – I’ve been traumatized…here’s my story. To move from the “I” to the “we” triggers the question: how are institutions holding the we of civic trauma, how does the entanglements of public policies and cultural practice provoke our civic imagination? As a public servant I ask myself this question: how are we addressing our responsibilities to look at social systems, and the agency we have within them, to address civic trauma, bear witness, offer remedies, be grounded in the ethos of care and belonging through planning and policy? The plan tells a story of how: poetic will, public will, and political will, shape the gov‑ ernment of rules and regulations and the governance of relations that animate locales and neighborhoods. It is a story of how imagination and policy condition each other, of the forms of power that are embedded in society, in the US ideal of democracy. 17

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-3

Roberto Bedoya

As a city agency with a duty to support and advance the aesthetic speech of its residents, we asked ourselves, what does that look like – to have grantmaking programs, public art projects, our equity objectives manifest in cultural and public policies that scaffolds a Just City, that affirms Oaklanders life together and produces a civic narrative of we. Through the storytelling of the plan and the programs created as a result of it, our plan came through together through policy analysis and policymaking that embraces deliber‑ ative democracy. This process includes deliberative cultural policy analysis and practices vis‑à‑vis the deliberative practitioner. The deliberative practitioner utilizes a methodology that employs the “subjects” of research in the analysis of and policy responses to their own conditions. These responses animate a “we” embedded in civic belonging articulated in the cultural plan. Cultural Plans typically offer municipalities a tool that assesses the cultural assets in a lo‑ cale and set policies that aim to advance its civic life. The Oakland Cultural Plan offered up the language of “Belonging” as a vision, metaphor, and value for the cultural development of the city, which is very different from other United States municipal cultural plans.2 By say‑ ing belonging, I am referring to belonging as manifested in social systems. I assert that a City should have a belonging strategy as part of a city’s policy work that operates alongside a city’s workforce development strategy, housing strategy, transporta‑ tion strategy, safety strategy, etc., and that being forthright about the government charge to facilitate social cohesion among its residents needs to be framed as a city goal. This mu‑ nicipal goal needs to be invested in, especially now in this moment of “civic trauma” that COVID‑19 has created, as our social networks are changing, collapsing, and being reimag‑ ined. Civic trauma is about the loss of publicness, the we in civic life that enliven locales. In post‑COVID‑19 pandemic and in the wake of racial reckoning in the United States, how can a cultural plan be useful in addressing our social conditions and our municipal stresses. **

The Plan and Planning Process In the spring of 2017, the Cultural Affairs Division embarked on the development of a cul‑ tural plan for the city (“Belonging in Oakland: A Cultural Development Plan”). It was a journey of celebration and reflection as we identified our assets and shortfalls. It has been an undertaking that has both telescopic and microscopic in its process: we hosted com‑ munity meetings; met with civic leaders; conducted research into the economic and social impact of the arts; surveyed the public; and met with our grantees. We listened, looked, and learned about the many ways Oaklanders express themselves. The “we” I am referring to, in addition to the Cultural Affairs Division staff, is Vanessa Whang, the lead consultant and researcher for the Cultural Plan; Susana Morales and Heather Imboden of Communities in Collaboration, who facilitated the community meetings for the planning process; and Alex Werth, the research analyst who produced a new picture of the economic impact and assets of Oakland’s arts and culture sector. The tagline for the plan “Equity is the Driving Force, Culture is the Frame, and Belonging is the Goal” operates as a guide to how we developed the plan and designed programmatic

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Cultural Planning, Cultural Policy, and the Civic We

responses. We focused on how Oaklanders realize their expressive life, a term coined by Bill Ivey the former Chair of the National Endowment for the Arts, who states “…a place where community heritage interacts with individual creativity, maintaining the past while letting in the new” (Ivey, 2008). He goes on to characterize expressive life as being composed of relationships, memory, and belief which enlivens community and creativity. “Equity is the Driving Force, Culture is the Frame, and Belonging is the Goal” manifests how we imagine our lives together through words, images, sound, design, and movement – the social actions of imagination and the social action of policymaking that enliven a Just City. Oakland’s cultural plan and the planning process offer us a vision of culture for the city and suggest pathways to lift up the role of culture in building a just and equitable city. It is not a document that operates as a typical strategic plan or SWOT analysis (strengths, weak‑ nesses, opportunities, and treats) that cages itself in a technocratic assessment of the Cultural Affairs Division. It is a narrative that offers up a different lens and different approach to un‑ derstanding our city and how an alignment of culture and equity is required for Oaklanders to realize their potential. Given that policy aims to generate governance via management guidelines and rules, and culture is fluid as it develops new knowledge and brings to life our possibilities – how to do work with these forces in the development of Oakland’s Cultural Plan keeps us on our toes. We know that policy follows social meaning, and what the plan has revealed is that what gives deep meaning to Oaklanders is being able to live in an equitable society. Living in an ethically just and aesthetically diverse and rich city is the democratic charge we must address through our plan. To that end, the plan’s orientation to equity and culture feeds an action agenda that is a behavior shift for the City that sees the Cultural Affairs Division’s embrace of connectedness of intersectionality across public sectors that animates Oakland as key to realizing belonging. The work of the Cultural Affairs Division is to serve the civic narrative of belonging in all its beauty, temperaments, and complexities. It was also intentional that the planning process examined the racial imaginary of white‑ ness in our cultural planning process and in culture. Oakland has been a majority city of non‑white inhabitants for decades. But normalized research ideologies such as – the policy frame of empiricism as the primary knowledge in the field of policy studies and planning. This research approach would not have worked in Oakland or similar places because the whiteness ideologies embedded within it normalizes the white racial frame as a way of think‑ ing that shapes American Society. The Oakland Cultural plan foregrounds in its methodology the phenomenological knowl‑ edge held by residents whose lived experiences shape civic life. The Plan does not hide or avoid the experiences of racisms or racists policies, e.g. red‑lining urban planning or red‑lining3 philanthropic practices. This phenomenological knowledge shaped the policy arguments and programmatic program that we employed in our labors to operationalize belonging in the Plan and its implementation. A story: When the plan was close to being released, I had a meeting with then Oakland Mayor Ms. Libby Schaff, in which I explained our community stakeholder process that I characterized as the story of “the Clenched Fist,” “the Arm Wrestling,” and “the Hand‑ shake.” By these metaphors, I mean that at community meetings there were participants with clenched fists demanding action with a take no prisoners attitude, there were others

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Roberto Bedoya

who wanted to arm wrestle with the authority so as to move the dial to a stated goal, and there was the handshake that was offered when the debate and negotiation were done. The mayor smiled and said you forgot another element – “the Sucker Punch!”4 These metaphors speak to how democracy is defined and employed in context (repre‑ sentative democracy, direct democracy, or deliberative democracy),5 where the system of governance informs the expressive life of a locale. As a policymaker who works to serve the public, I engage in deliberative democracy to understand how dialogue and decision‑making are interlocking practices that position the inhabitants of the city as ac‑ tive agents in their own social conditions. The ethics and analysis which is informed by these deliberative practices permits and allows for conjecture, contestation, debate, power sharing, agenda setting, and discursive practices that imagine and articulate our plurality, and works to construct equity. Our cultural policy is a call for dialogue and deliberation on art and democracy, and how art and dialogue infuse our functions as inhabitants of a locale. It is about governance, not government. Government has a role, but its position in civic life is not the only factor, as powerful as it is. To know how self‑organizing hap‑ pens in neighborhoods is key to understanding how to serve a public through dividing a Cultural Plan.

Operationalizing Belonging The work we do as a municipal agency in charge of culture is to operationalize belonging in our programs and policies necessitates that we are mindful and engage with the meaning of belonging as a sociology – not exclusively as a psychology. They are related but, for example, the effects that the bully on the playground has on a person is psychological and the design and playground policies that may enable the bully is sociological. Cultural policymaking and cultural plans can impact the social systems and conditions that create belonging. As a result of the cultural plan, we reframed our grant opportunities for artists and art‑ ists’ projects around activities that strengthen social networks and social cohesion via our Neighborhood Voices grant opportunities. We entered a funders partnership and created the Belonging in Oakland Just City Fund and launched the Cultural Strategists in Government (CSIG) program which placed Cultural workers in city hall that addresses civic needs. At the core of these programs is belonging. Scaling out belonging via our Neighborhood Voices op‑ portunities and scaffolding belonging through the Just City Fund and CSIG program. These efforts are what we did programmatically: Neighborhood Voices grant program builds belonging within the dynamic neighborhoods of the City of Oakland by supporting culturally engaging efforts to bring our city’s com‑ munity members together to foster cohesion. It funds projects aimed at fostering commu‑ nity resilience, feeding creative well‑being, and offering visions for our collective future. Neighborhood Voices amplifies the cultural expressions, stories, histories, and heritage found within Oakland’s neighborhoods – particularly neighborhoods and their community members who historically have not received equitable investments of resources or recogni‑ tion. Neighborhood Voices supports cultural–center partnerships between Oakland‑based community builders and cultural practitioners, both individuals and organizations, that are

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Cultural Planning, Cultural Policy, and the Civic We

focused on building neighborhood vibrancy and community cohesion and that culminate in a local, public outcome for the benefit of the community. • Belonging in Oakland: A Just City Cultural Fund is a multi‑year program that funds Oakland cultural practitioners of color to radically reimagine a racially just city. The Fund is a unique public–private partnership inspired by the cultural equity vision lifted in the City of Oakland’s cultural plan. The partnership unifies Oakland’s Cultural Affairs Division’s vision with the racial justice mission of the Akonadi Foundation, and the power building commitment of East Bay Community Foundation. The Fund supports creative, mutually beneficial, and equitable collaborations working to build pathways to a more just Oakland. Oakland’s BIPOC, civic facing cultural work‑ ers are critical partners in the funded collaborations that help break down old, racialized tropes and envision and test new narratives, social agreements, structures, and systems that lay the groundwork for freedom and liberation for Oakland communities. • Cultural Strategists‑in‑Government (CSG) Program: As part of the first steps of im‑ plementing the new plan, the Cultural Affairs Division launched CSG which aimed to infuse City policymaking and practices with new creative, culturally rooted think‑ ing and diverse problem‑solving methods to promote civic belonging and well‑being in Oakland. Cultural strategists are individuals working in the realm of culture, art making and aesthetic practices who bring unique skill sets and perspectives to bear on challenging civic problems. They could be artists, cultural strategists, creative entrepreneurs, tradi‑ tional culture bearers, community historians, or others who are knowledgeable about culturally specific practices, history, or heritage relevant to residents of Oakland and who are interested in serving the community. As thought partners to government departments, the CSIG fellows do not exclu‑ sively make “artistic objects.” Instead, they make policy arguments via strategies for cultural shifts crucial to the work of realizing a just city and civic belonging. The CSIG program is an investment in creative thinkers who imagine and test new ways of work‑ ing from a position inside government that advances how dialogue, deliberation, risk, and innovation can impact governmental systems as we work to operationalize civic belonging.

Relation and Publicness The cultural plan offered up the civic narrative of we shaped by our guiding principle: “Equity is the Driving Force, Culture is the Frame, and Belonging is the Goal,” which provided the work a north state statement that informed its process, strategic direction and purpose. A key word for me in my policymaking role at the city and in the planning pro‑ cess is Relation. I come to this term like an awkward guest who has moved into a sphere of thought that bewilders me. My association with Relation is both poetic and complex. In this sphere, operating as reference point to me is the work of the Martinique essayist, Edouard Glissant, whose writing on Relation has shadowed my work (Glissant, 1997). Relation, represent different types of understanding the manners of host, of guest, of interculturality,

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Roberto Bedoya

of kinship, of public, of policy, the movements of being within the transformative learning of these mentalities. How does the Oakland Cultural Plan operate in Relation to the ways humans perceive and conceive the world – a Relation embedded in the spheres of community and publicness? Relation is in the stories of the ecumenical networks that scale out belonging as a form of community cultural development that animate the locale and builds the local, the city, and the civic narratives of we that produces the rhythms that connects affect and effect to one another (Reed, 2018). I lean into public and its porousness or what the scholar Patricia Reed refers to the “pro‑ miscuous publicness” as a comfort – the Publicness of Farmers Market, of Chinatown, of cultural districts, of street fairs, of protest marches, of being in the gallery/museum or per‑ formance hall, and of walks through parks or neighborhoods… all messy, wonderful and promiscuous – all publicness that our plans address. A cultural plan should not aim to contain the promiscuous public sphere. It should be porous. A cultural plan is about publicness – the secular “we” that includes people you do not know. At the same time, it is also about a community of shared interest, of personal ties: a writer’s community, an ethnic community, the refugee community, the hip‑hop commu‑ nity, and the neighborhood community. A plan needs to be about intersectionality – how one moves between communities – the culture of fluid relations. Publicness acknowledges the encounters that happen daily. Let me end with few thoughts on poetics and praxis: The poetics and praxis of “belonging” prompted by the cultural plan inform our plan‑ ning, which Is a form of generating governance that manifests in calls of action that inform the ethical conduct of individuals and the public linked to culture and to policy. The poetics and praxis of “belonging” affirms the democratic value of equity and foregrounds the human right and emancipatory aim of empowering talent and com‑ munity as a central ethos of cultural planning. The poetics and praxis of “belonging” animated the civic we as in the ideal of we the people – as opposed to the privatized “we” of me and my friend that betrays democ‑ racy charge to service the public. The poetics and praxis of “belonging” shape the aesthetic speech of Oakland, the aesthetic ordering of “we” as Oaklanders, our humanity, our Culture Our Policies.

Notes 1 I to “we” as the secular we as in “we the people” that includes people you not know. 2 Oakland is a member of the United States Arts Federation a network of the top 50 in terms of population US local Arts Agencies (LAA). No other LAA has generated a civic metaphor as an element of their cultural plans. 3 Redlining is a discriminatory practice that withheld resources to someone because of where they reside or work in locale with high number racial and ethnic minorities and low‑income individuals. 4 The sucker punch is a punch delivered to a person suddenly without warning. 5 These are forms of government used to create and implement public policies.

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Bibliography “Belonging in Oakland: A Cultural Development Plan”, City of Oakland Cultural Affairs Divi‑ sion (2018). Available: https://cao‑94612.s3.us‑west‑2.amazonaws.com/documents/Cultural‑ Plan‑9.24‑online.pdf. Bill Ivey, Arts Inc: How Greed and Neglect Have Destroyed Our Cultural Rights (University of California Press, 2008), p. 23. Édouard Glissant, The Poetics of Relation (The University of Michigan Press, 1997). Patricia Reed, “Promiscuous Publicness and The Uncommon In‑Common”, A City Curating Reader: Public Art Munich 2018.

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1.2 CREATIVE PLACEMAKING’S “LONG TAIL” Anne Gadwa Nicodemus

Introduction In 2010, the United States embarked on an unprecedented cultural policy initiative called “creative placemaking.” Leadership from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) joined a concerted effort across numerous federal agencies of the Obama Administration to identify place‑based solutions to help people and communities weather the housing mar‑ ket collapse induced Great Recession (Crane et al. 2020; Hughes 2021; Schupbach 2021). Through 2020, NEA’s Our Town grant program and ArtPlace America (a consortium of major foundations with federal agencies serving as strategic partners, known as ArtPlace to most) would invest $40.6 and $150 million, respectively, in projects all over the country, as well as field‑building efforts (Lindsay 2021, 8; National Endowment for the Arts 2021, 5). ArtPlace’s sunset occurred in 2020, but contributing ArtPlace foundations – most notably the Kresge Foundation, but also Bloomberg Philanthropies and the Barr, McKnight, and William Penn foundations – have sustained investments for arts‑driven community develop‑ ment (Lindsay 2021, 13). The NEA’s Our Town program endures. Creative placemaking is no longer a new, novel cultural concept. Many practitioners eschewed the term (Zitcer 2018; Zitcer and Taylor 2022) and offered alternatives – creative placekeeping/ knowing/taking, co‑creative equitable placekeeping, etc. (Alternate Roots artists, n.d.; Bedoya 2013; Shannon et al. 2024) to differentiate between equitable and ethically fraught applica‑ tions, such as gentrification‑led displacement. Wisdom exists from the decade plus that crea‑ tive placemaking has been a formal cultural policy and practice. Yet, since ArtPlace’s sunset, funders and practitioners perceive a distinct gap – the lack of a centering, national organization to productively unite and connect diverse professionals (Zitcer and Taylor 2022). The United States is now in the throes of recovering from and responding to shocks – the COVID‑19 pandemic, the climate crisis, more police killings of Black people, extreme po‑ litical polarization, and the undermining of democracy. Because creative placemaking pro‑ totyped the “seeding of system change within our society,” some argue that it is uniquely poised to rise to the challenges (Hughes 2021, 36): DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-4

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A global pandemic, historic rates of unemployment, social unrest, and climate change are upending our previous ways of life. As we seek to heal and reimagine a way forward, the vision of artists will be more necessary than ever. The old ways of do‑ ing and being will require new creative approaches and cross‑sector partnerships to tackle systemic issues. The field of creative placemaking has been exercising its mus‑ cles for this moment to rise to the challenges that lie ahead: to ultimately strengthen communities. (Hughes 2021, 36) In the contexts of both pressing need and the absence of ArtPlace as a key field‑centering or‑ ganization, this chapter aims to elevate key lessons learned. It first explores what was unique about how creative placemaking emerged as cultural policy, with an eye toward potential relevance for other periods or places. It next extracts how the NEA and ArtPlace understood the potential for arts and culture‑based strategies to advance community objectives and the common ground between these two major funders’ conceptual frameworks. It concludes by connecting readers to recent leading work advancing arts‑based strategies on two of today’s most critical issues: climate crisis and repairing democracy.

Emergence of an Unprecedented Cultural Policy Creative placemaking emerged as unified cultural policy, despite great odds. The United States has a distributed and fragmented system of funding arts and culture with relatively high shares of support from the private sector (Ivey 2008; National Endowment for the Arts 2012; Wyszomirski 2008). Because of this fragmentation, “no single agency or individual can set an artistic agenda for the nation” (National Endowment for the Arts 2012, 25). For many decades, coordinated US cultural policy was narrowly conceived as: get more money for nonprofit arts and cultural organizations (Gadwa Nicodemus 2013; Ivey 2008; Landes‑ man 2012), the majority supporting Western classical art forms (Sidford 2011). Given the focus on nonprofit funding, the system reinforces the divides between the nonprofit, public, commercial, and “unincorporated” or “informal”1 art sectors. Rarely did players across these sectors think expansively about cultural policy or find common cause (Gadwa Nicode‑ mus 2013; Ivey 1999; Markusen and Gadwa 2010b). The NEA is the closest counterpart to a ministry of culture in the United States, but func‑ tions more akin to a private philanthropic foundation. Inaugurated in 1965, the NEA was born out of a post‑World War II inspired fervor to compete in terms of great “high” art and culture. The Ford Foundation (Ford) conceived of and developed a groundbreaking model of leveraging arts funding, transforming the philanthropic landscape from that of individual patrons motivated by a love of art and civic duty to a strategic and professionalized philan‑ thropic practice. The NEA doubled down on Ford’s approach and, due to grant eligibility requirements, catalyzed the widespread creation of state and local arts councils. Through 1990, “the leverage element succeeded brilliantly,” with a “virtual cascade” of new arts funders entering the fold, yet the Ford model was always built on a suspect premise of py‑ ramidal growth. As with a Ponzi‑scheme,2 institutional money for arts funding could not just grow indefinitely. Larger labor and societal trends began severely challenging the sustain‑ ability of the model by the 2000s (Kreidler 1996).

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In the early 1990s, for instance, conservative congressional leaders seized upon the NEA and its funding for avant‑garde artists’ politically motivated work – often confront‑ ing homophobia and the HIV/AIDS crisis – as an effective, divisive “wedge” issue. In the United States, the Congress controls and sets the budgets of federal agencies. A Republican party‑led Congress cut the NEA budget by 39%, but backed off its calls for the agency’s complete elimination (Killacky 2014; Koch 1998; Markusen and Gadwa Nicodemus 2019). The nonprofit arts sector also struggled with its elitist reputation, complicating justifications for public funding (Ivey 2008). Even in recent years, those partaking in arts activities skew highly educated and are disproportionately white (National Endowment for the Arts and Activate Research, Inc. 2019). In response, advocates for arts governmental funding turned to (and still heavily rely on) economic arguments – that spending in the nonprofit arts sector generates income and jobs. For instance, Americans for the Arts, a national advocacy group for the arts, released its first Arts and Economic Prosperity report in 1994, with releases roughly every five years since. In 2009, Rocco Landesman, a cowboy boot wearing Broadway producer and President Obama’s unusual nominee for NEA chair, pivoted away from the NEA’s elitist connota‑ tions. He abandoned the motto, “A great nation deserves great art” for the more muscular “Art Works,” connoting arts’ real world value (Lindsay 2021, 8). Landesman’s predeces‑ sors at the NEA had tried with limited success to increase Congressional appropriations for the NEA. Using his producer acumen, Landesman followed the money and, to a fair extent, sidestepped the challenge of increasing Congressional appropriations to the NEA. “Willie Sutton robbed banks because that’s where the money was,” he was fond of saying (Markusen and Gadwa Nicodemus 2019, 15). He realized that the budgets of other federal agencies vastly exceeded the NEA’s. He realized the private philanthropy’s spending power were orders of magnitude above that of the federal government. Joan Shigekawa, NEA deputy chairman, helped Landesman identify the clarion call or‑ ganizing framework (Bonin‑Rodriguez 2015). Shikegawa introduced Landesman to research from University of Pennsylvania’s Social Impact of the Arts and The Reinvestment Fund that documented that neighborhoods with clusters of cultural activity outperform others in terms of jobs and business income, quality of life, public safety, and diversity (Stern and Seifert 2007, 2008). They asked: could arts‑based strategies for community development be the ral‑ lying cry for the cultural sector’s contributions to place‑based revitalization? Critically, this focus truly met the moment. In 2009, the United States was still reeling from the worst economic and financial meltdown since the Great Depression. Given that many, many people were “underwater”3 on their mortgages, they could not readily sell their homes. At this moment, people could not move to where jobs were located, and the advent of remote working was years away. To try to help people, one had to try to lift entire communities and help people where they already lived. Federal agencies, such as the Housing and Urban Devel‑ opment, the Department of Transportation, and Environmental Protection Agency forged an unprecedented collaboration (the Partnership for Sustainable Communities) to try to jointly solve interconnected community challenges impacting quality of life. The NEA asked itself; could arts and cultural initiatives be developed to complement the new holistic and place‑based focused work of other federal agencies to improve quality of life and livability (Hughes 2021)? Shigekawa and Landesman dubbed their framing “creative placemaking.” They tapped my mentor and collaborator, Professor Ann Markusen, to research and write a white paper 26

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(Markusen and Gadwa 2010a) to flesh out their concept. Markusen invited me, a newly minted Master of Urban Planning with a dance/arts admin background to co‑author the report. We summarized two decades of the field’s history, drawing on original economic research and case studies of initiatives in both large cities and rural communities. Each case study revealed a distinctive strategy that succeeded when initiators built partnerships across sectors, missions, and levels of government, leveraging funds from diverse sources and programs. That report helped substantiate a 2010 meeting with the heads of some of America’s biggest grant makers (Lindsay 2021, 8). Using his showman skills, Landesman pitched a private philanthropic effort to complement the NEA’s own new creative placemaking grantmak (Our Town). Hence, ArtPlace America was born. One of the selling points to foundations was the opportunity to partner with federal agencies, beyond the NEA, through the ArtPlace structure – including the departments of Housing and Urban Devel‑ opment, Transportation, Agriculture, and Health and Human Services (Lindsay 2021). Landesman literally wined and dined the heads of large and well‑funded federal agencies, pitching how the arts and culture could advance their missions (Markusen and Gadwa Nicodemus 2019). This cross‑sector emphasis was also baked into the new grant opportunities. For instance, the NEA required Our Town applicants to have a partnership between a local or tribal government and a nonprofit, one of which had to be arts/culture based. Just exploring the possibility of pursuing Our Town funding started conversations between unexpected local partners who “began to unite around a vision for the community’s future with arts and cul‑ ture taking center stage” (Hughes 2021, 30). Even when grants were unsuccessful, the seeds of collaboration had been planted and project initiators often found alternative means to pursue their ideas. ArtPlace rolled out fast and furious, announcing an initial round of grants totaling $11.5 million in July 2011 (Crane et al. 2020, 23). ArtPlace’s first director, urbanist Carol Coletta, was skilled at generating buzz. A self‑described “start‑up queen,” she strove to define creative placemaking “in alluring terms” (Lindsay 2021, 10, 9). “It was really all about trying to catch that lighting and get others to buy into it,” Coletta wrote (Crane et al. 2020, 27). What deserves credit for creative placemaking’s “meteoric rise” (Shannon et  al. 2024, 2)? The original creative placemaking frame relied on the dominant economic justifications for supporting arts and culture and emphasized a broader “livability” framework, and the latter would directly align with a key objective in the NEA’s 2014 strategic plan (Iyengar 2019; National Endowment for the Arts 2014). The definition that Markusen and I offered in the white paper, for instance, spans economic, physical, social, and arts’ intrinsic impacts: In creative placemaking, partners from public, private, nonprofit, and community sec‑ tors strategically shape the physical and social character of a neighborhood, town, tribe, city, or region around arts and cultural activities. Creative placemaking animates public and private spaces, rejuvenates structures and streetscapes, improves local business vi‑ ability and public safety, and brings diverse people together to celebrate, inspire, and be inspired. (Markusen and Gadwa 2010a, 3) 27

Anne Gadwa Nicodemus

At Landesman’s request, we also included estimates of the arts’ contribution to the national economy (Markusen and Gadwa Nicodemus 2019, 14). Both the economic and livability justifications strongly resonated in the climate of the Great Recession: The connection between the role of the arts and economic development was a key driver in the early adoption of creative placemaking by a range of local mayors and other community leaders who were looking for new, and arguably low‑cost ways, to revitalize their communities. Many of the projects profiled in the White Paper resulted in transformative physical impacts, such as the design of a new public space, artist live–work space, and public art initiatives. Economic impacts, such as increased busi‑ ness revenue, new local jobs, a growing tax base, were lauded as indicators of progress in community revitalization. Creative placemaking promised to ultimately demonstrate tangible economic impact and a visible, physical transformation. In the urgency of the post–Great Recession, communities were desperate to identify swift recovery and new ways to invest in their local ecosystems. (Hughes 2021, 28) In sum, the emergence of creative placemaking as cultural policy shows that it is possible to align governmental and private philanthropic investment, even in the US fragmented con‑ text. Several factors coalesced to make that happen: • Consensus on a pressing need/opportunity (cultural sector’s answer to how it could con‑ tribute to place‑based revitalization in the Great Recession). • The power of persuasive leadership (Landesman’s follow‑the‑money producer acumen and showmanship). • The incentives of new access and influence (private philanthropy’s attraction to partner‑ ing with federal agencies). • The emphasis on cross‑sector collaboration from the micro (project‑level) to macro (set‑ ting strategic direction for overarching cultural policy/field‑building). • A new/catchy name and economic justifications for practices that had, in fact, been hap‑ pening for decades. Whether and how this unifying model might be replicated, but with the focus shifted for present/future needs or other geographic contexts is currently unfolding. For the United States, evidence suggests that emerging cultural policy still builds on creative placemaking’s foundation of cross‑sector collaboration and broad community benefits. For its Our Town program, the NEA has newly prioritized funding for projects that address climate‑related challenges within a community, in addition to health or well‑being, and transportation or infrastructure (National Endowment for the Arts, 2024c). The NEA seeks to increase the strategic alignment with unprecedented federal expenditures, such as the Inflation Reduction Act and 2021 Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act (Zitcer 2023; Zitcer and Taylor 2022). In January 2024, under NEA Chair Dr. Maria Rosaria Jackson’s leadership, the NEA and White House Domestic Policy Council hosted a first‑of‑its‑kind public convening, “Healing, Bridging, Thriving: A Summit on Arts and Culture in our Communities,” with announce‑ ments of several new inter‑agency initiatives and investments spanning health and well‑ being, water and climate change, and deterring hate‑based violence (National Endowment 28

Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail”

for the Arts 2024b). Will these efforts coalesce into an overarching cultural policy? Will they unfold in a more nuanced, if less coordinated fashion? Time will tell.

Creative Placemaking’s Growing Pains and Evolution Many will also remember the baggage and problematic aspects of both the term creative placemaking itself, and its early emphasis on economic development. Roberto Bedoya first powerfully publicly voiced that placemaking ignored/discounted/undervalued the culture of people in that place and its history, including racist policies (2013). Creative placemaking’s initial over‑privileging of economic development outcomes and problematic/ill‑defined met‑ rics would come under strong critique (Gadwa Nicodemus 2013; Markusen 2012; Moss 2012). By 2016, the pain of the Great Recession had also faded from memory and the Move‑ ment for Black Lives was on the ascent, with the murders of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice, Tanisha Anderson, Mya Hall, Walter Scott, Freddie Gray, and far too many more. Setting the tone for the nonprofit arts world, Grantmakers in the Arts released its eq‑ uity commitment in 2015 (Grantmakers in the Arts 2016). Equity as a frame was “in the air” in US cultural planning and policy circles, which further pushed critical introspection about creative placemaking policy and practice. Community‑based actors critiqued the notion of making up a place where there was perceived to be none and shared their perceptions of crea‑ tive placemaking as a cover for gentrification or at least an unwitting aid to it (Zitcer 2018). All these factors caused the creative placemaking pendulum to swing toward a more nu‑ anced direction (Gadwa Nicodemus 2018) – The NEA documented a shift in Our Town from projects focused on livability and economic development outcomes to those that sought to advance social change and local civic engagement (Hughes 2021). ArtPlace and the NEA abandoned their widely critiqued efforts to quantify and track vibrancy and livability (Mor‑ ley and Winkler 2014), respectively, through indicator systems and gave grantees more lati‑ tude to articulate the community change they sought to make (Crane et al. 2020, 49; Hughes 2021; Iyengar 2019). Improving livability for one particular neighborhood, town, tribe, or region was no longer the end goal. Both ArtPlace and the NEA would shift to seek to influence larger systems change i.e. “such as establishing new and sustained cross‑sector partnerships, shifting institutional structure, practices, or policies, replicating or scaling innovative project models, establishing training programs, or disseminating informational resources to support the creative place‑ making field” (National Endowment for the Arts, 2024a). The NEA formalized this empha‑ sis in a 2019 rewrite of its Our Town grant guidelines; they assert that successful creative placemaking projects “ultimately lay the groundwork for systemic changes that sustain the integration of arts, culture, and design into local strategies for strengthening communities” (Hughes 2021, 35; National Endowment for the Arts 2019). Under Jamie Bennet’s leader‑ ship, ArtPlace developed a detailed “matrix,” which charted out different community de‑ velopment sectors (Crane et al. 2020, 49). “As a field, creative placemaking now seeks to further enhance and extend understanding of the roles that culture and artists can play in advancing other sectors’ work, thus becoming valued, consistent and fully integrated parts of community planning and development” (Helicon Collaborative 2018, 14). ArtPlace not only invested in project grants but also in larger field‑scan research, complete with cross‑sec‑ tor working groups, to harvest promising practices and priorities in the sector (ArtPlace 29

Anne Gadwa Nicodemus

America 2018). If this cultural policy experiment was to be ultimately successful, art and culture would no longer be a community development afterthought, but a core component of community development policy and planning.

Integrating Arts in Community Development: US Water Alliance Case Study The US Water Alliance has spearheaded initiatives that build cross‑sector capacity linking arts, culture, and water challenges. It authored the “Advancing One Water” report with ArtPlace support and created a One Water Artist‑in‑Residence at the Alliance advancing its long‑term commitment to integrate arts and culture into all aspects of its work (US Water Alliance, 2023a). The inaugural artist in residence, hip‑hop artist Benny Star, built on his acclaimed A Water Album to help infuse arts and cultural strategies across the Alliance and its network. The Alliance also supported partnerships between four utilities and local artists, as they ad‑ dressed climate‑related water challenges in its inaugural Water, Arts, and Cultural Accelerator (2020–2021) (US Water Alliance, 2023c) (See Figure  1.2.1). Cultural strategies and creative practices engaged directly impacted and historically underserved communities. The work cul‑ minated in a report with case studies to share insights into building partnerships and co‑devel‑ oping effective solutions (Frasz and Lackey 2022).

Figure 1.2.1 2020–2021 Philadelphia Poet Laureate Trapeta B. Mayson reads an original poem at the Wingo‑WHAT?! community event in June 2022 as part of Philadel‑ phia’s participation in US Water Alliance’s Water, Arts, and Cultural Accelerator. Photo courtesy of Philadelphia Water Department and US Water Alliance.

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Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail”

Evidence suggests inroads on that front. US national organizations that focus on commu‑ nity development ranging from the Urban Land Institute to the US Water Alliance to Smart Growth America have taken up creative placemaking, with dedicated staff (Lindsay 2021; Smart Growth America, 2024.; Urban Land Institute, 2024; US Water Alliance, 2023b). After receiving ArtPlace support for its multi‑year Creating Healthy Communities initiative, the University of Florida’s Center for Art in Medicine leadership advised the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in its efforts to tap artists to promote COVID‑19 vaccines (McKinley and Rella 2021). Other organizations such as PolicyLink and Local Initiatives Support Corporation have ceased or scaled back their national‑level creative placemaking work with reduced funding streams. At the municipal level, embedded artists within city government have become increasingly common (Cohen‑Cruz et al., n.d.). A few colleges and universities are developing creative‑placemaking majors (Lindsay 2021).

How Creative Placemaking “Works:” NEA and ArtPlace’s Frameworks This section elevates the NEA and ArtPlace’s culminating conceptual frameworks that explore how and why arts and culture‑based strategies can advance community objectives. Now 14 years out, the field faces less continued concerted commitment to creative placemaking as a unified cultural policy. Yet the need is pressing for arts and culture‑based solutions to help ameliorate significant challenges facing US communities. Practitioners can build on the decade plus of learning and research when shaping their strategies and programs, even with less for‑ malized support for a field of practice. These conceptual frameworks are the key starting place. In its theory of change for the Our Town program (see Figure 1.2.2), the NEA distills four creative placemaking “strategies.” To address their local community challenges, cross‑sector partners pair a range of arts, culture, and design‑based tactics to advance one of more of these strategies (National Endowment for the Arts 2021): • Envision: Imagine new possibilities for a community or place – a new future, a new way of overcoming a challenge, or a new approach to problem‑solving. • Connect: Bring together communities, people, places, and economic opportunity via physical spaces or new relationships. • Illuminate: bring new attention to or elevate key community assets and issues, voices or residents, local history, or cultural infrastructure. • Energize: Inject new or additional energy, resources, activity, people, or enthusiasm into a place, community issue, or local economy. ArtPlace also offers 13 ways that arts and culture support equitable community development (Hand et al. 2020). In the physical realm, arts and culture can (1) transform spaces and (2) reflect community identity. In the social sphere, arts and culture can (3) bridge differences, (4) ensure cultural continuity, (5) cultivate individual agency, (6) facilitate collaboration, and (7) advance well‑being. And lastly, in terms of systemic change, arts and culture can (8) heal community trauma, (9) center people, (10) build collective power, (11) make issues compelling, (12) imagine new approaches, and (13) generate resources. The list, presented as an interactive graphic with links to underpinning field‑scan research (Figure 1.2.3), is the result of a comprehensive meta‑analysis of ArtPlace’s five‑year long Translating Outcomes sector‑specific participatory research and working groups (ArtPlace America 2018). 31

Anne Gadwa Nicodemus

Figure 1.2.2 Theory of Change‑National Endowment for the Arts’ Our Town Program. Image courtesy of National Endowment for the Arts.

ArtPlace’s more expansive list has core commonalities with the NEA’s groupings. Both prominently emphasize imagining new approaches. Also note the similarities between: • “Bridging community” and “bringing people together.” • “Reflect community identity” and “elevate key community assets…local history.” • “Transform spaces” and “inject new or additional energy, resources, activity, people or enthusiasm into a place.” • “Make issues compelling” and “bring new attention to or elevate key community… issues.” Beyond the NEA and ArtPlace’s overarching conceptual frameworks, practitioners would benefit from accessing the wealth of existing creative placemaking documentation to do their work more effectively and ethically and connect it to relevant conceptual frameworks. For comprehensive book and journal compilations, see the creative placemaking issue of Commu‑ nity Development Investment Review (Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco 2014), How to Do Creative Placemaking (National Endowment for the Arts 2016), and Creative Placemak‑ ing Research, Theory, and Practice (Courage and McKeown 2019). For targeted queries into any of ten community development sectors, practitioners can do a deep dive into ArtPlace’s 32

Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail”

Figure 1.2.3 ArtPlace’s “Arts and culture can” tool (Hand et al. 2020). See https://creativeplace‑ makingresearch.org/for interactive version. Image courtesy of ArtPlace America.

topical field‑scan reports (ArtPlace America 2018). Organizations including Local Initiatives Support Corporation, Springboard for the Arts, Trust for Public Land, Smart Growth Amer‑ ica, and have developed practical toolkits and guides, including ones specific to parks or trans‑ portation (Clarke and Vest 2020; Local Initiatives Support Corporation, n.d.; Smart Growth America and Transportation for America 2021; Springboard for the Arts, 2024). PolicyLink has assembled its decade‑long, equity‑focused research, documentation, policy and technical assistance work for funders and practitioners in the field (PolicyLink, 2022). Forecast Public Arts’ digital publication Forward is an emerging important platform to capture timely think‑ ing on issues ranging from housing to health to climate change (Dolen 2020).

Momentum: Leading Work on the Climate Crisis and Repairing Democracy In the United States, and arguably globally, the climate crisis and threats to democracy may be the most critical societal issues. This chapter concludes by elevating leading arts‑and‑ cultural‑based work and resources on these issues. It aims to connect ideas and practice to inspire and accelerate the learning curves of urban and cultural planners and other cross‑ sector players seeking to address these issues. 33

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Climate Crisis “Climate change is no longer ‘just’ a crisis, but a full‑fledged emergency,” asserted the American Planning Association in its 2022 “Trend Report for Planners” (Hurtado et al. 2022), citing the International Panel of Climate Change (IPCC)’s (2021) conclusion that climate change impacts from the failure to sufficiently reduce greenhouse gas emissions are already here and that drastic and swift action will be needed to keep warming below 1.5°C. Globally, climate impacts have and will be borne disproportionately by developing, low‑income countries, and in the United States by low‑income communities and communi‑ ties of color. Planners/community developers are grappling with extreme weather and heat, wildfires, water scarcity, flooding, and sea level rise. Planners must also navigate and support infra‑ structure changes and regulations to decarbonize the grid, transition to electric cars, and fa‑ cilitate solar and wind energy. The 2022 Inflation Reduction Act’s climate change provisions constitute the United States’ single largest investment in climate mitigation and adaptation, totaling $369 billion (Hurtado et al. 2023).

Climate Crisis: Heat Response Case Study

Figure 1.2.4 Trust for Public Land staff member Josh Reaves debuts the Heat Response Pop‑cycle at the Philadelphia Horticultural Society Philadelphia Flower Show, 2021. Photo courtesy of Trust for Public Land.

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Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail” Heat Response: Creative Action for Philly’s Rising Temperatures (2020–2022) used arts‑based approaches to shine a light on the environmental justice issue of Philadelphia’s urban heat. Trust for Public Land (TPL), an organization that creates parks and protects land for people, collabo‑ rated with lead artist Eve Mosher, acclaimed for her creative work on the climate crisis. Local art‑ ists Amber Art and Design, Jenna Robb, and José Ortiz‑Pagán focused on three neighborhoods (Fairhill, Grays Ferry, and Southeast Philadelphia) with higher‑than‑average temperatures and poverty rates and racial and ethnic demographics that point to socioeconomic inequities. Their creative engagements included a Dia de los Muertos poetry workshop; a Spanish‑English color‑ ing book about a neighborhood superhero tree; and an artist designed cargo tricycle sporting the coloring book (Figure 1.2.4), colorful envelopes with urban heat messages printed four lan‑ guages, cooling mullein tea ingredients and a recipe, and free custom‑made popsicles. Artists and community participants deepened their understanding of urban heat as an environmental justice issue. The artists produced several tools that continue to creatively engage people in conversa‑ tions about urban heat and its inequities – the “SEEDLINGS” coloring book, “Future Philly” short films, a sketchbook sharing the “how and why” of the tools and tactics, and a multi‑media ArcGIS StoryMap (Laramee Kidd and Mangar 2022; Trust for Public Land et al. 2023). In 2022, the EPA recognized the project with a $12,000 “Let’s Talk About Heat Challenge” prize.

How, then, can arts‑and‑culture‑based strategies help address the climate crisis? The Heat Response example illustrates their potential to “make issues compelling” (Hand et al. 2020) and “bring new attention to or elevate key community…issues, voices or residents…” (Na‑ tional Endowment for the Arts 2021). Through its radical imaginings (“Future Philly” short films, “SEEDLINGS” coloring book, and “El Sombrero” shade structure prototyping) Heat Response also demonstrates the ability of arts‑and‑culture‑based strategies’ to “imagine new approaches” (Hand et al. 2020) or “new possibilities for a community” (National Endow‑ ment for the Arts 2021). Several written resources also synthesize the potential for arts‑and‑culture‑based strategies to address the climate crisis. The topic is situated within one of ArtPlace’s ten sector‑specific field scans: environment and energy research. “Farther, Faster, Together: How Arts and Cul‑ ture Can Accelerate Environmental Progress” prominently features ArtPlace’s cross‑cutting themes of “making issues more compelling” and “bridging different groups” (Helicon Col‑ laborative 2018). It also emphasizes the potential for arts, culture, and design‑based tactics to engage communities in participatory processes and build community capacity/activism. Forecast Public Arts’ newest Forward issue focuses specifically on the climate crisis and brings the dialogue to the present day (2023). Through nearly a dozen international case studies, it highlights artists’ abilities to amplify urgency, mitigate a climate threat, facilitate community‑led solutions, communicate complex data, imagine innovating preparedness so‑ lutions, and change the climate narrative. For planners working specifically on extreme‑heat, Cool It With Art offers a practical guide on using art to tackle rising temperatures (Metro‑ politan Area Planning Council 2021). For those working at the intersection of the climate crisis and art, critical funding momen‑ tum may also be building. As previously mentioned, the NEA has prioritized Our Town pro‑ jects that address climate‑related challenges within a community for its fiscal year 2024 grants. 35

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The Environmental Protection Agency announced its first ever artist in residence program to support water restoration and climate resiliency (Office of Water, US Environmental Protec‑ tion Agency 2024). In January 2024, Smart Growth America debuted Healing our Highways, a grant program to “generate creative ideas and activities that build knowledge, connections, and power within disadvantaged communities most harmed by transportation systems and climate change” (Cova 2024). Lastly, Forecast Public Art’s next stipend‑supported Change Lab Research Fellow will focus on Climate Resilience in Public Art (Dolen 2024).

Repairing Democracy In the realm of repairing democracy, the world has more closed autocracies than liberal democracies for the first time in two decades; the decline in level of democracy is most dra‑ matic in the Asia‑Pacific region, but Eastern Europe, Central Asia, Latin America, and the Caribbean are all back to levels last seen around the end of the Cold War (V‑Dem Institute 2023). The threats have been felt in beacons of liberal democracy. The United States suf‑ fered a mob insurrection on its capitol on January 6, 2021, incited by then sitting President Donald Trump, now the leading Republican Party presidential candidate. In Europe, the EU recently released a report that explores the links between democracy and participation in cultural activities. It cited longstanding concerns regarding disaffection with formal civic and democratic processes, exacerbated by changes in media consumption and misinformation risks, and the economic and political aftermath of COVID‑19 and the war in Ukraine (Euro‑ pean Commission, Directorate‑General for Education, Youth, Sport and Culture, ECORYS, and Hammonds 2023, 72). At the local level, urban and cultural “planners are not responsible for preserving a function‑ ing democracy” (Hurtado et al. 2023, 72). They, for instance, have little or no direct ability to counter social media misinformation or the manipulation of political boundaries (gerry‑ mandering) for undue advantage, “but their work is impacted by these worsening threats to democracy” (Hurtado et al. 2023, 72). As public trust in government erodes, for instance, planners face an increase in chaos and beratement during public meetings (Hurtado et  al. 2022). In an extreme example, misinformation‑fueled conspiracy theories resulted in death threats to the professor credited with the 15‑minute city urban planning concept (Hsu 2023). How then can arts‑and‑culture‑based strategies help repair democracy? Interestingly, re‑ pairing democracy was never codified as a “pillar” issue during creative placemaking’s cul‑ tural policy heyday  –  perhaps because its importance in the United States increased after creative placemaking’s policy decline. Links between cultural participation/art and civic en‑ gagement, collective efficacy, social capital, social cohesion – what many view as necessary precursors for a functioning democracy – are, however, well‑trodden territory in the related fields of civic practice art, social practice art, artistic activism, etc. Civic Engagement and the Arts (Stern and Seifert 2009) offers an excellent entry point to the nested concepts and WE‑Making (Engh et al. 2021) provides a detailed conceptual framework and supporting evidence base on the relationship between place‑based arts and cultural strategies and social cohesion and equitable community well‑being. Co‑Creative Placekeeping in Los Angeles (Shannon et al. 2024) and Tom Borrup and Andrew Zitcer’s Democracy as Civic Practice: Weaving a Culture of Civic Life (2025) both offer promising new primers on creative and cul‑ tural practices that build democratic ways of working and interacting in local communities. 36

Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail”

Repairing Democracy: Portland Works Case Study Since  1993, Art At Work, a national initiative founded by Marty Pottenger, has partnered with communities, organizations, and municipal governments to put creativity to work ad‑ dressing non‑arts‑based challenges. Portland Works, one of 15 projects in its eight‑year part‑ nership with the City of Portland Maine, sought to build enduring, authentic relationships between municipal and grassroots leaders that would better equip the City to meet increas‑ ing challenges. Art At Work’s research in response to a series of contentious events within and between city departments, unions, activists, police, and immigrant/refugee communities, revealed that city staff at all levels had not yet built relationships with grassroots leaders or communities outside of traditional municipal structures. Portland Works was designed to address the challenges brought by individuals coming together for the first time amidst conflicts and crises. The project’s timeline included confrontations between Occupy Portland and police, immigrant taxi drivers’ protests over new city regulations, impending municipal unions strikes over pay and job conditions, and internal racial discrimination lawsuits to name a few. Participants included individuals from many “sides” of those issues including

Figure 1.2.5 Portland Works workshop participants, 2011: Art At Work Executive Artistic Director Marty Pottenger, Aserela of Maine Program Coordinator Alfred Jacob, and Portland Police Chief Michael Sauschuck. Photo courtesy of Art At Work.

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Anne Gadwa Nicodemus Occupy Portland and the police chief, head of the Public Works department and one of the union’s presidents, the leader of the South Sudanese organization and Portland’s mayor, as well as the head of Economic Development (Figure 1.2.5). Art At Work connected city staff, elected officials, and resident community leaders from business, faith, activist, education, arts, and medicine. Through strategic art‑making/challenge‑based workshops over several months, they explored contemporary issues through the lenses of civics, history, life stories, and the “state of the city.” Each workshop integrated the unique imaginative and practical elements required by that specific creative discipline – collage, poetry, storytelling, chorale singing, emergency scenarios – to deepen understanding and relationships among the partici‑ pants. The vulnerability, risk, and courage necessary to make art was the essential element in creating conditions for sustainable, authentic relationships to flourish in these increasingly challenging times (Art At Work, n.d.).

Nested concepts (civic engagement, collective efficacy, social capital, social cohesion) also surface in Our Town and ArtPlace’s respective theory of change and summative visual analysis. Applying the Portland Works example against the ArtPlace and NEA respective conceptual frameworks, arts‑and‑culture‑based strategies clearly can “Bridge differences” or “Connect: Bring together communities, people, places…via…new relationships,” as well as help “Imagine new approaches” or “Envision: Imagine…a new approach to problem solving.” Momentum for increased resources and US cultural policy coordination appears more modest than for the climate crisis. One exception stands out: in keeping with an execu‑ tive order from President Biden calling for the integration of arts and culture to help heal the country and bridge divisions, the NEA recently announced a $2  million commitment to partner on the National Endowment for the Humanities’ United We Stand: Connect‑ ing through Culture (National Endowment for the Arts 2024b). With stated aims to deter hate‑fueled violence, its support spans humanities (and now arts) programming that fosters cross‑cultural understanding and empathy or promotes civic engagement and social cohe‑ sion through strategic partnerships, community‑building, and ongoing public engagement (National Endowment for the Humanities 2023).

Lessons Learned • Creative placemaking’s unprecedented emergence demonstrates that it is possible to achieve coordinated cultural policy, even in the fragmented US system. Several factors, including emphasis on cross‑sector collaboration and incentives of new access and influ‑ ence, underpinned this unifying model. These can be explored for replicability in other places or times. In the United States, evidence suggests that emerging cultural policy, albeit more nuanced but less coordinated, builds on the cross‑sector collaboration and broad community benefits central to creative placemaking. • The practice of creative placemaking generated a tremendous volume of wisdom and les‑ sons learned. These 14 years of practice have the potential to compress today’s practition‑ ers’ learning curves for how artists, culture bearers, and arts and cultural organizations 38

Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail”

and enterprises can help address critical issues. Key starting places, the NEA and Art‑ Place’s conceptual frameworks, articulate how creative placemaking “works,” such as the potential of arts and culture‑based strategies to help imagine new approaches, bring people together, and make issues compelling. The other resources highlighted provide practitioners both practical toolkits and comprehensive book and journal treatments. • The climate crisis and repairing democracy are arguably the most pressing issues facing society today. The Heat Response and Portland Works case studies illustrate leading practice at the intersection of these issues and arts and culture‑based strategies. They provide a vehicle to explore the ways in which the NEA and ArtPlace conceptual frame‑ works bear out. A discussion of key publications and funding momentum orients prac‑ titioners seeking to work at the intersection of art and the climate crisis or repairing democracy to critical relevant resources. Those practicing urban planning and community development benefit from different tools in their toolboxes to get traction on intractable problems. Arts and culture‑based strategies have unique qualities that can help unstick sticky issues and be a part of larger solutions. The scale has changed, but the value proposition remains the same and even more impor‑ tant. That is creative placemaking’s continued legacy.

Notes 1 The “informal” or “unincorporated” arts sector includes participation in arts activities that are organized informally with little or no recorded expenses, income, or payrolls (Peters and Cherbo 1998; Wali et al. 2002). 2 As Kreidler (1996) explains, “A Ponzi Scheme is an illegal form of fraud in which investors are promised high rates of return that are achieved in the short run by paying early investors with funds derived from later investors. The seemingly high rates of return achieved by the early inves‑ tors serve as a magnate for later investors who believe that they too can become rich. Inevitably, many investors lose all or much of their committed resources.” 3 Being “underwater” on a mortgage means one owes more than a home is worth. This happened en masse in 2007 when the sub‑prime lending induced housing bubble burst.

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Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail” Hughes, Jen. 2021. “An Annotated History of Creative Placemaking at the Federal Level.” In The Routledge Handbook of Placemaking, edited by Cara Courage, Tom Borrup, Maria Rosario Jack‑ son, Kylie Legge, Anita McKeown, Louise Platt, and Jason Schupbach, 27–37. Oxon and New York: Routledge. Hurtado, Petra, Sagar Shah, Joseph DeAngelis, and Alexsandra Gomez. 2022. “2022 Trend Report for Planners.” Trend Report for Planners. Washington, DC: American Planning Association and Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. https://planning‑org‑uploaded‑media.s3.amazonaws.com/publi‑ cation/download_pdf/APA_2022_Trend_Report_for_Planners.pdf. Hurtado, Petra, Sagar Shah, Joseph DeAngelis, and Alexsandra Gomez. 2023. “2023 Trend Report for Planners.” Trend Report for Planners. Washington, DC: American Planning As‑ sociation and Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. https://www.planning.org/publications/ document/9263250/. Ivey, Bill. 2008. Arts, Inc.: How Greed and Neglect Have Destroyed Our Cultural Rights. Berkley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Ivey, William J. 1999. “Bridging the For‑Profit and Not‑for‑Profit Arts.” Journal of Arts Manage‑ ment, Law, and Society 29 (2): 97–100. Iyengar, Sunil. 2019. “From Indicators to Face Validity to Theory ‑‑ and Back Again: Measuring Outcomes of U.S. Creative Placemaking Projects.” In Creative Placemaking: Research, Theory, and Practice, edited by Cara Courage and Anita McKeown, 187–99. Routledge Studies in Human Geography. London and New York: Routledge. Killacky, John. 2014. “Blood Sacrifice.” Vtdigger. January 16, 2014. https://vtdigger.org/2014/01/16/ john‑killacky‑blood‑sacrifice/. Koch, Cynthia. 1998. “The Contest for American Culture: A Leadership Case Study on The NEA and NEH Funding Crisis.” Public Talk, no. 2. https://www.upenn.edu/static/pnc/ptkoch.html. Kreidler, John. 1996. “Leverage Lost: Nonprofit Arts in the Post‑Ford Era.” In Motion Magazine, February 16, 1996. http://www.inmotionmagazine.com/lost2.html. Landesman, Rocco. 2012. Exit Interview with Rocco Landesman. http://blog.westaf.org/2012/12/ exit‑interview‑with‑rocco‑landesman.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_ campaign=Feed:+BarrysBlog+(Barry%27s+Blog). Laramee Kidd, Susannah, and Abygail Mangar. 2022. “Heat Response: Report.” Metris Arts Con‑ sulting. https://www.metrisarts.com/wp‑content/uploads/2022/11/Heat‑Response‑Report_FINAL. pdf. Lindsay, Drew. 2021. “Creative License: Inside the Twists and Turns of a $150 Million Bid to Estab‑ lish Artists as Community Builders.” The Chronicle of Philanthropy, December 1, 2021. Markusen, Ann. 2012. “Fuzzy Concepts, Proxy Data: Why Indicators Won’t Track Creative Placemaking Success.” Createquity (blog). November 9, 2012. http://createquity.com/2012/11/ fuzzy‑concepts‑proxy‑data‑why‑indicators‑wont‑track‑creative‑placemaking‑success.html. Markusen, Ann, and Anne Gadwa. 2010a. “Creative Placemaking.” White Paper. Washington, DC: Mayors’ Institute On City Design, National Endowment for the Arts. https://www.arts.gov/sites/ default/files/CreativePlacemaking‑Paper.pdf. Markusen, Ann, and Anne Gadwa. 2010b. “Arts and Culture in Urban or Regional Planning: A Re‑ view and Research Agenda.” Journal of Planning Education and Research 29 (3): 379–91. https:// doi.org/10.1177/0739456X09354380. Markusen, Ann, and Anne Gadwa Nicodemus. 2019. “Creative Placemaking: Reflection on a 21st‑Century American Arts Policy Initiative.” In Creative Placemaking: Research, Theory and Practice, edited by Cara Courage and Anita McKeown, 222. Routledge Studies in Human Geog‑ raphy. Oxon and New York: Routledge. IPCC, 2021. “Summary for Policymakers.” In Climate Change 2021: The Physical Science Basis. Contribution of Working Group I to the Sixth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, edited by Masson‑Delmotte, Valérie, Panmao Zhai, Anna Pirani, Sarah L. Connors, Clotilde Péan, Sophie Berger, Nada Caud, et al., 3–32. Cambridge and New York: Cam‑ bridge University Press. https://doi.org/10.1017/9781009157896.001.

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Anne Gadwa Nicodemus McKinley, Brandon, and Natalie Rella. 2021. “CDC Partners with UF Center for Arts in Medicine to Increase Vaccine Confidence through Arts and Culture.” UF College of the Arts: In the Loop (blog). August 12, 2021. https://arts.ufl.edu/in‑the‑loop/news/cdc‑partners‑with‑uf‑center‑for‑arts‑ in‑medicine‑to‑increase‑vaccine‑confidence‑through‑arts‑and‑culture/. Metropolitan Area Planning Council. 2021. “Cool It with Art: A How‑To Guide for Tackling Rising Temperatures with Art in Our Communities.” Metropolitan Area Planning Council. https://www. mapc.org/wp‑content/uploads/2021/07/Cool‑it‑with‑Art‑Final‑Report‑07132021.pdf. Morley, Elaine, and Mary K. Winkler. 2014. “Assessing a Set of Indicators for Creative Placemak‑ ing: Reflections From the Field.” Community Development Investment Review 10 (2): 49–55. Moss, Ian David. 2012. “Creative Placemaking Has an Outcomes Problem.” Createquity (blog). May 9, 2012. http://createquity.com/2012/05/creative‑placemaking‑has‑an‑outcomes‑problem.html. National Endowment for the Arts. 2012. “How the United States Funds the Arts.” Washington, DC: National Endowment for the Arts. https://www.arts.gov/impact/research/publications/ how‑united‑states‑funds‑arts. National Endowment for the Arts. 2014. “Art Works for America Strategic Plan, FY 2014– 2018.” National Endowment for the Arts. https://www.arts.gov/sites/default/files/NEAStrategic‑ Plan2014‑2018.pdf. National Endowment for the Arts. 2016. How to Do Creative Placemaking: An Action‑Oriented Guide to Arts in Community Development. National Endowment for the Arts. https://www.arts. gov/sites/default/files/How‑to‑do‑Creative‑Placemaking_Jan2017.pdf. National Endowment for the Arts. 2019. “Grant Guidelines.” 2019. https://www.arts.gov/ grants‑organizations/our‑town/grant‑program‑description. National Endowment for the Arts. 2021. “Our Town: A Framework for Understanding and Measur‑ ing the National Endowment for the Arts’ Creative Placemaking Grants Program.” Washington, DC. https://www.arts.gov/sites/default/files/NEA‑Our‑Town‑Resource‑Guide‑2.5.2021.pdf. National Endowment for the Arts. 2024. “Get Inspired.” Creative Placemaking Technical Assis‑ tance. Accessed August 15, 2024. https://www.creativeplacemaking.us/get‑inspired. National Endowment for the Arts. 2024. “Groundbreaking Arts Summit Propels National Con‑ versation on Healing, Bridging, and Thriving.” Press release. National Endowment for the Arts. January 31, 2024. https://www.arts.gov/news/press‑releases/2024/groundbreaking‑arts‑summit‑ healing‑bridging‑thriving. National Endowment for the Arts. 2024. “Our Town Grant Program Details.” National En‑ dowment for the Arts. Accessed August 15, 2024. https://www.arts.gov/sites/default/files/ FY25‑Our‑Town‑Guidelines_5‑30‑24.pdf. National Endowment for the Arts and Activate Research, Inc. 2019. “U.S. Patterns of Arts Participa‑ tion: A Full Report from the 2017 Survey of Public Participation in the Arts.” Washington, DC: National Endowment for the Arts. https://www.arts.gov/sites/default/files/US_Patterns_of_Arts_ ParticipationRevised.pdf. National Endowment for the Humanities. 2023. “NEH Awards $2.8 Million for Nation‑ wide United We Stand: Connecting Through Culture Programming.” Press release. The Na‑ tional Endowment for the Humanities. September 22, 2023. https://www.neh.gov/news/ neh‑state‑and‑jurisdictional‑councils‑united‑we‑stand. Office of Water, US Environmental Protection Agency. 2024. “EPA Announces Inaugural Artist‑in‑Residence Program in Partnership with the National Endowment for the Arts.” News release. EPA. United States. January 30, 2024. https://www.epa.gov/newsreleases/ epa‑announces‑inaugural‑artist‑residence‑program‑partnership‑national‑endowment‑arts. Peters, Monnie, and Joni Maya Cherbo. 1998. “The Missing Sector: The Unincorporated Arts.” The Journal of Arts Management, Law, and Society 28 (2): 115–28. https://www.semanticscholar.org/ paper/The-Missing-Sector%3A-The-Unincorporated-Arts-Peters-Cherbo/888244da8a55ec1e38e e27db6f994c0d2adb969f [Accessed October 23, 2024]. PolicyLink. 2022. “Arts, Culture, and Community Development.” Arts, Culture, and Commu‑ nity Development. Accessed March 4, 2024. https://communitydevelopment.art/About_CDI/ arts‑culture‑equitable‑development.

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Creative Placemaking’s “Long Tail” Schupbach, Jason. 2021. “Preface: Placemaking in the Age of COVID‑19 and Protest.” In The Rout‑ ledge Handbook of Placemaking, edited by Cara Courage, Tom Borrup, Maria Rosario Jackson, Kylie Legge, Anita McKeown, Louise Platt, and Jason Schupbach, 11–13. Oxon and New York: Routledge. Shannon, Brettany, David C. Sloane, and Anne Bray. 2024. Co‑Creative Placekeeping in Los Ange‑ les: Artists and Communities Working Together. Oxon and New York: Routledge. Sidford, Holly. 2011. “Fusing Arts, Culture and Social Change.” High Impact Strategies for Phi‑ lanthropy. Washington, DC: National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy. http://www.ncrp. org/paib/arts‑culture‑philanthropy. Smart Growth America. 2024. “Marian Liou.” Smart Growth America. Accessed August 1, 2023. https://smartgrowthamerica.org/about‑us/our‑staff/marian‑liou/. Smart Growth America and Transportation for America. 2021. “The Scenic Route Guide to Arts, Culture, and Transportation.” The Scenic Route. March 25, 2021. https://transportation.art/. Springboard for the Arts. 2024. “Community Building: Toolkits for Vibrant People and Places.” Springboard for the Arts. Accessed March 4, 2024. https://springboardforthearts.org/toolkits/ community‑building/. Stern, Mark J., and Susan Seifert. 2008. “From Creative Economy to Creative Society.” Philadelphia, PA: Social Impact of the Arts Project and The Reinvestment Fund. https://www.reinvestment.com/ wp‑content/uploads/2022/03/From_Creative_Economy_to_Creative_Society.pdf. Stern, Mark J., and Susan Seifert. 2009. “Civic Engagement and the Arts: Issues of Conceptualization and Measurement.” Arts and Civic Engagement Impact Initiative. Philadelphia, PA: Animating Democracy. http://animatingdemocracy.org/resource/civic‑engagement‑and‑arts‑issues‑conceptualization‑ and‑measurement. Stern, Mark J., and Susan C. Seifert. 2007. “Cultivating ‘Natural’ Cultural Districts.” The Reinvest‑ ment Fund. https://www.reinvestment.com/insights/cultivating‑natural‑cultural‑districts/. Trust for Public Land, Susannah Laramee Kidd, Abygail Mangar, Abi Mlo, and Eve Mosher. 2023. “Heat Response: Creative Action for Philly’s Rising Temperatures.” ArcGIS StoryMaps. February 7, 2023. https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/8bac6b8a91ca4a5c9073f04c38dd80c8. Urban Land Institute. 2024. “ULI Fellows Program.” Urban Land Institute. Accessed August 1, 2023. https://americas.uli.org/senior‑resident‑fellows/juanita‑hardy/. US Water Alliance. 2023a. “One Water Artist‑in‑Residence Program.” US Water Alliance. Accessed September 19, 2023. https://uswateralliance.org/programs/other‑initiatives/one‑water‑artist‑in‑ residence‑program/. US Water Alliance. 2023b. “Staff.” US Water Alliance. Accessed August 1, 2023. https://uswateral‑ liance.org/about/staff. US Water Alliance. 2023c. “Water, Arts, and Culture Accelerator.” US Water Alliance. Accessed Sep‑ tember 19, 2023. https://uswateralliance.org/initiatives/water‑arts‑and‑culture‑accelerator. V‑Dem Institute. 2023. “Democracy Report 2023: Defiance in the Face of Autocratization.” De‑ mocracy Report. Gothenburg: University of Gothenburg. https://www.v‑dem.net/documents/29/ V‑dem_democracyreport2023_lowres.pdf. Wali, Alaka, Rebecca Severson, and Mario Longoni. 2002. “Informal Arts: Finding Cohesion, Ca‑ pacity and Other Cultural Benefits in Unexpected Places.” Chicago, IL: Columbia College, Chi‑ cago Center for Arts Policy. Wyszomirski, Margaret Jane. 2008. “Field Building: The Road to Cultural Policy Studies in the United States.” In Understanding the Arts and Creative Sector in the United States, 39–57. Rut‑ gers Series on the Public Life of the Arts. New Brunswick, NJ and London: Rutgers University Press. Zitcer, Andrew. 2018. “Making Up Creative Placemaking.” Journal of Planning and Education Re‑ search, 1–11. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0739456X18773424 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Zitcer, Andrew. 2023. Personal interview Interview by Anne Gadwa Nicodemus. Zoom. Zitcer, Andrew, and Johanna Taylor. 2022. “Creative Placemaking in Transition.” Conference pres‑ entation presented at the Urban Affairs Association Conference, Washington, DC, April 14.

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1.3 THE IMPORTANCE OF STORYTELLING TO THE INDIVIDUAL, THE COMMUNITY, AND ITS IMPLICATIONS FOR PUBLIC MENTAL HEALTH David O. Fakunle,1,2,3 Nymisha Herrera Nimmagadda, David Feldman4 and Arjun Chanmugam5 Introduction Health insecurity, including economic and financial hardship, within historically disadvantaged neighborhoods is prevalent in the United States. This hardship is true even when these neighborhoods are near prestigious institutions and high‑resource areas, as reflected by sharp spatial differences in socioeconomic outcomes in cities like Baltimore, Maryland. To date, traditional investments in health resources, including from government, the private sector and academia, have had a perpetually insufficient impact on these communities’ economic and social growth. For residents in challenged communities, the pervasive threats of violence, addiction, limited availability of healthcare, the lack of culturally relevant educational modalities and the shortage of financial and economic resources all conspire to have a negative impact on physical and mental health. Importantly, the overwhelming collective stigma faced by residents in these areas serves to reinforce a sentiment of personal failure, rather than viewing their context as a result of collateral damage stemming from structural and resource inequities. This negatively reinforcing spiral may be one of the many factors that impede positive outcomes for residents in these communities, while contiguous areas enjoy vastly different outcomes. Side‑by‑side comparisons of Baltimore neighborhoods, for example, show significant differences in infant and maternal mortality, income and wealth and education as well as in life expectancy. Among the collective challenges facing systematically disadvantaged communities in the United States is mental health, of which a major contributor is loneliness. In 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General Dr.  Vivek Murthy declared loneliness, defined as the perceived lack of meaningful or close relationships, a public health epidemic. Loneliness is associated with a greater risk of stroke, depression, anxiety and premature death, among other ailments, and disadvantaged circumstances are especially susceptible to it. For example, loneliness among adults earning less than $50,000 per year is ten percentage points higher than those earning DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-5

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above this amount (Office of the U.S. Surgeon General, 2023). The vexing persistence of areas with high‑resource deprivation, coupled with a growing prevalence of loneliness among other public mental health issues, are exacerbating long‑established health dispari‑ ties (Jamalishahni et al., 2023). In many of these afflicted areas, population density is high, yet many residents attest to a sense of isolation, adding to the burden of loneliness. A central question arises: can resource‑deprived areas rebuild and/or strengthen a sense of community from within to overcome challenges in their community? Renowned develop‑ mental psychologist Dr. Urie Bronfenbrenner (2000) posited through his Ecological Systems Theory that the extent, strength and depth of interactions between and within various so‑ cietal ecosystems – like communities – navigated during a person’s life course, significantly contribute to that person’s health and well‑being trajectory. Likewise, renowned psycholo‑ gist Dr.  Abraham Maslow (1943) posited that the path to whole humanity included the satisfaction of needs from basic physiological desires to the embrace of one’s existential purpose. Throughout history, society has progressed when there has been a collective ap‑ proach to problem‑solving, including coordination and integrated activity. Human beings have come together repeatedly to survive against insurmountable odds – not only to succeed but also to thrive. Considering this, can communities with a high deprivation index rebuild within a more positive model and if so, what elements are needed (Maroko et al., 2016)? Additional resources are always welcome in such situations but may be insufficient without targeted efforts to rebuild community, foster interdependence and build cooperation. Build‑ ing community requires an internal understanding of the myriad of issues that exist, the microcultures that have evolved and the impact on the individuals who live therein. Exter‑ nally imposed solutions can have a limited impact, but internally derived solutions forged from common occurrences, shared beliefs and mutual emotional experiences can provide an interconnection that will resonate with individuals and form the basis of community. One way to begin the process of sharing mutual experiences and cultivating collective wisdom is through the time‑honored technique of storytelling, specifically when it reflects personal and community narratives. This idea is embedded in the Existential Determinants of Health ini‑ tiative, which has shown to be an effective way to help individuals and communities rebuild, interconnect and grow.

Storytelling within Arts, Culture and Health Artistic and cultural expressions are essential elements of human experience and have been from the initial stages of our existence on Earth. For many communities around the world, the utilization of creativity serves as the primary modality by which meaning and under‑ standing are conveyed both across and within groups of people. Such expressions, and the spaces in which they occur, also play a role in catalyzing quality health through several di‑ mensions of human well‑being, and for many cultures those benefits are both embedded and implied. Cultural and artistic expressions have been present since the beginning stages of human civilization; storytelling has and continues to be elemental in the sharing of thoughts, feel‑ ings, knowledge, understanding, wisdom or skills. Storytelling serves as an approach by which humans can establish and maintain emotional connections with other human beings through the transmission and acceptance of living experiences. Narrative expression is the 45

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best – if not only – method by which the context of many cultures can be explained. Along with public health’s more intentional assessment of the impact of arts and culture on human well‑being, storytelling is garnering greater acknowledgment and implementation within the field because of its utilitarian value within research, practice, education, advocacy and activ‑ ism (Banks, 2012; Sonke et al., 2019; Fakunle et al., 2021). Within its practice‑based capabilities, storytelling and story‑listening can serve as an effec‑ tive conduit for expressing, navigating and processing suppressed, underappreciated and/or unrecognized social‑emotional and psychological impediments. Furthermore, other creative practices like the performing arts can provide a forum for the articulation of individually and collectively derived wisdom. Each creative event can serve as an inspiration for change to others affected by similar circumstances. These events, whether small or large, can function as a beacon in the community to express shared concerns, including how their ecosystems may actively and/or passively inhibit holistic health. These opportunities provide a means to voice sentiments and expressions in a culturally relevant manner, to positively influence future behaviors that are concordant with ideals rather than resulting in unproductive or unhealthy coping mechanisms which can lead to isolation, loneliness and maladaptive be‑ haviors like substance use disorder (SUD). Even as the benefits of storytelling are well established, it is important to acknowledge that it has become far less intimate with the rise of technologies like the internet. In its origi‑ nal form, storytelling was interpersonal, synchronous and participatory, precisely because one had to be in the same place at the same time to experience the story. Today, however, stories can now be communicated asynchronously, in complete isolation from the audience, via a range of mediums, like books, radio and videos, and distributed across vast distances instantaneously. While the benefits to this expansion are profound, the drawback is that sto‑ rytelling may lack the personal connection that makes it so salient. As technology advances, there is less of a dependence on the mutual cooperativity of others. As the phenomenon of hyper‑individualization grows, there is a chance that it may minimize interpersonal coopera‑ tion and mutual interdependence as people spend more time with ever‑present, appealing technologies in isolation rather than gathering or working cooperatively. Intentional efforts to practice intimate and synchronized storytelling could help society overcome the epidemic of loneliness by reintroducing genuine relation building with the inclusion of in‑person acquaintanceship. The Existential Determinants of Health initiative offers a promising approach in this regard.

The Existential Determinants of Health (E.D.O.H.) Initiative Funded by a grant from Johns Hopkins University (JHU), the Existential Determinants of Health Initiative was created by a team with various types of expertise, including faculty from JHU, and individuals from WombWork Productions, a Baltimore‑based performing arts company, and Virtues Matter, an organization that teaches and facilitates understand‑ ing of positive intrinsic qualities (“virtues”) for social‑emotional health along with support from partners including the Charm City Care Connection, The National Great Blacks In Wax Museum, Amazing Grace Lutheran Church, Fulton Bank and Planet Fitness. Together, individuals from these organizations created mechanisms for self‑expression and collective acknowledgment through mutually shared sentiments and emotions. This initiative is an 46

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approach that attempts to mitigate past and current traumatic experiences and overcome the challenges faced by communities due to systemic disadvantages and relative lack of re‑ sources. More so, E.D.O.H. was crafted with the premise that planned programming inten‑ tionally grounded in creative expressions and cultural practices, along with the intentional incorporation of essential tangible and social capital conducive to holistic well‑being, could serve as a primary driving force for comprehensively addressing persistent public health is‑ sues. Fostering a sense of community through creative expressions and a focus on positive human qualities is an underutilized strategy, but one that was successfully demonstrated by initiative partners. Simply put, E.D.O.H. is a method to facilitate the process of individ‑ ual and collective rediscovery. To do so, the approach utilizes local storytelling along with community‑based organizations to foster an environment where locally generated collective wisdom could be discussed or displayed in art or theater, and most importantly, voluntarily and intentionally internalized. A central theme to addressing the needs of E.D.O.H.’s target population is to build inter‑ dependence and strengthen community participation. The initial target population included Baltimore residents who identified as having experienced trauma and its manifestations, including substance use disorder, alcohol use disorder, opioid use disorder or any form of mental health challenge regardless of official diagnosis. The goal of E.D.O.H. is to help over‑ come the sense of victimization that is pervasive among individuals who have had significant trauma in their lives and address the resultant ubiquitous sense of loneliness that often cre‑ ates a self‑sustaining negative spiral that is especially inimical to the most vulnerable. A criti‑ cal piece underlying E.D.O.H.’s process was to help participants reframe their own narrative by finding words and culturally relevant expressions that adequately represent their hopes and that more clearly describe who they are in their own story of life. Through purposefully facilitated sessions with an emphasis on storytelling and narra‑ tives, E.D.O.H. aimed to establish mechanisms that facilitated individuals recognizing that they can, should and need to contribute to the solutions for their community. Internally derived solutions have the advantage of being contextually appropriate as well as serv‑ ing to reinforce the self‑worth and motivation of the individuals offering the insights. Supplementing this motivation with formal training and continued exploration of sup‑ pressed sentiments can lead to the adoption of highly adaptive behaviors. Specifically, integrating virtues explicitly into storytelling can significantly amplify its impact and rel‑ evance, especially in addressing mental health challenges, and can help supplant negative internal dialogues through a reorientation of perspective (i.e., speaking the language of virtues). Storytelling intertwined with qualities such as acknowledgement, appreciation, respect, understanding and love – the existential determinants of health – becomes a po‑ tent medium for inspiring and meaningful engagement. In turn, the embedded virtues within narratives play a crucial role in grounded how problems faced by individuals and communities should be addressed. Moreso, the narratives foster personal growth, mind‑ fulness, empathy and positive behavior change. For example, an individual who recounts their story that highlights resilience serves not only to reinforce the ideals of the storyteller but can also inspire other individuals to persevere through their own similar challenges. Using the concepts set forth by Virtues Matter, a discussion of a universal virtue helps to promote spontaneous narratives from participants and often results in exploration of the value of that virtue. 47

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As another example, narratives of forgiveness can teach the importance of letting go of past grievances for mental peace and serve as inspiration for others to similarly let go of their as well. E.D.O.H. methodologies have demonstrated that in these facilitated groups, one story prompts another participant toward a similar story often leading to a discussion of the virtue in everyday life – often with concrete suggestions from the participants themselves. Interestingly while the actual didactics of the messaging may be remembered, it is often the sentiment of positivity and growth that helps to drive future participation. The power in a person being able to turn their pain into passion, and tapping into that power, both individually and collectively, is at the core of E.D.O.H.’s philosophy. Addition‑ ally, E.D.O.H.’s vision is for participants to be more motivated and better trained to enter the workforce, eschew violence, avoid maladaptive behaviors and continue a journey of growth and self‑actualization, both individually and collectively, at the conclusion of their engagement. From a long‑term perspective, the goal is that solutions developed by partici‑ pants for their community can have lasting benefits and can be replicated in other communi‑ ties with similar challenges.

E.D.O.H.’s Methodology E.D.O.H.’s methodology utilizes four health domains (‘pillars’) and the framework utilized by Virtues Matter (adapted from their parent organization, The Virtues Project, a Canadian based organization). Over the course of three to six months, participants intentionally fo‑ cus on the following goals: rebuild the body, steady the mind, heal the spirit and grow the wallet. E.D.O.H.’s foundation is based on the belief that all four areas should be addressed as each has a significant impact on overall quality of life. The Virtues Project (2023), with its five strategies, are universally applicable and in this case. E.D.O.H. facilitates activi‑ ties and instruction to provide a holistic approach to nurturing health in its multifaceted forms  –  mental, physical and financial  –  while leveraging the power of storytelling as a means of expression and connection. The Five Strategies are: 1. Speak the Language of Virtues: In addressing mental, physical and financial health, us‑ ing virtues language promotes positive self‑expression and empowerment. It encourages individuals to articulate their health journeys and financial goals with optimism and re‑ silience, fostering a mindset conducive to overcoming challenges in these interconnected areas of life. 2. Recognize Teachable Moments: Every challenge is seen as a teachable moment. This strategy empowers individuals to perceive setbacks not as failures but as opportunities for growth and learning, crucial for maintaining perseverance and resilience in areas like health management and financial planning. 3. Set Clear Boundaries: Establishing clear boundaries is vital for well‑being. This strategy involves creating respectful limits and realistic goals in all aspects of health, encourag‑ ing individuals to understand and manage their capacities and resources effectively, thus promoting a balanced and sustainable lifestyle. 4. Honor the Spirit: This strategy involves appreciating the interconnectedness of men‑ tal, physical and financial health and how they contribute to a person’s overall well‑being. Honoring the spirit means recognizing the individual’s holistic journey, 48

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incorporating their stories of struggle and success and celebrating the milestones achieved along the way. 5. Offer Spiritual Companioning: This strategy involves deep listening and compassionate dialogue, essential in mental health therapy and community building. By encouraging in‑ dividuals to share their stories and truths, this strategy facilitates healing and connection. It supports a narrative approach to mental health and community engagement, where each person’s story is heard, validated and integrated into the larger tapestry of commu‑ nity and cultural resilience. Through these strategies, The Virtues Project addresses the essential aspects of well‑being, understanding that health is more than just the absence of illness but a harmonious balance of mental, spiritual, physical and financial health, each influencing and supporting each other. By fostering virtues in these key areas, individuals are equipped with the tools to lead more fulfilled, balanced and resilient lives. Table  1.3.1 shows how the Five Strategies of the Virtues Project intersect with the four core dimensions of health within the E.D.O.H. framework: The first step of the methodology is the recruitment and cultivation of a participant cohort, who agree to meet in scheduled sessions where storytelling, music and creative expressions like theater are utilized to build cohesion among the group. To ensure effective engagement across the group, cohorts are limited to 20–25 members. In alignment with E.D.O.H.’s ide‑ als regarding financial and economic health, participants are compensated for their time and energy as they collaborate with the initiative to build community ties. Meaningful com‑ pensation as an initial attractant serves to initiate a self‑sustaining cohort model, in which participatory activities would eventually supplant the compensation as the main driver for continued engagement. The goal is for the cohort to continue organically and ultimately be self‑sustaining, even outside of E.D.O.H. settings. Sessions are typically two hours long and designed to start with a creative activity such as drumming to help ground cohort members in the present moment. This activity is followed by a “virtue pick,” which introduces a distinct human quality on which participants re‑ flect and relate, group discussions and activities facilitated by E.D.O.H. team members and guest speakers. At the end cohort, members are encouraged to reflect on the session, what they learned and the implications for their future daily living, either through journaling or Table 1.3.1 Conceptual Framework Matrix of the Existential Determinants of Health (E.D.O.H.) Initiative Strategy of Virtues/ Domains

Mental Health

Physical Health

Speaking the language of virtues Recognizing teachable moments Setting clear boundaries Honoring the spirit Offering companioning

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Social‑Emotional/ Spiritual Health

Financial/ Economic Health

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collective storytelling. Previous graduates are invited to return to participate and facilitate future efforts, consistent with the overarching goal of building community, collective capac‑ ity and good holistic health. While it is strongly encouraged, participants do not need to attend every session nor attend from the beginning of each programming series. With this consideration, E.D.O.H. aims for all participants to feel more empowered in some aspects of their existential determinants, regardless of how many sessions they attend. However, those who engage in long‑term enrichment should achieve the intended empowerment. The cohort sessions are intended to help participants engage in a narrative that propels them toward improved physical, mental, social‑emotional, spiritual and financial health, with the outcome of presenting their new narratives to their local community through a col‑ lective creative expression. Guest speakers with expertise in one or more of the four health domains attend most of the sessions and share their stories as a means of cultivating personal growth through humanizing the success of their health progress. Sessions were primarily led by WombWork Productions, a community‑based organization of local artists with expertise in coalescing people and their living experiences to create, produce and execute meaningful theatrical performances that include art forms of the African Diaspora such as drumming and dance. Consequently, their expertise helped guide the messaging of the cohort produc‑ tion, which was primarily determined by the participants, focused on increasing inclusion and sharing collective wisdom generated by the group and elevated the creative capacities of cohort members such as visual art. The culminating creative expression not only served as a message to the community, by the community, but also as a mechanism to attract a new cohort group and thus continuing the cycle of collective empowerment. Utilizing the cohort framework, E.D.O.H. and its team members have facilitated large community sessions in partnership with other community organizations and the people they serve. Additionally, with a cadre of community exemplars equipped to inspire others with perpetuating positive adaptive and safe behaviors, participants from the first cohort went on to create similarly purposed organizations. The ripple effect further reinforced that refram‑ ing narratives and sharing stories are successful ways to build meaningful relationships and help rebuild communities. As a means of long‑term support, alumni are eligible through a straightforward process to apply for a microgrant that encourages the continuance of their community work related to or within one or more of the four health pillars. Consistent with the foundation of the initiative, alumni are empowered to consider artistic and cultural com‑ ponents as part of their proposed endeavors for improving community efficacy.

Outcomes and Observations from E.D.O.H.’s Year I and II Cohorts To understand E.D.O.H.’s impact, cohort members were asked to take preliminary and post‑program assessments, based on a Likert scale (Losby & Wetmore, 2012). To not per‑ petuate an extractive nature to the data acquisition, the assessments were administered after the first two to three sessions when some trust was established between participants and fa‑ cilitators. At the end of the programming series, the same questions were asked of the cohort to understand if E.D.O.H.’s intended impact had been achieved. The responses were scored and changes in responses were compared across each question as well as for the domain overall. Additionally, the E.D.O.H. received permission from some cohort members to re‑ view their reflection journal entries for passages that indicated meaningful insights resulting 50

The Importance of Storytelling and Its Implications

from the sessions. In the first two years of the initiative (2022–2023), E.D.O.H. was effective in helping individuals build resilience and promote self‑growth. Among participants who at‑ tended over 80% of the sessions in Year 2 (n = 10): 1 100% expressed being more comfortable with their personal stories and being their true self: a “I’m happy [my] take away today is loving on myself. I’m also taking away smiles from others, and nice conversation. How people shared part of themselves.” b “It was very [enlightening] today. I heard of writing stuff down. But not of the release you can get from it. I love it. It’s my new friend.” 2 Over 80% of the participants felt more confident in their financial management skills: a “Had a great time with the business information that was given to us. Had a good time with beating the bucket. And the virtue for today was nice.” b “[Dave Feldman] learned how to start with an idea and develop it into a proposal and business. We shared ideas [and] feelings and gave each [other] acknowledgements on their growth in group or personalities. Just very glad to be a part of something positive.” 3 70% of the participants expressed that they are exercising regularly since participating in E.D.O.H.: a “[Ola] did exercise class today. I didn’t think I could participate because of my knee surgery. I did a lot more than I gave myself [credit for]. I feel relaxed, and calm. I feel loose.” b “This evening’s class I learned a lot about fitness, health, exercise and mental health that I am going to use in my everyday life.” 4 Over 45% of the participants also expressed improvements in managing stress, anxiety and sleep: a “What you took from today’s meeting, is how to put your feelings in writing for your‑ self. You have to focus on the hand that was [given] to you and learn how to turn it into something positive. Your voice may be gone, but you have a kind heart and spirit that you can share with the world.” Overall, cohort members felt most empowered within the “mind” and “spirit” health do‑ mains through increased self‑efficacy, specifically by processing and navigating issues of daily life with more creativity and a more positive orientation. With a better understanding of shared challenges, participants expressed that they were in a better position to reimagine the community and address its challenges, such as the need to reduce violent acts.

Implications Storytelling is a powerful tool through which individuals can cope and overcome hardship. It is a reflexive method, one that in the spirits of Bronfenbrenner and Maslow enables peo‑ ple to construct meaning about themselves, their environment or circumstances and their navigations within them. It is also communal, such that it allows both tellers and listeners to validate their experiences and find support among each other. Altogether and at its best, 51

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storytelling is a platform for one to process their experiences in a nurturing, healing envi‑ ronment. Storytelling is especially important amid rampant feelings of loneliness due to the absence of meaningful connections and relationships. The benefits of storytelling are becom‑ ing increasingly recognized by experts across multiple societal sectors. Medical practitioners and psychologists, for example, have identified storytelling as a simple and powerful way for patients to heal from physical trauma. Likewise, education specialists argue that stories are a more effective way to learn information than standard fact‑based messages. Even corporate spaces are promoting storytelling to engage clients or consumers more intimately beyond typical advertising and PR techniques. Culture is comprised of collective thoughts, feelings, perspectives and practices, all of which express how groups of people navigate the world, and from the collective individuals derive their own views of life and all that it entails. Despite the vast spectrum of cultural ori‑ entations and expressions around the world, universal principles remain consistent such as the importance of manifesting the best of humanity, as well as universal practices such as the sharing of narratives through creative channels. Repositories including scientific literature and anecdotal evidence from living experiences attest to this truth. Urban locales such as Baltimore are no different and unfortunately serve as clear examples of how historical and systemic forces continue to detrimentally dictate the trajectories of health and well‑being for many people. E.D.O.H. aimed to remind and reaffirm people most affected by those forces of their individual and collective power grounded in their inherent (and healthy) human‑ ity and did so with a reliance on approaches, such as storytelling and creative expressions, which are tried and true across space and time. As was no surprise to the cultivators of the initiative, it worked and the results – as conveyed by those E.D.O.H. served – exceeded any reasonable anticipated outcomes. Therefore, it is encouraged that urban cultural planners aim to intentionally integrate consistent storytelling, along with consistent creative prac‑ tices, into its designs, implementations, evaluations and policies. Shared narratives, and the rich contextual information that it contains, are foundational to the character and histories of communities. As such, it is conducive to equitable cultural grounding for urban planners to cultivate opportunities for community members to express and celebrate their stories. This starts with creating spaces where community members may gather, like parks or pub‑ lic squares. Several cities in the United States have undertaken infrastructure reuse projects that convert dilapidated infrastructure into new, accessible landscapes, like the New York Highline and the Atlanta Beltline. While these interactions may arise organically, there is a need to intentionally create physical space for stories, especially at a time when people are increasingly replacing deep interpersonal connections with superficial and remote online interactions. To ensure inclusivity, such initiatives should adopt a participatory approach whereby community members have a voice in the transformation of their areas. Besides creating space, cultural planners can also look to visual and performing arts to promote storytelling and communal exchange. This could be done in the form of commis‑ sioning public art or performances or organizing festivals. These works could be co‑created alongside community members by soliciting their input on the kinds of art they would want displayed or performed. The benefits of creating spaces and events for residents to gather benefit community and individual well‑being. For city leaders, it offers channels built on genuine connection and dialogue through which they learn about their constituencies, thereby deepening democracy. 52

The Importance of Storytelling and Its Implications

The Existential Determinants of Health, a model for individual and collective storytelling, is replicable, sustainable and can serve as a basis to engage more communities locally, rather than introducing and relying on external initiatives. The growth of an initiative like this can meet many people where they are, where few outside the neighborhood fully appreciate the complexities of the challenges that are inherent in low‑resourced environments. Develop‑ ing interdependence, building relationships, sharing stories, reframing narratives grounded in positive human qualities and leveraging arts and culture are not new concepts: quite the contrary, they are as old as humanity itself. It may be time to revisit these time‑tested strategies to enable those who have been perpetually trapped in cycles of poverty, addiction and violence to better engage in self‑growth, rebuild community and inspire future societal advancement.

Lessons Learned • No urban cultural planning effort will be successful and genuine without cultivating en‑ gaged spaces that embrace the living experiences and context of the people aimed to be served – storytelling, among other creative expressions, catalyzes those spaces. • Recruitment through individuals and organizations within communities has demon‑ strated higher likelihood of initial and continued engagement by participants of various age groups. • It is critical to compensate participants from disadvantaged neighborhoods for their time to be able to effectively support them in addressing existential determinants of health. • Comprehensive and equitable initiatives can be successfully co‑created with a diverse group of individuals, community members and experts. • Journaling has proven helpful for the participants and the program in better understand‑ ing the effectiveness of the E.D.O.H. approach toward the physical, mental, emotional and economic health of participants.

Notes 1 Morgan State University School of Community Health & Policy, Baltimore, Maryland. 2 Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health, Baltimore, Maryland. 3 University of Florida Center for Arts in Medicine, Gainesville, Florida. 4 Virtues Matter, Rockville, Maryland. 5 Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, Baltimore, Maryland.

Bibliography Banks, J. (2012). Storytelling to access social context and advance health equity research. Preventive Medicine, 55(5), 394–397. Bronfenbrenner, U. (2000). Ecological systems theory. In A. E. Kazdin (Ed.), Encyclopedia of psy‑ chology, vol. 3 (pp. 129–133). Oxford University Press. Fakunle, D. O., Thomas, D. T., Gonzales, K. A., Vidot, D. C., & Johnson, L. P. (2021). What Anansi did for us: Storytelling’s value in equitably exploring public health. Health Education & Behavior, 48(3), 352–360. Jamalishahni, T., Turrell, G., Foster, S., Davern, M., & Villanueva, K. (2023). Neighbourhood so‑ cio‑economic disadvantage and loneliness: The contribution of green space quantity and quality. BMC Public Health, 23(1), 1–17.

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David O. Fakunle et al. Losby, J., & Wetmore, A. (2012, February 14). Using Likert scale in evaluation survey work [Pow‑ erPoint slides]. https://www.cdc.gov/dhdsp/pubs/docs/cb_february_14_2012.pdf. Maroko, A. R., Doan, T. M., Arno, P. S., Hubel, M., Yi, S., & Viola, D. (2016). Integrating social determinants of health with treatment and prevention: A new tool to assess local area deprivation. Preventing Chronic Disease, 13, E128. Maslow, A. H. (1943). A theory of human motivation. Psychological Review, 50(4), 370–396. https://psycnet.apa.org/doiLanding?doi=10.1037%2Fh0054346 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Office of the U.S. Surgeon General. (2023). Our epidemic of loneliness and isolation: The U.S. Sur‑ geon General’s advisory on the healing effects of social connection and community. https://www. hhs.gov/sites/default/files/surgeon‑general‑social‑connection‑advisory.pdf. Sonke, J., Golden, T., Francois, S., Hand, J., Chandra, A., Clemmons, L., Fakunle, D., Jackson, M. R., Magsamen, S., Rubin, V., Sams, K., & Springs, S. (2019). Creating healthy communities through cross‑sector collaboration. https://arts.ufl.edu/site/assets/files/174533/uf_chc_whitepa‑ per_2019.pdf. The Virtues Project (2023, December 22). The five strategies. https://www.virtuesproject.com/ the‑five‑strategies.

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1.4 PLACE, CULTURAL PLANNING, AND IMMIGRATION IN AUSTRALIA Deepti Silwal and Carl Grodach

Introduction Australia is a multicultural, immigrant country, with one‑third of its population born over‑ seas and nearly half the population (46%) with at least one parent born overseas (ABS, 2021). Although Australia historically has accepted primarily European migrants, immi‑ grant communities from varied cultural and ethnic backgrounds are rapidly growing and comprise a significant part of the country’s demographic profile (ABS, 2021). Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people represent 3.2% of Australia’s population (ABS, 2021). They continue to sit ambiguously in relation to Australia’s multicultural context as movements for indigenous justice have progressed along mostly separate lines. As a result, cultural diversity shapes Australia’s social, economic, cultural, and spatial dynamics in varied ways (Hugo, 2011; O’Hanlon, 2014). Urban cultural planning can provide a critical place‑based support role in the immigrant experience. Australia has a long history of urban cultural planning and engaging with multicultural‑ ism through investment in the arts and cultural activities for diverse communities, including immigrant groups (Craik, 2007; Grogan et al., 1995; Stevenson, 2005; Throsby, 2018), al‑ though some argue cultural planning often fails to adequately engage with diversifying pub‑ lics (Ashley et al., 2022; Sandercock, 2003). In the 1990s, some Australian cities pursued a strong community‑oriented, place‑based mode of cultural planning (Goldbard, 2005). Fur‑ ther, there were some multicultural policies specifically aimed at easing the settlement and integration process for immigrants (Ang & Noble, 2018; Flew, 2017). However, much of this has been lost over the last decades as public policies took on a neoliberal edge and im‑ migrant neighborhoods blossomed in increasingly outer suburban or rural areas. In this essay, we explore how Australia’s existing approach to urban cultural planning may limit or support immigrant groups’ engagement and benefits with cultural policy. We explore the often top‑down cultural policy and the bottom‑up approach of cultural plan‑ ning. Considering the bottom‑up potentials of cultural planning, we argue for the need to revive cultural planning in Australia. However, such a revival needs to take into account 55

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-6

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the contextual and intersectional dimensions of immigrant groups due to their immigration status and evolving diversity. In the next section, we review the context of cultural policy and planning in Australia. Then, we discuss the complex and unique contexts of immigrants shaped by federal immigration policies and immigrants’ diversity. Lastly, we examine the links and gaps between urban cultural planning and immigrants’ contexts, drawing parallels between the excluding effects of cultural and immigration policies. Reviving the concept of cultural planning has the potential to plan for the diverse contexts, experiences, and needs of immigrant groups.

Urban Cultural Planning and Policy in Australia Urban cultural policy emerged in the 1980s, promoting the role of artistic and cultural ac‑ tivities to address issues of urban development in global north countries, including Australia (Bianchini & Parkinson, 1993; Evans & Foord, 2008; Freestone & Gibson, 2006; Grodach 2017; Stevenson, 2020). Australia’s urban cultural policy possessed a strong practice and advocacy for cultural planning and community cultural development aimed at widening the concept of culture beyond the arts and promoting cultural diversity and democracy (Adams & Goldbard, 2005; Freestone & Gibson, 2006; Grogan et al., 1995; Mercer, 2006). Over the subsequent decades, the discourses and policies that defined urban cultural plan‑ ning moved from a focus on the intrinsic value of the arts to a focus on the role of culture in economic development. There was a growth in economic impact studies by cultural institu‑ tions, research on cultural industries, cultural clustering proposals, and policy transfer (e.g. Bilbao‑effect) of mega‑events, flagship institutions (e.g. museums, performance art venues) and consumption‑oriented projects (Freestone & Gibson, 2006; Grodach, 2017). The cultural economy focus reached a pinnacle with “creative city” policy, which emerged as a popular concept and practice, emphasizing the economic value of the arts to attract the mobile and flexible creative class alongside promoting urban and neighborhood gentrifica‑ tion strategies (Grodach, 2017; Pratt, 2008). Creative city policies influenced many cities globally, including those in Australia (Atkinson & Easthope, 2009; Craik, 2007; Stevenson, 2020). However, many criticized creative city policies and economic‑focused strategies be‑ cause they did not address socio‑economic inequalities (Gerhard et al., 2017; Pratt, 2010) and contributed to the displacement of artists and vulnerable people (Gerhard et al., 2017; Leslie & Catungal, 2012; Pratt, 2010; Zukin, 1982, 1987). These criticisms also apply to Australian cultural policies (Atkinson & Easthope, 2009; Shaw, 2006). The discourse and practice of the urban cultural planning field in Australia parallel those of urban cultural planning in other Western contexts. All levels of government  –  federal, state and local – are actively involved in supporting cultural production and consumption in different places (Banks & O’Connor, 2017; Stevenson, 2020). Despite claims that cultural policy serves multiple economic, social and community objectives, there have been questions over who benefits (Mercer & Mayfield, 2015; Munzner & Shaw, 2015; Noble & Ang, 2018; O’Connor & Shaw, 2014). However, very little research has specifically focused on how im‑ migrant populations participate and benefit from cultural policies. In sum, the Australian cultural policy field grapples with the tensions between the dominant economic and cultural rationale and more community‑oriented goals. Moreover, immigrant groups are rarely taken into account. 56

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Cultural Policy Australia’s cultural policies have primarily promoted Western notions of artistic excellence and defined culture and creativity largely around artistic practice. As a result, particularly federal and state‑level policy overlooks other forms of artistic and cultural activity, including the cul‑ tural practices of the migrant groups that define Australia. Australia has developed three na‑ tional cultural policies: Creative Nation (1994), Creative Australia (2013) and Revive (2023).

Creative Nation Creative Nation was the first national cultural policy released in 1994. A focus of the policy was an effort to broaden the concept of culture beyond “high culture” (e.g., fine art that appeals to and reinforces elite taste cf. Bourdieu, 1984) to the everyday that is more repre‑ sentative of a multicultural society (Stevenson, 2020). However, in practice, the concept of culture primarily equated to the arts sector, and the role of the arts was often linked with excellence and national and international identity (Caust, 2015). Consequently, funding was biased toward traditional elite art institutions. Creative Nation was also crucial in fusing culture and economy and embedding the notion of cultural and creative industries in the cultural policy agenda.

Creative Australia In 2013, Creative Australia was another attempt to democratize the role of cultural policy and planning (Caust, 2015). This national cultural policy argued for the importance of creativity and culture in everyone’s life beyond economic value. The policy had five goals: recognition of indigenous culture and practices; celebrating the diversity of the Australian population; importance of artists and arts to society; the link between culture, society, and economy; and linking new technology with innovation and new knowledge in the creative industries. Despite the attempt to broaden the definition of culture, the notions of artistic genius underpinned the artist’s role in setting up the course for funding the production of excellent works. Further, a political leadership change hindered the policy implementation.

Revive The most recent cultural policy document, Revive, released in 2023, sets a different tone from the prior work. This policy resonates more with traditional cultural planning, which encompasses the idea of culture as a way of life rather than the focus on artistic excellence. Revive’s main focus is on inclusion, proposing a “place for every story, a story for every place.” First Nations people are given priority with a proposition for a new First Nations‑led body to give indigenous people power over decisions and investments. There are also plans for accessibility to art for people with disabilities. However, there is minimal reference to the many migrant groups that comprise Australian society.

State and Local Cultural Policy The state‑level government also plays a critical role in the arts and cultural provision, sup‑ porting art galleries, libraries, and museums. However, high‑profile facilities, prestigious 57

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performing arts centers, and other facilities aimed at cultural tourism and branding are pri‑ oritized to make states more competitive. Further, metropolitan geographies are the focus over non‑metropolitan towns and regions, despite many creative workers in the suburbs (Flew, 2012; Stevenson et al., 2017). Most cultural plans are implemented at the local or municipal scale (Dowling, 1997; Stevenson, 2020). This level of government is responsible for providing community cultural facilities such as cultural centers, libraries, museums, civic halls, and art galleries. It is also the level that defines the places for everyday cultural activities central to community life and local cultural and creative identity. Celebrations of diversity exist in the form of fairs, fes‑ tivals, and cultural events to promote intercultural understanding. However, local govern‑ ment authorities have less power and resources and depend on federal and state directives concerning multicultural policies (Fincher et al., 2014; Stevenson, 2020). In general, the national cultural policies do not account for the multicultural and diverse context of Australia. Nevertheless, multiple organizations and projects promote cultural democracy and focus on the expression of culturally diverse artists and communities (Mar & Ang, 2015). There are multiple instances where the city and local levels celebrate festi‑ vals of diverse nationalities. However, they are often one‑off events, sometimes overlooking cultural variations. Such events celebrate diversity but need broader support. Meanwhile, artistic and cultural activities and spaces shaped by the policies for public good based on Anglophone ideologies are integrated into the everyday lives at all scales – global, national, city and suburban.

Cultural Planning In contrast to formal cultural policy, cultural planning seeks a more comprehensive ap‑ proach to culture and the arts that includes economic and social development considerations for diverse groups (Grogan et al., 1995; Ghilardi, 2001). Cultural planning aims to enable community belonging and improve people’s quality of life through access to diverse and quality cultural resources. The notion of cultural resources goes beyond a Eurocentric defini‑ tion that concentrates on the arts to encompass the cultural practices, values, and beliefs of different groups. Advocates of cultural planning argue for the need to integrate culture into all spheres of planning across urban design, transportation, housing, and community infra‑ structure. Cultural planning aims to plan for “the lifestyles, the texture and quality of life, the fundamental daily routines and structures of living, shopping, working, playing‑folk, work, place” (Mercer, 2006, p. 6). Further, cultural planning aims to ensure cultural plural‑ ism is more of an ongoing process than an occasional function. Australia has had a particularly strong practice of cultural planning. In the early 1990s, numerous government councils implemented cultural development plans (Mercer, 2006; Ste‑ venson, 2005). For example, the state of New South Wales required all local governments to produce a cultural plan (Stevenson, 2005, 2014). Many cultural mapping projects and multi‑media databases were designed to allow the community to define its cultural resources (Evans & Foord, 2008). Further, since 1987, “community cultural development” was recognized as a legitimate field of art practice in Australia, where artists were primary actors in community devel‑ opment (Craik, 2007; Dowling, 1997; Goldbard, 2005). In principle, community cultural 58

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development focused on stimulating active participation in community life in all forms, including political life, instead of passively consuming culture. Community cultural develop‑ ment is a task of social change and engagement to curtail undemocratic tendencies due to the reliance on the market and private patronage. Community cultural development policies advocated for the importance of culture as a resource (Dowling, 1997; Hawkins & Gibson, 1994). Australia had a community cultural development unit, operating through the Australia Council (Australia’s federal arts funding and policymaking agency), that worked with local and state governments on various cul‑ tural planning initiatives (Goldbard, 2005). Ang and Noble (2018) point to the insertion of multiculturalism into the cultural planning terrain within the framework of community arts and community cultural development at this time. Community artists were given multi‑year support for long‑term collaborations with communities. Links with ethnic community or‑ ganizations were made to “get them interested in cultural policy issues, and a national net‑ work of multicultural arts officers was established” (Ang & Noble, 2018). However, the focus on ethnic, folk, and traditional arts activities of non‑English speaking migrant groups, confined the practice within the already marginalized community arts sector. Further, the community cultural development unit was abolished in 2005. It was later incorporated into the Australian Council’s Artform Boards, thus returning to a more limited understanding of culture as art. The unit was abandoned in favor of a more general rubric of community arts that needed to compete with conventional projects in each artistic disci‑ pline, blurring community cultural development’s essential focus on social change and social engagement. Consequently, the potential of cultural planning to attend to the diverse needs of people in Australia was dampened. There were also active attempts to adopt the multicultural goals in the Australia Council, such as the policy Arts for a Multicultural Australia (AMA) in 1989 (Australian Council, 1993). The policy aimed to support artistic activities of people from non‑English speaking backgrounds (NESB), promote their access and participation in the arts, and promote cross‑­ cultural understanding and interaction. In 2000, the Australia Council updated the AMA pol‑ icy, renaming it Arts in a Multicultural Australia, which was abolished a few years later. There has been a move from multiculturalism to diversity in cultural policy with the introduction of Cultural Engagement Framework (CEF) in 2008 where cultural diversity is broader and inclu‑ sive of First Nations people, children and young people, older people, people with disability, and regional and remote Australia as the diversity priority areas of the CEF. Such widening of the concept has however, weakened commitment to migrant groups (Ang & Noble, 2018). To sum up, cultural policy has primarily been a top‑down process and lacked attention to the everyday multicultural contexts of migrant groups. Community cultural development and community arts paid more attention to the on‑the‑ground multicultural contexts and included diverse communities, but these directives have waned over the years. Moreover, little attention has been paid to immigrant groups’ complex diversity and their unique im‑ migration situation, as discussed below.

Immigration Context Australia is a settler‑colonial society founded on indigenous lands, by force and exclusion, to build a British colony. From the formation of the country in 1901, the Immigration 59

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Restriction Act of 1901, widely known as the “White Australia policy,” restricted non‑ European migrants from residing in the country (Castles, 1999; Stevens, 2016). With this policy, the new federation aimed to limit non‑white immigration to Australia and build a Eurocentric monoculture. With post‑World War II modifications to the policy, the demo‑ graphic composition changed considerably with substantial immigrant intake from other European countries particularly Italy and Greece. White Australia policy was finally abol‑ ished with the passing of the Racial Discrimination Act of 1975. Government adopted a more open stance on immigration and permitted Asian and other immigrants into the coun‑ try.1 Since the 1970s, immigrant populations beyond Europe have expanded and continue to rise.2 Nevertheless, multiculturalism discourse has been contested for its assimilative and racially exclusive tendencies manifested in complex immigration policies (Hage, 1998; Ste‑ vens, 2016). Consequently, the policies that determine immigration status may challenge im‑ migrants’ settlement in Australia and their different ways of engaging in mainstream culture. Immigration status often impacts how individuals experience and navigate their belonging and difference in Australian society. Australia’s immigration policy has a long history of hos‑ tility toward non‑Anglophone immigrants and the preferential treatment of British and Eu‑ ropean migrants. Scholars cite that the overall immigrant demographic composition has been largely due to the pressures of globalization and liberal market ideologies since the late 20th century (Castles, 1999; Stevens, 2016). Non‑English immigrants are seen at times as produc‑ tive members of society, evident in policymakers’ justification for the pursuits of filling in la‑ bor deficits (Castles, 1992). At other times, they are viewed as threats to citizens’ employment opportunities and policy reduces immigrant intake (Stevens, 2016). Immigrants also face the contradictions of Australian politics. Sometimes viewed as holders of equal human rights and part of the electorate, yet at other times as a threat to social cohesion and they face racist behaviors and exploitation (Birrel, 2009; Castles, 1999; Stevens, 2016; Wickes et al., 2020). The underlying tensions and incompatibility between cultural diversity and Anglo‑centric cultural hegemony have played a considerable role in its immigrants’ unequal and segmented belonging (Castles, 1999), seen in labor market segmentation, residential segregation, rac‑ ism, and other underprivileged social positions (Castles, 1992). How immigration policy conceptualizes the immigrant population may impact their safety, protection, belonging, and rights. It may also influence planning for their presence. Like cultural policy, Australia’s immigration policy is articulated mostly around economic rationalization, focusing on skilled labor deficits. Skilled migration has been a central fea‑ ture of the program since the late 1980s, prioritizing immigrants who are young, educated, English‑literate, and qualified for high‑demand jobs. Temporary visas for work, skills short‑ ages, and study have doubled in the last 15 years, and about 1.8 million people, 7% of the population, live in Australia on temporary visas with work rights (Parkinson et al., 2023). However, temporary visas bear restrictive and constrained membership limiting access to state supports such as health care, housing, and education, which may be further compli‑ cated by precarious work and labor conditions (Ariyawansa, 2022; Castles, 2015; Howe & Reilly, 2015; Owens, 2016). Many immigrants work below their qualifications and have above average chances of unemployment (Bertone, 2009; Boucher, 2023). Women are more subject to precarious work and violence than men (Castles, 2015; Fincher et al., 2019; Pres‑ ton & Ustundag, 2005; Vasil, 2024).

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Regional visa schemes, which require migrants to work in regional and rural areas, are also on the rise. These visas are intended to lift pressure on urban infrastructure and dis‑ tribute immigrant populations more evenly between urban and rural Australia to fill skills shortages. The regional migration program incentivizes migrants to live in regional areas by easing pathways to permanent residence.3 Regional visas have implications for providing infrastructure and services for new migrant populations in rural and regional areas already grappling with infrastructure shortfalls and inexperience in dealing with diversity (Alam & Nel, 2023; Laukova et al., 2022; Van Kooy et al., 2019). Similar challenges for service and infrastructure provisions already exist in met‑ ropolitan areas, particularly in outer suburbs where growing immigrant populations lack appropriate community infrastructure (Kellett & Nunnington, 2019; Kroen & De Gruyter, 2021; Wear, 2016). To summarize, Australia’s immigration policy has created multiple, complex, and unique attributes to immigrant groups’ geography, vulnerability, and disadvantages. Further, think‑ ing about immigrants’ context and their positions is also tied to their cultural diversity and differences, which are primarily overlooked.

Cultural Difference and Diversity: Recovering Urban Cultural Planning in Australia Scholars argue that planning for multiculturalism and multiple publics in Western societies requires a new epistemology of multiplicity beyond the universal tendencies of planning un‑ derpinned by modernist and colonial norms (Fincher et al., 2014; Sandercock, 2003). They point out that immigrants are not a homogeneous group. Rather, they possess multiple social and cultural dimensions, complicated by the intersections of nationality, ethnicity, class, gender, religion, ability, and education (Bouma et al., 2022). Diversities exist within immigrant communities too. Immigrant groups may be connected by national origin but divided by several factors such as language, class, caste, and ethnicity (Lo & Wang, 1997). This is further reshaped by the varied immigrant experience resulting in new configurations of social difference (Bouma et al., 2022; Di Maggio & Fernández‑Kelly, 2015). For example, Lo and Wang (1997) explain how the heterogeneity of Chinese immi‑ grants in Canada, based on their regional backgrounds, influences their languages, subcul‑ tures, and class, resulting in variations in their spatial behavior in Canada. Depending on the length of time in Australia, many second, third, or later‑generation migrants may have dif‑ ferent cultural identities than previous generations. They may not even identify as migrants, blurring the lines between migrant and Australian communities. Further, immigrant groups have multiple cultural practices and activities specific to their diverse backgrounds, which have implications for planning social and cultural infrastructure. Cultural variations for immigrants include elements such as food, religion, traditional ritu‑ als and customs, and festivals embedded in their daily life (Di Maggio & Fernández‑Kelly, 2015). Leisure and artistic practices may vary as well (Di Maggio & Fernández‑Kelly, 2010). They may engage in different cultural activities and practices in their families, enclaves, eth‑ nic markets, religious spaces, or with their community/ethnic networks dispersed across varied geographies (Lo, 2009; Wang & Lo, 2007).

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While segregation, isolation, and invisibility of their cultural differences may not necessarily impact their practices and values, and indeed give them social support, cultural identity, and dignity, provide them with avenues for placemaking, as well as function as modes for eco‑ nomic development (Schuch & Wang, 2015; Loukaitou‑Sideris & Soureli, 2012). However, such segregation is often in a relational dynamic with the dominant colonial norms of cultural distinction and superiority, with tendencies to commodify and appropriate cultural diversity for their benefit while marginalizing other cultural practices (Di Maggio & Fernández‑Kelly, 2015; Fincher et al., 2014; Loukaitou‑Sideris & Soureli; 2012; Peterson & McCarthy, 2003). Such tendencies may contribute to stabilizing the dominant norms and institutions that legitimize the types of cultural resources worth preserving, practicing, and building places (Wiesel, 2020). Di Maggio (2015) states that “the power to determine what counts as au‑ thentic is a valuable resource over which groups and individuals struggle.” Studies in Aus‑ tralia reveal conflicts over development proposals for places of worship and schools for minority groups (Bugg, 2012; Dunn, 2005; Hartney, 2004; Maginn & Hamnett, 2016). Similarly, while there is an acknowledgment of the economic contribution of immigrant business, studies also show that immigrants face barriers and challenges to sustaining entre‑ preneurship (Rankin & McLean, 2015; Lo & Teixeira, 2015; Teixeira et al., 2007). Further, if spaces are planned and designed without attention to cultural differences and diversity, they may not be of value to immigrant groups. Research indicates that cities and in‑ frastructures planned for all may not be suited to immigrant groups’ cultural needs (Barajas, 2023; Gao et al., 2022; Lo, 2009). Additionally, the factors influencing their cultural diversity play out in the context of their immigration status, thereby impacting their cultural engage‑ ment, often visible in the underutilization of public services and the benefits accrued to them. Urban cultural policy and planning articulated the relationship between the planning and cultural spheres that often operated separately. Both spheres co‑constitute places and impact how places are made, who makes them, for what and whose benefits, and who is left out and ne‑ glected. The struggle still exists to coordinate the sectors. In Australia, where multiculturalism is a demographic reality, immigrants have been given minimal attention, and there is “often crude assumptions about ethnicity” in the cultural policy and planning sphere (Noble & Ang, 2018). Further, discourses and policies on multiculturalism, premised upon the suppression and neglect of difference in the name of a unified national Australian culture, have substantially shaped immigrants’ experiences. As discussed above, immigration policy affects different groups unevenly and has direct spatial impacts, influencing and posing challenges for cul‑ tural planning at all levels. Immigrants are navigating the tensions between the vulnerabili‑ ties imposed by immigration policy and navigating their diverse cultural contexts. However, we lack studies exploring the relationships between urban cultural policy, planning, and immigration policy. Therefore, there is an imperative to interrogate these complex links in advocating for planning for cultural democracy and diversity and establishing immigrants’ right to the city in Western societies. The concept and practices of cultural planning can po‑ tentially attend to these goals.

Lessons Learned • Research suggests different ways to practice cultural planning (Evans & Foord, 2008; Free‑ stone & Gibson, 2006; Grogan et  al., 1995; Mercer, 2006). For example, Grogan et  al. 62

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•

•

•

•

(1995) provide comprehensive guidelines for cultural planning. The guidelines include cul‑ tural mapping to assess what culture means to people in a tangible and symbolic sense. They state that “cultural resources play a fundamental role in creating a sense of community, individual affirmation, identity, communication between individuals and between groups, participation and a sense of place” (Grogan et al., 1995, p.7). They assert the need to iden‑ tify cultural groups that include every inhabitant of a place, specifically groups at the risk of getting marginalized – Indigenous and non‑Anglophone immigrants in the case of Australia. Cultural planning in the form of community cultural development and community arts – focused on social justice issues can be applied to plan for immigrant groups’ con‑ text, differences, and diversity. Cultural planners can pay close attention to immigrant groups’ lives in different places. In the context of rising suburban and regional disadvan‑ tage, the spatial orientation of directing new immigrants to specific places may contrib‑ ute to the social, cultural and economic disadvantage in outer suburban and regional areas (Azpitarte et  al., 2021; Baum & Gleeson, 2010; Randolph, 2017; Randolph & Tice, 2014). Studies need to assess the spatial implications of immigration policies with closer examination of cultural diversities and disadvantages. Cultural planning can fill the gaps in dominant policies – culture and immigration – by providing appropriate spatial, cultural, and social infrastructure for immigrant groups. Beyond the arts sector, Australia has a legacy of providing community and social infra‑ structure including libraries, community centers, swimming pools, and childcare centers (Nichols et al., 2010). Planning and building social infrastructure and public spaces to broaden the notion of culture and to include immigrant groups can be a way to move forward. Further, cultural planning can also uncover the immigrant group stories necessary to understand and ad‑ dress the impacts of inequalities. Reengaging with cultural planning can significantly contribute to the new national cul‑ tural policy, Revive, aimed at providing “a place for every story, a story for every place.” These approaches can contribute to the new knowledge of planning for multiplicity be‑ yond dominant Western and neoliberal ideologies. Reviving the concept and the practice of cultural planning has the potential to equitably benefit Australia’s diverse demography. • Map cultural resources such as places, events, practices, and networks for different migrant groups. • Assess barriers and access of immigrant groups to existing cultural resources and public spaces. • Map stories and identify the diversity of immigrant groups and their everyday, lived contexts.

• Plan for social infrastructure: Rethinking and planning for social infrastructure as cul‑ tural resources that are appropriate for different immigrant groups and their diverse needs and experiences can expand the notion of culture. • Research is needed to capture the rapid and dynamic changes at the intersection of cul‑ tural planning and policy, urban planning, and diversity in Australia. • Conduct in‑depth, focused studies to document the relationship between cultural pol‑ icy, planning, and immigration policy and the associated impacts. 63

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• Document the spatial location of different immigrant groups in general and in rela‑ tion to indicators of disadvantage and the relation to immigrant visa types. Such studies can help identify where and what kind of socio‑cultural supports are needed.

Notes 1 Non‑English Speaking and non‑Anglophone migrants have been part of Australian settlements since the 1850s. For example, during the Gold Rush, a small number of Chinese migrants came to regional Victoria, and this was significant in shaping the White Australia policy. 2 For instance, South Asian immigrants comprise 4.26% of the total population per the census in 2021. Moreover, the South Asian population is approximately 27 times higher than in 1970 (The Guardian, 2023), six times that of 2001, and more than twice the population of the last decade (ABS, 2021). 3 The regional migration program consists of two skilled regional provisional visas that provide a pathway to permanent residence, a skilled regional permanent resident visa; additional points under the Skilled Migration Points Test for skilled migrants nominated to live and work in re‑ gional Australia; more options for international students who graduate from regional universities (Department of Home Affairs).

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1.5 CIVIC IMAGINATION An Artist Offers Ten Proposals Michael Rohd

1 Civic Imagination Civic Imagination is the capacity for residents of a place and local leaders to collectively, creatively envision just, healthy and equitable futures. When complemented by the meth‑ odologies of artists who have expertise in collaborative, community engaged practices, lo‑ cal government is uniquely positioned to act not only as a mechanism for necessary public transactions but also as a hub of connectivity and potential, enhancing the lives of all com‑ munity members by developing policies and public‑serving systems that center care in their treatment of individuals and populations. Civic Imagination can be a useful reframe for the collaborations between artists and municipal governments that are supportive of this enhanced potential.

2 Working with Artists Through this chapter, the word artist is used broadly to include anyone who self‑identifies as one as well as those who use other titles to identify their work and contributions, due to con‑ text and/or historical legacy, such as culture‑bearer or culture‑maker, designer, storyteller, and heritage holder. If you are seeking to connect with creatives in your community, do so equipped with a broadened definition and understanding of artistic and creative practice. When staff in public and non‑profit agencies think about working with artists in non‑arts civic settings (housing, transit, education, planning, public health, community development), the first thing that often comes to mind is output – which is the product resulting from the collaboration. For example, the mural, the play, the concert, or the magazine. These outputs can be powerful. They can be wonderful examples of artists contributing to community and public good. They are not the entirety of what artists can offer. 69

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-7

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An artist engaged in the practice of Civic Imagination brings their toolbox to the process of community building to achieve the intended community participation and empowerment outcomes. These artists do not start the process by asking “What can we make?” Rather, they ask What do we want to address together in our community, and how might we integrate the unique assets of this government or non‑profit agency and this artist to center eq‑ uity, and create something creative and impactful neither of us could accomplish on our own? Some of the most effective and equitable public engagement occurring in communities around the United States leverage artist skills and the relationships those artists have with residents for unique experiences that serve as moments of listening, visioning, and dialogue. For instance, someone working in the local civic landscape, whether in a municipal gov‑ ernment or non‑profit context, might discover that: • a musician you are working with not only creates songs; they listen for patterns in public space and discourse, and shape/reflect back meaning through sound; • a theater artist you are working with not only builds a production; they get stakeholders with different agendas to come together around a shared vision and express that publicly; and • a visual artist you are working with not only fills a gallery; they put together images in ways that make stories clearer and community understanding more possible. Exploring the potential within an artist’s creation process can help avoid jumping straight to product and might be the key to a surprising direction in your work and its ultimate impact. How does one do this kind of work? Early on, ask questions like: How might local government/non‑profit staff and artists think together more expansively about the full range of tools that artists possess, and not assume an artist’s contribution is limited to their creative product? What skills or tools does our collaborating artist possess that they deploy to make their “creative product,” but usually do not think about as creative work in itself?

3 Discovery Sometimes local government and non‑profit staff struggle when working with artists. These words are addressed to you as you seek to make space for innovation and for change, both of which require moments of discovery. Discovery and iteration rely on periods of not knowing, of uncertainty. In some contexts, committing time and resources to uncertainty may feel uncomfortable – even irresponsible. This is especially the case when there are deadlines and expected outcomes to achieve. Public servants are usually stretched thin, going above and beyond in service to residents and community. They frequently have to make pragmatic choices for the sake of functional‑ ity, and sometimes have big ideas that cannot fit within the parameters of daily activity and obligation. 70

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To those public servants: thank you for working with artists. Thank you for seeking col‑ laborative and creative approaches to delivering services and tackling challenges. Thank you for welcoming discovery and iteration into the public process, even though it is easier not to.

4 On Co‑Design Co‑design is an approach partners can choose as they start collaborative processes on the design and implementation of a project or program. This term helps distinguish the work of civic imagination from artist commissions. An artist commission asks an artist to create a specific creative product (output) based on a predetermined notion of how an artist can contribute to a specific desired outcome. Co‑design invites an artist into conversation about how that artist’s assets can best be deployed to address a community need or aspiration. Co‑design requires ongoing communication and iteration. The benefit is the gift of shared discovery and the potential for greater scale and depth of impact.

5 On Collaboration and Partnership When working in the realm of Civic Imagination, new collaborations will frequently occur. When new collaborators begin to imagine how to work together, the values they center in that collaborative work are inevitably the values that will exist across everything they do. Each relationship built, each program designed, each project created will contain those val‑ ues. Good collaborative process accomplishes two main goals: it holds space for building relationships, and for setting shared goals and co‑creating ways to accomplish them. Collaboration is a shared activity that individuals take on, together, for any amount of time. Partnership is a shared commitment that involves duration, co‑design and relationship‑­ building. When working with Civic Imagination, a partnership is when a department/agency and an artist are building a project or program together. Collaborative process begins with questions. A good question starts a useful conversation, and that conversation points toward a next step for you and your collaborators. Questions can be a reflective, solo activity; questions can catalyze dialogue between you and your col‑ laborators and partners. Your journey of co‑design and community engagement will likely not be linear – the destination may not be where you expect. Questions can help you track where you are, and where you are heading.

6 Questions To ask early in a process of collaboration: What does a great collaboration feel like to you? What do you need from others to be the best collaborator you can be? What do you bring to collaboration that makes the process joyful and productive? What has been challenging about collaborating in the past? 71

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To ask early in a process that aspires to partnership: What conversations might we have, and what commitments could we put in place, to ensure that we have an equitable partnership? What questions might we ask each other about our values, our practices and our working culture(s)? How might we make decisions together? How might we think together about the impact we want to make through this partnership that we could not/would not achieve on our own?

7 Do We Have Time to Talk This Much about the Process? Upstream (early) conversations about how we are going to work together make downstream (later) moments of collaboration more effective, productive, and equitable. Talking about how to make decisions together upfront avoids miscommunication and sets the stage for the power and beauty of a diverse team to pay off. Coming from different work and disciplinary backgrounds means that disagreement can be profoundly, powerfully useful IF your part‑ nership has the process in place to allow those disagreements to be safe and even exciting, not dangerous or hurtful. People enter partnerships representing, and holding, differing levels of power and author‑ ity, as well as access to resources. Talking about that from the beginning is a step toward transparency when it comes to decisions related to budgets, timelines, desired outcomes, and workflow.

8 Who Is Being Centered in the Work? If you are working for change, the people you hope will benefit from that change must be the authors of the vision for change. And, they must be co‑designers and co‑leaders of any strategies to accomplish that change.

Values Statement, Center for Performance and Civic Practice, 2012 In other words, your process should center the audience or community not just in the crea‑ tive activity at the heart of your project or program, but in the design/needs assessment phase that precedes that creative work. Who does your work serve? How are residents engaged in the decision‑making around what you are doing? How do you make certain that your practices are accountable to those you name as core constituencies? Is there transparency in your process? Another way into this conversation is to consider success. Talking about what success means for project partners is different than how a group you serve might, themselves, define success for a process. Both are important. How do you define what success means for your work?

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Civic Imagination

Who gets to define what success means for your work? How do you measure success? Are the answers to those questions aligned with your core values? Who are the folks you hope will benefit from this work? How might you engage them, and listen to them, in the design of your work and in ways you design and measure success? Cities, towns, and counties sometimes conduct public engagement as part of developing new strategic plans for things like local parks, new transit investments, and affordable hous‑ ing options. These planning processes operate with strict timelines, stated goals, and man‑ dated outputs. These planning processes are one of the only ways that civic decision‑making is, structurally, set up to be guided by community input. They are supposed to be public activity with a direct correlation to government resource allocation and action. I propose a different way of thinking about success based on the work of civic imagina‑ tion: measure the success of a public planning process not by the quality of the resulting plan but the durability of the new relationships you build on the way to making the plan. Meas‑ ure your success not by outcomes in 18 months but by quality of connection in ten years. When you need a new plan ten years from now, ask at that moment: What relationships did we build and sustain over the last ten years that now allow us to plan with people who, last time, were strangers and targets for outreach? Measure your success not in contact hours and scope today but in longevity and depth tomorrow. Consider this a structural change, not a tactical one. Commit to a generational focus; commit to a relational focus; commit to growing trust by consistently showing up and listening; commit to processes that invite design before demanding decisions; commit to making listening legible – what was heard needs to be seen in what happens next.

9 Moving through Process When artists and municipal staff are in conversation, are checking their assumptions, are making space to listen to those their work seeks to impact, are taking time to refine an idea or create an approach together, plans emerge, and plans transform. Ask yourselves: What about the community challenge or aspiration we hope to address has gained some clarity through our discussions? What does a process timeline/plan that prioritizes discovery and community input look like? How does our pace or sense of urgency need to exist in relation to making space for curiosity and emergence in our process? What process decisions can be made with internal stakeholders (our lead partner team), and what decisions must involve community participation? Your “what” may change as you keep figuring out your “how.” Projects and programs iterate. They evolve. They shift. Sometimes in small ways that are barely visible, and sometimes the changes seem massive. As you learn, you change. As you change, together, sometimes challenges arise.

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In anticipation of those moments of change and the challenges they may present, ask your‑ selves at the beginning: What are some challenges we may face in our work/process together? What commitments might we make to each other to invite our best selves into moments of challenge? How might we hold ourselves accountable to those commitments? Make space together to return to these commitments when you need to enact a “pause‑point,” if/when things start feeling challenging in your partnership.

10 Imagine If you imagine the impact, the residue, the legacy of what you and your partners have done on this project five years from now, what do you see? If you imagine a beautiful ending to this project, do you see a celebration? A community meal? A written report? Words, spoken, music played? What do you hear? If you imagine you and these partners bump into each other after the project in some pub‑ lic space, for the first time since the project culminated, what do you hope to feel? The ways you work as partners, the ways you work with residents with whom you may never have engaged before – every moment of designed interaction and creative encounter is a proposal of what is possible to every single person who discovers what you are doing and what you have done. The quality of what we accomplish together when we collaborate is in direct proportion to the quality of how we collaborate.

Lessons Learned • Cultural planners must hold and publicly articulate an expansive definition of what and who an artist is in the community. • They must commit to civic imagination – and therefore co‑design – as a way for local government, nonprofits and local artists to collaborate for public good. The question should not be “what should we make together?” Rather, it should be “what could we address together?” • Cultural planning practices should build and support a process that is iterative, that sup‑ ports discovery, and that uses questions as a structure for ongoing, clear communication amidst partners. • Planners can Engage with residents throughout the process so that they are accountable to, and in dialogue with, those they hope to impact.

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SECTION 2

Planning for and with Culture in Urban Planning

2.1 CITIES FOR THE IMAGINATION (OR, SEVEN PROVOCATIONS ON POTENTIAL FUTURES FOR URBAN+CREATIVE PRACTICES) Gabriella Gómez‑Mont An Unlikely Invitation and a Short Introduction You take delight not in a city’s seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours. – Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities (Calvino 1972) In 2012, I received an unexpected call that would completely transform my professional trajectory, and had me endlessly reflecting upon this particular Calvino quote for more than six years of my life. The incoming left‑wing Mayor of Mexico City, Miguel Angel Mancera, whom I had met briefly at a conference, invited me to invent a city department from scratch. As some context of how unusual this invitation was to me, I was at that moment running an independent cultural foundation and working as a writer and documentary filmmaker. Most importantly, many of the projects I had done until then – especially with Laboratorio Cura‑ torial 060, an experimental arts collective I co‑founded in 2008 – were deeply contestatary in nature. We had been creatively protesting the construction of an elevated highway that would cut across the megalopolis (Tráfico) and creating a multi‑layered project that high‑ lighted the grave human rights violations happening along the southern border of Mexico (Frontera: Sketches for a Future Society), amongst others. As a “creative person,” working in government was not part of my ambitions. When I got this unlikely invitation I had a four‑month fellowship at Yale University, where I would have time to further any project of my choosing. I suddenly realized that this would make for a provocative thought‑experiment: what would I do, as a creative person, if the future Mayor of Mexico City suddenly gave me free reign to invent a city department from scratch for one of the most complex and fascinating megalopolises in the world? A non‑existent department for the city where I was born and raised. For none other than Mexico City, the big stubborn love of my life. So I sketched away. I reread fiction books such as Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities and G.K. Chesterton’s The Club of Queer Trades (a collection of stories centered around different 77

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-9

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individuals who are making their living “by some novel and extraordinary means, a queer trade). I revisited several of my favorite philosophers” (Calvino 1972; Chesterton 1995). I interviewed more practical people too, such as Nigel Jacobs, who was at the time running Boston Urban Mechanics for the Mayor’s Office – a type of start‑up space within govern‑ ment. I had provocative conversations with my fellow Yale World Fellows, many who had worked in human rights, and/or public office. I took long walks and imagined what it would take for me to become fascinated by this particular institutional form (i.e. government) that until then had left me quite cold and unexcited. At the same time, I worked from afar with my friend, architect and Mexican cultural producer Clora Romo, pondering diagrams and organizational charts, both of us equally curious and perplexed by the aesthetics and protocols of bureaucracy. Until the very end, I imagined this quirky city department we were ideating more as a speculative exercise of sorts; even though we were being thorough in our research and ideation process, I was certain that any idea that would truly appeal to us would seem outlandish to government ears – and that the Mayor would shoot down the project as soon as he heard the details. Some months later, in February 2013, I came back to Mexico City. Soon after, the Mayor’s team called me up and asked if I could pass by his office to share the final version of the proposal with him personally. I walked up the gilded and imposing staircases of City Hall, I presented our ideas, no holds barred. At that meeting, to our surprise, the Mayor agreed to the proposed initiative. Merely ten days subsequent to this presentation, and still in a state of considerable astonishment, I of‑ ficially assumed the role of Chief Creative Officer for Mexico City.

The Birth of Laboratorio para la Ciudad Given my background and my penchant for continuous exploration of new ideas, I never thought that government – often seen as the epitome of stodgy bureaucracy, and often for a good reason – would turn out to be one of the biggest adventures of my life… plus also the steepest learning curve (exhausting, exhilarating) that I have ever put myself through, stretching me past my limits, in the best (and sometimes most painful) of ways. Laboratorio para la Ciudad was officially born in 2013. Lab for the City: the experi‑ mental office and creative think‑tank of the Mexico City government, reporting directly to the Mayor. From 2013 to the end of 2018, I headed a transdisciplinary team of around 20 people: from artists, activists, designers, philosophers, writers, architects, historians, future thinkers and filmmakers, to urban geographers, civic tech experts, data analysts, political scientists, internationalists, lawyers and administrators. Half from humanities; half from po‑ litical and urban sciences. Most of us were “unusual suspects” that came from civil society and without previous experience in government. The average age of the team was 28 years old – which was close to the average age of Mexico City citizens at the time (I now like to think we were prototyping how to make government relevant once more to a younger gen‑ eration). Our legal mandate was “urban creativity and civic innovation.” The Lab’s events and rooftop quickly became a place to reflect about all things city and to explore other social scripts and urban futures for the largest megalopolis in the western hemisphere, working across diverse areas, such as urban creativity, mobility, governance,

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participatory budgets, civic tech and public space, amongst others  –  stewarding projects from idea to implementation. The Lab also sought to create links between civil society and government, insisting on the importance of political and public imagination in the execution of its experiments (Figure 2.1.1).

Figure 2.1.1 Laboratorio para la Ciudad’s rooftop during a small‑scale event (Photo credit: Labo‑ ratorio para la Ciudad, available under a CC‑BY 4.0 license).

Working from within the government was challenging to say the least; but also a fascinat‑ ing opportunity to think about urban creativity at the city scale. Rather than staying within the confines of cultural practices, I became more interested in hybridity: in transdisciplinary approaches, in articulating ecologies of collaboration around specific urban agendas that bypassed siloes. I also became intrigued by how a creative ethos could also be applied in designing things such as dynamic governance systems, working with emergent strategies in‑ stead of static realities, holding a systems lens in mind; traveling the scales of the city, from household to megalopolis. Hence, each project that we did sought to work on specific and progressive visions for a megalopolis through its ensuing portfolio of both good practices and experiments. All while continuously reconfiguring the borders and boundaries of what we considered urban, crea‑ tive and cultural practices.

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Imagination Is Not a Luxury: Potential Futures for Urban+Creative Practices Paradoxically, my leitmotif that had followed me into different creative disciplines and di‑ verse roles throughout my life  –  Imagination is not a luxury  –  became even more rele‑ vant and pressing in this new context where it also felt most at odds, within a government bureaucracy. In fact, in comparison to other public labs (more focused on start‑up‑like processes, or tra‑ ditional design methodologies) our relentless drive to think about cities from a creative+urban standpoint (and what I ended up calling a deep culture perspective) was what gave us our unique flavor and put us on the international map. After my six years as a public official, exploring the complexities and possibilities of an emerging megalopolis through a transdisciplinary mindset (with the means and the methods of arts and culture as core components) continues to be a relevant reference for my work with other cities across the world. In fact, my interest in these hybrid and emergent practices has only grown and intensified. Especially as we move into increasingly volatile times (po‑ litically, ecologically, economically) where merely technocratic answers no longer seem to suffice – and hence at a time when many of humanity’s core questions, and ensuing answers, need to be restated… How do we want to live together? What could next‑generation archi‑ tectures for collective life look like? What is a city for? Hence, in terms of what is loosely conceived as cultural planning related to urban devel‑ opment, I believe that more expansive and deeply hybrid frameworks are needed to explore multiple additional roles that urban+creative practices could take on, plus the different ways that they could add public value. For this, we need to trouble the boundaries and siloes. To connect the dots, forming a creative+urban field of practice with the capacity to become more than the sum of its parts. This hybridity of practice is especially needed in cities where a technocratic turn has unwittingly (or by design) made culture subservient to economic interests and ended up stratifying and socially dividing the city instead. So, I propose in the following eight provocations and layered leverage points that could potentially reconfigure, widen and deepen the social dimension of arts and culture in rela‑ tion to the future of cities. These provocations are inspired by both specific approaches in cities that I admire (many of them that I have had the privilege to work with), plus are also fueled by open‑ended and restless questions I wish to pursue further and deeper. These provocations are not stand‑alones: they overlap and entangle, and jointly make the case for pluriversal cities at the intersection of urban culture and urban planning – instead of reduc‑ ing culture’s role solely to its more utilitarian facet (real‑estate strategies, creative industries, entertainment, the visual “look” of cities, etc.) (Escobar 2018).

Provocation No. 001: Cultural Pluripotency as an Antidote to the Smooth City Neoliberal rationality disseminates the model of the market to all domains and activi‑ ties, even where money is not at issue. It configures human beings exhaustively as mar‑ ket actors, always, only, and everywhere as homo economicus… neoliberalism is the rationality through which capitalism finally swallows humanity. – Wendy L. Brown, Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution (Brown 2015)

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Wendy Brown’s critique helps to obliquely highlight the limitations of technocratic and market‑first approaches to urban development, which often overlook the sociocultural dimensions of society’s challenges (Brown 2015). In her analysis of neoliberal rationality’s encroachment upon democratic formations, Brown’s critique serves as a foundation for understanding how a unbalanced emphasis on efficiency, quantification, commodification and management, can lead to the depoliticization of public life and the marginalization of cultural and social dimensions within urban spaces. We see this phenomenon, for example, in the way many urban arts programs and cultural district projects have been instrumental to the swift gentrification process in cities across the world: sometimes by design; some‑ times as an “inevitable” aftermath of “neighborhood improvements.” We see this as well when cultural policy focuses entirely on supporting the so‑called creative industries – and forgets, important as this bend of cultural policy may be, that urban culture is pluripotent by nature. A unidirectional approach, while often effective in addressing specific infrastructural needs or with the capacity to create jobs for creative communities, tends to overlook the intangible aspects of urban life – the imaginative, social, and emotional entanglements that bind communities and give cities their unique character, the joyful surprises that the city streets sometimes offer up unexpectedly – as well as the dynamic tensions between all of the above. This oversight often manifests in urban spaces as a prioritization of economic development over cultural heritage, collective experiences and social ingenuity, leading to the erasure of communal and hyper‑diverse identities and histories in favor of generic, homogenous, market‑friendly urban landscapes and policy. The result is what architect René Boer has called the smooth city: a predilection for efficiency, sanitization and surveillance, resulting in the active eradication of any aberration, friction or alterna‑ tive, and that hence corrodes the democratic and emancipatory potential of cities, with little room for the experimental, bespoke, informal, spontaneous, and non‑normative (Boer 2023). As an antidote, in the same way that pluripotent cells are capable of giving rise to several different cell types, cultural policy related to urban development can become multiple and shape‑shifting in nature, creating new affordances for society, with the potential to trans‑ form the DNA of places. Because arts and culture can then also act as mediums through which urban dwellers can feel they have the agency to articulate and explore multiple iden‑ tities and ways of belonging, challenging prevailing narratives – with a whole city flexing around different needs and desires. This pluripotent nature of culture can come about in several ways. One of them is by layering novel civic uses into existing cultural infrastructure – as has been the case with Oodi, Helsinki’s main library. At Oodi your library card also gives you free access to everything from large‑format printers, sewing machines, professional recording studios and editing suites. You can also check out, besides your favorite book, things like volley‑ balls, skis, concert tickets and even barbecue grills. The library hosts kid sleepovers with their dolls; fierce city debates, and citizen‑led events as well. I felt the generosity and the creativity spirit of a city literally and metaphorically coming to life in the practice as the founding director of Oodi showed me around and enlisted its offerings in Summer 2022 (Figures 2.1.2 and 2.1.3).

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Figure 2.1.2 Oodi library (Photo credit: available on Wikimedia Commons under a CC‑BY‑SA 4.0 license).

Creative+urban pluripotency can also help the city think about both the critical and the possible: cultural infrastructure can double as resilience infrastructure – with museums act‑ ing as crisis centers (as was the case with the Centro Cultural Digital in Mexico City, in the aftermath of a terrifying and deadly earthquake in 2017); or in the way play parks in cities across the world are also doubling as water management infrastructure during the rainy season, helping avoid neighborhood floods. Bogotá’s lauded Care Blocks Project, which I was advisor to in part of its experimental phase, also comes to mind. Initiated in 2020 during the pandemic, the brainchild of former Mayor Claudia Lopez (the first woman Mayor in Colombia) and Diana Rodriguez Franco (former Secretary of Women’s Affairs for Bogotá) the 22 “Care Blocks” that now exist across the city are a brilliant example of how spatial justice, care policy and civic infrastruc‑ ture can intersect. The initiative aimed at transforming urban spaces to focus on care, inclu‑ sivity, and community support by creating or redesigning public spaces and infrastructure to prioritize the needs of unpaid caregivers and those in need of care: including the children, elderly, and people with disabilities that they care for. The goal is to foster a more equitable and supportive urban environment that acknowledges and facilitates the often overlooked work of caring within communities. At these facilities, simultaneous offerings are available: for example, a carer can leave her laundry to be washed without cost, while her child with disability takes a swimming lesson, her mother is part of a reading circle, and the carer her‑ self learns computer skills, gets legal advice, or Claudia Lopez (the first woman Mayor in Colombia) (Figure 2.1.4). In other words, urban creativity also means thinking about open and malleable cultural in‑ frastructure with multiple and expansive civic natures – plus institutions that are open to im‑ aginative (often unexpected) uses of public space; adapting accordingly instead of remaining 82

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Figure 2.1.3 Recording, editing and photography studios as part of Oodi’s free public offering (Photo credit: Gabriella Gomez‑Mont).

Figure 2.1.4  Bogota’s award‑winning Care Blocks Project (Photo credit: Gabriella Gomez‑Mont).

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rigid fixtures; celebrating citizen appropriation of the public realm instead of always polic‑ ing it into obeying the status quo. These gestures of openness to appropriation can be small but significant: I am always overjoyed when – as I walk through the halls of the Barbican Center in London – I can witness everything from high school students casually lounging on the floor doing their homework, to dancers practicing a new choreography – and with no stern guards shooing people away anywhere in sight.

Provocation No. 002: Democracy Itself as a Creative Practice … the question of what kind of city we want cannot be divorced from the question of what kind of people we want to be, what kinds of social relations we seek, what rela‑ tions to nature we cherish, what style of daily life we desire, what kinds of technologies we deem appropriate, what aesthetic values we hold. The right to the city is, therefore, far more than a right of individual access to the resources that the city embodies: it is a right to change ourselves by changing the city more after our heart’s desire. It is, moreover, a collective rather than an individual right since changing the city inevitably depends upon the exercise of a collective power over the processes of urbanization. The freedom to make and remake ourselves and our cities is, I want to argue, one of the most precious yet most neglected of our human rights. David Harvey, The Right to the City (Harvey 2020) We have done democracy a great disservice by thinking that efficient city management will save us from the messy and unruly bit of urbanity, pretending we can bypass deep engage‑ ment with the political, relational and dynamic nature of cities and societies. As Harvey rightly notes, our relationship to our urban environments happens on multiple levels and constitutes, whether we want to or not, an act of co‑creation. Hence, traditional forms of civic participation – such as voting, attending town hall meet‑ ings, or participating in formal public consultations – while important, are no longer suffi‑ cient to engage the full spectrum of urban populations or to address the complexity of urban issues. The contemporary landscape is witnessing an imperative shift toward the need for more dynamic and inclusive forms of civic engagement and the design of the public realm writ large. In this evolving context, arts and culture emerge as potent catalysts for expanding civic typologies, enabling new forms of civic engagement, and reimagining public life. A more hands‑on approach is not what every citizen wants, but finding mechanisms for those who do can go a long way in creating public value at hyper‑local levels, especially in the context of the global south. In the context of Mexico City, two small projects allowed us to explore what policy for playful cities and open‑ended infrastructure at the street level could look like: Peatoniños (whose tagline was liberating the streets for kids and play) and Urban Toys (rescuing underutilized public spaces for play, working closely with young architects and the local communities). Through every iteration of both these projects we observed that when lo‑ cals have dedicated time and imagination to making projects come to life, with it comes an excuse for neighbors to coalesce as a community, as well as creates a sense of stewardship (Figures 2.1.5–2.1.7). 84

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Figures 2.1.5 and 2.1.6 Aros, by PALMA Studio (2018), was one of the winners for Urban Toys, a competition launched by the Playful City team of Laboratorio para La Ciudad and designed with the important input of children. Through a min‑ imal spatial intervention, this project managed to activate a underutilized public space, as well as shift the dynamics between the local families and the unhoused population that also uses the plaza, and who became the informal guardians of the intervention (Photo credit: Laboratorio para la Ciudad, available under a CC‑BY 4.0 license).

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Figure 2.1.7 Peatoniños, Open Streets and Urban Play project. Laboratorio para la Ciudad (Photo credit: Laboratorio para la Ciudad, available under a CC‑BY 4.0 license).

Provocation No. 003: Rehearsing Futures, Rehearsing Freedoms The more absolute the position or take, the less real it is in practice, least of all because it means there is no space to change or grow into. And at heart we are calling for justice, revolution, liberation… all requiring transforming everything, including ourselves. Farzana Khan (2023) American author and social organizer Adrianne Maree‑Brown (2016) has often said that all organizing is science fiction: it points to another possible world, it bends the f­uture, it ­experiments with other social configurations. The concept of prefigurative ­politics – whereby the means of activism embody the desired ends – holds significant potential for redefining ­urban governance and democracy. Cities, as dense hubs of diversity and social ­ingenuity, provide fertile ground for the emergence of experimental forms of democracy and ­community‑led initiatives. These initiatives, rooted in principles of direct action, solidar‑ ity, mutual aid and cultural practices, offer glimpses of more inclusive and participatory ­governance models, prefiguring the possibilities of a more democratic urban future where experimental, ­community‑led initiatives act as forerunners to engaging alternatives. Everything from hyper‑local creative centers, to cooperative housing projects and community‑ led urban planning initiatives can exemplify prefigurative politics in action. Even different manifestations of urban culture  –  such as carnivals, local festivities, dance, music, urban tribes gathering in public space – can enact alternative possibilities of being in the world. They have the capacity to not merely aim to influence existing structures of power and gov‑ ernance but endeavor to create microcosms of the desired social order – creating experiences where communities have direct influence over their environments. 86

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There are multiple ways urban cultural planners can support these efforts. For example, by promoting the existence of experimental territories within cities; by using temporal infrastruc‑ ture to prototype other social uses of public space; by creating spaces that support neighbor‑ hood festivals and other initiatives that rehearse potential urban futures; by working closely with the creative community to further think about specific agendas, such as collective housing. The embrace of prefigurative politics within cities offers practical blueprints for a re‑ imagined urban democracy, where community‑led initiatives pave the way for governance models that are genuinely responsive to the needs and aspirations of urban populations. As urbanscapes continue to grow and evolve, these approaches can become pivotal in our un‑ derstanding of the powerful social energies and cultural dynamics that can help shape cities, reflective of the vast and varied tapestry of human experience. When a city rehearses itself, the boundaries between artist and audience, participant and observer, reality and fiction, are dissolved, embodying the principle of interconnectedness and what it means to move together, to have a collective body. Ideas, then, become an actual experience of the city. Politics are embodied. Citizenship as a creative act becomes a possibility, instead of a painful oxymoron (Figures 2.1.8–2.1.10).

Figures 2.1.8–2.1.10 The Office of International Affairs for Mexico City and Laboratorio para la Ciudad joined forces for the three‑week FICA Fair in the main square of Mex‑ ico City. During this time, ingenious citizen‑led projects from across the city were showcased, proving how communities, neighborhoods et  al. were self‑­ organizing to create public value in different ways, offering inspiration to oth‑ ers. FICA also functioned as an experimental ground for young architects, who helped us prototype this ephemeral civic space in which workshops, talks and dance also took place. The winning design of the contest was by architectural office TO, which was chosen between 61 nominations and five finalists. The project, entitled UR, referenced the universal syllable that represents something essential: making a city. The spatial qualities of the intervention also referenced the prehispanic pyramids that still lie below Mexico City’s main square; re‑ minding us of the city we once were (Photo credit: Rafael Gamo). (Continued)

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Figures 2.1.8–2.1.10 (Continued)

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Provocation No. 004: The (Often Overlooked) Importance of Urban Imaginaries Cities tend to be seen as complex sets of social, spatial, and material characteris‑ tics. They are understood in terms of design and infrastructure, inhabitation and density, diversity, economic activity, political organization, ecology – the list goes on. Imagination is often posited as secondary to such definitions of the urban. At the same time, however, contemporary urban studies increasingly acknowledges the role that imagination plays in shaping cities, especially in relation to the future. This shift is re‑ flected in a growing body of research on urban visions in social futures and transition studies; in the escalating controversies around smart city futures in urban planning, architectural, and policymaking discourses; and in the scholarly attention given to ur‑ ban social movements and activism as practices of resistance against authoritarianism, repressive politics, austerity, and global neoliberalism. – Introduction to The Routledge Companion to Urban Imaginaries, Christoph Lindner, Miriam Meissner (Linder and Meissner 2019) It is first in our imaginations that a city gets made and remade. And although this subjec‑ tive city which lives in our head (e.g. my Mexico City or your New York) might seem like a vague and hence superfluous layer of city life, it is actually the opposite… Humanity often acts upon its mental models – hence these subjectivities are an important component of what creates what we call “reality.” For example: if we perceive cities to be friendly or hostile, we will act accordingly. If we perceive migration to be a threat to our way of life – if, not‑ withstanding the data, we believe migrants to be dangerous bad hombres, instead of hard working people that are crucial to a Nation’s economy – then politicians such as Donald Trump can use this subjective belief not only to pass nefarious policy but also to divide and radicalize societies, driving hate crimes. Urban imaginaries, as conceptual frameworks, encapsulate the dreams, aspirations, fears, and perceptions that inhabitants project onto urban landscapes. They are not static; they evolve, reflecting the dynamism of urban life. Hence, they also help set direction of travel for cities that can be self‑enforcing. Mexico City mostly prides itself in being a progressive city, which was what allowed us to enshrine very progressive laws in the Mexico City Constitution: gay marriage, transexual rights, abortion, euthanasia, indigenous rights, mobility as a right… all which are now our highest law. Urban planning, arts and culture, in their myriad forms, play a pivotal role in shaping, challenging, and transforming these imaginaries. They act as mediums through which urban identities are expressed, contested, and restated, providing a canvas for experimental en‑ gagements with the cityscape. Through provocative and experimental explorations they can help catalyze a reconfiguration of urban imaginaries, forging new narratives and visions for urban futures (Figure 2.1.11).

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Figure 2.1.11 Parque Biblioteca España, Medellín, Colombia (Photo credit: available on Wikime‑ dia Commons under a CC‑BY‑SA 4.0 license).

A powerful example that comes to mind is Medellín’s transformation. Once infamous for violence and drug trafficking, Medellín, Colombia, has undergone a remarkable change, in part through strategic investments in cable cars that connected the peripheries and cultural facilities and public spaces in barrios populares (i.e. formerly informal settlements) that en‑ courage community engagement and creativity. Projects like the Parque Biblioteca España (Spain Library Park) not only provided access to knowledge and learning but also served as communal hubs that fostered a sense of pride and ownership among residents – these strate‑ gic interventions were both physical and symbolic, weaving “marginal” spaces geographies back into the folds of the rest of the city, making them a core part of how Medellin thought about itself as a whole. Projects such as these illustrate how cultural investments can revital‑ ize not only specific urban spaces but also the imaginaries of the entire city; the sense of the possible; and the city that they are. By challenging prevailing narratives and fostering a sense of belonging and ownership, im‑ plementing inclusive mobility projects, as well as arts and culture programs, and impressive advances in green infrastructure enable urban residents to reinvent and reshape their cities, both in mind and matter. For example, Medellín has created 30 green corridors across the city and managed to reduce temperatures by 2C (Andrade 2023). This process is not merely aesthetic; it is deeply political, reflecting struggles over identity, space, and power within 90

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the urban realm. As cities continue to evolve, the role of arts and culture in crafting urban imaginaries will remain critical, offering visions of what cities can become – and ideally a reflection of the diverse, dynamic, and pluralistic societies they house: which make possible multiple and generous ways of belonging – instead of those all‑too prevalence, monolithic and stale corporate imaginaries of the “smart city” type where so few feel truly convoked or compelled. One of Medellín’s iconic initiatives, alas, also exemplifies a cautionary tale in terms of the aforementioned dynamism of urban imaginaries. Notwithstanding the importance that li‑ braries such as Parque Biblioteca España took on in terms of the city’s narrative, and the fact that it became an important civic fixture for neighbors, in 2015 important structural dam‑ ages were noticed and the library had to close down indefinitely – which was also a deeply symbolic gesture, albeit an undesired and painful one (Harindranath 2018).

Provocation No. 005: Symbolic Infrastructure and Urban “Wedges” How exactly does one engage with urban imaginaries? Guattari’s concept of “wedges” can serve as a metaphor for a potential role of arts and culture in urban development. According to Guattari, “wedges” are tools for opening up spaces of possibility, difference and change (Guattari 1987). Those who, individually or collectively, are in a position to intervene on people’s psy‑ ches include not only psychoanalysts but educators, artists, architects, urban planners, fashion designers, musicians, sports and media people, and others, none of whom can hide behind a so‑called transferential neutrality. They must help bring about change by introducing a wedge, producing an interruption or making openings that can be inhab‑ ited by human projects leading to other ways of feeling, perceiving and conceiving. An ethical paradigm has to be complemented with an aesthetic paradigm that will prevent processes from getting fixated in deadly repetitions. In the case of the latter, each con‑ crete performance introduces openings that cannot be assured by theoretical founda‑ tions or any authority but that are always work in progress. The Three Ecologies, Felix Guattari (Guattari 1987) This concept, though abstract, suggests a means of inserting transformative elements into existing structures to create a sudden dynamism in the collective imagination, often chal‑ lenging fixed ideas or pushing us to think further, to believe in the otherwise possible, in the not yet here. In the context of urban planning, “wedges” can be seen as interventions that disrupt conventional urban forms and functions, paving the way for new modes of living, being and belonging. Such interventions can take various forms, including public art installations, cultural events, adaptive reuse of spaces for cultural purposes, and participatory design processes. These initiatives act as “wedges” by opening up spaces for dialogue, experimentation, and reimagining the possibilities of collective life: putting into motion the interplay of cultural forces and physical structures, driving the reconfiguration of urban spaces as sites of poten‑ tiality and emergence – with emphasis in the way they interrupt the status quo, in the ways they instigate the collective imagination: the politics of fascination (Figure 2.1.12). 91

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Figure 2.1.12  Guatemex (2009) was a temporary infrastructure built on the Suchiate, the river that divides Guatemala and Mexico; a river which is also one of the most intense cross‑ ing spaces for migrants from Central and South America on their way to the USA. Created by Antonio O’Conell, René Hayashi and Eder Castillo, in Collaboration with Laboratorio Curatorial 060, Guatemex was built upon no‑man’s‑land since neither of the nations that flank it have jurisdiction over the middle of the river. Con‑ sequently, the raft was an autonomous zone, and migrants could access – through a computer we installed inside – safe routes along the way, places to secure shelter and food, plus learn about their rights. As part of the Frontera project, Giuatemex was created at a time where scant attention was being paid to the human rights violations happening along the Southern border, since media attention was concentrated on the Northern border of Mexico. Hence, through its provocative intervention, Guatemex managed to create a wedge in the symbolic order and capture the attention of inter‑ national media and press (Photo credit: Laboratorio Curatorial 060).

Provocation No. 006: Democratizing Imagination: Intangible Assets, Urban Pedagogies and Spatial Justice Education either functions as an instrument which is used to facilitate the integration of the younger generation into the logic of the present system and bring about con‑ formity, or it becomes the practice of freedom, the means by which men and women deal critically and creatively with reality and discover how to participate in the trans‑ formation of their world. Paolo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed (Freire 1968) 92

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Intangible assets such as cultural heritage, social capital, and community networks repre‑ sent the lifeblood of urban areas, imbuing spaces with meaning and identity. These assets are particularly significant when viewed through the lens of feminist geography, which em‑ phasizes the daily uses of the city, lived experiences, invisibilized practices and the produc‑ tion of space in shaping urban landscapes. Many community assets, often undervalued in traditional urban planning paradigms, are crucial for understanding subjective attachments to cities, adding to the repertoire of both tangible and intangible commons (Figure 2.1.13).

Figure 2.1.13 Young architects working with children to redesign a playscape in an abandoned lot, centering mutual learning and exchange across different skills and experiences, with the notion of the “right to the city” and “the right to play” as part of the collective conversations. Playful City, Laboratorio para la Ciudad (Photo credit: Laboratorio para la Ciudad, available under a CC‑BY 4.0 license).

Laura Roth and her definition of the feminisation of politics also comes to mind: “… to emphasize the importance of the small, the relational, the everyday, challenging power hierarchies and the artificial division between the personal and the political; to change the underlying dynamics of the system and construct emancipatory alternatives” (Adnan et al., Feminisation of politics 2021). This definition also draws attention to the social practices that escape a purely monetary bias (such as mutual aid and other informal networks of care), bringing to light the gendered dimensions of urban space, advocating for designs and policies that address the specific needs and challenges faced by women and marginalized communities. Ensuring that cities 93

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are not only physically sustainable and equitable but also culturally rich, accommodating the diversity and dynamism of human life. Spatial justice becomes an important lens as we think of democratizing both access to culture – as well as access to influencing the future trajectories of a city. As advocated by Edward Soja (2010), spatial justice calls for equitable distribution resources, urban spaces and urban commons, ensuring that the benefits of city living are created and shared by all, especially marginalized communities (Figure 2.1.14).

Figure 2.1.14 GIS tool created by Laboratorio para la Ciudad. This open platform crossed the number of kids (block by block) with lack of access to public space and indexes of segregation and marginalization across the megalopolis. This allowed us to identify priority areas for permanent and temporal interventions (Photo credit: Laboratorio para la Ciudad, available under a CC‑BY 4.0 license).

This also brings to light the need of what I would call urban pedagogies. Here, Paulo Freire (1968), a Brazilian educator and philosopher who was known for his influential work in critical pedagogy, comes to mind as a source of inspiration: Education either functions as an instrument which is used to facilitate the integration of the younger generation into the logic of the present system and bring about conformity, or it becomes the practice of freedom, the means by which men and women deal criti‑ cally and creatively with reality and discover how to participate in the transformation of their world.

Provocation No. 007: Infrastructuring Cultural Experimentation/Social R&D at the Scale of a City The creative+urban approach signals the need of thinking of the city itself as an experimen‑ tal ground, as a traveling surface for ideas. This thinking in turn requires bespoke spatial 94

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configurations and bold resourcing (physical, emotional, mental) for other knowledges and sensitivities to emerge; for other imaginations, practices, explorations, connections and af‑ fects to be evoked. In this light, the creative edge of urban development is not merely an aesthetic choice but a fundamental aspect of democratizing imagination and urban futures, where the social fabric and community well‑being are prioritized alongside physical infrastructure… in the terri‑ tory, in fact, where both of them can blend. Hence, it also has the capacity to shift the hard boundaries between what is usually con‑ sidered the “creative” part of an urban project (e.g. street murals, public art etc.) and to go further: to intervene directly in deeper levels of the urban DNA (such as creative – even poetic – explorations of novel arrangements for cooperative and intergenerational housing, just to state an example). Provocatively, let us consider cultural infrastructure not just as static entities – museums, galleries, theaters – but as dynamic ecosystems of possibility that intertwine with the surround‑ ing city, and where the invention and expansion of new civic typologies could fill in the gaps. In other words, cultural Infrastructure not only as individual cultural institutions but also as ecosystems for experimentation and rehearsing multiple possibilities, with the capacities of cultural institutions flowing into the city itself. This provocation is a call for a reimagined approach to urban planning that places urban vitality, emergent possibility and social creativity at its core. Cities planned not only for the human body but also for the human imagination.

Lessons Learned • Addressing the complexities of the 21st‑century urbanization requires a shift away from siloed approaches toward more integrated, hybrid methodologies and transdisciplinary approaches that leverage the compounded strengths of arts, culture, science, politics, ecology and technology – or what I am nowadays calling a deep culture perspective on cities. • We will need to manage a delicate tightrope walk in the coming decades, between the critical and the possible. We will need all our ingenuity and collective imagination to come up with novel social, economic, ecological, cultural and political paradigms capa‑ ble of understanding the symbiosis between different urban agendas and within cities – ­ and during a historical moment of the unfurling polycrisis. • In this sense, creative+urban is not a typo, but a gesture. For the need of expanding the vocabulary for the entangled and the in‑between. For the need of a novel, prismatic, syn‑ thesis of the sciences and the humanities. So my desire is growing for a new field of prac‑ tice, where culture is not seen as the cherry on the cake, but as a powerful way of deep meaning‑making at a city scale. A worldview that acknowledges that urban challenges are not purely technical but are deeply intertwined with social, cultural, environmental and philosophical questions, reflecting the complex layers of urban life and the fact that social imaginaries and subjective mental models – real or not, imagined or not – have very clear repercussions in what we call “real life.” • Drawing on the work of Henri Lefebvre, David Harvey et al., the concept of the right to the city extends beyond mere access to urban spaces  –  it encompasses the right to 95

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transform these spaces in ways that reflect the desires and aspirations of their inhabit‑ ants (Lefebvre 1996; Harvey 2020). In this light, arts and culture emerge as instruments through which urban dwellers exercise this right, embedding their imaginaries within the urban fabric. They provoke a rethinking of urban spaces not as predefined entities but as stages for continuous negotiation and creation. They also provoke expanding what we nowadays consider cultural infrastructure, and who we consider the city makers. • There is so much more to explore in terms of the pluripotency of art; in terms of experi‑ mental cultural infrastructure; in terms of the evocative nature of wedge‑like interven‑ tions as a provocative stance toward urban imaginaries; suggesting that the city is a site of infinite possibilities, constantly in flux, with public (and civic!) spaces as sites of po‑ tentiality and emergence. In fact, I would posit that urban democracy at its core is about creating compelling stories that we want to be part of. Narratives that make us long for certain futures and specific possibilities. Narratives that are both science fiction and very real movement building. I have no doubt that cultural urban interventions, both tempo‑ ral and permanent, introduce spontaneity and playfulness into the urban fabric, chal‑ lenging the permanence and rigidity of traditional urban planning and upending roles. • Questions to ask are: how do we allow more room within our urban environments from bottom‑up city making? What does imagination and play afford society? What could be a grassroots creative response to the times at hand, at the scale of a street or a neighbor‑ hood? Can democracy itself be thought of as a creative practice? What could be a pro‑ vocative future for creative+urban practices? And how do we infrastructure it? The best questions are endless in nature. Because yes, it requires that we ask (jointly, deeply, continuously) about how we wish to live together. It also requires us to act boldly and cre‑ ate (thought and life) experiments, exploring ways of making ideas tangible to others. The politics of possibility, rehearsing the city… Because imagination is not a luxury. It never has been. Especially at the scale of a city.

Bibliography Adnan, I., L. Roth, and H. Stephens. “Feminisation of Politics.” YouTube, February 9, 2021. https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=gctnz2jGTm0&ab_channel=TheAlternative. Andrade, Matheus Gouvea de. “The City That Went Green to Keep Cool.” BBC News, September 23, 2023. https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20230922‑how‑medellin‑is‑beating‑the‑heat‑with‑ green‑corridors#. Boer, René. Smooth City: Against Urban Perfection, towards Collective Alternatives. Amsterdam: Valiz, 2023. Brown, Wendy. Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution. Brooklyn, NY: Zone Books, 2015. Calvino, Italo, and William Weaver. Invisible Cities. London: Vintage, 1972. Chesterton, G. K. The Club of Queer Trades. Leicester: Ulverscroft, 1995. Escobar, Arturo. Designing for the Pluriverse. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2018. Freire, Paulo. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 1968. Guattari, Félix. The Three Ecologies. London: Bloomsbury, 1987.

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Cities for the Imagination Harindranath, Arjun. “Medellín’s Doomed Library: The Indefinite Closure of Biblioteca España.” The Bogotá Post, October 8, 2018. https://thebogotapost.com/medellins‑doomed‑library‑the‑ indefinite‑closure‑of‑biblioteca‑espana/32435/. Harvey, David. “‘The Right to the City.’” The City Reader, May 14, 2020, 281–89. https://www.ac‑ ademia.edu/30315706/The_right_to_the_city_The_city_as_common_good_Between_social_poli‑ tics_and_urban_planning [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Khan, Farzana, @khankfarza, Twitter, February 17, 2023. Lefebvre, Henri. Writings on Cities. Translated and edited by Eleonore Kofman and Elizabeth Lebas, Blackwell, 1996. Cambridge, MA. Lindner, Christoph, and Miriam Meissner, eds. “Introduction.” In The Routledge Companion to Urban Imaginaries, edited by Christoph Lindner and Miriam Meissner, 1–11. London and New York: Routledge. 2019. Maree‑Brown, Adrienne. “All Organizing Is Science Fiction.” Arts in a Changing America, October 18, 2016. https://artsinachangingamerica.org/nyc‑launch‑highlight‑the‑response/ [Accessed: April 10, 2023]. O’Conell, Antonio, René Hayashi, and Eder Castillo. Guatemex. 2009. Temporary infrastructure on the Suchiate River, in collaboration with Laboratorio Curatorial 060. PALMA Studio. Aros. Public installation, winner of the Urban Toys competition, organized by Lab‑ oratorio para la Ciudad, 2018. Soja, Edward W. Seeking Spatial Justice. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 2010.

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2.2 REFLECTIONS ON NYC’S FIRST CULTURAL PLAN A Conversation between Eddie Torres and Tom Finkelpearl Eddie Torres and Tom Finkelpearl This chapter is a reflection on CreateNYC: A Cultural Plan for All New Yorkers, the first cultural plan for the City of New York, executed from 2016 to 2017. This chapter is shaped as a postmortem in the form of an interview between two of the key leaders of the plan. This chapter is designed to impart lessons on the development of a cultural plan’s goals and scope, the engagement with other government agencies, and support for advocates and legislators. The New York City Department of Cultural Affairs is the largest local arts agency in the United States. The agency provides financial support ($241  million as of this writing) to New York City’s cultural organizations and institutions in the forms of grants and bonds. The agency was founded in 1968 as a division of the Parks Department and was made a stand‑alone agency in 1976. The agency is headed by the Commissioner of Cultural Affairs, who is appointed by the Mayor. In New York City, commissioners and deputy commis‑ sioners are political appointees who change with a new administration. Please look here for more history of the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs: www.nyc.gov/site/dcla. In April of 2014, New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio appointed Tom Finkelpearl (then Director of the Queens Museum) to the position of Commissioner of the Department of Cul‑ tural Affairs (DCLA) of New York City. In September of 2014, Eddie Torres left his position as program officer at The Rockefeller Foundation and joined DCLA as Deputy Commissioner.

The Cultural Plan After several City Council hearings and negotiations between DCLA and the Council around wording, in May 2015 the Council passed, and Mayor de Blasio signed into law, the legisla‑ tion that required DCLA to form a new cultural plan for the City, a first ever for the City. DCLA conducted a formal Request for Proposals and in August 2016 hired a multidiscipli‑ nary team assembled by Hester Street Collaborative to work on the plan. After an intensive year‑long public process, in July 2017 DCLA released “CreateNYC: A Cultural Plan for All New Yorkers,” the City’s first cultural plan. Torres moved to Grantmakers in the Arts as President and CEO in October 2017. Two years later, in July 2019: DCLA released the DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-10

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“CreateNYC Action Plan,” a condensed version of the cultural plan with clear benchmarks and a report on what goals had been met since the plan was launched. Finkelpearl stepped down as Commissioner in January 2020 and was replaced by Gonzalo Casals who had been a member of the consultant team at Hester Street Collaborative, so cultural plan goals con‑ tinued to be met during his two‑year tenure which ended January 2022. After the election of Eric Adams as mayor, former City Council member Laurie Cumbo was appointed commis‑ sioner in March 2022, throwing into question the future of CreateNYC.

The Planning Process, A Conversation The following conversation occurred between Finkelpearl and Torres over videoconference on Friday January 6, 2023, and is transcribed here and edited for clarity:

Tom Finkelpearl Eddie, you came on board soon after I became commissioner. We were both new to our jobs at Cultural Affairs in the fall of 2014 when a City Council hearing was called and members were saying, “We want to do this cultural plan.” To be totally honest, we were not particu‑ larly excited about the prospect. I remember saying to Council Members Steve Levin and Jimmy van Bramer (chair on the City Council committee on Cultural Affairs and Libraries) who co‑sponsored the bill, “So, what problem are you trying to solve with this plan?” Jimmy was a bit surprised. He said, “You know, it’s very unusual for you to ask us questions at a hearing like this!”

Eddie Torres Yes, I remember we were resistant. We walked into our jobs with big plans. And then this proposed legislation got tossed our way. The spirit of the legislation was similar to our plans. But the draft law was strangely specific. At first it felt like “make‑work” – a year of writing a document planning for projects the spirit of which we were embracing anyway.

Tom Finkelpearl Right! Why not just get to work? But they were insistent and the Mayor was not going to veto the bill anyway, so Kristin Sakoda, then General Counsel at the agency (now running Los Angeles County’s Cultural Affairs Department) helped massage the language of the bill into something we could live with. The law passed and we developed and sent out a request‑for‑proposals. We got three good proposals, including one from an organization who does cultural plans all the time. But Hester Street Collaborative, a progressive urban planning non‑profit put together that great team with experts in various aspects of the plan.

Setting the Goals of the Cultural Plan and Securing the Resources Eddie Torres What we really liked about Hester Street was the expertise they brought in facilitating and active listening, centering community voice into planning processes. There were some folks 99

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in the field who were surprised that we went with Hester, rather than someone who was fore‑ grounding cultural institutions. But that was why we went with Hester. We wanted this to be a plan for the people of New York City, not just its cultural organizations and institutions. Then we had to go through this whole process with the Office of Management Budget (OMB), to bring Hester Street Collaborative on as consultants. We needed a public engage‑ ment budget, we needed a consultant budget, we needed a budget to hire Nadia Elokdah who worked on the project as coordinator full time at DCLA for a year. We secured a budget to do some mini‑grants to community organizations for local facilitation of community engagement. We got that idea from Denver, who had done their cultural plan a few years before.

Tom Finkelpearl Gonzalo Casals (my successor as Commissioner) was part of that Hester Street team. I knew him well enough that during the process he would call me up personally saying, Tom, I have to tell you, here’s what people on the ground are saying – sometimes stuff I did not want to hear. I think in total we had $500k from OMB but then it was not enough so you were able to raise more from Rockefeller Brothers Fund. And there was some complementary money out there to enable folks in the field to do work in relation to the plan – sort of to exert pres‑ sure in certain directions – to make sure that people from different parts of the city had the ability to put their ideas into the plan.

Engage the Public Eddie Torres Yes, there was additional funding from New York Community Trust, Lambent Foundation, Surdna Foundation, David Rockefeller Fund. During that year, it was an insane amount of work. Aside from dozens and dozens of these public meetings, we had the Cultural Plan Citizens Advisory Committee jointly appointed by the mayor (which meant us essentially), and the City Council.1 Artists, a musicians union representative, representatives from the boroughs. For that Committee, we brought on folks like Kemi Ilesanmi from the Laundromat Project, Rosalba Rolon from Pregones/Puerto Rican Traveling Theater in the Bronx. We also brought folks from the bigger institutions like Karen Brooks Hopkins from Brooklyn Academy of Music, Arnold Lehman from the Brooklyn Museum. We got Ben Rodriguez‑Cubeñas, Pro‑ gram Director, Rockefeller Brothers Fund, to chair it.

Tom Finkelpearl And, prior to the cultural planning process we already had the Charter‑mandated Cultural Affairs Advisory Commission, whose members changed each mayoral administration. Dur‑ ing our term, the Cultural Affairs Advisory Commission was chaired by Susana Torruella Level, former director of El Museo Del Barrio. Both the Cultural Plan Citizens Advisory Committee and the Cultural Affairs Advisory Commission advised us on the outreach pro‑ cess and the development of the plan itself. 100

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We did 115 presentations in meetings, 32 information and feedback sessions, displays in six languages, 40 research events, ten office hours, 4,700 cultural surveys, 4,100 arts and culture workers surveys, and 38,000 partnership surveys. We had 240 engagement partners.

Eddie Torres Yeah. And 137,000 media/social media impressions. And the credit needs to go to the folks at Hester Street Collaborative and to our cultural plan coordinator Nadia Elokdah. They were so essential, did so much of the work in‑house and out in the city.

Tom Finkelpearl We commissioned a graphic identity for the plan from the design firm House of Cakes. Then Hester Street started organizing these big meetings which were extremely well‑organized. Facilitated tables of conversation – then open dialogue. Everybody giving their input. We did it in different boroughs at cultural institutions. I remember Brooklyn Academy of Music, Harlem Stage, the Bronx Zoo, the College of Staten Island, The New York Hall of Science in Queens. Oh, and we brought the ping pong table and I played with the public before the event to get folks to relax. It was something I did at the Queens Museum.

Eddie Torres I’m thinking about just the sheer number of events. We were lucky that other City govern‑ ment agencies already had community engagement processes in many neighborhoods and that we were working with those agencies. The Department of City Planning, Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, Department of Housing Preservation & Development, and so on. We would set up tables at their events and talk to the public about what they wanted the City to support in terms of the city’s cultural life. People engaged enthusiastically. No one seemed surprised that we would ask – not the city agencies, not the public.

Tom Finkelpearl Early on we realized that these Hester Street events were amazing, but there were just so many topics to cover, so we launched the “Office Hours with the Commissioner.” I remem‑ ber you saying, “We have a lot of opportunities to speak to the public, but very few oppor‑ tunities to listen.” Yeah. That really stuck in my mind. At the Office Hours, we focus on a subject like public art. We would present for like 15 or 20 minutes of a two‑hour session. And then it was an open conversation.

Eddie Torres I think folks loved that. We got folks who normally would never have spoken to a commis‑ sioner, so many individual artists would show up. That was huge.

Tom Finkelpearl Do you remember the one on nightlife? 101

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Eddie Torres Yeah, at Cultural Affairs. Way over capacity. Packed. I’m confident that every one of those events at DCLA was a fire code violation.

Tom Finkelpearl A lot of artists work in nightlife – actors, musicians, DJ’s. But nightlife had been harshly regulated, even criminalized. The meeting was in the afternoon, and we thought no one was going to come. And that actually began a series of meetings around nightlife that ended up in legislation overturning the Cabaret Law (originally a racist law to regulate jazz and interra‑ cial dancing). Then, there was another law passed establishing the Nightlife Office. Council member Raphael Espinal was key to that. There was a bill signing with the mayor and the advocates at a club in Brooklyn. Oh, the other thing that happened during the process was special meetings. Council Mem‑ ber Jimmy Van Bramer wanted to do a meeting with public housing residents.

Eddie Torres We did that at the Museum of the Moving Image. Jimmy’s district has the most public hous‑ ing in NYC, including Queensbridge Houses, the largest public housing development in America. It was a very good conversation, also bringing together some hipster artists like Flux Factory. But I think the greatest achievement of that process was the extent to which we reached folks who didn’t self‑identify as being part of the art world. We foregrounded the voices of everyday folks in a way that was unprecedented for the agency. And when we did engage the art world there were more artists than we ever engaged before. We opened ourselves up to community voice in a way that we never had before. Radically accessible for a public agency. And then you look at the output of the plan itself, and its focus on in‑ creased support to artists, particularly artists from underrepresented communities – it traces this beautiful arc over the course of DCLA’s history. DCLA’s support to artists through the borough arts council tripled in the two years after the plan was released.

Tom Finkelpearl Agreed. We did get some money out there to people that hadn’t been getting much. I remem‑ ber, with some new funding from the Mayor, we were able to add up to 50% to grants de‑ pending on where arts organizations were in the city. Like when Bronx Academy of Arts and Dance got a $50,000 grant, DCLA added $25,000 based on the economic demographics of their community. That was true for organizations in low‑income neighborhoods across NYC. We also increased funding for individual artists, added a category for disability arts: the Disability Forward Fund. But by far the most money was still going to the Cultural Institutions Group (CIG).2 As a result of the Cultural Plan, we worked with them on their diversity issues, but we need to backtrack a bit to set the stage for that. Two years earlier, in 2015 – maybe the only time the two of us ever met with the mayor together – we pitched a cultural institution workforce diversity project to him, and he loved it. So, with the blessing of the mayor, we then did the diversity survey of NYC’s cultural sector, which gave us some numbers to work with. 102

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Leverage Momentum and Integrate Current Work to Make the Future Eddie Torres In 2015 and 2016, as part of our work to support diversity and equity in NYC’s cultural field, we worked with the research firm Ithaka S+R, with support from the Mertz Gilmore Foundation and Rockefeller Brothers Fund, to conduct a survey of the diversity of our grantees’ workforce. We wanted to understand where we stood as a sector. Ithaka S+R col‑ lected racial demographic data from nearly 1,000 organizations. We found out that half of the junior staff of NYC’s cultural organizations were people of color and only a quarter of senior staff were. We found out that curator was the least diverse profession in our field. We found that there was a negative correlation between organizations’ size (by annual operating budget) and diversity. The larger the organization, the more well‑resourced it was, the less diverse it was. Small organizations with small budgets were more diverse. This informed our mandate in the Cultural Plan to increase funding for smaller organizations. This also informed our partnership with City University of New York (CUNY) to begin the CUNY Cultural Corps. CUNY’s student population is quite diverse – it looks like NYC. CUNY Cultural Corps is a professional development and internship program to introduce undergraduate students to professions in the cultural field. It’s still quite active. Over 1,000 CUNY students have participated so far and the program continues to this day. Over time, DCLA also developed application questions related to the diversity of their organizations and their audiences.

Tom Finkelpearl At the roll out, when we got out there on the stage with the mayor to announce the Cultural Plan, it centered around the diversity initiative, saying the CIG will need to develop diver‑ sity plans or face the possibility being cut by 10% of their city support – and that’s a lot of money for institutions like the Met. If you look at the results of the most recent Ithaka S+R report you can see that there has been progress, a definite upswing of people of color in arts positions across the country. Not what it should be still, but the numbers went up  –  for example the number of Black curators in the United States quadrupled.3 Also, anecdotally folks are climbing the ladder going from assistant curator to associate curators, full curator to Chief Curator, and so on. I thought that we were part of that larger dynamic, but I’m also wondering what would have happened realistically, if not for the movement for Black Lives. We were pushing. A little bit happened here and there, and then, bigger picture, there was a change in national consciousness.

Eddie Torres I think you’re right. George Floyd’s murder and the movement for Black Lives brought to the fore the work of people who’d been struggling for justice for generations. Those gen‑ erations of advocating, organizing, creating organization and network infrastructure were mobilized. That was done by Black and Brown people, largely Black and Brown women, LGBTQIA+ people, and more artists than are publicly acknowledged. Our work at the City played a small part in a much larger dynamic. We already had the diversity initiative under‑ way at DCLA when the cultural plan was in development, and then, it came together for 103

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the announcement of the Cultural Plan and the announcement that the CIG would need to identify their diversity goals. The same is true of the Cultural Plan’s mandate to increase City investments in low‑income communities, which is where so many organizations of color are. That was so helped by the work of the Social Impact of the Arts Project (SIAP) out of the University of Pennsylvania –  Professors Susan Seifert and Mark Stern – which began before the Cultural Plan. SIAP re‑ ceived support from foundations – New York Community Trust, Surdna Foundation, and others – to conduct a study of the social impact of the arts in NYC. SIAP worked with City agencies – the police, Department of Education, Health and Human Services, others – to secure data and cross‑reference that with our cultural funding data and other sources. They found that the presence of cultural assets (artists, organizations, creative small businesses, arts participants) in a neighborhood were correlated with more positive outcomes in edu‑ cation, in health, even in safety. SIAP found that these correlations were more positive in low‑income communities. The first deputy mayor Tony Shorris gathered the other agencies at City Hall to reveal the plan’s findings – Professors Stern and Siefert explained to a room of planners, public health professionals, and safety and education experts how important cultural assets in low‑income communities were to education, health, and safety. Our colleagues got it right away. This made our recommendations so much easier. The team at SIAP explained, “There are no cultural deserts. There are cultural funding deserts.” This allowed us to assert in the Cultural Plan that we were targeting low‑income communities for increased investment in cultural assets, which also increased health, safety, and educational outcomes. If we hadn’t already been doing that work on diversity and on the positive social impacts of the arts in funding‑poor neighborhoods, the cultural plan couldn’t have happened in the same way. And I think that’s true of the national moment in 2020, and thereafter. Without the momentum and infrastructure, all of the subsequent work would have been harder and maybe slower.

Tom Finkelpearl To use a baseball analogy, there has been a lot of talk recently about what is called a “hop start” or “momentum lead” for stealing second base. It is a technique in which a baserunner takes a little hop and leans toward second base before taking off. That bit of momentum helps the runner get moving, to steal second.4 I think of the diversity work we did maybe as that sort of hop start, though the true transformation happened later. One of the things that I thought was coolest was the creation of two new staff positions at Cultural Affairs. One was the first visibly disabled person we had on staff, Annie Leist, working on disability inclusion. I spoke with her every day as her desk was just by my office. The other thing, of course, was that we launched the Disability Forward Fund directly based on a suggestion at one of our office hour sessions, brought up by a member of the Disability/ Arts/NYC/Taskforce which was started in response to the Cultural Plan. Annie was active in helping coordinate the new funding category. The other thing which I think nobody really knows much about is Harris Schaer joining the staff as our energy‑saving guru for the CIGs.

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We had “first year implementation strategies” in the plan. One was working with the members of the Cultural Institutions Group (CIG) to achieve the city’s sustainability goals. At that time, the agency was spending $43 million on energy for the cultural institutions on city property. (We were a good landlord: If you were running a cultural institution on city property, we charged no rent and picked up the energy bill.) So, we committed to creating a staff position specifically to work with cultural organizations to help them reduce their carbon emissions and create a more sustainable city. We hired Harris as Director of Energy and Sustainability. He got his master’s degree in solid state physics in Iceland because that’s the place to go if you’re interested in sustainability. He worked with the CIG, and, and that really did make a difference. The Department of Citywide Administrative Services (DCAS) had funding for energy specialists embedded in agencies, so we didn’t actually have to pay his salary with cultural funding. We also set a goal to fund $5 million per year in the capital budget to help organizations reduce their greenhouse emissions (a goal we reached at least as long as I was there).

Eddie Torres Other elements were in process prior to the plan but then fed into the plan. Back in 2014, Mindy Tarlow, head of the Mayor’s Office of Operations, reached out to me. I had known her from before, when I was a program officer at The Rockefeller Foundation, and she was director of Center for Employment Opportunities. It was all hands on deck in city govern‑ ment to turn out the administration’s long‑term sustainability plan, which happened to be due the following year. Mindy Tarlow asked me to lead the development of a section of the city’s 2015 long‑term sustainability plan. So I worked with colleagues at the City and co‑led the development of the sections of “One New York: The Plan for a Strong and Just City” that were focused on neighborhood resilience and community cohesion. This involved col‑ laborating with several other agencies including Health, Parks and Recreation, and others. As part of that process, I pitched an idea to the other agencies. I made the argument that I’d learned at The Rockefeller Foundation, which has been verified internationally – that key to resilience to disaster is to have a community. Your neighbors are always the first responders. That which builds a community, builds resilience – the ability to bounce back from a disaster. I argued that culture builds community – t his has been proven many times over – by Maria Rosario Jackson at the Urban Institute (now Chair of a U.S. federal gov‑ ernment agency that funds the arts, the National Endowment for the Arts) and by others. The other City agencies agreed enthusiastically. They loved this idea. So, I wrote a chapter in the long‑term sustainability plan on how important cultural expression is for commu‑ nity building, particularly in low‑income communities. This chapter was how we man‑ aged to get the Office of Management and Budget (OMB) to expand our capacity‑building program’s goals, its structure, its funding and its staff to serve cohorts of cultural actors (organizations but also artists and small businesses) in key neighborhoods. This was re‑ inforced by Professors Stern and Seifert’s SIAP research in NYC on the Social Impact of the Arts. Both those efforts began before the Cultural Plan. And then that all fed into the Cultural Plan’s goal of increasing investment in funding‑poor neighborhoods. So much was going on at once!

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Tom Finkelpearl Yes, a lot of initiatives were woven into the cultural plan. SIAP’s work, the diversity initia‑ tive. All the outreach seeped back into the agency. I think this is an important point. While the plan nurtured new ideas, it also gave us permission to bring some ideas to scale.

What Would You Have Done Differently If You Had the Chance to Do It Again? Eddie Torres I would have tried to bring the other agencies on board earlier in the process. For some doing so was easy, but for others it was a struggle all the way through to execution. For example, I remember having a conversation at the Department of Education with Chan‑ cellor Carmen Fariña who was so supportive of expanding arts education in immigrant communities, and Paul King who was, at the time, Executive Director of the Office of Arts and Special Projects. We shared with them findings from City University of New York’s Center of Urban Research, overseen by Professor John Mollenkopf. The researcher had worked with our agency’s data and NYC Department of Education’s data and found that while the communities that had lower rates of arts in schools were low‑income, their being low‑income was not predictive. That is, while all the low‑arts schools were in low‑income communities, not all low‑income communities were low arts‑in‑schools. What was predictive was the percentage of immigrant kids in those schools. English language learners had the lowest rates of arts in education. The Department of Educa‑ tion was probably one of our most important partners. And I could just see it on Paul’s face, when we explained this and proposed to expand arts‑in‑education in immigrant communities. “Oh… we should have had this conversation at the start of this process.” Chancellor Fariña supported it, we included it, but we knew it was going to be a fight to execute. In government, people have fiefdoms which need to be respected and navigated proactively if you want to make headway.

Tom Finkelpearl What I would have done differently… At the beginning of the planning process, I was talking to Parks Commissioner Mitch Silver who is an actual city planner by profession. He said, Tom, have you ever done a plan before? I said, No. He said, here’s what you should do. It’s going to be very, very hard in the short run, and much better in the long run. Just stick to three or four goals. Your plan should be short and concise. You’re going to take all kinds of crap to keep it short because you’ll be leaving a lot of ideas out. Well, we did not do that. We wrote a 140‑page book. Yes, there is a lot of background, surveys, context, but there’s also like 50 pages of recommendations. When DCLA project manager Diya Vij and chief of staff Shirley Levy wrote the Implementations Plan document two years later, they spent months combing through the original Plan finding things that were repetitive or could be combined into one goal. The Implementations Plan is much shorter, but it still breaks it down to the five broad objectives and 22 supporting strategies.

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Eddie Torres And that’s even a lot!

Tom Finkelpearl Yeah! And then under each of the strategies are the actions. Anyway, my thought after we finished was that Mitch was right. We should have just bitten the bullet and said we’re going to work on three or four areas. On the other hand, the way we wrote it did create leeway.

Eddie Torres I remember at one point, you said, “You know, it would be good to get this shorter. But shorter takes longer.”

Tom Finkelpearl Yeah. Oscar Wilde supposedly said at the end of a long letter, “I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.” We had so little time for the editing process after all those months of interaction. But I don’t think it would have mattered too much. We were already committed to an expansive process with lots of recommendations. All in all, I think the plan was a good plan. I’m proud of what we were able to write. My question is what happens once administrations change? Is it all out the window? Like the CETA program that was canceled when Ronald Reagan took office.

Eddie Torres I spoke to the new commissioner, Laurie Cumbo and she said something like, “I am wrap‑ ping my head around all the changes that have been taking place at DCLA, largely thanks to you and Tom.” I perceive that to be a good thing. Between the spirit of the plan, which is essentially to embrace equity, then the breadth of it, I think it’s hard to reject that plan or reject the spirit of it without looking like you are anti‑equity. We foregrounded values so it’s easy to remain in the spirit of it even if not the details.

Tom Finkelpearl Right? (laughs) Almost any pro‑equity cultural policy is akin to something we mentioned in the plan.

Eddie Torres So why would you reject that opportunity?

Tom Finkelpearl Yeah. I was sitting recently with Kerry McCarthy of New York Community Trust and Ales‑ sandra DiGuisto of Deutsche Bank Americas Foundation, funders who helped us with our

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equity work. They were saying, “This really got a public conversation going at the city level.” And I think it’s sort of what you’re saying as well. Once you open the door it is hard to close. Lots of in‑person conversations and people yelling at each other or agreeing or going off and doing other sorts of planning, like the People’s Cultural Plan which was developed as an alternative. I recently re‑read it. It is essentially arguing that you can’t just make reforms in the cultural sector, because you’re just scratching the surface. If you care about artists’ housing, you’ve got to address housing in general. You need to have a housing plan that fills New York City with affordable housing to a degree that hasn’t been seen in generations. If you care about community stability, you must look at Rent Stabilization for commercial properties, not just apartments. So, things like commercial rent stabilization, and housing were part of their plan. They were extremely sophisticated and understood, for example, that cuts at the CIG would mean cuts for union jobs for people of color. So, in order to become equitable, they argued we’re going to need something like $600 million of additional expense money per year. Which is not wrong. The People’s Cultural Plan was proposing to tax rich people, to go to Albany, to get the State Legislature and the Governor to raise revenue to fund organizations of color in the boroughs on a level that’s not been seen before (for the most part taxes are assessed at the State level in New York). Whatever you say about our efforts, and I am proud of them, they were reformist. We did not tackle the big issues, the current state of the city, issues like homelessness, inequitable taxation, and so on. Because redesigning our national or even local economic system wasn’t our job. There are other agencies in the city that were building housing and dealing with community stabil‑ ity. We were part of the city government, a big organization with 59 agencies, hundreds of thousands of employees and tens of billions of dollars in budget. And our job was just the cultural slice. The People’s Cultural Plan said, that’s not enough. Right. I like their plan a lot better now that I’m not Commissioner and have a bit more distance.

Eddie Torres I think the message from f the People’s Cultural Plan that you can’t cut your way to equity is important. NYC’s cultural activists said, If you cut funding in the big institutions, they’re going to cut jobs. And whose job will get cut? The workers lowest in the hierarchy, those most recently hired workers. Those will be people of color losing their jobs. Instead, increase funding for the small, community‑led, organizations of color. Helping the oppressed doesn’t have to mean harming everybody else, because you’re just re‑ flecting back the harmful dynamics that have been there historically – the competitive men‑ tality, the scarcity mentality, the deficit thinking. That’s white supremacy culture – to help one group by harming another group is just recreating it. The cultural activists encouraged an abundance mentality. They said, “Don’t make the institutions as poor as us! Make us as rich as the institutions!” This allowed us to maintain funding for institutions but increase funding for small organizations, organizations of color. Keep in mind, we have a legislative branch and an executive branch of the government, and the executive branch executes. The head of Housing Preservation and Development is 108

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not going to suddenly quintuple their own budget, because they don’t have that authority. It has to be part of the legislative agenda, and making that happen requires that activists, advocates, legislators all engage in iterative political mapping and long‑term sustained or‑ ganizing. That can’t just come from one city agency. I would love it if the agency could go, “Yeah, we’re going to increase our budget by $600M. Here you are, Mr. Mayor!” This requires support for long‑term organizing that only comes from funding general op‑ erations and overhead as well as ongoing political education and coordination. The cultural community needs to be funded to join the larger economic justice community to demand that legislators make equitable cultural support part of the larger economic justice legislative agenda.

Tom Finkelpearl Indeed, DCLA cannot implement commercial rent stabilization or solve the budget of public housing.

Eddie Torres I remember reading about New York City Housing Authority (NYCHA), our public hous‑ ing agency, and looking at the history of the federal government’s steady disinvestment from NYCHA that has been so hampering for generations. And the fact of the matter is the scale of support you need to house low‑income people in New York can only come from the federal government. So, on the one hand, we’re looking at what DCLA can do. And on the other hand, we’re looking at what the city can do, or even what the state can do. Complexity is about interdependence and requires long‑term sustained effort to address. Some problems are big enough that you need far higher levels of government to address. All of this politi‑ cal mapping, organizing and advocacy require that funders provide long‑term support for power‑building in communities.

Tom Finkelpearl Exactly. And that is what needs to happen. The People’s Cultural Plan was not beholden to the City budget, so they could point to an ideal, a set of solutions on a scale we could not. This points to the limitations of cultural planning. What does it really mean divorced from City Planning and large scale socio‑economic reform? I don’t have any major regrets. What the plan forced us to do, in essence, was the engage‑ ment process. We became much, much more engaged partially by choosing Hester Street, and that team. Nadia was inherently interested, ready, willing and able to get out there as well. Yeah. And I think that engagement is the biggest value, and making people also feel engaged with culture. And there is a laundry list of stuff that was jump started because of it, especially in the areas of: Diversity. Energy. Disability.

Eddie Torres We increased the agency’s budget, increasing funding for BIPOC communities. We broad‑ ened support to funding‑poor communities beyond organizations to include artists and 109

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small businesses. We increased support to artists and to artists with disabilities, to people for whom English is a second language. We created pipelines from the City University of New York to employment in the cultural community. Look at what we did with the Cultural Development Fund, the tens of millions in com‑ petitively awarded grants. We increased the number of grants available. Before the plan, an organization couldn’t get more than 50% of their income from the City. Now it’s 75%. That’s an equity issue as organizations of color get most of their funding from the govern‑ ment, making a 50% match inequitable. When you look at the tens of thousands of people who work in the cultural sector in New York as an absolute number, that’s huge. That’s the size of a small city. And those people’s lives have all been affected by the plan. We may not be aware of it, but all New Yorkers have been affected by New York City’s first Cultural Plan.

Lessons Learned • Planners must set the goals of your cultural plan and state them explicitly. Our goal was to support arts and culture’s role in positive social change. We wanted to support low‑ and moderate‑income community members through our support for arts and culture. These goals are not necessarily what everyone expected and our being explicit from the start would have helped set their expectations. • It is important to set the scope of the cultural plan accordingly. • In our case, other city agencies were eager to engage but not necessarily to change. We were grateful for their engagement but should have been explicit about our desire for them to develop new or altered lines of work from the start. • Simplification of the final plan is important. We should have allowed more time for greater editing so that the document itself was not so sprawling. Ambition is great but it does not create an easy reading experience. Writing a cultural plan with fewer goals is more difficult in the short run but more likely to focus on what really matters. • Engage and support advocates and legislators. • While we increased the grantmaking budget of the agency quite a bit, and increased fund‑ ing in low‑income communities, some advocates wanted change to the funding structure all together which was beyond the scope of a single executive agency. We acknowledge that these advocates need support for their organizing and advocacy and engagement with the legislative branch to make changes at the executive level. We must all support organizing and power‑building. • Starting cultural planning in the early days of an administration is important. Plans often do not survive the change in mayors or cultural agency leaders. You may write a ten‑year plan, but if there is a new mayor in year four (which is the mayoral cycle in the United States), the plan may be put on the shelf. • The dialogue is as important as the document. Getting out and about in the city, talking to folks about the meaning and use of culture in their lives can be affirming even if some‑ times fraught. There will be arguments, conflicts, and moments of surprising agreement. All of these are worthwhile.

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Notes 1 Chair – Appointed by the DCLA Commissioner Ben Rodriguez‑Cubeñas, Program Director, Rockefeller Brothers Fund Mayoral Appointees Tino Gagliardi, President of Associated Musicians of Greater New York, Local 802 Karen Brooks Hopkins, Senior Fellow in Residence, Andrew W. Mellon Foundation Eric Pryor, President, Harlem School of the Arts; former Director, Center for Arts Education Sandra Jackson Dumont, Chair, Education Department, Metropolitan Museum of Art Miguel Luciano, Artist, Resident Artist at PS 109 Joanna Haigood, Choreographer, Dancing in the Streets Arnold Lehman, Former Director, Brooklyn Museum Tattfoo Tan, Artist City Council Appointees Catherine A. Green, Executive Director/Founder, ARTs East New York Inc. Daisy Rodriguez, Director of Government Affairs, Department of Institutional Advancement, American Museum of Natural History Adam Huttler, Founder and Executive Director, Fractured Atlas Rosalba Rolón, Co‑founder and Artistic Director, Pregones Theater Gianna P. Cerbone‑Teoli, Executive Chef/Owner, Manducatis Rustica Tia Powell Harris, President and Executive Director, Weeksville Heritage Center (WHC) Kenneth Tabachnick, Senior Associate, AEA Consulting Kenneth Pietrobono, Artist Borough President Appointees John Calvelli, EVP, Public Affairs, The Wildlife Conservation Society Bronx Borough President Appointee Jennifer Walden, Director of Cultural Affairs and Tourism Queens Borough President Appointee Myrah Brown Greene, Arts Consultant and Independent Curator Brooklyn Borough President Appointee Amanda Straniere, Community Campaign Coordinator, Staten Island Museum Staten Island Borough President Appointee Verdery Roosevelt, Senior Vice President, Program & Nonprofit Investments, Upper Manhat‑ tan Empowerment Zone Manhattan Borough President Appointee 2 On their web site, the Cultural Institutions Group defines itself thus: “A diverse coalition of 34 nonprofit museums, performing arts centers, historical societies, zoos, and botanical gardens lo‑ cated in New York City. The City’s relationship with the CIGs is based on the premise that the CIGs are privately managed organizations operating in public facilities established and main‑ tained for the provision of cultural services and programs to the people of New York City. In return, the City provides the CIGs with operating, capital, energy, and other support. Through this public partnership, CIGs protect, maintain, and improve over five million square feet of city‑owned building space and over 700 acres of city property. This long‑standing partnership between the City and the CIGs has positioned New York City as a world‑class cultural hub and leader in science/arts education and public programs” https://www.cignyc.org/. 3 Art Museum Staff Demographic Survey 2022. https://sr.ithaka.org/publications/art‑museum‑ staff‑demographic‑survey‑2022/. The field grows more diverse: With respect to the race and eth‑ nicity of museum staff, data show a continued, moderate increase in people of color (POC) across all museum roles. Museum leadership and conservation positions, while growing more diverse,

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Eddie Torres and Tom Finkelpearl have not exceeded one‑fifth POC representation overall. Over 40% of younger staff and newer hires are POC. In the aggregate, the demographic changes in museum staff are primarily due to in‑ creases in staff from three backgrounds: Hispanic, Asian, and those who are Two or More Races. While there has not been a significant increase in Black staff in the aggregate, between 2015 and 2022, the number of Black staff in museum leadership has more than doubled, while tripling in information technology and quadrupling in curatorial positions. 4 https://theathletic.com/4395432/2023/04/11/yankees‑mlb‑stolen‑base‑technique/.

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2.3 CULTURAL DISTRICTS AND CULTURAL POLICY Adrian Ellis

Introduction Section ‘A Brief History of Cultural Districts’ seeks to define and provide a short history of the evolution of cultural districts, outlining the economic logic of ‘clustering’ in pre‑­ capitalist and capitalist economies, and discussing the impact of technology on clustering in the cultural sector. Section ‘Cultural Districts as Public Policy’ discusses the rise of cultural activity as a contributor to wider social and economic goals, and the concomitant rise in the use of culture and specifically cultural districts as policy instruments, in particular explor‑ ing their role in building identities and strategies that seek to temper the corrosive impact of globalization. An understanding of primary stakeholders’ ambitions and the tools at their disposal offers insights into how the quite general category of ‘cultural district’ can use‑ fully be broken down into different typologies. In Section ‘Current Concerns’, as we enter a period in which globalization is under pressure both as a compelling economic philoso‑ phy and as an economic reality, the implications for cultural districts are examined. The priority afforded high profile and iconic cultural infrastructure aimed at city branding and tourism may as a result be lower, and the role of cultural districts and their programming as tools for social and economic justice correspondingly higher. Finally, in Section ‘Cultural Districts as a Heterogenous Concept’, there is a discussion of the broader economic and policy environment in which districts are currently operating. We are in a period of rapid and accelerating transformation, as the climate crisis and the responsibilities of the cultural sector for both emissions and mitigation; the diffusion of new technologies; the priority stakeholders are giving to issues of equity; and a changing world order all increase in sali‑ ence, inevitably affecting cultural investment strategies profoundly. This in turn will change the character of districts themselves and with it the agendas of the organizations responsi‑ ble for their management.

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-11

Adrian Ellis

A Brief History of Cultural Districts A recent study undertaken for the Global Cultural Districts Network (GCDN) identified just under 500 cultural districts around the world (GCDN, 2023; Quartier des Spectacles Partnership, 2023). A cultural district was for the purposes of that exercise – and is for this chapter  –  any geographic area generally recognized as having a concentration of cultural activities, organizations, infrastructure and workers. The district may or may not have a defined organizational structure (for example, as a Business Improvement District) or rec‑ ognition through some local, state government designation with associated fiscal or other benefits; it may or may not have ‘hard edges’ – that is a well‑defined geographic boundary; it may or may not be dominated by a specific form of cultural production – music production, design, film, or, famously, in the case of Cremona, violin making – or cultural consumption as in the case of Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, or Vienna’s Museums Quartier or the commercial galleries of Beijing’s 798 Arts District. It is also likely that the cultural ele‑ ment itself, whilst definitional, is only one of many land uses. There will almost certainly be other commercial, non‑profit, retail, business, and residential elements in the mix. Cultural districts are not a new phenomenon. They have been an integral part of urban life ever since there was urban life. Concentrations of broadly cultural assets – buildings, open areas suitable for ceremonial or public performance, programmed public spaces, concentra‑ tions of makers and artisans – have been around since humanity first clustered together in recognizable cities, which is usually dated to Mesopotamia, a little under 10,000 years ago. By the Early Dynastic period (between around 2900 BCE and 2350 BCE) both palaces and temples – secular and religious ‘anchors,’ to use modern terminology – provided the impetus for extensive communities of artisans and their supporting infrastructure, which it is not anachronistic to describe as ‘live‑work’ spaces. The underlying logic of the geographic clustering of specific activities is self‑evident in pre‑capitalist societies, whether pre‑feudal, feudal or mercantile, and examples are easy to find whether they are around Sumerian temples or medieval craft guilds. But the logic of clustering in the period of expansive industrial capitalism in the 19th century and subse‑ quently is less self‑evident. Surely, classical economic theory argued, competitive entities would not choose to huddle together but rather would elect to spread out in search of less competitively demanding conditions in which to sell their goods or services or buy labor, unless they were forced to do otherwise by restrictions of law or custom. The continued habit of spontaneous clustering was therefore, in the economic literature of the 19th century, regarded as a legacy from preindustrial times – after all, it takes a long time for production involving expensive and specialized fixed assets (mills for example) to disperse even if there is an incentive to do so. However in 1890 the economist Alfred Marshall developed a convincing thesis about the lasting benefits of clustering for actors in competitive economies that has remained the most succinct explanation of why apparent competitors in a market economy – competitors that one might reasonably think would steer clear of one another – often end up cheek‑by‑jowl whether they are making violins in Cremona or car parts in Birmingham. Indeed he argued that they have little incentive to ‘decluster’ themselves (Marshall, 1920). Marshall developed not one but a number of mutually reinforcing explanatory ration‑ ales, collectively known as ‘Marshallian externalities’ or ‘agglomeration effects.’ These are 114

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basically benefits that accrue to individual enterprises and that – in the theoretical conditions of a perfectly competitive economy at least – also contribute to the collective good, if they are in close proximity to one another. These incentives to cluster apply equally whether in the context of a vertical supply chain (i.e., from raw materials to final market) or horizon‑ tally (i.e., co‑located with direct competitors). His list includes greater availability of skilled workers; accelerated access to innovations through informal opportunities for learning; easy access to suppliers and buyers; lower transport costs; economic efficiencies and time saved stemming from the stability and trust that comes from frequent and close interaction; and greater opportunities for strategic collaboration. While Marshall’s original insight has been refined, his framework remains the basic ex‑ planatory tool for naturally occurring clusters, including those in the creative industries (Goya, 2022). His reasoning provides the underpinning for most competition and innova‑ tion strategies today, popularized by consultants advising local and national governments, most notably the Harvard‑based Michael Porter, whose Theory of Clusters draws heavily on Marshall and whose ‘five forces’ framework remains a core tool of the management con‑ sulting industry (Porter, 1998). Across the globe, clusters of every sort are fostered by public agencies looking to create a critical mass of activity for a wide range of policy objectives, in‑ cluding innovation, economic growth, skills development, tourism, urban regeneration and social cohesion (The United Nations Industrial Development Organization, 2020). There is of course an important qualification to the ubiquity of geographic clustering as a naturally occurring phenomenon to be universally encouraged by public policy, namely that of digital‑, virtual‑, or e‑clustering, A strong, thickly interconnected virtual network offers many of the benefits – especially informational benefits – of physical clustering without the need for geographic proximity. This reality has direct bearing on the underlying rationale for a policy of fostering physical clustering. The potentialities of virtual clustering of course affect differ‑ ent industries in different ways, depending on which aspects of production and consumption processes can be handled virtually. Their impact on the underlying ‘logic’ of – or rationale for – policy makers to encourage or develop cultural districts is important, and asymmetric in that it affects differently the dynamics of cultural production and cultural consumption. Cultural consumption remains predominantly place‑based  –  the ‘live’ performance and the ‘authentic’ object remain strong pulls that cannot easily be replaced by virtual alterna‑ tives. Evidence suggests that virtual cultural access appears to broadly complement to rather than substitute for the physical experience in situations other than pandemic‑precipitated lockdowns (AEA Consulting, 2016). And the growing number of ‘immersive’ cultural ex‑ periences are also inherently physical or place‑based, notwithstanding its technologically dependent character. The impact of e‑clustering on cultural production is potentially more significant. There are two dimensions: one is that cultural districts are not just cultural districts, as mentioned above. They are also often downtown areas with significant workforces whose cultural, entertainment and food and beverage preferences have been an important source of de‑ mand and financial sustainability for many districts’ cultural institutions. The acceleration of distributed work practices that are one legacy of the pandemic has therefore had a highly adverse impact on the economies of many cultural districts (Bedell, 2021). This effect is best described as an indirect negative impact of the opportunities presented by the rise in digital clustering. As of mid‑2023, there is strong pressure by many larger employers for employees 115

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to return to broadly pre‑pandemic working practices but the jury is out on whether this will temper the general and well‑documented malaise that city centers are experiencing through an exodus of office workers (Hernández‑Morales et al., 2023). The direct effect of e‑clustering is that creative workers can work virtually if they choose and obtain many of the Marshallian benefits – informal sharing, etc. – without the need for geographic clustering, simply through virtual contact. That said, notwithstanding anecdotal evidence of creatives moving in significant numbers to more physically isolated locations, this author knows of no systematic evidence that the opportunities for digital clustering have eroded the appetite for physical clustering (Li, 2020). Were there a significant move to virtual clustering, this would matter for cultural districts because many of the most vibrant cultural districts co‑locate cultural production and con‑ sumption, and districts with only cultural consumption tend to lack the vitality and texture that is part of their attraction to cultural consumers. Indeed, ensuring the early introduc‑ tion of the structures and incentives needed to keep cultural production and cultural con‑ sumption co‑located when land values increase and creative workers and workspaces priced out – subsidized rents, land banks, etc. –is a perennial preoccupation of those planning or managing cultural districts (Arroyo, 2020).

Cultural Districts as Public Policy Cultural districts have a long history as ‘policy instruments’ – that is, of policy makers seek‑ ing to develop them in a particular way to promote specific policy goals.’ Exhibition Road in London has a cluster of august cultural and educational institutions – often known col‑ lectively as Albertopolis – the origins of which are in an overtly didactic agenda around the encouragement of innovation in manufacturing, driven by Prince Albert and the civil servant and social entrepreneur Henry Cole, and built on the impetus and financial proceeds of the Great Exhibition of 1851. However, their use to progress a wider range of policy ends – for tourism, for urban renewal, economic development – is much more recent. Ngram Viewer is a Google function that displays words or phrases in graphic form, show‑ ing how those phrases have occurred in all books and articles scanned by Google, allowing one to track the frequency with which certain words are used in published work. If one runs ‘cultural districts,’ ‘cultural quarters’ and other close synonyms through Ngram, the results all reveal a similar picture, that of a near‑flat line until around 2000 followed by a steep rise in references in printed literature comprising a thick stream of policy‑oriented books and articles addressing cultural districts in the context of public art, place‑making, anchor institutions, city branding, community access and geographical equity (Google, 1800–2019a). Spanish and Italian searches (e.g. for ‘distretto culturale’) reveal a similar pattern (Google, 1800–2019b). The rise broadly follows, with a lag of about a decade – and with a much steeper curve – the line that plots references to ‘cultural policy’ and its synonyms. Cultural policy, not just as an academic field but as a focus of the public sector at local, regional and national level, has expanded vastly in scope and sophistication over the past three decades. The field has progressed from counting and classifying things  –  also known as ‘mapping’  –  and from methodologically quite crude economic impact studies to sophisticated modeling of the dif‑ ferent sorts of inputs (arts education, infrastructure, programming, support for artists, etc.) on different outputs and ultimately economic, social and cultural outcomes. 116

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The field has unequivocally come of age theoretically; and in turn many cities and coun‑ tries around the world have adopted cultural policies in one form or another for a range of policy objectives – from ‘soft’ diplomacy to tourism, to urban regeneration to, most recently, health and wellbeing and social justice. (The translation from the academic to the applied is of course on occasion partial and flawed, but this is equally so in most other policy fields, including health, environment, transport and economic policy, where academic research is available to inform policy but where politics, vested interest, funding incentives and incom‑ petence all mar the journey from theory to practice.) The reasons for the ascendancy of cultural policy itself in government thinking are slightly opaque. One rationale would appear to be a response to a long period where globalization has been dominant both as a matter of fact and as a prevalent ideology. The past 30 years have witnessed an increasingly open economy with highly mobile capital and labor, and a prevailing economic philosophy that has pushed for deregulation of financial markets inter‑ nationally, fueled by advances in communications and financial technologies. These have, together, left national and especially city governments with a shrinking number of policy ‘le‑ vers’ at their disposal. Cities have, under the ubiquitous pressures of globalization, become increasingly commodified, indistinct from one another in the character of their urban fabric and their commercial offer. They have few tools to assert distinction, and therefore to gain traction with highly mobile knowledge workers, capital and indeed high‑end tourists, but cultural programming and especially its eye‑catching architectural carapaces offer at least one route for cities back from ‘commodity’ to ‘brand.’ With the diminished governmental spheres of intervention that are the corollary of a dominant market philosophy, culture – and therefore cultural policy – is one of the residual areas of ostensible local control or at least influence. In other words, the long chapter of overt globalization encapsulated in measures like the U.S. President Clinton administration’s North American Free Trade Agreement and its peers globally, in turn created the need for cities in global competition to strive for distinction and therefore cultural distinction – and therefore investment in cultural districts has been one epiphenomenon, the clustering of cul‑ tural assets offering critical mass and therefore visibility. Significantly, the pattern of investment in the period in which we have now entered glob‑ ally may be fundamentally different, as it is one in which governments are less in the thrall of unfettered globalization as an ideology and in which many are actively pursuing some form of protectionism and seeking to shorten international supply lines. Indeed, the change in the international political economy is also manifest in a somber backlash of political national‑ ism or ‘nativism’ from, among others, the governments of Hungary, Poland, Italy, Britain, India, America (at least under President Trump), and of course Russia. It will therefore be interesting to see in this current geopolitical chapter whether and how cultural policy can adapt with integrity to keep its modest place at the decision‑makers’ table. Whilst the competitive logic of globalization has driven much of the ‘heroic’ investment in large scale cultural infrastructure, the role of arts programming as a tool for promoting social equity has in parallel provided the intellectual framework for arts activities in local communities (outreach and community engagement). A change in the balance of focus of cultural policy from infrastructure designed for purposes of city and nation branding, tour‑ ism and soft diplomacy to community based programming, reflecting the change in broader political priorities. 117

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Current Concerns As suggested above, many distinctions can be drawn between different forms of cultural districts: whether they are predominantly characterized by cultural consumption or produc‑ tion or some combination of both; whether they are predominantly of one cultural form, like London’s and New York’s theater districts or the museum districts of Vienna, Berlin, Frankfurt, London’s Exhibition Road or Washington DC’s Mall. However, one common distinction often drawn is between those which have their origins in organic clustering (‘bot‑ tom up’) and those that have been created largely without the starter yeast of a naturally oc‑ curring base (‘top‑down’). This latter category has some important characteristics that have been subject to close scrutiny in the context of the changing sensibilities and preoccupations of the current broadly post‑pandemic period. Top‑down cultural districts are, as noted, nothing new. Berlin’s Museumsinsel was de‑ signed to a masterplan that began with the Altesmuseum 1830 and was only completed with the Pergamon Museum a century later in 1930 or perhaps even with the Humboldt Forum in 2020; London’s nexus of museums around Exhibition Road or Albertopolis emerged as mentioned as a planned campus in the aftermath of the Great Exhibition of 1871; a century later Lincoln Center’s 16‑acre campus in New York was completed 1969. Washington DC’s Mall was first articulated in Charles L’Enfant’s 1791 plan and the first Smithsonian building (‘The Castle’) was completed in 1855. Today’s best known top‑down exemplars are perhaps West Kowloon Cultural District in Hong Kong and Saadiyat Island in Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates, both of which are under construction, but already with significant infrastructures of museums, performing arts provision and public spaces in place. A large number of similar initiatives have been undertaken around the world in the past 20 years, led by China, with Saudi Arabia close behind (AEA Consulting, 2020a). These ‘top‑down’ projects are invariably government‑led – i.e., government is the domi‑ nant stakeholder – and with policy objectives that are intended to serve, in effect, a strategic intent that transcends or at least complements any purely cultural purpose. These include most obviously city‑ and country‑branding and accelerated urban development. There has been a degree of slightly queasy soul‑searching about these projects in the cul‑ tural sector, partly because of the ‘extra‑cultural’ goals – city – and state‑branding, tourism, etc.  –  can often appear to dominate in planning, with cultural players frustrated at how difficult it is to get their functional needs recognized in planning briefs, and aware that ques‑ tions with respect to long‑term sustainability are left partially or wholly unaddressed in the pursuit of shorter‑term political victories. This concern has if anything grown in the current pandemic and post‑pandemic chapter, the key characteristics of which are not yet in high relief and the subject of intense sce‑ nario planning in the sector (particularly, whether increased remote working is here to stay; whether there will be lasting changed patterns of tourism; and whether current lower levels of cultural participation are temporary or permanent) (AEA Consulting, 2020b). In the short term, we know that these three drivers of the business models of cultural districts – significant downtown workforces, high levels of cultural attendance and tourist visitation – and the income that they brought to districts plummeted during the COVID‑19 pandemic and that the first two, at least, have not recovered to be pre‑COVID levels. In parallel, the increased emphasis on issues of social and racial equity in cultural agendas 118

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following the international outcry that met the murder of George Floyd by a police officer in Minneapolis in May 2020, has meant that cultural policy and practice, and the preoccupa‑ tions of cultural leaders, have increasingly emphasized cultural provision as a community amenity and a lever for distributive justice at a local level, rather than a strategy for brand building internationally. This recalibrating of the goals of cultural policy has some parallels in the reorientation of at least the rhetoric of cultural investment in the MENA region following the Arab Spring of 2010–2013 when popular uprisings forced many Middle Eastern governments to pay greater attention to domestic populations concerns than to image building internationally. In the global West, building‑based strategies are in part being replaced as priorities by strate‑ gies involving deeper, more ongoing presence in immediate communities. This means work‑ ing in partnership with schools and social service organizations with an increased emphasis on engagement ‘beyond the building.’ Developing business models that can underpin this change of emphasis is a live and largely unresolved issue for arts leaders and funders. The increased salience of equity‑related agendas in many Western countries has equally affected issues such as the importance attached to diversity of workforce and management; the legitimacy of certain classes of endowment holdings and donor contributions and the moral standing of board members; and, for museums, the issue of restitution of objects ac‑ quired during periods of colonial occupation or more generally with unclear provenance. This means collectively an agenda almost wholly changed from the agenda of, say, a decade ago, one that has left many of the current generation of arts leaders and managers – and in some cases their stakeholders – acutely conscious of how ill‑equipped they are either by experience or training for the current slate of issues they have before them. This period of reckoning in turn is leading to generational turnover in arts leaders and a period in which strong sectoral leadership – voices that are by general consent speaking ‘about and for the sector’ – is less in evidence. There are currently fewer institutional leaders aspiring to speak for or represent the sector and its concerns than at any time in recent memory. Another facet of the post‑pandemic operating environment is of course the accelerating climate crisis  –  compounded by the energy cost spike from Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Much of the more flamboyantly expressive architecture of the past few decades that an‑ chored many planned districts is inescapably profligate in terms of energy consumption and emissions both in construction and operation. Meanwhile, the air‑travel on which high‑end cultural consumption is premised is coming under growing ethical pressure, which is likely to increase as the climate crisis accelerates. Further, the generation of international cultural content in the performing and visual arts is under economic and moral pressure: museum blockbusters, central to the historic business model of larger anchor institutions, are present‑ ing increasing challenges as travel and insurance costs increase (The Art Newspaper, 2020). The environmental impact of traveling schedules of orchestras and large‑scale performing arts  –  the staple fare of many of the larger performing anchors of cultural districts  –  is also under close and uncomfortable scrutiny, not least by artists themselves looking to tour responsibly. Finally, and perhaps most important, there is a growing recognition that without the ‘starter yeast’ of an organic base to a cultural district, it is significantly tougher to create the conditions for the animated vital cultural ecology that policy makers seek. It takes much longer, and is in some ways much more challenging for public bodies, to prepare the ‘soil 119

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conditions’ in which cultural participation and creation thrive than it is to commission and complete a building. However, without close attention paid to the ‘soft’ side of cultural development – viable public programming strategies, the financial sustainability of anchor institutions – districts can become as sterile as malls. At an anecdotal level, this author has been responsible for an annual convening of cul‑ tural districts from around the world  –  the Global Cultural Districts Network  –  and has frequently witnessed at first hand the palpable envy with which those responsible for creat‑ ing or managing ‘top‑down’ districts have observed the bravura energy of broadly ‘bottom up’ districts (as well of course as some reciprocal envy from which those responsible for shepherding ‘bottom up’ districts as they observe the resources and infrastructure available to their ‘top‑down’ peer)s. More generally, the current, disconcerting chapter of global geopolitical instability and the rise of cultural nationalism or nativism across the globe; the desire to shorten and ‘de‑risk’ supply chains in response to ‘hot’ wars and trade wars; and the competing demands on public expenditure from defense and environmental mediation, are all anticipated to have a dampening effect on the large scale cultural infrastructure projects that make characterized a significant tranche of gross arts expenditure over the past few decades. That said, it is worth remembering that the creation of ‘top‑down’ cultural districts re‑ quires very long lead times, with protracted periods of consensus building, land acquisition, planning and obtaining permissions, commissioning of professional teams and design, and construction combined with the discontinuities and dislocations in governance endemic in politically led projects. In addition, the ‘one‑off’ nature of iconic buildings often brings with it specific challenges in structural engineering and materials science that carry with them the risk of delays and reversals. The most notorious case in this respect is Sydney Opera House’s structural engineering and acoustic challenges that led to spectacular delays, cost increases and lingering dissatisfaction with its functional aspects. However, this case is simply the most analyzed of a long list of high risk – high reward construction challenges presented by bespoke cultural infrastructure. Generally, there is little incentive for any of the parties involved to dwell on cost overruns or delays in their public statements. Even where consultative processes are less well‑developed, for example in China, where compulsory land acquisitions are regularly undertaken and the processes entrenched in emi‑ nent domain or compulsory purchases relatively weak, a decade or more from conception to commissioning is not unusual. These long gestation periods mean that one can anticipate a long lead‑time between cause – i.e. a tempered appetite for infrastructure intensive top‑down cultural districts – and effect – i.e. a downturn in investment. AEA Consulting has for the last eight years tracked large‑scale investment in cultural infrastructure around the world and it has remained re‑ markably constant at around the $12bn per annum mark globally (AEA Consulting, 2022), allowing for COVID related disruptions in the timing of announcements. The composi‑ tion of projects – and particularly announced rather than completed projects – is however changing. • First, Europe and North America are slowly tapering off and China, the Persian or Ara‑ bian Gulf (and especially Saudi Arabia), India and South East Asia comprise an increas‑ ing proportion of the total, partly because they are in a ‘catching up’ phase, but also 120

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because they may be less sensitive to the social agendas referenced that have increased in salience in the global West. ‘Top‑down’ is easier absent Western mechanisms of political accountability and, in the case of the Gulf, absent the West’s fuel cost spike. • Second, the appetite for highly expressive architecture that was fueled by advances in materials science, Computer Aided Design and structural engineering is giving way to a concern for sustainability and life‑cycle costs. • Third, the program or brief and therefore content of infrastructure plans is changing to reflect a new programmatic agendas – for informal performance, for public spaces and for access. New York City’s Lincoln Center’s recent announcement represents this trend well in both content and messaging (Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, 2023). Lincoln Center was created by razing a district of New York – San Juan Hill – which has become an increasingly sensitive point of moral reckoning in a changing ethical climate. The new project is aimed at opening‑up the western axis of Lincoln Center along Manhattan’s Amsterdam Avenue to make it more porous, welcoming and accessible to the local community. The stated goals underscore the desire ‘to better serve close neighbors, including residents of New York City Housing Authority campuses [and to] commemorate the history and public memory of San Juan Hill and historic Lincoln Square’ (Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, 2023). This is quite different from the rationales of any of the campus’ major capital interventions in the past decade and is moving forward in parallel with a broadening of programming and audience that has perhaps inevitably met with despondency among traditional audiences and critics. In the global north, broadly, one can therefore reasonably anticipate both a tempering of the appetite for large scale top‑down interventions, and a greater emphasis given in briefs to community and to financial and environmental sustainability. It is less clear whether and how these emerging agendas will inform government decision‑making with respect to cultural infrastructure in those countries in the global south where the search for distinctive icons of national building remain compelling but where local, regional and environmental considerations are increasingly being brought to bear. After a period of convergence in which many trends appeared global in character, there are grounds for thinking we are entering a period of increasing and potentially generative divergence.

Cultural Districts as a Heterogenous Concept Most cultural districts are of course neither purely top‑down, nor purely bottom up, but have features of both. They are attempts to take areas characterized by some form of cul‑ tural clustering and give them an articulated organizational form, to promote the interests of their member organizations –usually initially in pursuit of collective marketing efforts, or to secure resources for common infrastructure or joint programming or simply to improve the public domain. Over time the common agenda often becomes more expansive, and in the search for resources, that agenda often embraces the ambitions of an extended list of stakeholders, particularly those of potential funders in whose jurisdictions they are located, but also trusts and foundations and sometimes of private funders – city departments and agencies of culture or economic development. This expansion of stated goals by districts can 121

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make for a more complex agenda, at least rhetorically, than that pursued by those responsi‑ ble for purely top‑down organizations. Districts can, in that process, succumb to a sort of rhetorical diffuseness of purpose to which the cultural sector more generally is prey: aspiring to have impact in multiple ­areas – and indeed to direct resources toward those areas – in the pursuit of funding oppor‑ tunities and political assent. This temptation to ‘follow the money’ can lead to a loss of focus or sudden change of focus as funders’ priorities change or as time limited grants expire. – In the United States and the UK, for example, health and wellbeing and for social justice and in the ascendent, economic development and tourism in retreat. The reality is that the entities that represent the organizational articulation of a district vary tremendously in their resourcing and form. Take some well‑known American exam‑ ples: Cleveland’s Playhouse Square or Pittsburgh’s Cultural Trust are significant land‑owners and landlords of both cultural and non‑cultural properties as a result of their origins in downtown renewal projects and consequently enjoy a considerable degree of organizational autonomy. Others – like Dallas’ Arts District – have fewer assets that they control directly and are funded and governed principally by the cultural organizations represented on their board. Yet others are managed by city agencies at arms‑length or even directly, as in the case of the Seattle Center. Their ability to pursue autonomous or longer‑term agendas that may transcend the immediate interests of their stakeholders therefore varies considerably with both their funding structure and their governance model. Those with more circumscribed formal mandates often rely heavily on the coalition building skills of their leadership to es‑ tablish and execute their agendas. The term ‘cultural district’ has, as should be clear from this account, come to embrace a plethora of different organizational forms, with diverse origins and intentions. This makes generalization dangerous but the argument in this chapter is that an understanding of the nature of the primary stakeholders’ ambitions and of the tools at their disposal offers helpful insights into how the general category of ‘cultural district’ can usefully be parsed. It is also the case that the broader economic and policy environment in which districts are operating is undergoing rapid transformation, which is likely to affect cultural investment strategies profoundly, albeit slowly, and in turn change the character of districts themselves and the agendas of the organizations responsible for their management.

Lessons Learned • The more or less spontaneous agglomeration of nodes of production and consump‑ tion,  –  includes cultural production and consumption  –  has existed since urban life began and in all stages of economic development and has a strong underlying logic. Channeling and shaping the phenomenon of cultural clusters for wider economic and social goals is more recent and developed with the rise of cultural policy itself – that is, in the context of the use of the arts and creative industries for a wide range of broader public policy goals. • If cultural districts are to be effective policy tools it is critically important to be clear about the nature of those policy goals. If for example the goals are related to city brand‑ ing or to the attraction of inward investment it suggests one sort of strategy; if the goals are related to social cohesion or equity, it suggests another. One size does not fit all. 122

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• Those purposes may be multiple – and sometimes even in tension – so teasing them out can be challenging for policy makers trying to create a coalition of overlapping interests, but without clear ends, the means are going to be hit‑and‑miss and the ‘metrics of suc‑ cess’ never settled. It will be difficult to monitor progress and to demonstrate value. • Cultural production and cultural consumption each have different underlying dynamics and economic models. However, the most vibrant cultural districts manage to co‑locate these two forms of cultural activity. This does not happen spontaneously, or, where it does, it tends not to endure over time, which is why ‘naturally occurring cultural dis‑ tricts’ come and go with the changing character of neighborhoods. Without planning and foresight increased land values will crowd out production and expand consumption, changing the character of the district. Strategies to address this need to be put in place early. • Many of the attributes of successful cultural districts are relatively easy to recognize – great public spaces; with passive and active programming; easy orientation; a mix of scales and uses; without heavy road traffic, etc. They are less easy to achieve than to recognize and require stakeholders (public sector, private sector and non‑profit) to share a common vi‑ sion and for civic leadership to show a willingness to use planning rules (zoning, land use restrictions, etc.) to protect that vision over time. • There are many different models of governance and funding of cultural districts. The most effective governance models have wide representation of stakeholders, well beyond the cultural community itself (residents, developers, businesses, landlords, developers, etc.). • Cultural districts require effective collaboration between parties. Collaboration requires trust. Trust takes time. Cultural districts that have deep integration or coordination be‑ tween diverse parties have usually built their agendas incrementally from relatively mod‑ est beginnings such as an element of co‑branding or coordinated street cleaning and then gone on from there to expand. • Cultural districts with an over‑concentration of cultural activity and organizations have all the risks of monoculture and the cultural districts that flourish are usually part of a mixed economy. Synergic land uses include residential, retail, leisure, entertainment, light manufacturing, education, and business incubators. The list is, happily, a long one. • Cultural districts created from scratch have a long history but they are a heavier lift than cultural districts that are built on pre‑existing cultural assets. That is why understand‑ ing the cultural DNA of an area, its cultural and social history – mapping – is such an important first step in district planning. It’s why it’s easier to plan a district ‘middle out’ than ‘top‑down.’ • Cultural districts  –  to remain part of a compelling civic agenda and compelling civic spaces – need to engage with civic priorities beyond culture, from sustainability to social justice to transport. Culture is only part of their identity and agenda.

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Adrian Ellis AEA Consulting, 2020a. 2020 Cultural Infrastructure Index. [Online] Available at: https:// aeaconsulting.com/uploads/1300013/1626121163743/AEA_‑_Cultural_Infrastructure_Index_ 2020_‑_Web.pdf [Accessed 06 July 2023]. AEA Consulting, 2020b. Navigating Uncertain Times A Scenario Planning Toolkit for the Arts & Culture Sector. [Online] Available at: https://www.wallacefoundation.org/knowledge‑center/ Documents/Navigating‑Uncertain‑Times‑Detailed‑Scenarios.pdf [Accessed 06 July 2023]. AEA Consulting, 2022. 2021 Cultural Infrastructure Index. [Online] Available at: https://aeaconsulting. com/uploads/1400014/1656602871476/AEA_CII_2021_WEB.pdf [Accessed 06 July 2023]. Arroyo, K., 2020, Cultural Districts: An Investment in Rich Urban Life [Online] Available at: https:// gcdn.net/research/ [Accessed 23 September 2024] Bedell, E., 2021. ‘Thursday Night Is the New Friday Night’: How the Pandemic Has Changed the Southbank Centre. [Online] Available at: https://blogs.lse.ac.uk/covid19/2021/11/03/ thursday‑night‑is‑the‑new‑friday‑night‑how‑the‑pandemic‑has‑changed‑the‑southbank‑centre/ [Accessed 06 July 2023]. GCDN, 2023. [Online] Available at: https://gcdn.net/ [Accessed 06 July 2023]. Google, 1800–2019a. Google Books Ngram Viewer. [Online] Available at: https://books.google.com/ ngrams/graph?content=Cultural+Districts%2C+Cultural+Quarters&year_start=1800&year_end =2019&corpus=en‑2019&smoothing=3 [Accessed 06 July 2023]. Google, 1800–2019b. Google Books Ngram Viewer. [Online] Available at: https://books.google. com/ngrams/ [Accessed 06 July 2023]. Goya, D., 2022. Marshallian and Jacobian Externalities in Creative Industries Prepared for the ­Inter‑American Development Bank. [Online] Available at: https://publications.iadb.org/publications/ english/viewer/Marshallian‑and‑Jacobian‑Externalities‑in‑Creative‑Industries.pdf [Accessed 06 July 2023]. Hernández‑Morales, A., Roberts, J., Coi, G. & Eccles, M., 2023. How COVID‑19 Changed Cities —  And How It Didn’t. [Online] Available at: https://www.politico.eu/article/covid‑19‑change‑­cities‑ public‑transport‑work‑from‑home‑lockdown‑aviation‑social‑distance‑overpopulation/ [Accessed 06 July 2023]. Li, F., 2020. The Digital Transformation of Business Models in the Creative Industries: A Holistic Framework and Emerging Trends. Science Direct, 92–93(102012). Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, 2023. Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts Launches Initiative to Make Amsterdam Avenue Side of Campus More Welcoming. [Online] Available at: https://pressroom.lincolncenter.org/press‑releases/view/647f4e25fc1b7af97db865ce. Marshall, A., 1920. Principles of Economics; An Introductory Volume. First Edition 1890. London: Macmillan and Co. Porter, M., 1998. Clusters and the New Economics of Competition. [Online] Available at: https:// hbr.org/1998/11/clusters‑and‑the‑new‑economics‑of‑competition [Accessed 06 July 2023]. Quartier des Spectacles Partnership, 2023. Map of Cultural Districts around the Globe. [Online] Available at: https://map.gcdn.net/ [Accessed 06 July 2023]. The Art Newspaper, 2020. The End of the Blockbuster? Museums in a Post‑Pandemic World. [Online] Available at: https://www.theartnewspaper.com/2020/04/24/the‑end‑of‑the‑blockbuster‑ museums‑in‑a‑post‑pandemic‑world [Accessed 06 July 2023]. The United Nations Industrial Development Organization, 2020. The UNIDO Approach to Cluster Development. Vienna: The United Nations Industrial Development Organization, pp. 16–23. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2023/08/28/requiem‑for‑mostly‑mozart.

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2.4 CULTURAL ASSET MAPPING IN URBAN COMMUNITIES Julie Goodman and Andrew Zitcer

What Is Cultural Asset Mapping? Maps offer us knowledge about the world, while attempting to make assertions about the realities of the world. They are not neutral; maps are contested documents that can tell dif‑ ferent stories depending on who is doing the work of creation, interpretation, and dissemi‑ nation (Duxbury et al. 2015, 1; Redaelli 2019, 51). One form of mapping is cultural asset mapping. Cultural asset maps identify information about a community’s cultural resources. Cultural asset mapping is a methodology that can be used by communities, planners, and policymakers to understand the strengths, resources, opportunities, and use patterns of the cultural assets in a community’s cultural landscape. Cultural asset mapping is a collaborative process undertaken by a variety of community stakeholders. This kind of mapping, also known as cultural mapping or asset mapping, has become an important planning tool to help cities better understand the value and impact of their cultural assets, and to integrate knowledge about these assets into the city’s planning process for eco‑ nomic and community development. Cultural asset mapping is often a tailor‑made process that fits each city’s unique needs, but commonly includes a mapping exercise that asks commu‑ nity members and stakeholders to define, identify, and map their own cultural assets (CAMP n.d.). Mapping can be used to identify and spatially locate community networks, trusted in‑ stitutions, availability of services, cultural practices, and many other characteristics related to an area’s cultural assets. Cultural asset mapping involves more than visual and performing arts, which are sometimes seen as elite art and not part of the cultural life of a community. A full representation of a community’s cultural life includes traditional arts, religious, and other cultural practices. A community’s cultural landscape also includes both tangible and intangible assets. Tangible assets include: ‘physical spaces, cultural organizations, public forms of promo‑ tion and self‑representation, public art, cultural industries, natural and cultural heritage, archi‑ tecture, people, artifacts, and other material resources)’ while intangible ones include: ‘values and norms, beliefs and philosophies, language, community narratives, histories and memories, relationships, rituals, traditions, identities, and shared sense of place’ (Duxbury et al. 2015, 2). 125

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-12

Julie Goodman and Andrew Zitcer

Cultural mapping is a process of gathering and recording information about cultural capi‑ tal, defined as a cultural asset or resource.1 It is also a method for building and accumulating socially created value by gathering cultural capital through participatory processes (Cook and Taylor 2013, 289). Information learned through the process and products of cultural asset mapping can inform cultural policymaking that specifically addresses the needs and in‑ terests of urban communities. Cultural asset maps can be used in support of a range of policy activity including: marketing and promotional efforts for residents and tourists; economic development and investment efforts; and policy planning and decision‑making efforts related to land use, urban and heritage planning, and creative placemaking. They can also support the development of networks and collaborations among the people and entities involved throughout the mapping process (Voight 2011). Cultural asset mapping has a history that goes back several decades.2 The practice traces its roots to projects undertaken with Indigenous communities in the Canadian and Alaskan Arctic in the 1960s. The goal there, and in many subsequent cultural mapping projects, was to represent previously unrepresented worldviews (Duxbury et al. 2015, 4). As such, it is an asset‑ or strengths‑based approach, rather than a deficit mindset, in that mapping seeks to uncover and promote what is present and vital in communities, not what is lacking (Kretz‑ mann and McKnight 1996). Cultural asset mapping provides multiple benefits to communities. Among these: ‘cultural asset mapping builds capacity among community leaders; it creates a foundation for future community action; increases community connectivity; improves feelings people have toward a community; and, cultural asset mapping increases clarity about what’s happening in a community’ (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021, 5–6). There are a few challenges or limita‑ tions as well. These include limited funding, process design challenges, limited community understanding of cultural asset mapping processes, getting the relevant people involved, and establishing a strong leadership team around the effort (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021, 7–8). Another challenge is that these mapping projects are often one‑time efforts, which fail to account for evolution and change over time. Maps are representations of the inputs received during the mapping process, but also new creations in and of themselves (Duxbury et al. 2015, 3). Thus, cultural asset maps can have a purpose extending beyond policy utility. As Cook and Taylor (2013, 3) note, ‘A cul‑ tural map may be created as an end in itself or provide an input into another endeavour.’ Duxbury et al. (2015, 3–4) observe that, ‘Five main trajectories of cultural mapping practice or ‘use‑contexts’ have influenced its current methodological contours and practices: commu‑ nity empowerment and counter‑mapping, cultural policy, municipal governance, mapping as artistic practice, and academic inquiry,’ and that maps are a form of social action. When considered this way, ‘Cultural mapping, broadly conceived, promises new ways of describ‑ ing, accounting for, and coming to terms with the cultural resources of communities and places’ (Duxbury et al. 2015, 2). This chapter provides an overview of cultural asset mapping for urban cultural planners. Building upon existing guides, it explores the process, ethics, and responsibilities of cultural asset mapping, describing different types of mapping efforts as well as their relevance and applicability to the urban environment.

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Ethics in Cultural Asset Mapping Cultural policymakers must understand the ethical responsibilities and implications of cul‑ tural asset mapping as well as the practical elements of the work. In keeping with cultural asset mapping’s inclusive, community‑oriented approach, it is im‑ portant to work with residents to identify tangible and intangible assets within the mapped area. This civic engagement enables a deeper, richer understanding of a community’s cultural assets that leads to the discovery of, ‘little known activities, unexpected relationships, new cultural actors, and ‘visibilized’ patterns, overlaps, and gaps,’ elements which give maps greater relevance and deeper meaning (Duxbury et al. 2015, 10). Using an interdisciplinary mixed methods research design3 and integrating data from multiple sources and perspectives is recommended for asset mapping projects.

Data Comes in Many Forms Mapping multiple forms of cultural asset data can surface new or previously unrecognized revelations and insights about activities, relationships, concentrations, and gaps in a commu‑ nity’s cultural ecosystem (Duxbury et al. 2015, 10). Data for cultural asset mapping can come from a variety of sources, including what we may expect – existing datasets from government, nonprofits, or other entities that regularly collect and organize statistical information about buildings and physical structures, organizations, creative workers, events, attendance, and the like.4 The use of this kind of data is referred to as ‘resource mapping.’ However, data for cultural asset mapping can also come from people in a community with different identities, perspectives, and lived experiences. The layer of data that comes from those people’s con‑ tributions is what is known as ‘identity mapping.’ Identity mapping captures and presents stories that honor the past, celebrate the present, or envision the future (Voight 2011).

Account for Power Dynamics Multiple visible and hidden agendas can co‑occur in a cultural asset mapping process, and power structures are an important consideration in asset mapping (Duncan 2006). Cul‑ tural asset mapping is affected by politics and power dynamics; no mapping process occurs absent these factors (Duxbury et al. 2015). Therefore, understanding the social, political, economic, and demographic contexts of a community is critical to the successful design and implementation of a mapping process (Cook and Taylor 2013, 267–268). It is also vital to develop a collectively shared reason (also referred to as a map’s mission, or purpose) for mapping at the start of the process (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021, 9). Alongside identifying a map’s purpose at the outset, it is necessary to empower a diverse range of people in an asset mapping process, as the meaning of assets can differ based on who is identifying them and how (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021; Soma et al. 2022). Maps and the foundational methods used to develop them have been criticized for their lack of representation in the mapping process (Duxbury et al. 2015, 1). It is also necessary to de‑ velop a strategy for how identity‑based mapping data will be used before collecting it, and to communicate this to potential participants, as it informs their choice of whether to par‑ ticipate (Voight 2011).

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How to Conduct Cultural Asset Mapping Because it is a participatory, citizen‑engaged process, cultural asset mapping supports public involvement in government (Duxbury et al. 2015, 2). Engagement in cultural asset mapping can be broadly categorized as one of two forms – ‘broad’ or ‘deep’ – though projects can in‑ corporate both (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021; Jeannotte 2016). Broad engagement involves large‑scale public efforts to gather information from as wide a range of participants as possi‑ ble, whereas deep engagement seeks more detailed input, involvement, and collaboration with a smaller group of representatives. There can be challenges to both methods, particularly as they relate to sustaining and continuing to develop or refresh a cultural asset map over time.

Extend a Generous Invitation In any cultural asset mapping project, it is important to consider participatory and iterative strategies. To the greatest extent possible, project leads should encourage widespread com‑ munity engagement and buy‑in to the process. Extending a generous invitation and welcome to the various identified communities that will affect and be affected by cultural asset map‑ ping will set the tone for the project. At every stage, from project design to data collection, to interpretation, to dissemination of finding, this welcome needs to be kept open, with op‑ portunities to engage occurring regularly and intentionally. To make this welcome authentic, the project should account for the positionality of the organizers, including race to class, age, gender and sexual orientation, education level and more. This will form the backdrop of the power dynamics of the effort and allow organizers and participants to have an honest discussion of the nature of the relationships present in the mapping project. For a project to be impactful, it must keep these channels of communication open, and allow for collabora‑ tive iteration in project design and implementation. Likewise, it is important to learn and use the terms that the people and groups involved in a mapping process use to identify themselves and their role(s) within the community, as these may differ from the titles or labels that they would be (or have been) assigned by others (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021). Cultural organizations, for instance, may not describe them‑ selves as such, and people leading artistic endeavors may not refer to themselves as artists. All participants in a mapping process, as full partners in the research, should be afforded time and resources to learn from experts about mapping tools, technologies, and practices. Familiarity with the technologies and tools of asset mapping increases the confidence of ‘non‑experts’ in a mapping process to contribute their own knowledge and ideas, resulting in a greater likelihood that they will positively influence the broader utility of the results through supporting broader inquiry and more diverse story‑making opportunities in the mapping process. This familiar‑ ity also helps avoid the ‘map tyranny’ that can occur when privileged knowledge about the mapping process is held by others with social, organizational, or other political power (Dun‑ can 2006). When powerful actors seek to control the process by withholding information or hoarding resources, it can have a chilling effect on cultural asset mapping.

Decide How Data Will Be Gathered and Used The ownership, accessibility, and sharing of all data involved in a mapping process are im‑ portant considerations to discuss with the community in the early stages of the effort before 128

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any data is gathered. This is to ensure that community members exercise power and control over the data, information, and stories they own that could become part of the mapping process and products. Additional opportunities to involve community members in these discussions can also occur throughout the mapping process as information is gathered and products begin to take form. Questions to consider in the conversations include how the community feels about sharing its information, where the information can be displayed, and whether and how the data itself can be shared with the broader public (Martin et al. 2012, 52–53). Facilitators in an asset mapping process should not view themselves as the authors of a community’s stories (Jeannotte 2016). Another aspect of data use concerns weighting, or how the information that surfaces throughout the data‑gathering process will be represented in the final outcomes of the work. The methods used in data gathering, analysis, and interpretation of all cultural assets (tangi‑ ble and intangible) have consequences, as every step of a mapping process involves decisions about what counts (and what does not), what will be represented (and not), how, and why. These decisions are inherently political (Duxbury et al. 2015; Sandercock 2004). Jeannotte suggests that ‘Assigning weights or values to a community’s intangible culture can only be done by the people who live there’ (2016, 40). This can hold true for tangible cultural assets, as well. Defining the scope, range, and boundaries of the community(ies) to be mapped is another important part of understanding a map’s purpose. Though there is no clear consensus that asset mapping works best at any particular geographic level (block, neighborhood, city, region, state, etc.); different levels naturally lend themselves to different challenges and op‑ portunities (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021). For example, a block‑ or neighborhood‑level map enables greater attention to minute details, while a region‑ or state‑level map may have more readily available data about tangible cultural assets.

Consider a Variety of Methods to Collect and Represent Information Data gathering to develop an asset map need not be limited to surveys and questionnaires, though these can be helpful ways to develop an initial base of information about tangible cultural assets that people can react to and build upon. Using GIS to map out large exist‑ ing datasets, such as where cultural organizations are located, is a common practice. These maps can also be layered with other existing demographic and community data to explore patterns including concentrations of cultural organizations, artists, audiences, philanthropic support, or facilities. In this process, it is also useful to identify and incorporate or build upon any prior research that identifies these elements within a community (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021). In addition to data about tangible assets, cultural asset mapping can involve creative, artistic, and other engagement processes to identify and explore intangible cultural assets. Data gathering about intangible assets can be less straightforward a process than it is for tangible cultural assets, as intangible assets reflect to a greater extent the differing perspec‑ tives, knowledge, opinions, and complexities present in a community’s cultural ecosystem (Jeannotte 2016). Engagement processes can also produce products other than traditional maps, such as collections of stories or works of art (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021). Ap‑ proaches that emphasize collaboration, exploration, and creative freedom are helpful to this 129

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process (Voight 2011, 2). Jeannotte notes that collecting data about intangible assets and their value, in particular, ‘…cannot usually be captured by simple questionnaires or one‑off consultations,’ and that, ‘…community engagement is vital to the substantial portrayal of its intangible culture and must be maintained in some form if the cultural map is to remain relevant’ (2016, 41). Cultural asset mapping ultimately explores both knowledge about what exists as well as the experiences of those who live that existence (Redaelli 2019, 51). Cook and Taylor note that ‘cultural mapping is a tool of mutuality – a tool that creates togetherness’ (2013, 8). However, mapping can also be a form of activism, known as ‘counter‑mapping,’ when used by a community to develop alternative maps challenging the status quo and types of repre‑ sentation found in existing maps created by official entities. The purpose of counter‑mapping is two‑fold: to incorporate alternative knowledge, information, and perspectives that are not represented, and, by doing this, to build bridges to the dominant perspectives reflected in existing maps (Duxbury et al. 2015, 4). For this reason, it is critical to ensure that a mapping process does not begin with the end product(s) fully determined but remains open to discov‑ ery and adaptation as part of the process (Duxbury et al. 2015, 16). In doing so, cultural asset mapping embraces a balance of deliberate and emergent strategy in that while it begins with some structured elements to start the process, its facilitators remain open to learning and adjusting to what works along the way. This flexibility and adaptation help ensure that a mapping process’ end products are relevant, respectful, inclusive, and useful to those it represents.

Examples of Cultural Asset Mapping In this section, we provide selected examples of cultural asset mapping projects to lay the groundwork for identification of best practices. These come from the different urban con‑ texts of Philadelphia, PA, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Austin, Texas and Sheboygan, Wisconsin. By including a variety of geographies, we have been able to showcase a diversity of approaches found in one state, two large American cities and one small city. These efforts were both supported by the United States federal government agency the National Endow‑ ment for the Arts but differ in their scope and approaches. After this, we discuss in greater depth two mapping projects undertaken by the authors, ten years apart in one of the US’s largest, most diverse cities and across a socio‑economically, politically, and racially diverse state. These provide a unique lens through which to explore and understand the evolution of best practices and ethical considerations relevant to the practice of cultural asset mapping in urban environments. We recognize that this chapter presents a small sample of cultural asset mapping projects. The efforts we describe below are meant to be illustrative of a range of practices and pro‑ jects. We encourage readers who want to see more examples of cultural asset mapping to seek out the other projects generally available on the Internet.5

Cultural Asset Mapping Project (Austin, TX) Austin, Texas’ Cultural Asset Mapping Project (CAMP) report was published in 2018 and is a comprehensive documentation of that city’s cultural resources. Supported by the City of Austin’s Economic Development Department (Cultural Arts Division), this project is the 130

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result of an extensive effort in a large American city, world renowned for its arts and culture scene, particularly for music. CAMP was a citywide, two‑year effort funded by the National Endowment for the Arts and ArtPlace America (a ten‑year arts funding coalition of founda‑ tions, banks, and government agencies which sunset in 2020). The goal of the project was to develop a crowdsourced map and cultural directory through a series of district‑level map‑ ping sessions, online surveys, and focus groups. It eventually resulted in a crowdsourced listing of over 3,000 facilities and cultural assets. Initially, Austin’s Cultural Arts Division worked with the Social Impact of the Arts Pro‑ ject (organizers of the CultureBlocks asset mapping project in Philadelphia, which we dis‑ cuss below) to develop an initial dataset from publicly available records and local partners. Then, cultural mapping sessions were held in each of Austin’s ten Council Districts, in which participants were invited to place points on a map that corresponded to cultural, artistic, or creative resources. One innovation of the Austin effort was CAMP Kits, which allowed participants to conduct mapping exercises at home in their own communities. CAMP Kits included maps, data collection worksheets, and how‑to guides and were essentially a map‑ ping section in a box that could be shared back with the Cultural Arts Division. The next element of CAMP was an online resource that allowed participants to add data points directly to an interactive database and map. The CAMP report makes it clear that this tool had limited functionality as it was not searchable and required editing and data cleaning by hand. But the online map is itself a resource and is publicly available online. Finally, the organizers held a series of focus groups at the tail end of the project that brought together maps of cultural assets with participants to add points to the map, to discuss patterns and look for trends. Focus groups were open to the public but focused on cultural stakeholders from throughout Austin. The result was a mapping tool and directory. Though it is a one‑time snapshot of Aus‑ tin’s cultural inventory, it generated a greater awareness in the city government of the possibilities and limits of the cultural assets in Austin. It also led to a number of cultural policy recommendations outlined in the final report. In terms of long‑term impact, Aus‑ tin’s Cultural Arts Division continues to maintain the directory of assets on its website and encourages citizens to undertake their own mapping exercises through the downloadable CAMP Kits.

Communities in Conversation (Sheboygan, WI) Communities in Conversation is a cultural asset mapping project that came out of Sheboygan, Wisconsin, a Midwestern city in the United States of about 50,000 residents, in 2021. It was grounded in the community and the work of the John Michael Kohler Arts Center, which commissioned a local consultant to conduct asset mapping. The project featured 43 one‑on‑one interviews (with individuals and organizations), a survey, and open‑ended dis‑ cussions among participants. The project hosted an interactive art experience, funded by the National Endowment for the Arts’ Our Town program. In this exhibit, participants were asked to map where they were from and where they called home, both globally and locally, within Sheboygan’s neighborhoods. They were given an opportunity to use Post‑Its on a gal‑ lery wall to self‑define tangible and intangible cultural assets. Participants were also encour‑ aged to submit their own photographs to the exhibit. 131

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The initial exhibit was designed for data gathering; a final exhibition was held several months later that allowed attendees continued engagement with the project. As part of this final exhibition, local artists were commissioned to create works based on the mapping pro‑ ject to date, and there were interactive opportunities for participants to offer more feedback on the findings. To gain a deeper perspective, the consultants conducted a report‑back event and commu‑ nity discussion at a local library. The consultants presented the findings to date for the pro‑ ject, then divided participants into smaller groups to engage in deeper discussion of themes of youth engagement, participation and engagement, and diverse representation. Feedback from the groups helped keep the focus on what the community has (assets) versus what it lacks. There was also a direct youth engagement component to the Sheboygan mapping project. In spring 2021, the team visited 12 area schools and engaged 350 first‑through‑eighth grad‑ ers. Students participated in interactive activities to envision things about their community that were important to them and learned about cultural asset mapping. A printed book was created and given to each school to commemorate the process. This approach allowed the project team to engage more youth directly than would be possible through surveys and interviews alone.

West Philadelphia Cultural Asset Mapping Project (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U.S.) In early 2013, we (along with our Drexel University colleague Dr. Neville Vakharia) received funding from Drexel’s Office of University and Community Partnerships to produce a cul‑ tural asset mapping project based in three neighborhoods adjacent to Drexel’s campus. These neighborhoods, Mantua, Powelton Village, and West Powelton, had been deeply affected by the development pressure resulting from the expansion of Drexel, as well as the nearby Uni‑ versity of Pennsylvania, University City Science Center, and the Penn Presbyterian Medical Center (those pressures have only increased in the subsequent years). These neighborhoods also face high rates of student rentership or ‘studentification’ (Smith 2008), as well as sig‑ nificant pockets of poverty, lack of access to fresh food, and a history of population decline. It was our sense that they also were some of the most culturally and artistically active neigh‑ borhoods in Philadelphia. Major institutions call these neighborhoods home, including the Philadelphia Zoo and the Please Touch Museum as well as many smaller, community‑based arts and culture organizations. The goal of this cultural asset mapping project was to deter‑ mine participation in, and access to, arts and culture in these three neighborhoods. From July to December 2013, our team engaged in a mixed methods process that included interviews, focus groups, intercept surveys, and community meetings. To document the cul‑ tural assets of these neighborhoods, we worked with four graduate and two undergraduate students who supported the research effort. We combined our field research with data pulled from the Census, the National Endowment for the Arts, and CultureBlocks, a Philadel‑ phia‑wide asset mapping website developed by University of Pennsylvania’s Social Impact of the Arts Project, in collaboration with The Reinvestment Fund (a community development financial institution) and Philadelphia’s Office of Arts, Culture, and the Creative Economy.

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We began the process by interviewing key stakeholders in the civic, and arts and culture community. These expert interviews helped us develop our understanding of the cultural ecosystem, and to develop our focus group and survey materials. In September and October 2013, we held six focus groups at the West Philadelphia Community Center, with a total of 45 residents and community leaders. Finally, the graduate and undergraduate students conducted approximately 450 short intercept surveys that took place throughout the neigh‑ borhoods on street corners, at community events, in local businesses and other places where people gather. We presented initial findings of the research at two community meetings in March 2014. This process of ‘member checking’ was important to understand if the findings of the research matched the perspectives of the neighborhood residents and culture bearers whose experience we were hoping to depict (Birt et al. 2016). We mapped the cultural organizations and artists in the neighborhoods and determined that there were organic ‘cultural clusters’ that occurred on several of the area’s commercial corridors (Stern and Seifert 2012). There were also other groups that produced cultural pro‑ gramming in the neighborhoods such as schools, religious organizations and citywide arts and culture organizations that were not based in the study area. Finally, there were major anchor institutions like Drexel University and the aforementioned Philadelphia Zoo and Please Touch Museum that were major drivers of culture in the city but were not always deeply connected to their local neighborhoods. We learned through this mapping process that the study neighborhoods had a higher number of resident artists, a lower level of public investment in the arts flowing to them, and fewer cultural businesses than some other neigh‑ borhoods in the city. From these findings, we were able to develop a set of recommendations for strengthening the cultural infrastructure that included: engaging multiple generations of participants together; building marketable job skills; employing local artists; and provid‑ ing opportunities for cultural activities that take place in the evenings, weekends, and after school, to maximally engage audiences. The recommendations were further informed by ex‑ tensive focus group research, intercept surveys and expert interviews in these neighborhoods. This mapping project had several limitations. The first is that it was a one‑time effort, which blunts its explanatory power over time (ArtPlace and Spire + Base 2021). The second limitation is in the methodology itself. We could have involved artists and other community members as researchers in a participatory action research scheme (Kindon et al. 2007). This would have more actively engaged the local population and could have produced richer re‑ sults and even more buy‑in for the effort. Finally, we used organizations’ mailing addresses as a proxy for their location, and not all organizations necessarily present their work where they have their offices. We also want to note, in what is a recurring theme for this chapter, that one of the data‑ bases we relied on for this project, CultureBlocks, was a one‑time effort, and the data have not been updated in several years. Presumably CultureBlocks did not have the funding to continue past its initial build‑out. At the time of our study, this was not a limitation because the data were still being regularly updated, but since then the project has gone dark. As we will mention in our recommendations and questions for practitioners later in the chapter, it is vital to ask whether success in a mapping project requires ongoing maintenance and updating, or if it is just a one‑time effort, and to secure the continuing availability of related resources as necessary.

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The West Philadelphia cultural mapping project was embraced by cultural organizations in the neighborhoods and was employed by some of them as evidence in grant writing and advocacy campaigns. Overall, it was a valuable project that set the stage for a future col‑ laboration in the PA Humanities Discovery Project nearly a decade later.

PA Humanities Discovery Project (Pennsylvania, USA) In the summer of 2022, we began work on another, somewhat different cultural asset map‑ ping project. PA Humanities, a quasi‑governmental organization that supports the human‑ ities6 in Pennsylvania, contracted with Drexel University to conduct the first‑ever asset mapping of humanities practitioners around the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. The PA Humanities Discovery Project, as it was named, was sponsored by the National Endow‑ ment for the Humanities. The effort was supported with funding from the National En‑ dowment for the Humanities (as part of the American Rescue Plan Act of 2021) and the National Endowment for the Arts, which gave us significant resources to work with. The research design consisted of a large‑scale electronic survey and a set of focus groups around Pennsylvania (in‑person and virtual). This mapping project was different from previous ef‑ forts to explore humanities practice because it focused primarily on individual humanities practitioners as its unit of analysis, though organizations were represented as well. It was also less of a spatial mapping project and more of a mapping of the tangible and intangible assets of the humanities community. It was a much more extensive mapping effort than our previous project in 2013–2014, which covered just a few West Philadelphia neighborhoods. This project attempted to craft a comprehensive view of the humanities in the whole state. The project also had its own ad‑ visory boards, with both a national advisory board and a Pennsylvania working group (both group’s members were offered compensation by PA Humanities). These advisors met with PA Humanities and the research team regularly and offered feedback that shaped the data collection and interpretation of findings, leading to a collaborative effort that was informed by national and local experts in the field. The advisory and working group members repre‑ sented a wide range of perspectives and experiences in the humanities, community engage‑ ment, policymaking, and research. They came from government, nonprofits, and individual practice, from large and small organizations, from different areas of the arts and humanities, and from a mix of geographic locations. Collectively, they ensured that the project shifted away from professional and academic language and toward using people’s own words to describe their work and experiences. The advisory and working group feedback throughout the development and analysis of the research helped ensure that people felt comfortable par‑ ticipating, and that the results would be relevant, meaningful, and useful. The first data collection strategy was an online survey that intended to capture the breadth of humanities practice in Pennsylvania. We asked a mix of closed‑ and open‑ended questions (the advisors favored open‑ended questions so that participants could expound upon their practices in their own words). We asked respondents what cultural practices they do and how they do them; who attends or participates in their activities; how they describe their work to others; the themes explored in their work, and other thematic questions. We also asked if participants use the term ‘humanities’ in their work, and if so, when? (We learned that many respondents do not use that term regularly, and if they do, it is often in the context of grant 134

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applications.) We asked several questions about the working lives of humanities practitioners, including how often they are paid for their work; how many hours per week they devote to this work; how they gained their experience to do this work; and their motivations for doing it. Given that the survey came on the heels of the COVID‑19 pandemic and the 2020 racial uprisings in the United States, we asked how the last three years had affected their practice. We also included a social network analysis, asking respondents to name people or organiza‑ tions with whom they work, and to indicate the strength of those associations. We deployed the survey between September 2022 and January 2023. We had regular check‑ins with the advisors and staff of PA Humanities to determine how the survey was performing, in terms of overall response rate as well as demographic and geographic distri‑ bution of responses. We also leaned on the advisory groups to get the word out about the survey. We were very lucky to have a team of several collaborators with intimate knowledge of the humanities field and a strong desire to see the project succeed. Because of their robust engagement and work to encourage people all over Pennsylvania to respond to the survey, we received nearly 550 complete responses. Nearly every geographical district in Pennsylva‑ nia was represented, and there was robust demographic diversity in the sample. The second phase of the research project was a set of eight focus groups conducted between January and March 2023. These were intended to go into greater depth than surveys would allow. We asked questions about the same thematic areas but probed more and allowed for participants to reflect at length about the issues they face as humanities practitioners in Pennsylvania, including a version of the social network mapping exercise and a discussion of the future of the humanities. A total of 87 people participated in the focus groups, reflecting significant diversity in the areas of gender identity, racial identity, age, education and more. We hosted three of the focus groups in person around Pennsylvania (in Philadelphia, Read‑ ing, and Pittsburgh), and five of them virtually. We segmented the focus groups, with deep dives into the experiences of practitioners such as rural Pennsylvania, traditional arts and culture/humanities organizations, Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) culture bearers, Black cultural workers, Spanish language speaking practitioners, and young people (18–30 years old). Notably, we recruited members of the Discovery Project advisory groups to moderate four focus groups that were drawn from the communities being studied (BI‑ POC, Black, young people, and Spanish‑speaking). The data analysis portion of the PA Humanities Discovery Project was considerably more extensive and time‑consuming than that of the West Philadelphia asset mapping project of a decade earlier. First, there were over 500 surveys, each with over a dozen open‑ended ques‑ tions. Then there was the social network analysis, which was part of both the surveys and the focus groups. Also, the focus group analysis was extensive, with lengthy transcripts and notes to analyze. In the summer and fall of 2023, we engaged with PA Humanities staff in a process of member checking and participatory engagement to ascertain whether our inter‑ pretations of the data were sound and were being offered in formats that would be useful to practitioners and humanities advocates.

Recommendations on Conducting Cultural Asset Mapping In this final section of the paper, we provide recommendations on how to conduct a cultural asset mapping project. Based on the history, existing literature, and examples of cultural asset 135

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mapping discussed throughout this chapter, the following recommendations provide guide‑ lines to develop and implement a cultural asset mapping effort in an urban community. We offer suggestions for the process of developing cultural asset maps, the use of the resulting products, and ways to sustain the community engagement fostered through mapmaking ef‑ forts. Finally, we provide guiding questions for those pursuing cultural asset mapping efforts.

Process • Begin with identifying the mission of the work. Collectively agree upon and clearly com‑ municate the purpose of the mapping effort. Discuss and agree upon what kinds of data will be gathered, how it will be used, and who will own and have access to both the data and any final product(s). • Recognize that cultural asset mapping is a participatory process of community en‑ gagement. Consider who is involved, why, and how. Learn and use the terms that the people and groups involved use to identify themselves and their role(s) within their community(ies). Acknowledge and discuss positionality and power dynamics that affect the process. • Employ an iterative approach throughout the process, providing multiple opportunities for communal check‑ins about engagement, representation, ownership, and products. • Engage translators at live events and ensure that all activities are accessible. • Engage artists and embrace the use of artistic methods, like photovoice,7 that bring for‑ ward local knowledge and allow for a greater sense of buy‑in. • Secure adequate financial resources to undertake the process of this work fully. These costs are in addition to those of producing the final product(s) of a mapping effort. Expected process costs of doing this kind of work, particularly in a larger geographic context, include dedicated staff, artists, and/or consultants’ time, software licensing, equipment purchase or rental, data purchasing and agreements, and site rental fees for meetings or related events as well as meeting materials and recording, translation, and transcription services. They also include community participant‑related costs such as childcare, refreshments, and incentives to participate. • Seek ways to sustain community participation after the initially planned mapping effort has concluded, as well as funding to support ongoing maintenance, updates, and contin‑ ued community engagement.

Products • Remember that multiple formats are possible, and be open to including a variety of out‑ puts, including artistic presentations or products. • Consider how product(s) will be made available online, and/or in print, and what is best for the community(ies) the product(s) represent. Online products offer more accessibility and interactivity in some ways, yet they are not universally accessible or useful in others. Make sure that documents are available in multiple relevant languages. • Encourage the use of community‑engaged cultural asset mapping and its product(s) to inform cultural policy and advance the practice of participatory structures of data collec‑ tion, interpretation, and dissemination. 136

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• Recognize that cultural asset maps are living documents that require revisiting, updat‑ ing, maintenance, and continuing development to achieve their full value and retain their relevance. Be aware that some of the data sources relied on in an initial mapping effort may not exist going forward, as was the case for us with CultureBlocks in Philadelphia.

Lessons Learned Cultural asset mapping is a powerful tool for engaging communities in reflective practice and meaningful action. When done with care, attention to power dynamics, and broad inclusion, the results can bring a transformative awareness to the needs of the given place. This asset‑based approach should be part of the toolbox of every urban and cultural planner as they seek to co‑design generative futures. Guiding questions for the process include the following: • What is the purpose of the cultural plan and study? What information is sought and what is missing? The team involved in cultural asset mapping should think carefully about the goals and outcomes of the study before involving members of the public. • Who is the audience? It is vital that the mapping team consider who this project is for; the intended audience affects the way the stories will be gathered and told, the format of any deliverables, and the overall process and products of the cultural asset mapping. Possible audiences include the arts community, philanthropic funders, policymakers, and local residents. Establishing a sense of the audience before beginning ensures that the data and interpretation are appropriate and achieve the desired purposes of the project. • Who needs to be consulted, and who needs to participate in the creation process? The mapping team should do an inventory of who needs to be consulted before the process begins, and throughout the project. Making sure the right people are at the table will enhance the validity and reach of the findings of the project. In the case of the PA Hu‑ manities Discovery project, we had a national advisory board and a Pennsylvania‑based working group comprised of a diverse cross‑section of cultural leaders that helped shep‑ herd the project from conception to fruition. • Whose stories need to be told, and whose stories have historically been suppressed? As we note above, cultural asset mapping emerged historically to uncover and center nar‑ ratives that had previously been marginalized. In any community, there are going to be stories that have been suppressed. It is important to account for the range of possible narratives and narrators present in a project, and to work to amplify those. In addi‑ tion, the team should anticipate the power dynamics present in the effort, and make sure there is adequate engagement and representation of voices of all sorts throughout the project. • What resources will this study need to be successful? Cultural asset mapping projects range in size and scope, but they all require resources in the form of time, money, and more. A careful assessment of the resources required to pose the relevant questions will ensure that the project is right sized for the questions it seeks to pursue. Be sure to ac‑ count for staff time, facilities rentals, incentives for participants, translation services, childcare at meetings, and more to fully grasp the costs involved. Include funds for main‑ taining and updating any data, maps, or websites that are created in the process. 137

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• Who owns the findings, and how will they be disseminated? Make clear at the beginning of the process who owns the findings and who will be responsible for dissemination. The work of telling these stories is important and complicated; ensure the party with adequate capacity for dissemination and stewardship is identified at the outset of the cultural asset mapping effort. • How will you know if the effort has been a success? In addition, discuss as a team early on what success for this project looks like. Is it just an exercise in information gather‑ ing, or is there a policy, funding, or community change that is the intended effect? What would a world in which this mapping effort is successful look like? This can only be de‑ fined on a case‑by‑case basis, with all the participants involved.

Notes 1 According to Emery and Flora (2006, 21), “Cultural capital reflects the way people ‘know the world’ and how they act within it, as well as their traditions and language. Cultural capital influ‑ ences what voices are heard and listened to, which voices have influence in what areas, and how creativity, innovation, and influence emerge and are nurtured.” 2 For a thorough history of cultural asset mapping, please see Duxbury et al. (2015, 3–16). 3 Mixed methods research designs involve both quantitative (numerical) data and qualitative (non‑numerical, descriptive and explanatory) data. 4 In the U.S., state and local arts and humanities agencies, local visitors bureaus, and the Bureau of Labor Statistics’ Location Quotient Calculator can all be useful sources for this type of data (ArtPlace and Spire + Base n.d.). 5 A number of additional examples can be found in the “Further Reading” section on page 10 of ArtPlace and Spire + Base’s report, “Mapping Out Cultural Asset Mapping” (n.d.). 6 The definition of humanities from the United States’ 1965 National Foundation on the Arts and the Humanities Act states, “The term ‘humanities’ includes, but is not limited to, the study of the following: language, both modern and classical; linguistics; literature; history; jurisprudence; phi‑ losophy; archaeology; comparative religion; ethics; the history, criticism and theory of the arts; those aspects of social sciences which have humanistic content and employ humanistic methods; and the study and application of the humanities to the human environment with particular atten‑ tion to reflecting our diverse heritage, traditions, and history and to the relevance of the humani‑ ties to the current conditions of national life.” 7 For an example and discussion of photovoice in a participatory action research project, please see Wang, C. C. 1999. “Photovoice: a participatory action research strategy applied to women’s health.” Journal of Women’s Health 8 (2): 185–92. doi:10.1089/jwh.1999.8.185.

Bibliography ArtPlace and Spire + Base. 2021 “Mapping Out Cultural Asset Mapping.” https://communitydevel‑ opment.art/node/65876. Birt, Linda, Suzanne Scott, Debbie Cavers, Christine Campbell, and Fiona Walter. 2016. “Member Checking: A Tool to Enhance Trustworthiness or Merely a Nod to Validation?” Qualitative Health Research 26 (13): 1802–11. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/1049732316654870 [Ac‑ cessed October 23, 2024]. Cook, Ian, and Ken Taylor. 2013. “A Contemporary Guide to Cultural Mapping: An ASEAN‑Aus‑ tralia Perspective.” Jakarta: ASEAN Secretariat. https://asean.org/wp‑content/uploads/2021/09/ Contemporary‑Guide‑to‑Cultural‑Mapping‑Rev‑X.pdf.

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Cultural Asset Mapping in Urban Communities “Cultural Asset Mapping Project | AustinTexas.Gov.” 2018 Accessed June 6, 2023. https://www. austintexas.gov/department/cultural‑asset‑mapping‑project. Dodge, Martin. 2017. “Cartography I: Mapping Deeply, Mapping the Past.” Progress in Human Geography 41 (1): 89–98. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/0309132516656431 Duncan, Sally L. 2006. “Mapping Whose Reality? Geographic Information Systems (GIS) and ‘Wild Science.’” Public Understanding of Science 15 (4): 411–34. https://journals.sagepub.com/ doi/10.1177/0963662506061885 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Duxbury, Nancy, W. F. Garrett‑Petts, and David MacLennan. 2015. Cultural Mapping as Cultural Inquiry. London: Taylor & Francis Group. Emery, Mary, and Cornelia Flora. 2006. “Spiraling‑Up: Mapping Community Transformation with Community Capitals Framework.” Community Development 37 (1): 19–35. Jeannotte, M. Sharon. 2016. “Story‑Telling about Place: Engaging Citizens in Cultural Mapping.” City, Culture and Society 7 (1): 35–41. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/ S1877916615000466?via%3Dihub [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Kindon, Sara, Rachel Pain, and Mike Kesby. 2007. Participatory Action Research Approaches and Methods: Connecting People, Participation and Place. London, New York: Routledge. Knowles, Anne Kelly, Levi Westerveld, and Laura Strom. 2015. “Inductive Visualization: A ­Humanistic Alternative to GIS.” GeoHumanities 1 (2): 233–65. https://doi.org/10.1080/23735 66X.2015.1108831. Kretzmann, John, and John P. McKnight. 1996. “Assets‑Based Community Development.” National Civic Review 85 (4): 23–30. Martin, Michael, Brianne Peters, and Jon Corbett. 2012. “Participatory Asset Mapping in the Lake Victoria Basin of Kenya.” URISA Journal 24 (2): 45–56. Redaelli, Eleonora. 2015. “Cultural Mapping: Analyzing Its Meanings in Policy Documents.” In Nancy Duxbury, W.F. Garrett‑Petts, David MacLennan (eds), Cultural Mapping as Cultural ­Inquiry, 86–98. London: Taylor & Francis Group. Redaelli, Eleonora. 2019. “Cultural Mapping: Location the Arts in a Place.” In Katie Appleford, Anna Goulding, Dave O’Brien, Mark Taylor (eds), Connecting Arts and Place: Cultural Policy and American Cities, 49–84. Sociology of the Arts. Cham: Springer International Publishing. https://doi.org/10.1007/978‑3‑030‑05339‑0_3. Sandercock, Leonie. 2004. “Towards a Planning Imagination for the 21st Century.” Journal of the American Planning Association 70 (2): 133–41. https://doi.org/10.1080/01944360408976368. Smith, Darren. 2008. “The Politics of Studentification and ‘(Un) Balanced’ Urban Populations: ­Lessons for Gentrification and Sustainable Communities?” Urban Studies 45 (12): 2541–64. Soma, Tammara, Belinda Li, and Tamara Shulman. 2022. “A Citizen Science and Photovoice ­Approach to Food Asset Mapping and Food System Planning.” Journal of Planning Education and Research, 1–13. Stern, Mark J., and Susan C. Seifert. 2012. “Cultural Asset Mapping Project: Progress Report.” ­University of Pennsylvania, 2012. https://repository.upenn.edu/entities/publication/88acd2ff‑806b‑ 44cf‑a9da‑416278e22a13 Voight, Robert. 2011. “Cultural Asset Mapping.” Planning Commissioners Journal 81: 1–2.

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2.5 IDENTITY AND PLACE ATTACHMENT IN CULTURAL PLANNING Tom Borrup

Among the most important questions cultural planners can ask residents and stakeholders during the process of shaping a cultural plan are: What do you love about this place? What makes you feel most connected to it? What kinds of creative, cultural, and community activi‑ ties do you engage in? Aggregating and analyzing responses to such questions help planners learn about and ar‑ ticulate what people value about a place and the sense of place identity they share. Together with other data and deliberative processes, cultural planners fashion recommendations for policies, programs, systems, and resources that promote active engagement in community and cultural life along with healthy place attachment. Whether a community’s goals for its cultural plan (and the process used to develop it) are to improve quality of life for residents, attract new residents and tourists, support artists, build a creative economy, revitalize an urban core, or other outcomes, a critical foundation and indicator for success is a strong sense of shared identity and healthy attachments to place – and to other people in that place. This chapter combines research‑based theory related to the power of place identity and place attachment together with practiced‑based accounts of cultural planning to examine the critical nature of this dimension of cultural planners’ work. It describes examples of communities where residents and planners worked to refresh and build upon a shared sense of identity to advance goals related to such things as use of public space, youth develop‑ ment, creative entrepreneurship, community celebrations, historic and cultural preservation, design guidelines, building a welcoming environment for immigrants, and other elements found in cultural plans. I argue that shared identity and attachment to place contribute to social cohesion needed to tackle a multitude of community goals. Fostering a positive, shared sense of identity and place attachment are unique and special ways cultural planning plays a critical role in strengthening communities and can help the cultural sector serve as an ally with city planners and others in community development (Borrup, 2006, 2021). Finally, the chapter concludes with a set of practices cultural planners can use to foster a stronger and balanced sense of place attachment. DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-13

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In cultural planning, “place identity” and “place attachment,” and their multiple mean‑ ings, are often understood through a variety of tangible and intangible cultural resources such as distinctive food, natural features, historical narratives, architecture and design, social dynamics, special celebrations, even crises the community endured. A community’s cultural assets and experiences are often leveraged through cultural planning to advance tourism, local economic development and job creation, festival production, job creation, community self‑esteem, social cohesion and other goals. Most importantly, and if not taken to an ex‑ treme, healthy place attachment builds residents’ investment in and stewardship of a place.

Place, Identity, and Attachment Research and scholarly writing on place identity and meaning and place attachment and be‑ longing during the past 40 years comes mostly from the fields of psychology and geography. Its material relevance to urban planning, especially cultural planning and placemaking, is unmistakable, particularly studies that focus on changing demographics, global migration, and how people form communities in new places. In her research on place attachment, French scholar Lea Sebastien (2020) asked whether the notion of place still had meaning in the face of globalization and increasing mobility and spatial homogeneity. The answer she found, “is affirmative: places have not lost their signifi‑ cance. On the contrary, the notion of ‘place’ in the modern world has regained its value, es‑ pecially in neighborhoods, villages, and small towns” (p. 204). Through their place identity research if the face of global mobility, Main and Sandoval (2015) come to similar conclu‑ sions writing, “the place identity literature and this study suggest an alternative perspective on mobility – that for some, it may mean that place matters now as much as ever” (p. 84). Place identity, as defined by Belanche et al. (2021), “is the self‑awareness of one’s mem‑ bership to a place related community, involving the emotional and evaluative significance of this membership” (p. 242). Their research compared rural and urban communities in Spain where they found “no difference between both environments in cognitive pace identity.” They did find some differences where rural residents, “show greater levels of affective and evaluative place identity” (p. 242). When widely shared within a given city, neighborhood, or small town, even among diverse urban populations, this sense of identity builds social cohesion essential for functioning social and civic structures (Aboutorabi, 2018; Main & Sandoval, 2015; Williams, 2014). In a Malaysian study, Somasundram et al. (2023) found, “A strong sense of place identity have been found to promote greater social awareness, envi‑ ronmental consciousness, and interconnectedness among residents. This [sic], in turn, fosters a greater sense of social cohesion and interaction within the community” (p. 130). Scholarship on place attachment has tended to lean toward social dimensions as the basis of those attachments (Altman & Low, 2012; Hidalgo & Hernandez, 2001). Architecture scholar Mohsen Aboutorabi (2018) observes that the, “memories of direct experience gen‑ erally give meaning to a place since they refer to our social life that has been taking place there. In this sense, space and place become the integrated part of each other as body and soul” (p. 5). However, Sebastien (2020) argues that “Studies of place should not overlook the influence of the physical components of a place on the sense of place” (p. 206). Regard‑ less of the motivating factors among different individuals, resulting feelings of attachment are found on a spectrum. Seamon (2014) describes how, “feelings for place can range from 141

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disinterest and minimal cognitive awareness to superficial fondness, stronger devotion, or attachment so powerful that people are willing to defend and even sacrifice their lives for a place” (p. 2). A balance is critical to healthy place attachments. Seamon’s latter point, de‑ fending place to the death can, and has spawned both positive and negative consequences. Given increased globalization, population diversity, and migration, considerable research has been conducted internationally on the variety of attachments among “translocal im‑ migrants” (Hidalgo & Hernandez, 2001; Main & Sandoval, 2015; Sebastien, 2020). Most Indigenous peoples throughout the Americas were removed from their traditional lands through violence, disease, or trickery. Those who remain carry feelings of attachment to the place different from immigrants who arrived yesterday or a generation or more ago with hopes of a better life; and different still from those who recently relocated by choice and could afford to purchase a home. As people re‑settle in a place, Main and Sandoval (2015) describe how, “This translocal placemaking process consists of conflict, difference, and so‑ cial negotiation, as immigrants reshape their new social spaces and places” (p. 73). For cul‑ tural planners, they all bring a story and a differing sense of belonging that are important to understand. When balanced with a spirit of welcoming, shared feelings of belonging and attachment to place can foster community pride, engagement, and stewardship. These are the outcomes cultural planners should hope for. When successful, cultural plans help build on local crea‑ tive and cultural sectors, and/or tourism and creative economy initiatives that then thrive alongside renewed civic spirit and community harmony. As we also know, widespread con‑ sensus is near impossible to achieve yet remains a goal of the planning endeavor. We also know that place attachment taken to excess can have negative consequences. In Place Attachment: Advances in Theory, Methods and Applications, Manzo and Devine‑Wright (2021) describe a complex role of place attachments: they influence feel‑ ings of rootedness and belonging, impact placemaking and displacement while encouraging or discouraging mobility and migration, intergroup conflict, and civic engagement. Place attachments can sway patterns of public housing, urban redevelopment, natural resource management, and ultimately climate change. Grounded in land‑use, development, policymaking, infrastructure, and statistical analy‑ sis, city planners frequently confront what geographer Yi‑Fu Tuan in his seminal 1974 book, Topophilia, describes as the phenomenon of “topophilia” as love of place. It is this love, or feelings that are outside reason, that many city planners consider as obstacles to achieving their work. Such irrational and emotional sentiments can be a city planner’s greatest burden. Professional training does not prepare those in the practice to compre‑ hend and mitigate, let alone work to foster residents’ feelings. However, residents’ feel‑ ings about the place are quite real and powerful. For planners, designers, placemakers, community development professionals and architects, these phenomena are important to appreciate, to deliberately address, and to find ways to work with rather than to ignore or battle against. In a 2023 book, culminating her illustrious half century of scholarship and practice in urban planning, Leonie Sandercock takes the practice to task citing, the overall failure of planning systems to respond to the increasing cultural diversity of the city; to the ways in which the values and norms of dominant culture are reflected in 142

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plans, planning codes, and by‑laws, legislation, and heritage and urban design practices; to planners’ inability to analyze issues from a multicultural perspective or to design par‑ ticipatory processes that bring racial and ethnic groups in the planning process. (p. 112) She advocates that, “Community planning is the work of building connections. It is the work of healing, repair, renewal” (p. xiv). For over two decades, Sandercock has pointed out the therapeutic potentials of planning as well as the centering of storytelling in planning practice. In her 2023 book, she calls for, “dealing with history in highly personal, narrative, and emotional ways. There are other possible methods using drama, for example, or other more symbolic or non‑verbal means of storytelling and communicating deeply felt emo‑ tions” (p. 120). She concludes that, “Planners need to learn about culture: what it is and what shapes and maintains it, how and why it changes, and how one’s own culture affects one’s ability to understand that of others” (p. 120).

Place and the Formation of Individual Identity One of the reasons place identity becomes so powerful is the way individual self‑identity be‑ comes one with that of place. Environmental psychologist, Jen Jack Gieseking and William Mangold in their 2014 People and Place Reader, describe how identities form in relation to environments. Their assertion is that the individual does not fully form a personal identity outside of their relationship to place. Many scholars, beginning with those in psychology, link the self and the physical environment as a dynamic system of identity development. Early research on place attachment evolving from psychology assumed that attachment was primarily social and that people developed bonds with other people to cement their attach‑ ment to places. However, subsequent research concludes the phenomenon is more complex. Psychology scholars Fátima Bernardo and José‑Manuel Palma‑Oliveira (2016) define place and identity formation as a process of interaction between places and people. Espe‑ cially over time, they argue, people describe themselves in terms of belonging to a specific place. That place then becomes one with individual as well as group identity. However, it must be pointed out that having a sense of belonging may or may not be a claim everyone makes, as some move frequently or live in contested places or places where they have suf‑ fered physical and/or emotional trauma. They may have no place they feel they belong. As psychologists Leila Scannell and Robert Gifford (2014) point out, “home” can be a place of abuse or oppression. Recognizing the centrality of culture in human‑environment relations, anthropologist, Ed‑ ward Hall (1966), concurs that place meaning is different for people with different experi‑ ences and backgrounds. Cultural activist and writer, Roberto Bedoya (2013) put the right to feel a sense of belonging in the context of renewed social battles over women’s rights to control their own bodies, LGBTQ rights, assaults on immigrants, and economic displace‑ ment through gentrification – not to mention growing populations of unhoused people who find belonging anywhere a daily struggle. Beyond identity, belonging, and place attachment, the formation of a sense of commu‑ nity is part of the mix. Anthropologist Talja Blokland (2017) asserts that identity is a pre‑ condition for social life and that having an identity is one of the most basic human needs. 143

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Blokland’s work addresses formation of communities which are frequently but not always place‑based. Planners and placemakers, however, must consider multiple and overlapping communities within places as well as a sense of community and attachment that forms in relation to a place.

The Role of the Cultural Planner Cultural planning scholar Deborah Stevenson published a global survey of cultural planning in 2014 in which she describes how cultural planners explore and try to articulate identities of place. She writes, Place and the emotional climates associated with them are also comprised of the ‘traces of memories of different social groups who have lived in or pass through’ a particular place . . . Sometimes layers are evident but more often they lie beneath the surface awaiting excavation or relocation—a task that cultural planning is frequently charged with performing. (2014, p. 43) As Stevenson suggests, different people across time leave their mark – and they continue to do so. Cultural planners, often collaborate with community members to work as excavators, illuminating the layers, explicating their meanings, and re‑interpreting local narratives to en‑ vision a bright future, one that is inclusive of the mix of people and forms of cultural expres‑ sion present in real time and in memory, as well as for those who will arrive in the future. Since the origins of the practice in the late 1970s, cultural planners have become more sophisticated in their data collection using formal research methods and qualitative analysis (Borrup, 2018). These include surveys, focus groups, interviews, partnerships, community events (including artist‑led creative activities), and other tools to elicit ideas, opinions, and stories from as wide a variety of residents and stakeholders as possible. Some planners fa‑ cilitate the sharing of stories among residents to build community and a sense of belonging while harvesting important data from those stories. Cultural planners address traditions, creative activities, organizations, and spaces for which people develop similar emotional attachments. As cultural planning is people‑centric and sensitive to cultural and aesthetic differences in complex multi‑ethnic communities, it should be well equipped to interpret and convey meaning, identity, and sense of attachment and belonging (or lack thereof), to colleagues in other planning and development professions. Meanwhile, a century of formulaic, automobile‑centric city planning and development have wittingly and unwittingly diluted or dissolved peoples’ connections with place. Com‑ bined with global franchise brands, this homogenization may be seen as rational efforts to make every place feel the same. As a result, places lose a sense of unique or distinctive identity. Addressing such patterns, British planning scholar Patsy Healey in multiple books and articles over three decades argues that generalizations based on cultural assumptions of what constitute the “good life,” result in formulaic design principles and public policies that have resulted in disastrous outcomes. Such practices, she says, represent major mistakes by planners and policy experts during the 20th century (Healey, 2010). Efforts to homogenize places must give way to more culturally and place‑sensitive approaches, she argues. Urban 144

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policy in the United States, in particular, has relied heavily on demolition and displacement of communities to shape urban environments as well as disinvestment especially in areas populated by people of color, dislocating residents and severing social connections, replacing local and neighborhood identities with real estate marketing and corporate brands. Efforts at wholesale replacement of people, history, meaning, and physical infrastructure has left considerable social, economic, physical, and psychological damage as psychologist and urban thinker Mindy Fullilove (2003, 2016) so powerfully describes in her writing in relation to, but certainly not unique to, Pittsburgh, a city in Pennsylvania, United States. As‑ sessing which values, stories, and physical assets are retained or even expanded upon, and which are let go, is a sacred quest and a great responsibility for which cultural planners carry a heavy burden. People are, and always will be different from one another. They use spaces differently and have a different relationship to them. It is critical that planners work to identify character‑ istics of place and elements of residents’ attachments. Only then is it possible to formulate ways to constructively build on the positive dimensions of shared identity and place attach‑ ment. In cities with rapidly changing populations, including those taking in migrants, and the coming avalanche of climate refugees, it is important that place identity not be rigid and that the process of deliberating its evolution remain open.

Places and Power To further complicate the work of urban and cultural planners, it is important to examine what constitutes place. The word is used to describe many things and has symbolic mean‑ ing that goes well beyond the training and preparation of most planners. For example, three decades ago, architectural historian Dolores Hayden (1995) extended the meaning by describing the place of women. She illustrated how both social and physical structures express power and profoundly limit and impact women’s lives. “Places” are social, cultural, economic, and physical – often emotional. People have learned their “place” in these social, economic, and gender hierarchies, even if they are rarely articulated. “Places” go beyond the physical realm to include relationships and understandings grounded in power and privilege. Intentionally or not, the work of cultural and city planners reinforces or redefines physical as well as social and emotional “places.” Winston Churchill’s declaration that, “we shape our buildings and afterwards our buildings shape us” (House of Commons, 1943, para. 1) takes on great significance in this context. The aesthetic qualities of physical environments have major impacts on the psychological and social well‑being of inhabitants. Deeply rooted social places, such as those described by Hayden, are more difficult to change or to “make” than physical landscapes and structures. City planners, designers, and placemakers focus on improving the aesthetics of the physical environment and infrastruc‑ ture, invigorating local economies, activating and programming public spaces, and/or build‑ ing up institutional systems and resources to carry out these functions. However, they often do so without addressing the built‑in social, cultural, economic, and power hierarchies that physical spaces and organizational systems reflect and reinforce. Cultural planners, as well as design and placemaking practitioners, need to fully appreci‑ ate these multiple ways of conceptualizing, constructing, and being in a place. The insepa‑ rability of the dimensions of place is critical for planners to address if they want plans that 145

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have impacts that are equitable and sustainable. Power hierarchies and social places have been outside what is understood as the purview of planners, designers, and placemakers. Some may deny that their work involves these dimensions, yet it does.

Are There Places for Everyone? Because individuals, and cultural or ethnic communities have tendencies to relate to or at‑ tach to place differently, it may be impossible for researchers, as well as planners, to quantify and universalize such phenomena or behaviors. Among the earliest academic researchers to explore place attachment, environmental psychologist Harold Proshansky and his colleagues pointed out considerable challenges for planners, designers, and placemakers. They wrote: If indeed varying social groups of individuals in an urban setting identify strongly with that setting but in different ways, then this finding itself implies that many practical is‑ sues with respect to the design, construction, and use of spaces and places would have to be considered in the light of this plurality of urban dwellers. (Proshansky et al., 1983, p. 81) The assertion that different people respond differently to the ways spaces are designed and built may seem self‑evident today and has been written about extensively (Hou, 2013). Aboutorabi explores ways to develop, “a shared urban identity for increasing the sense of belonging for all cultural groups” (2018, p. 2). He observes that, “Approaches to address social problems in the multicultural cities have been taken in the context of political dis‑ courses uttering the idea of integration and, in some countries, prohibiting the practice of ethnic cultural norms” (p. 2). In many global cities, increasingly diverse populations have gained greater influence within neighborhood settings, pushing back against planning and design choices that repre‑ sent dominant cultural norms. They also simply bring familiar objects and ways of adapting spaces to reflect their cultural values and practices. Main and Sandoval (2018) describe how “everyday practices are forms of agency, sometimes used to forge spaces of identity” (p. 73). They characterize these practices as “quiet encroachments” and “the art of presence” that “are not large political acts against the state, but struggles to legitimize spaces of identity” (p. 73). Some designers have become more attuned to divergent functional needs and aes‑ thetic preferences of different ages, abilities, genders, and ethnic groups. Whether through “quiet encroachments” or deliberate acts identified by planners, such changes can take years or even decades to show up in communities. The lack of equitable and diverse representation of cultural difference in design of the built environment amidst changing demographics, says urban planning scholar Hannah Mattila (2002), is a matter of aesthetic injustice. Sociologist Thomas Gieryn (2000) studied ways that spaces are interpreted and perceived and how perceptions change over time. Gieryn suggests that such injustice can breed conflicts. However, it must be asked: is it, in fact, pos‑ sible for members of diverse communities and subcultures to all see themselves reflected in the built environment in ways that foster a sense of belonging? Built environments change slowly. The flawed notion of “universal” aesthetics and design, these scholars point out, ig‑ nores cultural variations and preferences and suppresses identities of those outside dominant economic and cultural groups. 146

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I join Mattila in her advocacy of ongoing processes to involve people in decisions that shape and impact their aesthetic environment. Dialog and civic engagement around city design, she says, are the only way to work toward the ideal of aesthetic justice. Mattila calls on fair distribution of the rights to design the city (2002; also see Borrup, 2021, Chapter 8). Participatory, creative engagement in design choices is where cultural planners can make significant contributions. This is long‑term, never‑ending work. Physical spaces change over time, although migrants moving into existing spaces often retro‑fit them in creative ways. These dialogic processes cannot redesign the physical environment to accommodate every‑ one’s tastes but they can provide a language, dialogs, and ongoing spaces for discussions and deliberations of the meanings of designs and of places including awareness that place design includes social, economic, gendered, and cultural “places” along with physical spaces. Pro‑ viding such spaces and discussions can begin during a cultural planning process and con‑ tinue as recommended activities carried on in communities. Cultural planning can help city planners and residents speak a shared language and work with feelings residents have about places rather than denying them.

Changing Places and Constructing Authenticity Part of the complexity for planners and placemakers is the multitude of ways places change, who is driving change, and who benefits. The key point of this chapter is that planning and change impact place identity and feelings of attachment and belonging. Thus the cultural planning, as well as city planning carry a heavy burden and may encounter obstacles that seem irrational or grounded in emotional feelings. Cultural planners may find themselves in the position of helping a city construct or re‑­ construct a sense of “authenticity.” The concept of what is authentic is, itself, constructed. Economics, politics, and other forms of power generally determine what is authentic in order to promote tourism, develop real estate, maintain power over historical narratives, or other reasons. However, finding and building on a local identity that is distinctive and based in commonly understood historical interpretations can be one way to counter a city getting lost in a homogenized world. A boom in place branding and marketing has become a new global industry. Interna‑ tional cities, smaller cities, towns, neighborhoods, even suburbs seek to distinguish their unique identities. Whether that identity is grounded in a reality local residents share or whether it is bolted on by a marketing firm devising clever slogans, may represent the dif‑ ference between an identity that fosters a sense of belonging and that helps a city meet its economic and social goals – or one that creates division or falls flat in an expensive market‑ ing campaign. Left to market forces and in the absence of careful planning, community identities serve some interests to the neglect of others. Urban planning scholar Brady Collins (2018) warns that place marketing and cultural revitalization strategies may benefit tourists or wealthier residents rather than promoting the well‑being of the broader public. In some urban en‑ claves with well‑distinguished or compelling identities, Collins argues that local businesses have learned they can profit from the commodification of place, whether or not they share the same ethnic identity as the neighborhood’s chosen brand. Los Angeles neighborhoods he studied such as Korea Town, Thai Town, Little Armenia, and others, have capitalized on 147

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their identities. What these efforts and others reflect are a search for meaning and distinctive‑ ness, a sense of identity to which residents and local businesses can feel a part with the hope of improving quality of life along with revenues.

Evolving Identities and Place Attachments: Five Cases Below, I offer five short cases in a variety of cities to illustrate the ideas outlined above. These are places where I have conducted research or where I have worked as a cultural planner. For these cities or neighborhoods, place identity, along with cultural traditions and activities are important for social, emotional, civic, and economic well‑being. Leimert Park is an African American neighborhood in South Central Los Angeles with a remarkable collection of Black cultural organizations, events, and businesses. I participated in many activities there while conducting dissertation research between 2013 and 2015 and maintained contact since. A population of over 70% African Americans, mostly homeown‑ ers, are strongly committed to the community and to retaining its long‑held identity as a center of Black culture for LA County. Many well‑known Black celebrities during the first half of the 20th century, who were not welcomed to live in other parts of the city, purchased homes and business property here. Tom Bradley, the first Black mayor of Los Angeles was a long‑time resident along with Ella Fitzgerald and Ray Charles. Legendary band leader and entertainer Cab Calloway bought commercial properties there in the 1950s still owned by his family. Nonetheless, neighborhood businesses struggled for decades with the silver lining that property remained affordable allowing the arts and the creative community to find stability. Planned construction of a subway line along the edge of Leimert Park brought residents together in the early 20‑teens to strategize how to maintain and build on the character of the neighborhood knowing changes were afoot. Long‑time residents including retired city planners, along with others in government, business, community development, and the arts, ramped up organizing efforts in this already politically active neighborhood. This subdivision planned by the Olmsted Brothers in the late 1920s boasts distinctive and eclectic deco‑era/ Southern California architecture and mixed‑income, blended single family and multifamily homes with a plan that radiates from a park facing a large, architecturally significant art deco theater and series of storefronts. Residents knew the rail line would bring real estate speculation, large‑scale developments, and an influx of people who may not appreciate the community’s history and cultural resources. Community‑based planning was launched in 2013 under the Leimert Park Village 20/20 Vision Initiative supplemented by a 2015 Urban Land Institute report. Planning activities and strategy development as well as ongoing events continue through Leimert Park Village and its Business Improvement District. The main component of the planning exercise for Leimert Park is cultural planning, because of the presence of African Diaspora, creative and politically astute residents, and cultural icons including the Vision Theatre, World Stage, and the Afro‑centric business district. The city spent millions for the restoration and upgrading of the theater and wealthy Black artists and philanthropists took it upon themselves to pur‑ chase property in the business district to retain ownership in the community while launching additional cultural and youth programs. The centering of culture in planning strengthened the community’s identity, connected people, and served as the core strategy to maintain and build a vibrant and prosperous creative Black community. 148

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Worcester, Massachusetts, United States Worcester, with the second largest urban population in New England, is a post‑industrial city that began to experience a revival during the second decade of the 21st century. New immigrants and expanding commuter rail service to Boston propelled population growth and development. Eleven colleges and Universities scattered across Worcester provided a level of economic stability. In spite of the numbers of students in the city, it is not a place anyone refers to as a college town as the schools tend to exist within their respective bub‑ bles. Long‑standing cultural organizations including the Worcester Art Museum, Hanover Theatre, American Antiquarian Society, and Mechanics Hall joined many smaller, younger, and more diverse organizations to form the Worcester Cultural Coalition in 1999 to support revitalization and creative engagement. I was commissioned to create a cultural plan in 2018 to accompany the city’s new master plan. The most recent city master plan was dated 1987. Upon a first visit, we requested in‑ terviews and focus groups to connect with immigrant communities, youth, and artists. An early report back to the planning advisory committee reflected feelings of exclusion we heard from those groups, especially new immigrants. The report met resistance; some might call it denial. However, listening and learning prevailed. Many different voices impacted the plan‑ ning process and consequently, the advisory committee was comfortable with our findings on community identity and cohesion working across sectors with a focus on youth, artists, and diverse neighborhoods. The plan was to be celebrated in early 2020 but it was delayed due to COVID‑19. The May 2020 police murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis, and subsequent responses in Worcester, opened the door to new conversations about racial injustice. The City, and its partners in the cultural plan, came back to us feeling an urgency to update the recent plan. New faces were moving into positions of power and the economic revival and newly found community spirit were in full swing. Five years after the cultural plan was commissioned, the new city master plan advanced. In addition to an extensive section on Culture and Creativity, that largely mirrored the cultural plan, four of the six other chapters included references to culture, creativity, and the arts. These included Development Norms, Transportation and Mobility, Economic Opportunity, Recreation, Open Space, and the Environment. In refreshing the 2018 cultural plan, initial interviews and focus groups revealed that the plan had a profound impact on how the com‑ munity worked together across sectors through COVID‑19. Institutions including schools, health care, and neighborhood organizations relied more heavily on artists and the cultural sector than in anyone’s prior experience. Evidenced through focus groups and interviews, the planning process itself had opened new channels of dialog and collaboration. Also, in the wake of the George Floyd murder and the 2018 plan, more frank racial discussions were taking place.

Bangkok, Thailand Bangkok is an enormous city and, like many rapidly growing cities in Asia, struggles with holding on to ways of life and cultural traditions amid rapid development. In many locations across this giant city, mega‑blocks of older communities are cleared as office, condo, and ho‑ tel towers rise along with upscale shopping malls and entertainment complexes taking their 149

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place. At the street level, the City slowly imposes regulations on the vast yet human‑scale commerce and marketplaces that make Bangkok famous. This long‑standing grass‑roots en‑ trepreneurship supplies a livelihood and sense of control over one’s life quite different from employment with a global franchise. Bangkok is experiencing growth of 7–11s, Starbucks, KFCs, and the like, along with upscale Western franchise retailers and dining establishments. Some street vendors have been moved off the sidewalks into stalls in more controlled areas; massive developments push informal markets to find new locations. Health codes have a valuable place in contemporary society. However, replacing street commerce with shopping malls filled with Western corporate brands drastically alters ways of life built over countless generations. Regulations pertaining to small business, public space use, and health regulations are de‑facto forms of cultural policy and cultural manage‑ ment in Bangkok. These, and development policies dictating housing types and living pat‑ terns, are culturally based. I have made more than half a dozen visits there during the past ten years witnessing these rapid changes. The Dean of the Faculty of Fine and Applied Arts at the country’s top‑rated university led an extensive cultural mapping project completed in 2012. She and her team surveyed the city’s 50 districts and published a 400‑page volume under the title Living Local Cultural Sites of Bangkok. The publication and an online platform serve as a catalog of formal and informal cultural traditions  –  a massive undertaking that, as with any directory, is never complete. A more recent Facebook page called “Where to go in Bangkok” was created by and for her students who add commentary on their experiences. The effort provided infor‑ mation through formal documentation for some Bangkok Metropolitan area planners who are sensitive to the value of these activities and ways of life. The book and online resource have been primarily used in tourism promotion as one way to add value to and preserve traditional spaces and practices. While the effort represents a drop in the bucket in such a massive city with a dizzying pace of global capital incursion it provides the cultural mapping essential to effective cultural planning.

St. Paul, Minnesota, United States Infrastructure development always brings significant changes to cities. Construction of an interstate highway in the late 1960s leveled and split apart a well‑established African Ameri‑ can neighborhood in St. Paul, a phenomenon seen across the United States during that time. With this still fresh in memory, regional transit planners began development of a street‑level light rail line paralleling that highway in the first decade of the 20th century. To mitigate economic and social damage during the multi‑year construction phase, governmental and charitable organizations assembled a significant fund. During the course of this work and with this support, ethnic community clusters coalesced, building on existing but informal identities. Several areas along the corridor formalized and blossomed under identities in‑ cluding Frogtown, Little Mekong, Little Africa, and the Creative Enterprise Zone. Each focuses on existing populations and businesses with community development and local busi‑ ness organizations taking leadership. As light rail construction was about to start in 2008, a mixed‑use industrial, commer‑ cial, and residential area on St. Paul’s western edge, known as South St. Anthony Park got organized. The neighborhood organization, St. Anthony Park Community Council, and a 150

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group consisting of artists, creative entrepreneurs, and nonprofits who were occupying un‑ derutilized industrial buildings recognized threats from real estate speculation and other changes that would come from the light rail line. They asked me to help them devise a plan to stabilize the affordability and sense of identity of the neighborhood. Based on the mix of activities in the area, the group adopted the descriptor “Creative Enterprise Zone (CEZ).” It turned out to be more than a descriptor and quickly gained traction as the moniker. The CEZ has been highly successful at building on the area’s identity as a home for artists and creative start‑ups. Fifteen years later, the creative sector is thriving there. Of course, the area has begun to show signs of gentrification. However, most developers, with support of city policymakers and neighborhood activists, continue trading on the unique identity as they convert older buildings into incubators for creative enterprises. The leadership group, now a nonprofit, continues to attract and retain small creative enterprises. The name Creative Enterprise Zone, suggests a clever policy initiative that has intrigued planners in other cities. They’ve asked what public sector policies made this pos‑ sible. The true response is: none. The CEZ has three key ingredients: an intriguing name, a group of well‑organized artists and their allies, and good storytelling. A unified sense of identity brought stakeholders together around a shared purpose and built on their agency with public and private sector development entities.

Bogotá, Colombia During 2018 I was invited to spend a week interacting with and observing professionals and students involved in a city‑sponsored program through the department of culture and sport and the national university in Bogotá. They were working in numerous outer, newer neighborhoods and inner‑city social housing compounds. Teams assembled by the cultural agency were made up of an artist, an organizer, a psychologist, and a planner or architect. These teams were thoughtfully designed to understand and connect in multiple ways with their assigned communities. In the outer neighborhoods, their task was to engage people in forming and activating public spaces or parks where none existed. These neighborhoods, called “self‑built commu‑ nities,” had no planning or municipal agencies involved in their construction. Basic services such as water, sewer, power, and public transit were later installed, but public spaces were random at best and needed to be designated, improved, and claimed by the community for shared use. These public spaces were identified, carved out, planned, and animated, not by edict or expert‑driven process, but through extended, multi‑faceted participatory organiz‑ ing, planning, and design processes, drawing on creative talents and cultural practices of the people in the neighborhoods, especially youth. The city was endeavoring to bring an organic process of community formation together with the sense of identity development to strengthen the sense of attachment to place and to others in those places. In Barrio Manitas, a small neighborhood in Ciudad Bolívar, one of the poorer areas of Bogotá, I observed a day‑long community‑building process culminating six months of organizing. On the site of a collapsed building, mothers and grandmothers cooked all day, youth paraded in playing music, a local dance collective inaugurated the site and people of all ages cleared and transformed the site into a makeshift community plaza. Youth made models of their future visions for the plaza and, in the afternoon, presented 151

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them to assembled neighbors. The mothers and grandmothers served food and the commu‑ nity band played in celebration of their new community resource. In the social housing projects, similar teams worked to build connections among diverse groups who had recently migrated to Colombia from surrounding countries. Bringing artists, psychologists, planners, and organizers in team efforts to help communities form and cre‑ ate activities to build social connections and cross‑cultural understanding as well as shared spaces through collective action is not something I had seen in such focused action before. The developing sense of place attachment, stewardship, and connection to one another, was palpable. These five stories illustrate efforts to reinforce or mobilize residents in collective actions through practices of planning, combined with community organizing and a cultural focus to help build a sense of identity, belonging, and place attachment.

Harnessing the Power of Place Meaning and Attachment To conclude, I offer thoughts on planning practices that can help gain greater insights into the meaning and identity of place, while helping build shared community attachment. • In settler colonial countries, begin events, meetings, and plan documents with an Indig‑ enous land acknowledgment; do your homework regarding Indigenous peoples in this place and meanings it holds for them. • Start the discovery process learning about the people before mapping places or physical assets; organizations, resources, systems, and buildings are only vehicles to achieve peo‑ ples’ aspirations. • Design the entire discovery and planning process on the principles and practices of de‑ mocracy including collaboration, listening, co‑creation, and deliberative practices. • Focus on assets and strengths strategically; the deficits will always show up but do not let anyone think you are ignoring their problems or community shortcomings. • Ask not what they want, ask what they care about; people often have a limited vocabu‑ lary about possibility; understanding what is meaningful provides better information and ways to begin dialog. • Speak first with those who are on the “outside” such as new immigrants, recent arrivals, artists; people in positions of power will always have their say. • Engage with more than one local historian; do not settle for stories that begin with settlers. • Weigh participation and public activities in favor of BIPOC communities; host activities in partnership with one or more trusted intermediaries within each community; go to their spaces to build bridges, trust, and meaningful dialog. • Include food, music, and children in activities at every opportunity. • Engage people in exploring beneath the surface of the layers people have added to the community over time; in the process of meaning‑making engage with history and stories. • Use cultural mapping and other artist‑led activities to go beyond the usual use of words only. • Listen to everyone’s stories; do not consider anything that is important to someone as outside of cultural planning. 152

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• Involve artists as animateurs at every opportunity to enliven and deepen the process, the discussions, and to engage people in visioning and co‑creating solutions. • Try to make every step of the process fun; if you are conspicuously enjoying your work, meeting new people, and learning about the community, it will be noticed, felt, and reciprocated.

Lessons Learned • Place attachment and identity are powerful and critical to well‑functioning communities. They are important to fully explore in cultural planning, placemaking, and design. • There are cultural differences in how and why people relate to place and form bonds. They can be powerful bonds and, for some planners, can be seen as obstacles. Contrary to conventional planning methods that focus on objective measures, emotional factors must be included and constructively engaged. • Cultural planning works to identify and enhance place meaning, shared and diverse cul‑ tural practices, and ways to productively engage with people in dialogue around the evolution of those phenomena. • In cultural plans, place identity and cultural practices need to come together to build on collective activities such as festivals, use of public spaces, economic development strate‑ gies, learning activities, and tourism. • Cultural planners should find delightful creative challenges through the process of dis‑ covery and consensus building around place identity and meaning. The experience and comfort level cultural planners bring to the “irrational” or emotional dimensions of community life represent unique and important ways they can make powerful contribu‑ tions to wider city planning and community‑building work.

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2.6 TRANSFORMING COMMUNITIES Addressing Housing Instability through Art, Advocacy, and Collective Action Jules Rochielle Sievert and Miso Kim

Introduction This chapter serves as a critical guide for urban planners and policymakers aiming to redress spatial injustice through a multi‑pronged approach that synthesizes cultural organizing, le‑ gal frameworks, and community empowerment. Drawing from an interdisciplinary array of scholars including Roberto Bedoya, Frantz Fanon, Aihwa Ong, Boaventura de Sousa Santos, and Amartya Sen, the chapter unpacks the complex relationship between spatial in‑ justice, colonial history, and contemporary neoliberal policies. We argue for the integration of cultural workers and community organizers into urban planning processes, advocating for models that are equitable, sustainable, and responsive to the unique needs and historical contexts of marginalized communities. Central to this discussion is the importance of autonomy in cultural policy at both indi‑ vidual and community levels. Specifically, culture is crafted and sustained by the citizens; hence, enabling citizen participation is the pivotal concern in cultural policy. Defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “the right or condition of self‑government,” autonomy has been extensively discussed by philosophers ranging from Kant to Rousseau. These think‑ ers focus on an individual’s capacity to abide by self‑imposed rules and engage in societal governance. Building on the insights of Mill and Sartre, who underscore autonomy’s role in personal and creative development, our perspective highlights that inclusiveness and equity come to fruition when communities have the agency to direct their own cultural destinies. Autonomy and agency enable communities to combat gentrification by proactively shap‑ ing their own development priorities. This self‑governance allows residents to preserve their cultural identity and protect vulnerable populations from displacement. Through local decision‑­making, communities can promote balanced development, advocating for policies such as affordable housing and improved public spaces. In doing so, they can effectively influence policies to better align with their needs and aspirations. We posit that cultural or‑ ganizing serves as a fundamental approach to fostering autonomy both at the individual and community levels, empowering their involvement in cultural policymaking. 155

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-14

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Cultural organizing is a strategy that incorporates arts and cultural practices into social change efforts. This approach relies on the power of cultural elements to engage communi‑ ties and inspire action toward social justice. Cultural organizing is a dynamic way to address societal issues, leveraging the power of art and culture in activism and community building. Building on the principles of autonomy and agency, our review of NuLawLab’s Boston case studies from 2017 to 2023 demonstrates the transformative power of cultural organiz‑ ing through art and advocacy in enhancing housing stability in urban settings. A key aspect of our analysis is the vital role that legal advocacy and critical legal empowerment play in community‑centric urban planning. These elements serve as dual mechanisms that empower communities to assert their rights and instigate positive changes in their urban landscapes through cultural organizing.

Legal Advocacy and Spatial Injustice Prior to digging into a detailed exploration of cultural organizing through our case study, we provide an overview of the broader context of our project—the influential connection between legal advocacy and critical legal empowerment. In this equation, legal advocacy functions as the sword, cutting through systemic inequalities to champion the rights of vul‑ nerable groups and advocate for inclusive policies. Conversely, critical legal empowerment acts as the shield, equipping communities with the legal literacy required to assert and safe‑ guard their rights. When used in tandem, these strategies culminate in urban environments that are not only inclusive and sustainably developed but also foster collective responsibility and belonging among residents. Spatial injustice is another key term featured in this analysis. As articulated by Lip‑ sitz (2011), spatial injustice points to the uneven allocation of resources and opportuni‑ ties among varied geographic regions, resulting in socio‑economic, health, and life quality disparities. Discriminatory housing practices and inadequate public service access further amplify these discrepancies, compromising health, social unity, and economic resilience. Malaysian American anthropologist Aihwa Ong adds nuance to this discussion. She sug‑ gests that neoliberal policies have led to a unique spatial hierarchy that values mobility over stability, pushing marginalized groups such as the impoverished and undocumented to societal fringes (Ong, 2006). In “Epistemologies of the South and the Future,” Santos (2016) explores the relationship between spatial injustice and colonial rule. Santos argues that these are not isolated phenom‑ ena; instead, they are interconnected in complex patterns of oppression. Beyond physical dimensions, he sees spatial injustice as a cognitive challenge. Dominant powers often mar‑ ginalize the knowledge frameworks of oppressed populations, excluding them from crucial decision‑making processes. Frantz Fanon (1963) likewise discusses the spatial aspects of colonialism, pointing out a hierarchy where colonizers occupy prime territories, while the colonized are pushed to less desirable locations. This spatial inequality, according to Fanon, symbolizes the overarching dominance and control of the colonizers, thereby stripping the colonized of their agency and right to self‑determination. To adequately address the complex issue of spatial injustice, we must go beyond acknowl‑ edging the long‑lasting effects of colonialism, patriarchy, capitalism, and systemic racial and social disparities. We must also scrutinize how legal frameworks and regulations either 156

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hinder or facilitate justice and examine the extent to which these legal systems are them‑ selves products of colonial, patriarchal, capitalist, and racially inequitable structures. Legal systems play a significant role in shaping the built environment and determining how re‑ sources are distributed. They can be used to perpetuate spatial injustice by restricting access to resources and opportunities, criminalizing, and displacing marginalized communities, and failing to protect their rights. Autonomy serves as a key principle in examining legal systems in the context of spatial injustice. For example, autonomy of a neighborhood transcends the realm of individual liberties and ventures into collective agency. It enables communities to advocate for and col‑ laboratively mold their surroundings in ways that align with their shared values, necessities, and aspirations. This form of neighborhood autonomy incorporates the notions of “staying power” and “belonging”—the community’s ability to withstand the pressures of gentrifica‑ tion by having the necessary resources, support networks, and decision‑making frameworks. This holistic view of autonomy not only counters the traditional top‑down, developer‑driven gentrification models but also actively pushes for a development paradigm rooted in so‑ cial equity, communal harmony, and safeguarding of both individual and collective rights. Through prioritizing such layered autonomy, we can reimagine urban planning as a radi‑ cally inclusive endeavor that respects and integrates a diversity of perspectives and needs. Roberto Bedoya highlights the harmful effects of dis‑belonging, which occur through gentrification, racism, and speculative development. These actions, often disguised as civic revitalization, undermine the democratic principles of a fair society. Bedoya argues that ac‑ knowledging these injustices is crucial in understanding the dynamics of belonging in place‑ making. He suggests that the resistance to such forces through community collaboration and the concepts of staying power, placekeeping, and belonging are vital to fostering a just and equitable society (Bedoya, 2013, p. 8). Drawing from Bedoya’s insights, we are tasked with an intricate balancing act. How do we recognize and uphold a space’s cultural legacy while adapting it to meet contemporary community demands?

Legal Empowerment through Legal Design and Cultural Organizing as a Method After laying the theoretical groundwork for understanding legal advocacy and spatial injus‑ tice, the more nuanced question arises: How can we translate these theoretical concepts into actionable and effective real‑world solutions? This question is precisely the juncture where the specialized field of legal design becomes invaluable, serving as a comprehensive toolkit for practical application. In her pivotal work, “Law by Design” (2015), Margaret Hagan elucidates legal design as the practice of applying human‑centered design principles to the legal realm, aiming to make legal systems and services more user‑friendly, intuitive, and fulfilling. This cross‑disciplinary approach seamlessly integrates design‑thinking methods into legal processes, thereby making legal documents and procedures more accessible and understandable. It emphasizes the critical need to empower individuals with the essential knowledge and tools required for skillfully navigating the intricacies of the legal system. In legal design, advocating for co‑design frameworks that actively involve community input is fundamental. Considerations of diversity, inclusivity, and accessibility demand a 157

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proactive approach that calls for sustained, collaborative engagement with a diverse set of stakeholders. This emphasis on autonomous engagement is where community movement lawyers come into play. They act as crucial facilitators in the legal design process. Distinct from traditional legal approaches, community movement lawyering emphasizes the impor‑ tance of long‑term relationships, active listening, and participatory engagement from the community. The approach is not merely consultative but genuinely collaborative, merging legal exper‑ tise with grassroots activism and community insights. In collaboration with community or‑ ganizers and artists, community movement lawyers tackle complex issues in urban planning with broad stakeholder involvement. They help create legal frameworks that are accessible and finely tuned to the unique needs and aspirations of a given community. In this way, they significantly expand the potential for achieving justice and equity, within urban settings and in broader societal contexts. However, bridging the gap between community‑oriented legal frameworks by movement lawyers and the further need to empower the autonomy of the community through an ac‑ tionable implementation is a challenge that requires not just theoretical understanding but also innovative practice. This issue brings us to the role of specialized innovation hubs that act as catalysts for real‑world change. One such example is NuLawLab. NuLawLab is an interdisciplinary innovation hub located within Northeastern University School of Law, a distinguished public interest law school in Boston, Massachusetts. This hub leverages the interdisciplinary power of art and design to create revolutionary local strate‑ gies focused on legal empowerment. As a key player in the burgeoning global Legal Design movement, NuLawLab transcends conventional academic limits to actively cultivate the intersections between art, design, and law. NuLawLab’s suite of programs, research initiatives, and seminars are carefully designed to cultivate cross‑disciplinary teams and nurture community‑based partnerships. The primary objective is to radically transform legal education, professional practices in law, and the de‑ livery mechanisms for legal services. Our initiatives are driven by a twofold purpose: • to equip our students with the specialized knowledge and skill set needed to become the legal advocates of tomorrow, and • catalyze discourse to foster actionable solutions that promote social equity, instigate meaningful, intersectional reforms, and dismantle entrenched racial biases. As NuLawLab expands, its engagement with local communities in Boston has increased. Throughout this evolution, NuLawLab has started to recognize the effectiveness of cultural organizing and its synergy with legal empowerment, leading to enhanced community au‑ tonomy. The significance of cultural organizing becomes particularly apparent in the context of community‑driven solutions. This has become increasingly evident, especially as spatial injustice and placemaking has emerged as a central concern in NuLawLab’s collaborations with diverse Boston communities. Cultural organizing is a methodology that uses the transformative power of arts, culture, and creativity to amplify marginalized voices and ignite systemic change. Cultural organ‑ izing transcends traditional advocacy and activism by integrating art and culture into the very core of the organizing process. It introduces an emotional, aesthetic, and narrative 158

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dimension that can amplify the impact and reach of community movements. Most impor‑ tantly, we observed that cultural organizing is a means of integrating legal consulting by experts with community engagement. This combination uplifts community autonomy, em‑ powering them to participate at the policy level. The following case studies explore a range of cultural organizing methodologies that the Lab used with urban communities to build collective power in the face of spatial injustice. By forging alliances with local organizers, we learned from their expertise and integrated a wider range of lived experiences and viewpoints into our projects. Incorporating cultural organizing methods was more than aesthetic enrichment, it helped to cultivate a visionary roadmap for community organizing, clinical legal support, informal community‑led advo‑ cacy and policy formulation underpinned by a commitment to transformative, restorative, and distributive justice in our project. The distributive justice component focused on com‑ munity planning sessions for determining how grants‑based resources should be allocated, and this was done through a planning process with community partners at the table.

Stable Ground: Housing Stability through Art and Advocacy This case study explores a sequence of cultural organizing initiatives undertaken in Boston, Massachusetts, from 2017 to 2023. It underscores the imperative of a holistic strategy in ad‑ dressing housing instability and displacement. Through innovative measures, including art installations, workshops, and community dialogues, the study demonstrates how awareness was amplified and community engagement was nurtured regarding this pervasive issue. In tandem, the initiatives confronted the fundamental drivers of housing instability, encom‑ passing systemic injustices and the dearth of affordable housing options. Spanning six years, this case study elucidates the project’s evolution, factoring in the challenges and adaptations in the wake of the COVID‑19 crisis.

Stable Ground 1.0 Stable Ground launched in 2017 to address housing instability and displacement through the integration of arts, culture, and policy, with a particular focus on affordable housing in the Dorchester neighborhood of Boston. The initiative’s mission was to raise awareness about housing issues, empower residents affected by housing instability, and advocate for policy change at the city level. Funded by the Kresge Foundation’s Arts & Culture program,1 NuLawLab brought together a multidisciplinary collaboration among artists, legal experts, policy advocates, trauma ex‑ perts, and community members. Stable Ground involved service‑aligned organizations, each contributing their unique expertise: NuLawLab, Violence Transformed, and the Domestic Violence Institute. In addition, the City of Boston Office of Housing Stability was a partner. Stable Ground explored the impact cultural organizing had on fostering long‑term com‑ munity engagement and promoting spatial justice, particularly in communities that experi‑ enced the traumatic impact of housing injustice because of being historically marginalized by systemic injustice. Uniquely positioned within a law school, it approached housing issues from a legal perspective and shifted the focus from traditional housing metrics to the human and emotional toll of housing instability. 159

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Stable Ground implemented a unique, community‑based art and cultural initiative de‑ signed to tackle the root causes of housing instability, such as systemic injustice and lack of affordable housing options and inform Boston’s Office of Housing Stability. The program’s diverse set of activities emerged through ongoing dialogues among key fig‑ ures, including those from NuLawLab and the Domestic Violence Institute at Northeastern University School of Law. This approach facilitated the formation of trust‑based partner‑ ships and activities tailored to community needs. Key focus areas included artist residencies with grassroots organizations, direct collaboration with the City of Boston, and legal inno‑ vation spearheaded by Northeastern law students. NuLawLab collaborated with artists Ngoc‑Tran Vu, L’Merchie Fraser, and Anna Meyer during the 2017–2019 phase of the project through 12‑month residencies. Among its diverse activities were art installations, workshops, and discussions focused on housing instability and displacement, encouraging residents to share stories and viewpoints. What set Stable Ground apart was its support for artists already connected with the communities they were serving. Rather than initiating new projects, the program chose to financially back ongoing community work. Additionally, Stable Ground aimed to influence public policy and raise awareness concern‑ ing the complexities of housing. The program offered a nuanced examination of the interplay between long‑term housing insecurity, its emotional repercussions, and city housing policies. NulawLab also commissioned Danya Sherman Consulting (Sherman & Bruck, 2019) to produce an evaluation report, which meticulously documented the impacts and outcomes of Stable Ground’s first phase. Sherman’s work on this evaluation encompassed data col‑ lection from various activities. She reviewed and analyzed meeting notes, transcriptions of 20+ one‑on‑one interviews, and respondent feedback from an evaluation survey. The report identified the project’s three main objectives to: • inform and influence the City of Boston’s housing policy, with a strong emphasis on the adoption of a trauma‑informed approach; • provide tangible support for community‑based cultural organizing initiatives; and • enhance the engagement of legal professionals with impacted communities. The following methods used to achieve Stable Ground’s objectives: • Generate art that resonated deeply within the community: Artists created works that re‑ flected the experiences of people living with housing instability and displacement. These artworks were displayed in public spaces and used to spark conversations about the issue. • Bolster community‑based events: The project supported events that brought people to‑ gether to discuss housing issues and build solidarity. • Provide a learning platform for legal students and experts: Law students and profession‑ als received training and workshops on the intersection of law and housing policy to build their capacity to work effectively with impacted communities. The evaluation also states that the structure and timeline of Stable Ground brought about several challenges for its participants. One significant challenge highlighted by NuLawLab 160

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staff was the constraints imposed by the academic calendar and the timing of student in‑ ternships. Beginning in the winter, particularly in Boston, meant that many days were lost due to adverse weather conditions. Furthermore, all three student internships commenced simultaneously at the start of Stable Ground, rather than initiated as the work had taken clearer shape and staggered throughout the duration of project. NuLawLab navigated this challenge by hiring additional students and interns after the first internships concluded to foster community relations, meet timely production needs, and engage more students effec‑ tively (Sherman & Bruck, 2019). Collaborating with the City of Boston’s Office of Housing Stability was also a challenge, especially considering the objective of influencing policy. As a new office, it was still defining its relationship with other city departments. Stable Ground, therefore, served as a significant learning experience for partners regarding the constraints and limitations faced by the Office of Housing Stability to navigate existing departmental silos. Everyone acknowledged that allocating even more time to build robust partnerships across various city offices was needed to fully harness the city’s influence. All partners expressed their commitment to learning from the project’s successes and challenges to inform future endeavors. Other key takeaways included (Sherman & Bruck, 2019): • Recognizing the necessity of long‑term funding for artists and community‑based organi‑ zations engaged in cultural organizing work • Involving City staff in the initial structuring of programs to prioritize policy change • Embedding cultural organizing directly within City offices or supporting the City’s ca‑ pacity to engage in arts and cultural organizing work among its staff • Initiating a community paralegal and urban planning program to establish a pipeline for directly impacted residents to work within the City.

Stable Ground 2.0 Based on the positive outcomes of the first initiative and the lessons learned, NuLawLab received a renewal grant from the Kresge Foundation to support a second stage of Stable Ground, which spanned from 2019 to 2020. Despite significant challenges brought on by COVID‑19, our team persevered in advancing creative initiatives for housing justice and fortifying collaborations with local artists and institutions. Building on the momentum of our previous community collaborations, we continued in 2020 with a reinvigorated artists‑in‑residence program. Our artists‑in‑residence for the year continued to support Ngoc‑Tran Vu, a Vietnamese American artist advocating against com‑ munity displacement; L’Merchie Fraser, a public fiber artist contributing to the Museum of African American History; and Hakim Raquib, a seasoned photographer with a broad clientele. Additionally, arts consultant Gloretta Baynes joined us to curate a storytelling pro‑ ject focused on displacement. Together, they brought an unprecedented depth of dialogue, creativity, and advocacy to the program, setting the stage for a year rich in meaningful engagement. In a focused effort to tackle displacement issues, we launched Stable Ground 2.0 in East Boston. This initiative was an extension of an ongoing, multi‑faceted partnership involving 161

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the NuLawLab, artist and organizer Anthony Romero, the Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston (ICA/Boston), and Our Home: An Eastie Community Archiving Project. Within this collaboration, we facilitated community listening sessions and dinners, offering a platform for residents to voice their experiences and request workshops aimed at legal empowerment. The synergy between these efforts displayed the transformative potential of blending artistic expression, legal advocacy, and community engagement. Anthony Romero engaged students from Northeastern University’s Law School and the NuLawLab in the creation of his artwork, titled “…first in thought, then in action,” fea‑ tured in When Home Won’t Let You Stay: Migration through Contemporary Art, a group exhibition organized by the ICA/Boston. Stable Ground served as a facilitator for the ICA’s community relations in East Boston and laid the groundwork for future collaborations between NuLawLab and Stable Ground, par‑ ticularly in how they could jointly serve residents while also advancing contemporary art. Goals for this project included amplifying local voices, building stronger networks for housing stability in East Boston, and crafting innovative art with social engagement. NuLaw‑ Lab also created “Fight Displacement!” a trivia board game designed to educate Bostonians on housing displacement, which was then highlighted at multiple local events. During this time, we solidified our relationship with Anthony Romero, leading to the for‑ mal creation of the Anti‑Displacement Lab (ADL), a project that leveraged Boston’s cultural and educational platforms to fortify anti‑displacement efforts in East Boston. The ADL collaborated with the ICA/Boston and Maverick Landing Community Services, implementing a variety of community facing programs, events, and educational materials between May 2019 and January 2020. This work established valuable relations with the community and offered a blueprint for how educational and artistic institutions could con‑ structively engage with residents. It attracted new local audiences to the museum and set the foundation for future collaborations. The initiative also proved advantageous for Northeastern University’s archiving staff, enabling them to enrich an evolving archive dedicated to East Boston’s history. For Romero, the project served as a robust platform for community engagement and deepened his in‑ sights into displacement challenges, especially within Boston’s Latinx communities. Fur‑ thermore, the collaboration provided ICA/Boston with a valuable opportunity to repair its relationship with the East Boston community, which had been strained following the controversial launch of ICA (Institute of Contemporary Art) Watershed, situated in a re‑ purposed, previously condemned copper pipe factory at the East Boston Shipyard and Ma‑ rina. The development of the ICA Watershed in East Boston raised significant community concerns about gentrification, especially the risk of displacing local artists and immigrant communities. This issue is commonly seen in urban redevelopment where notable projects may unintentionally cause surrounding property values and living expenses to surge. Such economic changes can exert pressure on the area’s existing residents and cultural groups, leading to a risk of displacement. To address these concerns, the ICA aimed to actively engage with the existing community, planning collaborations with local organizations and artists in East Boston, however, the risk of gentrification as displacement still exists. The East Boston Spatial Justice Lab has provided an infrastructure for continued engagement of these critical issues.

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Rapid Response to the COVID‑19 Crisis: Emergence of the Boston Housing Support Station Coalition Between March and August 2020, all Stable Ground initiatives were postponed due to the COVID‑19 pandemic and accompanying state shutdowns. In response to the widespread quar‑ antine measures, we suspended our public activities. We adapted our planning approach to ac‑ commodate the new norms of social distancing and continued to hold team meetings via Zoom. Staying true to our original project objectives, we intensified our efforts to build coalitions with artists, partners, and other local organizations to tackle the impending housing crisis exacerbated by unemployment and the risk of eviction. To provide financial stability for our artists, partners, and contractual staff during these challenging times, NuLawLab issued advance payments to all involved. As the pandemic further intensified deep systemic inequities, our team pivoted to fill gaps caused by mass evictions, economic instability, and social‑emotional distress. We equipped housing‑insecure residents with technological resources and legal expertise through the Bos‑ ton Housing Support Station Coalition (BHSSC), which emerged from Stable Ground Bos‑ ton’s collaboration with local arts, education, and community development organizations. BHSSC addressed urgent socio‑legal challenges exacerbated by COVID‑19, such as court closures, economic volatility, escalating evictions, technological constraints, social distanc‑ ing measures, and linguistic barriers. In response, we swiftly recalibrated its focus toward eviction prevention and provision of rental support, tailored to the specific needs of East Boston’s most vulnerable populations. This effort resulted from collaborations among Stable Ground Boston, NuLawLab, Mav‑ erick Landing Community Services (MLCS), the City of Boston Artist‑in‑Residence program and Office of Housing Stability, artists Anthony Romero and Pat Falco, City Life Vida Urbana, Tufts University/School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Suffolk University Legal Innovation & Technology Lab, Ropes & Gray, and Runcible Studios. Our collective efforts encompassed community organizing, direct action, and supporting Section 8 tenants at Maverick Landing. In the second evaluation report compiled by Dayna Sherman Consulting, several critical factors emerged that underscored the Station’s achievements, offering valuable insights for entities aiming to glean from or emulate aspects of Stable Ground’s initiatives (Bennouna & Sherman, 2022). BHSSC’s inauguration in late 2020  marked significant accomplishments for East Boston’s local populace (Bennouna & Sherman, 2022): • Rental Relief: Managed to process 96 applications, securing vital funding to keep resi‑ dents in their homes. • Legal Aid: Extended legal support to 23 applicants. • Financial Assistance: Procured and distributed $1 million in rental relief, signifying the project’s tangible impact on family stability. • Food Distribution: Delivered a whopping 687,500 pounds (about 311,845 kilograms) of groceries to those grappling with food insecurity. • Employment Training: Assisted 200 candidates through MLCS’s employment prepared‑ ness program. • Partner Collaboration: Strengthened ties with 11 associate entities, underscoring the power of collective action.

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BHSSC’s utilization of networks and resources emerged through a series of strategic de‑ cisions. Engagement with CityLife/Vida Urbana and community organizer Gabriela Cart‑ agena offered avenues of mutual learning and information exchange. Its affiliation with MLCS strengthened community ties and enhanced its influence. This project underscored the importance of community‑centric design and leadership, embedding local narratives and insights at its core. By concentrating efforts in East Boston, the Coalition engaged with a distinctive cultural landscape. The Station’s innovative pop‑up events, enhanced by the contributions of artists, musicians, and service providers, became vital hubs for community interaction, showcasing a range of collaborative efforts centered on resource mobilization. During the COVID‑19 response, the coalition became crucial, merging diverse resources and partnerships to meet key community needs. This effort was significantly enhanced by resources raised by artist Anthony Romero and NuLawLab. Romero, an artist dedicated to social justice, blended activism with creativity to support the coalition’s efforts. His role exemplifies the growing impact of artists in societal change. Meanwhile, NuLawLab’s Stable Ground project innovatively combined legal support with creative problem‑solving, focus‑ ing on housing stability during the pandemic and aiding vulnerable groups. The collabora‑ tion between Romero’s art and NuLawLab’s legal expertise illustrates a multidisciplinary approach to pandemic relief. BHSSC deftly juggled diverse team dynamics and integrated student engagement into its coalition work. Periodic team retreats became essential touchpoints for reflection, while input from Northeastern University’s Housing Law class provided vital academic and practi‑ cal perspectives, refining the project’s trajectory. As the world grappled with the COVID‑19 pandemic, the Coalition’s foresight in integrating mobile tablets and portable Wi‑Fi ensured that community engagement could adapt and continue, even during challenging COVID‑19 spikes. Recognizing East Boston’s linguistic mosaic, the coalition prioritized translation ser‑ vices, ensuring a seamless flow of information, and making the project truly accessible to all community members. This section emphasizes our learning outcomes that address the importance of cultural perspectives in urban planning, especially for policymakers. It advocates for a participatory approach that goes beyond top‑down planning, highlighting the need to actively involve communities in addressing complex issues like housing instability. This method values the community’s input, ensuring that their cultural nuances and experiences are integral to the planning process. This process promotes autonomy within communities, recognizing their cultural diversity and the role it plays in creating effective, inclusive urban policies. This ap‑ proach fosters collaborative problem‑solving, utilizing local cultural assets to develop solu‑ tions that are culturally sensitive and community driven. We posit that a focus on justice is foundational for nurturing autonomy within the com‑ munity, and we introduce the concepts of temporal, language, and research justice. Addi‑ tionally, Our key methodologies—Community‑Based Participatory Action Research (CBPR) and Co‑design serve as practical roadmaps for nurturing autonomy through collaborative problem‑solving. Other applied approaches such as circle keeping, community legal empow‑ erment, temporal justice, language justice, and aligning values and addressing disparities go beyond mere theory. These frameworks have been rigorously applied in our work in East Boston in engaging communities.

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Temporal Justice Time poverty, disproportionately affecting women, low‑income individuals, and specific ra‑ cial or ethnic groups, is a systemic issue identified by Robert E. Goodin as crucial in the dis‑ tribution of justice. Achieving Temporal Justice in community‑based projects necessitates a comprehensive strategy, involving tailored interventions, flexible timelines, and educational efforts. Collaboration with external organizations can provide additional resources, while continuous assessment and tangible support, such as childcare and financial stipends, en‑ sure project sustainability and effectiveness. Adhering to these principles allows community‑ based initiatives not only to address immediate challenges but also to contribute to broader societal shifts toward Temporal Justice.

Language Justice Language justice, rooted in social justice movements and global fights for linguistic rights, asserts the right to communicate in one’s preferred language, particularly for minority and non‑dominant linguistic groups. It seeks to rectify linguistic inequalities, promoting inclusiv‑ ity and social justice by challenging linguistic hierarchies. In community projects, implement‑ ing language justice involves recognizing linguistic diversity, avoiding marginalization, and employing strategies like simultaneous translation and multilingual materials. Continuous evaluation and education, including feedback from community members and training fa‑ cilitators, are crucial for sustained impact and awareness among funders and collaborators.

Research Justice Rooted in Dr. Ananya Roy’s work (Roy, 2017), research justice aims to involve historically marginalized communities in academic and urban research through tailored methodolo‑ gies and accountability. Commencing with community workshops, it fosters collaboration, ongoing evaluation, and formal collaborations, integrating urban planning strategies with sociocultural frameworks for a comprehensive community portrayal (Roy, 2017). Aligned concepts such as Culturally Responsive Evaluation (CRE) and Evaluation Capacity Build‑ ing (ECB) further enhance inclusivity in research and evaluation processes. CRE focuses on designing culturally sensitive evaluations, while ECB enhances organizations’ and com‑ munities’ evaluation capabilities for long‑term sustainability and effectiveness (Fetterman, 2010; Patton, 2018). While, Tuck and Yang (2012) argue that research justice requires de‑ colonizing research practices, which means prioritizing the knowledge and perspectives of Indigenous and marginalized communities. This approach challenges colonial structures, emphasizes the importance of cultural context, and builds trust through relationships that respect and center the experiences of those communities.

Community‑Based Participatory Action Research and Co‑design Through Co‑design and Participatory Action Research (PAR), our initiatives go beyond mere planning to directly involve the community in the implementation stage, making residents indispensable collaborators in our problem‑solving journey. Within this framework, CBPR and Co‑design serve as our core methodologies. These approaches have proven invaluable

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in achieving our goals. They not only enable community members to contribute significantly but also allow Maverick Landing Community Services to have an active role in shaping data collection methods. The seamless integration of CBPR and Co‑design methodologies has no‑ tably enhanced community engagement, enriched the relevance and quality of our research, extended the sustainability of grassroots initiatives, and made a substantial impact on social justice outcomes.

Circle Keeping To cultivate what Roberto Bedoya terms “placekeeping” and a sense of “belonging,” we, in collaboration with Maverick Landing Community Services, implemented the circle‑ keeping practice. This technique, rooted in principles of respect, listening, and mutual understanding, establishes an inclusive space for equitable dialogue. Through the circle‑­ keeping process, participants engage in open dialogue within a respectful environment, fostering a community where every voice matters. This practice, focused on addressing issues like gentrification and displacement, serves multiple purposes: forging connections among diverse stakeholders, preserving community identity, acting as an advocacy tool for policy matters, and cultivating leadership skills within community members. Overall, circle‑keeping emerges as a multi‑faceted tool for community engagement and empower‑ ment, creating an environment where voices are heard, equity is modeled, and community goals are achieved.

Community Legal Empowerment Education and Advocacy constitute additional pillars of our work. We placed a heavy em‑ phasis on educating community members about their legal rights and involving them in shared decision‑making platforms. This approach has empowered the community to articu‑ late and advocate for its needs effectively, further enriching our multi‑faceted strategy for social transformation. For example, to address the urgent issue of housing instability, we or‑ ganized an Anti‑Eviction Training session in collaboration with City Life Vida Urbana. This initiative bolstered community trust and empowered individuals facing housing challenges by providing them with the legal knowledge and skills they needed to navigate eviction procedures effectively. It also became an indispensable platform for disseminating essential information and resources, enhancing community resilience and connection.

Aligning Values and Addressing Disparities To align the project team, collaborators, and community partners with the mission and vision, we implemented a Values Alignment process. Going beyond a mere administrative step, this strategic initiative served as a cohesive force within the team. Beginning with a structured kick‑off meeting outlining the mission, vision, and objectives, the process evolved through internal group sessions and retreats focused on building trust, understanding, and alignment. These sessions facilitated open dialogue, enabling team members to share per‑ spectives and expectations, identifying and addressing gaps in individual and collective goals.

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Incorporating trust‑building activities, the approach clarified our collective understanding, leading to group consensus and re‑energized commitment. The process not only created a documented alignment of objectives and strategies but also established a foundation for future reference and regular check‑ins, ensuring ongoing adaptability and effectiveness in pursuit of project goals.

Lessons Learned • In conclusion, this six‑year journey has been as challenging as it has been rewarding, confronting the uncertainties of a global pandemic and the complexities of endemic so‑ cietal issues. What emerged from this process is not merely a community project but a comprehensive, adaptable, and scalable model for urban planning and community de‑ velopment. At the heart of this model lies the transformative power of arts and cultural programming, serving as a binding force that adds emotional, social, and policy‑level dimensions to our work. • Our strategic methodologies, including CBPR, Co‑design, and other paradigms like Tem‑ poral Justice and Language Justice, have empowered us to actively engage community members as co‑creators, not just beneficiaries. This shift in the dynamic has led to more effective, empathetic, and enduring solutions, setting a standard for how communities can be actively involved in shaping their own futures. • Incorporating the lessons learned from our nascent partnership with the Northeastern Public Engagement Lab, we have begun to expand our reach through data‑driven ap‑ proaches that capture both qualitative and quantitative dimensions. This multi‑faceted approach not only amplifies our impact but also offers invaluable insights for the aca‑ demic and practical aspects of community‑based urban planning. • Beyond the boundaries of our immediate community, what we have accomplished serves as a blueprint with global implications. We have demonstrated that by treating commu‑ nity members as stakeholders rather than mere recipients, it is possible to redistribute power and authority in a way that addresses spatial injustice and economic disparities at their core. This work, therefore, serves as a contribution to the broader field, offering a replicable and adaptable framework that holds promise for urban planners and com‑ munity developers worldwide. • In sum, we have crafted more than a prototype; we have developed a paradigm‑shifting model that champions inclusivity, equity, and collective empowerment. Our work offers a roadmap for those who aspire to make tangible, sustainable changes, not just in their communities, but in communities around the globe facing similar challenges.

Note 1 The Kresge Foundation is a private, national foundation that works to expand opportunities in America’s cities through grantmaking and social investing in arts and culture, education, environ‑ ment, health, human services, and community development, nationally and in Detroit, Memphis, and New Orleans. In collaboration with our partners, we help create pathways for people with low incomes to improve their life circumstances and join the economic mainstream.

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Bibliography Books and Journal Articles Bedoya, R. (2013). Belonging: A cornerstone of placemaking in the region. In People, Land, Arts, Culture, and Engagement: Taking Stock of the PLACE Initiative (pp.  7–9). Tucson Pima Arts Council. Bennouna, C. B., & Sherman, D. (2022). The Boston Housing Support Station: Exploring the im‑ pacts of an arts‑engaged coalition’s legal response to housing crisis. Sherman Cultural Strategies; NuLawLab; The Kresge Foundation. Fainstein, S. S. (2010). The just city. Cornell University Press. Fanon, F. (1963). The wretched of the earth (C. Farrington, Trans.). Grove Press. Fetterman, D. M. (2010). Evaluation capacity building: Principles and practice. Sage Publications. Goodin, R. E. (2010). Temporal justice. Journal of Social Policy, 39(1), 1–21. https://www.cambridge. org/core/journals/journal-of-social-policy/article/abs/temporal-justice/C19E923FB188E759B9A‑ BA9E4B6823F56 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Hagan, M. (2015). Law by design. MIT Press. Harvey, D. (2008). The right to the city. New Left Review, 53, 23–40. Kant, I. (1998). Groundwork for the metaphysics of morals (M. Gregor, Trans.). Cambridge Univer‑ sity Press. (Original work published 1785). Lipsitz, G. (2011). How racism takes place. Temple University Press. Mill, J. S. (1966). On liberty. Macmillan Education. (Original work published 1859). Ong, A. (2006). Neoliberalism as exception: Mutations in citizenship and sovereignty. Duke Univer‑ sity Press. Patton, M. Q. (2018). Qualitative evaluation methods: Basic designs and procedures for applied research. Sage Publications. Rousseau, J. J. (2018). The social contract and other later political writings. Cambridge University Press. (Original work published 1762). Roy, A. (2017). Justice: What’s the right thing to do? Beacon Press. Santos, B. de S. (2016). Epistemologies of the South and the future. From the European South, 1, 17–29. Sartre, J. P., Richmond, S., & Moran, R. (2022). Being and nothingness: An essay in phenomenologi‑ cal ontology. Routledge. (Original work published 1943). Sen, A. (1999). Agency and human development. Journal of Human Development, 1(1), 1–18. Sennett, R. (2018). Building and dwelling: Ethics for the city. Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Sherman, D., & Bruck, C. (2019). Building Stable Ground: An evaluation report. NuLawLab, Northeastern University School of Law; The Kresge Foundation. Soja, E. W. (2010). Seeking spatial justice. University of Minnesota Press. Tuck, E., & Yang, K. W. (2012). Decolonization is not a metaphor. Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society, 1(1), 1–40.

Websites American Planning Association. (2023). Promoting balanced development through community‑led planning. https://www.planning.org/. Brookings Institution. (2023). Gentrification and the loss of community culture. https://www. brookings.edu/. Center for Community Progress. (2023). Community‑led development and the protection of vulner‑ able populations. https://www.communityprogress.org/. National Housing Law Project. (2023). Community‑led development: A model for combating gen‑ trification. https://www.nhlp.org/.

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2.7 PAINTING A STRATEGY, DANCING A MEETING What Can the Arts Lend to Transit Planning? Katherine Dirga

Introduction Access to the arts has been shown to benefit community health by fostering a sense of belonging and well‑being (Tebes et  al., 2015). Transit agencies in North America have long integrated visual and performing arts into their stations to improve customer experi‑ ence and build public perception of safety and ownership within the system. Increasingly however, agencies are also seeing benefits from including artists as collaborators in the planning and community engagement phase of new projects – what this chapter will re‑ fer to as “creative engagements”. Successful artist‑led planning efforts over the past ten years suggest that engaging audiences with creative activities tells customers their input is valued, while helping to brand the agency as innovative and approachable. These ef‑ forts can increase public awareness of upcoming projects and their potential benefits by providing access to those who may be marginalized or less active participants in civic meetings or engagements. Perhaps most importantly, creative engagements build a sense of community ownership in the transit system and allow the agency to be seen as part of the community fabric. Before exploring real‑world examples of successful artist‑led planning efforts, this chap‑ ter will identify critical elements and actions for establishing creative engagements. It will examine the role of the artist and the findings of impactful studies and surveys of artist‑led engagements conducted in the United States, offering frameworks that may be adapted for broader use.

If the problem is defined through a lens of creativity and artistic heritage, often the problem we think we’re trying to solve changes. If we think we’re trying to solve a housing problem or a transportation problem or even a human services problem, the

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Katherine Dirga conversation gets narrow pretty fast. It gets technocratic and isolated pretty fast. Arts and culture tend to broaden the aperture of problem analysis. Once you do that, all sorts of different solutions flow in. Opening the aperture permits many more aspects of the economic, social, and political dimensions to inform how you take something apart and put it back together. Rip Rapson President/CEO at Kresge Foundation

A Curious Start Every public engagement process begins with a goal, and artist‑led engagements are no different in this respect. However, they benefit most from an approach based in curiosity without overly defined outcomes or the constraint of a standard framework under which to compile and analyze the data. There must also be an expectation by both parties that the engagement will not be a one‑off, but rather a prolonged dialogue to allow honest commu‑ nication and lasting change. At their best, arts‑forward planning processes have been very effective at informing the public about new projects in a way that can shift the prevailing narrative and build social capital for the transit agency, while building community among neighbors of differing backgrounds and personal priorities. This approach has even been shown to protect legacy residents and business owners from economic displacement by am‑ plifying their importance within the community (Springboard for the Arts, 2014). Such impacts suggest that artists can help transit agencies create more appealing and inclusive sys‑ tems, address site‑specific community concerns, and even reduce economic inequity ­(Santos, 2021). It is not surprising that transportation agencies have included arts and culture in the project planning phase to their benefit. With careful tending, the interplay between the arts, the agency, and the will of the public has been shown to effect real change over time. Articulating goals without a means of measuring data may feel counterintuitive or even uncomfortable to seasoned planners. Traditional community engagements typically begin as a search for quantitative answers to predefined questions, e.g., “What is the locally pre‑ ferred alternative”, “How many of our customers know about a particular program”, or “Do most people in a specific area prefer option A or B”. However, artist‑led engagements can instigate explorations and bring forth information organically that provides qualitative data. These nonempirical details allow agencies to take more community‑specific actions to resolve problems. When the community feels connected to the project from the planning stage, they often feel more ownership of the process and may even advocate for the project to their neighbors. This has been effective especially in communities where people are his‑ torically underrepresented or have schedules that don’t allow for the typical evening “town hall” style meeting (Haruch, 2016). Curiosity notwithstanding, it will be helpful to define some generally desired outcomes, and it may be less challenging to think in terms of problems and solutions. The following list of potential “solutions” is found in the ArtPlace funded Arts, Culture and Transportation: A Creative Placemaking Field Scan, a survey of placemaking and cultural planning that was de‑ veloped by Transportation for America, the transportation portion of Smart Growth America. 170

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Seven Challenges, Seven Solutions – The Role of Arts and Culture in Transportation Planning1 1 Generating creative solutions for entrenched transportation problems. Arts and culture can help develop better projects that attract greater community support by imagining bold transportation solutions that are unconstrained by traditional processes. 2 Making streets safer for all users. Arts and culture can make streets safer for pedestrians and cyclists by using creative methods to help transportation professionals empathize with all users. 3 Organizing transportation advocates. Arts and culture can help equip communities to organize and advocate for more equitably distributed transportation investments. 4 Engaging multiple stakeholders for an inclusive process. Arts and culture can help shep‑ herd transportation projects through the community input process more quickly and smoothly by facilitating meaningful participation early and often in the planning process. 5 Fostering local ownership. Arts and culture can help accomplish local goals including improving health, encouraging walking and biking, or increasing transit ridership by in‑ corporating community‑sourced artistic and design elements into transportation projects to foster local stewardship and use. 6 Alleviating the disruptive effects of construction. Arts and culture can help overcome the disruption of construction and mitigate the impact on businesses, residents, and visitors by using artistic interventions to create a more accessible and inviting environment. 7 Healing wounds and divisions. Arts and culture can help remedy the divisions created by urban highways and other detrimental transportation infrastructure by physically and culturally reconnecting communities. With a general goal to guide it, the agency can embark on identifying an artist with whom to partner. It is entirely acceptable for the initial goal to be simply creating an inviting and informal space to meet with the public, and to allow the artist to facilitate development of more refined goals through that engagement with the public.

Identifying the Artist Partner The word “art” as it is used today suggests a limitless number of creative modes, and not every artist’s work or temperament will be suited for community planning and engagement. While there is no formula for choosing an artist to lead an engagement process, effective artist leaders are those who genuinely like and respect people; who are not intimidated by the airing of differences or emotional expression; and those who thrive on exploring an open‑ended problem with no correct answers. Much of the “art” of this work is found in the process and in the conversations that result. An artist facilitator must be comfortable in this transitory space. Often a community will feel that the most important aspect of an effective artist facilita‑ tor is that they are local in some way to the community. Before requesting proposals or qualifications from local artists however, it is important to define what is “local” in the context of the engagement. Municipal or geographic parameters do not always describe the community’s borders in its members’ minds. It is also helpful to consider if qualifiers other than residency are valid, such as working in the community for an extended time or owning 171

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a beloved business. Those who have moved away but whose extended family have lived in the community for generations may feel more “local” to legacy residents than a recent ar‑ rival. These are important distinctions for the project team to understand in the context of the engagement goals so they can be clearly articulated in a Call for Artists. Regardless of the inclination to hire locally, non‑local artists whose practice and years of experience are strongly rooted in community work can also be very effective partners and bring value as an objective party. It is crucial to involve community members in the artist selection process. A small search committee composed of select agency staff (especially public art curators or administrators) and community members should identify the artist that will work directly with the neighbor‑ hood. In the spirit of collaboration, the agency can ask the community to nominate one or more members to serve as their representative voice. Beginning the partnership at this early stage sets the tone for future interactions.

Box 2.7.1  Checklist from the Municipal – Artist Partnerships Guide The following checklist comes from the Municipal – Artist Partnerships Guide, produced jointly by A Blade of Grass, a socially engaged arts nonprofit, and Animating Democracy, a program of Americans for the Arts. (Source: http://animatingdemocracy.org/municipal‑artist‑partner‑ ship‑guide.) The work was funded via an Our Town grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. The entire guide can be found on the web and is a worthwhile resource for agencies beginning this work. • What level of experience is needed? Does the scale, complexity, and nature of the project require a highly experienced artist? Or can you work with a promising artist who can gain skill and capacity through the project, perhaps with support like mentoring or training? • Does the artist need specialized skills or knowledge to work on a particular issue? For ex‑ ample, if they partner with an agency that works on domestic violence, will they need to have experience in working with people who have dealt with trauma? Or will agency staff fulfill that role? • Is it important that the artist share the same cultural identity or be otherwise familiar with the place, culture, or particular population they will be working with? Is it important to speak the dominant language of that community? Or is it enough that they are culturally aware? • What will the artist’s role be? Will they be making art with agency staff and/or community residents, or will their role be more curatorial, identifying and coordinating other artists for project components or venues? Will their role have specific requirements, like facilitating dialogues or training staff in creative techniques for their community engagement work? • Do they have an affinity for working in a civic context? Municipal partnerships call for art‑ ists who like to work with diverse groups of people, are patient in the face of bureaucracy, and value what other sectors bring to a project.

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Depending on the project, it may also be helpful to host a mandatory artist information session before calling for proposals or qualifications. This meeting is an easy way to com‑ municate eligibility factors, project parameters, timelines, budgets, and other critical infor‑ mation. Offering the meeting in a hybrid virtual and in‑person form, as well as multiple opportunities across weekday, weeknight, and weekend times, is recommended for greatest reach and inclusivity. Any questions and their answers should be recorded and sent to every‑ one who attends the meetings. A project brief that serves as a reference for the information covered in the session should also be distributed to all who attend in person or virtually.

Sample Project Brief 1 Background: (optional) an opportunity to give historical information that has given rise to the current need for engagement or the transit project itself. 2 Project Summary: a concise paragraph describing the project. For example: “XX Agency seeks an artist to lead community engagements related to a new light rail line. The se‑ lected artist will be responsible for planning and facilitating one engagement per month over six months”. 3 Artist Eligibility: a clear description of who is eligible to apply. Examples might include: must be 18 years of age or older; must have appropriate work permits; must live or work in xx neighborhoods; must be able to show prior work experience in creative community engagement, etc. 4 Budget: how the project is funded and any funding parameters. 5 Site Description: a brief description of any relevant sites where the work will be per‑ formed. This heading is only relevant if the engagement work will happen on a specific street or at specific venues. 6 Project Goals: one to three broad outcomes. Good examples are found on the above Seven Challenges, Seven Solutions list from Smart Growth America. 7 Required Submittals: a list of what the artist must submit to be considered by the selec‑ tion panel, and the deadline for submission. 8 Selection Process and Criteria: an outline of the selection timeline and process, and the criteria on which the submissions will be evaluated. 9 Additional relevant attachments (e.g. maps, renderings, etc.) In the simplest form of a Request for Proposals, artists may be shown a “rough order of magnitude” budget and asked to propose a project that can generally meet that budget while fairly compensating any additional assistants or co‑facilitators. Springboard for the Arts’ Irrigate toolkit recommends a small “low‑stakes” budget to afford risk‑taking and to make the cost of entry more reasonable for potential collaborators or engagement sponsors. This strategy can be very impactful when trying to ensure high artist participation in many small projects. However, when a project seems to demand a longer engagement – perhaps an artist‑in‑residence is needed to build trust within a community, or there is a need for an artist who will manage many projects by other artists within a certain period – a more robust vet‑ ting and higher compensation is in order. Regardless of budget, ensuring the artists and their assistants are paid fairly is paramount. This show of fairness demonstrates that the transit agency has integrity and will be a good community partner. 173

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A Request for Qualifications is also a good option, especially when the artist will be help‑ ing to articulate the project goals through the engagement itself. In this scenario, artists only present their qualifications for the job, e.g., portfolio, curriculum vitae, a letter of interest, or other relevant submittals. They are not asked to provide a proposal and it is understood they will develop one in collaboration with the hiring entity if selected. With this approach, it may be effective to establish a two‑phase selection process. In the first phase, panelists iden‑ tify a short list of artists who will be interviewed by the committee before its members make a final decision. Note that if the artists are asked to provide any unique creative product at this stage, they must be compensated with a fair and reasonable fee. Once the panel is convened and all evaluation phases are complete, the members will discuss and rank the artists. A secret ballot allows for panelists to vote their mind without feeling vulnerable to the opinions of others in the group. Typically, a non‑voting member of the transit agency (or their designee) tallies the ballot and announces the selected artist to the group. The artist is then notified, a contract drawn up to formalize the partnership, and a “design development” stage begins in which the agency and the artist work together to refine the engagement plan. When the groundwork is laid, the work begins.

Watching the Wheels in Motion Having shared some best practices in establishing creative engagements, I will now present a selection of narratives showing that conventional approaches do not always yield the most effective or adequate answers to transit and transportation challenges. These overviews highlight the unique perspectives of artists and illustrate how their methods have resulted in surprising outcomes that are not only functional but also culturally relevant.

Creative Catalyst: Los Angeles Department of Transportation’s First Artist in Residence While this chapter has largely focused on community members, they are not the only ones who benefit from artist‑led interventions. Transportation employees themselves can gain a new perspective on the work they are doing through the application of arts‑based strategies. When Alan Nakagawa served as Los Angeles Department of Transportation’s (LADOT) first Artist in Residence in 2017, he was tasked with addressing the agency’s “Vision Zero” goals with its employees. Vision Zero is a set of strategies adopted with the aim of elimi‑ nating pedestrian fatalities and serious injuries. After a period of listening sessions with engineers and community member focus groups, Nakagawa realized that the Department’s community presentations often centered around the numbers of people killed at specific intersections or along certain roads. He knew then that to really connect the public to the importance of Vision Zero and to change the car‑centric paradigm within the agency, the focus had to shift away from data and back to real people and their stories. He invited Gary Buchler, Los Angeles producer of The Moth Story Hour, who ran a storytelling workshop for the Engineering team with Moth Grand‑Slam winner Jessica Lee Williamson. “…The engineers stated that they were trained to be objective and hence interjecting stories or their personal opinions and subjectivities went against their norm”, said Nakagawa, but after being assured by their General Manager that this mode was only another tool in the box

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and not a major sea change in strategy, they embraced the experience. Nakagawa says, “After that, much seemed to change with the team and how we communicated what we needed to communicate. Maybe these changes were going to occur anyway? It’s not clear. What was clear that many of the staff were open to these ideas” (Nakagawa, 2020). The workshops connected the engineers more passionately to the Department’s goal of elimi‑ nating pedestrian deaths while strengthening the Department’s external communication. When LADOT’s Chief Engineer later presented at a conference using the new story‑based approach, Nakagawa and team recalled it as the first time they had seen “a room full of engineers cry” (Transportation for America, 2017). Bringing the arts to bear on the issue of pedestrian safety had made the message potent in a way that graphs and statistics could not do alone.

Flipping the Script: The Green Line Project and Irrigate the Arts The power of storytelling is also apparent in the media’s ability to shape public opinion by the content and frequency of their reportage. Arts and culture stories are attractive to news organizations for several reasons: they tend to be fun, “good news”, featuring local people and compelling visuals. These upbeat reports counteract upsetting or negative stories and keep their viewers engaged. For this reason, arts and community integration into new trans‑ portation or transit initiatives can earn frequent and impactful news coverage. Minnesota’s Springboard for the Arts underwent a three‑year process of cultural engage‑ ment while METRO built the Green Line in St. Paul, Minnesota. The Green Line’s light rail corridor temporarily blocked and eventually bisected a culturally and commercially impor‑ tant main thoroughfare. When the cultural engagement, called Irrigate the Arts, ended after three years, Springboard for the Arts developed a toolkit for entities wishing to undertake their own arts‑led engagement process. In the toolkit, the following guideline is given for identifying creatives: “Artists are people who consider themselves artists” (Springboard for the Arts, 2014). In the Green Line Project, this allowed everyone from a Zumba exercise coach to a professional jazz singer to propose and receive project grants. Irrigate’s 150 small art projects increased foot traffic through the construction zone, help‑ ing businesses to stay open and even reach new customers (Smart Growth America, 2017). The project educated communities about the benefits of the Green Line and “completely changed the narrative” about the construction by creating news stories about art interven‑ tions and participation opportunities to counter those of frustration and anxiety about the new light rail track (Smart Growth America, 2017). Irrigate, with the help of the City of Minneapolis and the Local Initiatives Support Corporation (LISC),2 hired two hundred and twenty artists over three years. Opening eligibility up to anyone “who consider themselves artists” resulted in a much greater number of projects and a steady supply of “good news” stories in the Corridor. Said Nancy Homas, Policy Director of St. Paul, Minnesota, While the City of Saint Paul tried feverishly to garner positive coverage for the ben‑ efits of transit that the Central Corridor would bring to the community, their positive message was consistently diluted in the media by negative stories about the impact of construction. As Irrigate projects began popping up along the Corridor…the magic of

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art started a different conversation. Irrigate’s public process engaging [sic] artists from the community to support local businesses provided a nimble and creative way to in‑ fluence the narrative and change community perceptions of the value of community development. (a2ru, 2018) The resulting media coverage produced 51 million positive earned impressions on the pro‑ ject (Smart Growth America, 2017). Finally, one of the most important things to capture in this process is the attention of leadership. The voice of an organized and engaged community is exceptionally persuasive to elected officials and public agencies. Thus, community work should be leveraged for both good press coverage and powerful influence. Artist‑led community engagement affords the opportunity to include elected and public officials in a creative activity that puts everyone on equal footing. This shared experience can set the stage for an honest exchange without the highly charged atmosphere.

Art, The Conversation Starter: Ozark Regional Transit and the Artist’s Laboratory Theatre Northwest Arkansas is home to the world headquarters of Wal‑Mart and the world’s second largest meat processing plant. Some cities in the region have seen their populations double in recent years, creating concerns about vehicle traffic, access to jobs, and displacement. Recognizing the growing public concern over their rapidly changing landscape, a master planning process called “Connect Northwest Arkansas” hired artists for extended commu‑ nity engagement in the Fayetteville metro area. The Artist’s Laboratory Theatre (ALT) of Springdale, Arkansas, is a drama company whose artistic director, Erika Wilhite, develops scripts that are inspired by community input. “Instead of a script”, Wilhite says, “we start with a question”, The resulting performances are immersive and often held in unorthodox locations. ALT embarked on a 16‑month project in 2018 (Walton Arts Center, 2019). The theater group conducted interviews and compiled data from focus groups of local people experiencing food, housing, and/or transportation insecurity. They held “Listening Parties” that provided childcare and food to ensure inclusivity and attendance. Partnering with Ozark Regional Transit, “Neighborhood Ambassadors” were engaged to accompany community members as they ran errands or rode to work on public transit. Wilhite said, We learned about the barriers people experience which prevented them from getting and keeping employment that provided a livable wage. We learned how easily people can become homeless in this area, and how most people are experiencing a stage of housing insecurity whether they realize it or not. Through our research process we learned about how hard some people have it while this region seems to be experiencing great abundance and growth. The qualitative data that ALT gathered from the Ambassador rides was developed by play‑ wright Adrienne Dawes into Good Person of South Fayetteville, a play performed by ALT actors on Ozark Regional Transit (ORT) routes. The play aggregated the stories ALT had gathered from real people and highlighted the overlapping issues of housing insecurity, 176

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public transportation, and poverty. Ozark Regional Transit invited City department heads and the public to experience the play’s performance aboard a moving bus. Inspired by the true personal stories they heard during the play, City leaders fast‑tracked the purchase of 20 new bus shelters for ORT and placed them in the areas that locals had previously targeted as high priority. Based on the successes of 2019, Ozark Regional Transit has embraced the arts as a through‑ line in the system and in their community engagement tactics. Recognizing that the arts had improved communication quality with and from their customers, Executive Director Joel Gardner enacted further creative outreach programs, including “Paint the Bus”, where buses are parked at gathering spots such as farmers markets, and children invited to paint on them. While the children are painting, their adults are learning about the bus system, asking ques‑ tions about routes, or lodging complaints and getting direct feedback. ORT has also devel‑ oped an “AmBUSsador” program that trains citizens to use the system and enlists their help in ongoing advocacy and light volunteer projects. Gardner himself leads “Create, Eat, and Learn” bus tours where the public is invited to come aboard for arts activities and refresh‑ ments from a local food truck while they get a firsthand experience of the benefits of public transit. In 2022, a partnership with Crystal Bridges Art Museum funded ORT’s first Artist in Residence, Lakisha Bradley. Having an artist “on staff” was deemed the best way to con‑ tinue growing the arts‑fueled engagement efforts at ORT and in 2023 Bradley was brought on part‑time to manage and develop ongoing artistic interactions with customers. Bradley is now ORT’s Art, Culture, and Wellness Director. Her role within wellness is focused on bus operators themselves, who participate in regular art therapy sessions to alleviate job stress and roleplay creative de‑escalation techniques they can use on the job. ORT says this has helped them both hire and retain bus drivers in a down job market. The community has reaped benefits too. As gentrification proceeded rapidly in Fayette‑ ville, the Artist Lab Theater interventions continued around the region and achieved other significant long‑term impacts. Creating more inclusive opportunities for public engagement meant that legacy residents found common ground with new arrivals at public meetings where they shared their common concerns with City and transit officials. The group’s newly unified voice gave weight to those who had previously been ignored or underrepresented at traditional community meetings. Newfound confidence in civic engagement changed previously disengaged neighbors into activists, calling for and receiving a new ordinance to allow more citizen input in public meetings. One community member even ran for City Council. Ozark Regional Transit Executive Liaison Erika Finnestead says, “Art is … the thread that weaves through our system to get people to see transit in a different way. (It’s) an amaz‑ ing conversation starter” (Finnestead, verbal communication, 2023). The data ORT has received over its nearly five years of arts engagement has driven improvements that have in‑ creased ridership over 600%. Executive Director Joel Gardner adds, “It hasn’t just increased ridership, it’s increased diversity of ridership”. ORT is now seeing greater numbers of riders who aren’t transit‑dependent, a trend which must continue in the face of population growth and climate concerns. Gardner says the arts have been “absolutely” effective in three ways: reducing a local stigma around public transportation, making transit feel more inviting and safer, and allowing ORT and the community it serves to reimagine together what public transit can be and do for everyone (Gardner, verbal communication, 2023). 177

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End of the Line Integrating the arts into transportation planning gives agencies an invaluable mechanism to benefit both the public and the institution. The arts are not only aesthetic – they are a powerful communication tool that can create a sense of well‑being and belonging to allow for productive expression and dialogue in tense situations. Transportation issues are at the forefront of a multitude of equity issues such as access to jobs, housing displacement, and environmental justice, not to mention the climate change affecting us all. It is vital to build new modes with the community input that will provide a more effective product and the groundwork for a lasting relationship of trust and collaboration. Every opportunity to build community and strengthen bonds in our increasingly polarized world is worth taking, and the arts allow us to speak to our fellow humans with a universal language.

Lessons Learned • Integrating the arts into transportation planning gives agencies an invaluable mechanism to benefit both the public and the institution. • The arts are not only aesthetic – they are a powerful communication tool that can create a sense of well‑being and belonging to allow for productive expression and dialogue in tense situations. • Transportation issues are at the forefront of a multitude of equity issues such as access to jobs, housing displacement, and environmental justice, not to mention the climate change affecting us all. • It is vital to build new modes with the community input that will provide a more effec‑ tive product and the groundwork for a lasting relationship of trust and collaboration. Every opportunity to build community and strengthen bonds in our increasingly polar‑ ized world is worth taking, and the arts allow us to speak to our fellow humans with a universal language.

Notes 1 Transportation for America. “Arts, Culture, and Transportation: A Creative Placemaking Field Scan.” 2017. 2 LISC is a US non‑profit community development financial institution (CDFI) that supports com‑ munity development initiatives across the country. It focuses on alleviating poverty by impact investment in projects related to community building and by helping to push policy that fosters “broadly shared prosperity”.

Bibliography a2ru. 2018. “The Green Line, Twin Cities, MN (2014)”. Accessed February 29, 2024. https://a2ru. org/the‑green‑line‑twin‑cities‑mn‑2014/. Finnestead, Erika (Ozark Regional Transit). Interview with Katherine Dirga. December 15, 2023. Gardner, Joel (Ozark Regional Transit). Interview with Katherine Dirga. December 1, 2023. Haruch, Steve. “Envision Nolensville Pike: Community, Creativity, and Imagination in Placemak‑ ing”. Americans for the Arts. Conexion Americas, June 2016. Accessed January 22, 2024. https:// www.americansforthearts.org/sites/default/files/Envision_report_compressed.pdf. Nakagawa, Alan. 2020. “Creative Catalyst A.I.R., LADOT, DCA, 2016–17”. Accessed February 29, 2024. https://www.alannakagawa.com/#/pier/.

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SECTION 3

Creative and Cultural Industries and Global Tourism Planning

3.1 THE CREATIVE ECONOMY SO FAR IN THE 2000S Edna Dos Santos‑Duisenberg

Introduction Since the turn of the millennium, the progress of the creative economy has been remarkable, reflecting new patterns of cultural production and consumption worldwide, technologi‑ cal and digital advances, and the lifestyle of contemporary society. This chapter briefly reviews the evolution of the creative economy during the past two decades. Initially by focusing on the role of the United Nations (UN) in sensitizing governments about the contribution of the creative economy for a more inclusive and sustainable develop‑ ment, since it offers new opportunities for many countries to leapfrog into high‑growth sectors of the world economy. The impact of digitalization and the economic dimen‑ sion of the creative economy are examined. Over the years, the creative economy has been integrated into our daily life and well‑inserted into the international economic and development agenda. Considering the disruptions that marked the beginning of the 2020s brought about by the impact of the global pandemic, the second part of the chapter makes an assessment of cur‑ rent issues, trends and innovations that have been influencing culture and the dynamics of the creative economy recently. In conclusion, reflections are made about the use of innova‑ tive tools in the creative process, providing insights into possible prospects.

The Evolution of the Creative Economy The Creative Economy (CE) concept emerged in the turn of this century, inspired by Howk‑ ins’ book about the relationship between creativity and economics.1 Definitely, the Creative Industries Task Force set‑up in the United Kingdom (DCMS, 2001) repositioning the Brit‑ ish economy as an economy driven by creativity and innovation, gave impetus to this new perception. The designation “creative industries” enlarged the scope of cultural industries beyond the arts and marked a shift in approach to potential commercial activities that until then were usually regarded in non‑economic terms.2 Until today there is no unique definition

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of CE, but it is generally recognized that at the heart of the CE lie the creative industries, which have been identified and classified in different ways. The concept and definitions of the CE evolved over the years to encompass a broader understanding of creativity, its economic impact, and its role in society. Initially, the CE was primarily associated with traditional cultural and artistic industries. However, as the economy and technology advanced, so did the understanding of what constitutes the crea‑ tive economy. The ongoing discourse about the CE has widen its scope, and the evolution of the concept went through several phases: – Narrow definition: In the early 2000s, the CE was often demarcated in a narrow sense, focusing on cultural industries such as music, film, literature, art and traditional cultural expressions. The cultural industries were regarded as those that combine the creation, production and commercialization of contents which were intangible and cultural in na‑ ture (UNESCO). This definition emphasizes the cultural and artistic aspects of creativity, but there remain different interpretations of culture as an industry. – Expanded definition: Between 2005 and 2010, the CE definition expanded to include a broader range of knowledge‑based activities, recognizing that creativity was not lim‑ ited to traditional artistic fields, but it encompassed creative services like architec‑ ture, advertising, fashion, as well as technology‑intensive sectors such as software, video games, and even scientific research and innovation. The United Nations through UNCTAD classifies four broad groups of creative industries: heritage, arts, media and functional creations. In addition, it introduces a wider category called “creative goods and services”. UNCTAD’s definition of the creative economy already emphasizes that it is an evolving concept, as presented at the UN Creative Economy Report 2008 (Figure 3.1.1).

UNCTAD definition of the creative economy The “creative economy is an evolving concept based on creative assets potentially generating economic growth and development.” It can foster income generation, job creation and export earnings while promoting social inclusion, cultural diversity and human development. It embraces economic, cultural and social aspects interacting with technology, intellectual property and tourism objectives. It is a set of knowledge-based economic activities with a development dimension and cross-cutting linkages at macro and micro levels to the overall economy. It is a feasible development option calling for innovative, multidisciplinary policy responses and interministerial action. At the heart of the creative economy are the creative industries.

Figure 3.1.1  UNCTAD definition of the creative economy. Source: UN Creative Economy Report 2008.

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– Digital technology and Innovation: During the 2010s, as technology became increasingly intertwined with creative processes and distribution, the concept of CE began to include tech‑driven sectors like software development, digital new media, animation and crea‑ tive‑tech startups. The CE cut across the arts, business and technology, driving innovation and new business models. The digital era unlocked marketing and distribution channels for creative digitalized content, expanding the economic benefits of the CE. Digital plat‑ forms became tools for promoting creative content and experiences. Music, advertising, new media and fashion are seen as soft innovations.3 – Creative Skills and Creative Entrepreneurship: Another move was the recognition that creativity is not a prerogative of those working in creative sectors. Creative skills are a competence required by many jobs now‑a‑days. Interpersonal and socio‑emotional skills like empathy, emotional‑intelligence, problem‑solving, design thinking, and communica‑ tion are valuable assets in a wide range of economic activities from business to health‑care. Creative entrepreneurs are talented entrepreneurial people who are able to transform ideas into creative products and have the ability to seize opportunities. The terminology derives from “cultural entrepreneurship” as it deals with strategy and leadership in a cultural con‑ text. Creative entrepreneurs should be able to establish and nurture their creative business in any field while promoting innovation. – Intersection with other Sectors: Over the last decade, the creative economy concept has strengthened the connections between creativity and other economic activities. For exam‑ ple, the role of design in enhancing user experiences for technology products. The linkages between the CE and tourism, two dynamic sectors that reinforce each other. The “creative city” concept has been used in urban policies and cultural diplomacy as a way to revi‑ talize socio‑economic growth by attracting creative workers and promoting the creative economy at local level. – Cultural and Social Impact: More recently in 2020s, there has been a growing empha‑ sis on the cultural and social impact of the creative economy. This includes discussions about representation, diversity, inclusion, and how creative expression can influence so‑ cial change and public discourse. Noteworthy, the UN Creative Economy Report of 2008, already states “The creative economy can foster income generation, job creation and export earnings, while promoting social inclusion, cultural diversity and human development”. – Sustainability and Ethics: At present, the creative economy concept embraces environ‑ mental sustainability, climate change and ethical considerations. This includes discussions about the carbon footprint of creative industries and responsible production practices, ethical trade and ethical consumerism such as the critics of fast‑fashion. Both producers and consumers of creative products increasingly question the true cultural, economic and environmental value of what they create, buy and sell (UNCTAD, 2010). – Digital platforms and Participation: With the rise of social media, user‑generated content, and online platforms, the creative economy now also involves a focus on participatory culture, where “the prosumers” become creators and contribute to the overall creative landscape. Today, there are shared perceptions since the concept is subjective and continues to progress, broadening its field of application. More systemic approaches reflect the on‑going thinking 185

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about the creative landscape. Terms like “creative ecosystem” and “creative ecology” have been used in analogy with the environment and sustainable development matters. In summary, the concept of the creative economy has evolved from a narrow focus on artistic industries to a broader recognition of creativity’s role across various sectors and its impact on economy, innovation and society.

The United Nations and the Creative Economy For the United Nations (UN) the role of creativity as a force in contemporary economic life, brings the idea that economic and cultural growth are part of a larger process towards sus‑ tainable development and can occur hand in hand. The CE was conceptualized as a set of knowledge‑based activities that uses creativity and intellectual capital as primary inputs, po‑ tentially generating economic growth and development.4 Initially, this vision provoked some scepticism inside certain cultural circles questioning what, in their opinion, was a mercantilist approach to the arts and culture. Questions were raised about the CE subjective definition, broad classifications and wide scope. Others voiced concerns about the overstated importance of the CE and the way it may exacerbate cultural and technological divides. Furthermore, the growing economic impact of the arts, culture and creativity into the overall economy was not easily perceivable by many governments, due to the lack of data and policy‑oriented research. Creativity is found in all societies, and every country from the most advanced to the least developed ones, is rich in creative talents and cultural assets, the basics for nurturing its CE. It relies on ideas, knowledge, skills and the ability to seize opportunities. The United Nations played a key role in promoting the creative economy as a develop‑ ment strategy. In 2004, at the UNCTAD XI Ministerial Conference held in Brazil, the UN received from 153 member countries, its first mandate to carry out policy‑oriented research on the impact of the creative industries for development. In discharging this mandate, the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development  –  UNCTAD, set‑up its Creative Economy Programme,5 the first organizational structure, inside and outside the UN, exclu‑ sively devoted to this new topic, voicing the need for comprehensive policy‑oriented research to define its conceptual, institutional and policy framework. A United Nations Multi‑Agency Group on Creative Economy was formed involving five UN bodies (UNCTAD, UNDP, UN‑ ESCO, WIPO, ITC) with a view to build upon complementarities and enhance policy coher‑ ence on matters related to the creative economy. The UN released two pivotal reports in 2008 and 2010 (UNCTAD/UNDP) that examined the creative economy in‑depth and became a world reference on this innovative topic. Simul‑ taneously, an influential process was set in motion by the United Nations to move ahead the policy and research agenda around the creative economy. The first “UN Creative Economy Report – 2008, The challenge of assessing the creative economy: towards informed policy‑making”6 emphasized the development dimension and the cross‑cutting linkages of the creative economy, calling for innovative multidisciplinary policies and interministerial actions. The report examined concepts, definitions, identifying trends and bottlenecks to be addressed. For the UN, the CE is a holistic concept dealing with complex interactions between culture, economics and technology, incorporating so‑ cial and environmental aspects. The report provided the initial statistical evidence that the creative industries were among the most dynamic sectors in world trade, its global exports 186

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reached US$424.4 billion in 2005.7 The report concluded that there was no one‑size‑fits all prescription, each country should formulate policies to nurture its CE based on its priori‑ ties, strengths and realities. For the UN, more important than the definition of the creative economy, is the use of the concept as a development strategy. The UN Creative Economy Report 2010 entitled Creative Economy: A Feasible Devel‑ opment Option,8 highlighted the potential of culture and the creative industries to foster socio‑economic growth, promote cultural diversity, and enhance social inclusion and sustain‑ able development. The report underscored ten key messages calling for concerted intermin‑ isterial policies, investment in human capital, financing and intellectual property protection to unlock the full potential of the creative industries. It explored how creative industries could contribute to poverty reduction, job creation, and export diversification, particularly in developing countries. The report concluded that the CE was a new development path to reorient policies towards more equitable, sustainable and inclusive growth policies. The “UN Creative Economy Report 2013: Widening Local Development Pathways”9 re‑ leased by UNESCO/UNDP, examined the interactions and policies at local level and how the CE is promoted in communities, cities and regions across the developing world. Under the “One UN, one voice” approach, the first two reports were issued under the leadership of UNCTAD, and the third one under the guidance of UNESCO, presenting a rotative sys‑ tem‑wide perspective on this innovative topic. Subsequently, many publications have been issued by the relevant UN agencies on a regular basis. Furthermore, intergovernmental policy debates involving all UN member states were ar‑ ticulated and technical cooperation projects implemented, particularly in developing coun‑ tries. These initiatives culminated when the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) declared “2021 the International Year of the Creative Economy for Sustainable Develop‑ ment”10 providing the institutional framework for encouraging the international community to foster policies, projects and actions at all levels in order to tackle the challenges of the creative economy. As a contribution to the UNGA request, a global agenda setting out 11 key actions to op‑ timize the potential of the creative sector by addressing current challenges, was proposed to governments by the Global Creative Economy Council established by the Creative Industries Policy and Evidence Centre, United Kingdom11 Calling for actions at local, national and in‑ ternational levels to focus on: creative education and skilling; creative entrepreneurship and innovation; creative careers and informal livelihoods; creative cities and clusters; alternative financing, environmental sustainability, digitalization, and governance, are among the pro‑ posed policy actions. Over the years, most international agencies including the OECD, World Bank, European Commission, and regional development banks among others, established programs and pro‑ jects for enhancing the creative economy. Numerous international conferences, books, aca‑ demic research, policy‑oriented reports and national plan of action have been focusing on the creative economy in all continents. In our globalized and connected world increasingly dominated by symbols, texts, sounds and images, the growth of the CE associated with digitalization has been a transformative force in our society. Nowadays, more than 20 years later, there are empirical evidences that besides its economic contribution, the CE also promotes social inclusion, cultural diversity, well‑being and a more sustainable development. 187

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The Economic Dimension of the Creative Economy The CE has been growing faster than the rest of the economy in several countries. By gener‑ ating economic and employment benefits in a number of services and technology‑intensive fields, the creative economy is a high‑growth sector able to generate income through trade and intellectual property rights, with spill‑overs in other sectors like tourism. In the absence of international comparable statistics and the fact that governments adopt different clas‑ sifications and parameters for mapping their creative economy, it is still difficult to access the gross value added of all cultural and creative sector industries, estimated at over 3% of global GDP and 6% of all employment in 2022 (UNESCO). For instance, the United King‑ dom includes software and estimate that the creative sector accounts for 6% of its GDP (DCMS, 2021), while Indonesia includes the culinary sector and estimates that the creative economy represents 7.4% of the country GDP.12 For UNESCO, the creative economy is made up of cultural and creative industry sectors that generate annual revenues of US$2,250 billion, and according to forecasts, these sectors will represent around 10% of global GDP in the years to come.13 The CE offers vast job opportunities giving a push to global employment. In 2020 the CE employed about 30 million people in the global formal economy, employing more people aged 15−29 than any other sector.14 However, it has a high degree of informal workers, particularly in developing countries, which makes it difficult to assess the real numbers of creative workers globally. During the pandemic, the cultural and creative sectors lost 10 million jobs only in 2020, due to the economic downturn and social distance measures (UNESCO, 2022). In Europe, culture and creativity employ over 8 million people in 1.2 million companies, most of which are SMEs. The sector represents close to 4% of EU value added (EU Com‑ mission, 2020). In the United States, the creative economy is valued at $920 billion – nearly 5%of GDP, and provides more than 10 million jobs.15 In Latin America and the Caribbean, the creative economy has among the highest growth rates of any sector of the region’s econ‑ omy, generating $124 billion in revenue, or 2.2% of the region’s GDP, employing 1.9 mil‑ lion people in the formal sector16 (IADB, 2023). Africa’s share of the creative economy is around 1.5%, and its exports of creative goods increased by 4% between 2010 and 2020, generating 2 million jobs (UNCTAD, 2022). For nearly two decades, creative products remain the most dynamic sector in world trade, with huge economic value and export potential. Global trade of creative goods and services are framed within the WTO rules (World Trade Organization). World exports of creative goods and services, including music, film, books, design, video games, visual arts, advertising, architecture, cultural and digital services have been escalating. Over the period 2000–2005, global trade in creative products increased by 8.5% annually. In 2022, global exports of creative goods totalled US$713 billion and creative services reached US$ 1.4 trillion (UNC‑ TAD, 2024). These figures indicate that the CE has been a driver of economic growth and world trade over the last decades. The CE also fosters innovation, stimulating business opportunities and entrepreneurship. Intellectual Property Rights (IPR) provides tools for transforming creativity into commer‑ cially viable products (WIPO, 2020) through licences, royalties and copyrights. It provides

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protection to original works of authorship, such as paintings, sculptures, music, novels, poems, plays, architecture, dance and software. Reinforcement of IPR regimes was crucial to enable returns from creativity, allowing artists and creative professionals to make a living from their work. Copyright law provides protection for creative professionals by ensuring fair compensation for their creations. Robust IPR systems encouraged cross‑border trade and foreign investment in creative industries, helping the monetization of creativity while combating piracy and counterfeiting.

Creative Economy and Digitalization The creative economy and digitalization have been growing hand in hand. Much of what happens in the CE can be transmitted in digital form and the power of social me‑ dia accelerated this process. The Internet, digital distribution platforms, and social media transformed the way creative content was produced, distributed, and consumed. These innovations facilitated market access, reduced transaction costs, and enabled creators to showcase and sell their products to a global audience bypassing traditional gatekeepers and intermediaries. A social network not only facilitates interactions between individuals but also between an individual and a product or brand. When a Facebook user “likes” a movie, music or a handbag design, or when Amazon recommends several books based on a user’s previ‑ ous purchases, they are influencing consumers behaviour and promoting creative products. Blogs and wikis are useful tools for facilitating networks among creative people and the circulation of creative products. Digital technologies democratized creativity, permitting new business models such as streaming services and online marketplaces, which are transforming the music, film, and publishing industries. Online streaming has revolutionized the music industry, altering how music is consumed, distributed, and monetized. This digital shift has facilitated music access to global audience, offering catalogues of songs from various genres and artists. Platforms like Spotify, Apple Music, and Amazon Music have become the dominant channels for mu‑ sic consumption, marking a departure from traditional album sales and physical distribu‑ tion. Independent artists can now reach a broader fan base without the need for expensive marketing campaigns or record label support. This has led to a diversification of musical genres and styles, as artists from different corners of the world can share their creations without geographical limitations. However, fair compensation and gains from IPRs remain an issue for most artists.

Culture and the Creative Economy in the 2020s The beginning of the 2020s reminded us of Schumpeter’s creative destruction.17 Society was already undergoing a deep process of transformation on all fronts, due to structural, tech‑ nological, scientific, social and behavioural changes. Nevertheless, the magnitude and global impact of the COVID‑19 pandemic took humanity by surprise. Suddenly, the world moved from globalization to isolation, from physical touch to virtual chats. Against this controver‑ sial scenario, culture, creativity and connectivity helped people to face the challenge of social distance measures for nearly two years.18

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The economic, social and cultural consequences of that long‑lasting pandemic were far‑reaching. It exacerbated inequality, hit the world economy, defying global governance and destroying national health systems and urban life. Yet, a positive legacy of this chaotic situation was the growing sense of solidarity and citizenship that encouraged people to do better, to engage and to act. Creative and digital industries, in particular radio and TV, social media, online news and press and communication services were influential in showing the reality of the pan‑ demic crisis. Artists, cultural producers, technicians and creative professionals were the first to stop their activities and were the last to restart, making them one of the most af‑ fected categories. In Brazil, for instance, a Law for Cultural Emergency19 was approved by Congress allowing the use of resources from the Federal Cultural Fund to provide emergency aid to help compensate for the loss of revenue and to provide tax exemption for the cultural industry and creative businesses. Many countries implemented similar measures. During the pandemic, the cultural and creative sectors had to re‑invent themselves in their struggle for survival. All cultural spaces such as cinemas, theatres and museums were closed and artistic shows, festivals and exhibitions were suspended by March 2020 to comply with social distance measures. Paradoxically, online cultural consumption and digitalized creative‑content production escalated. Music was leading a innovative busi‑ ness model by presenting live streaming concerts that reached out global audiences. Thea‑ tre companies produced plays for web performances with no public audience. Virtual short‑film festivals attracted newcomers. Museums opened access for their collections and permanent exhibits. E‑books and a new generation of smart video games were in high de‑ mand. Online auctions of visual art attracted culture lovers, and TV audiences increased with re‑runs of older broadcasts and small format productions. These are illustrations of how cultural and creative professionals were able to find new ways and adapt themselves to a new reality. Web channels, podcasts, live streaming, hybrid collaborative creative productions, as well as crowd funding and conscious donations were new tendencies that emerged or were rein‑ forced during the pandemic. Nevertheless, famous artists succeeded in finding sponsors for streaming performances but a great majority of artists had to offer their services for free or small fees. More than ever, solutions are needed to ensure stable monetization and fair re‑ muneration for creative professionals in this new scenario.

The New Scenario In this post‑pandemic period, new trends are guiding the near future and deserve further attention. General debate has been focusing on the resurgence of wars, climate change and environment, inequality and inclusion, gender and diversity, social media and fake news, crypto currencies and blockchain, artificial intelligence and the future of work. Science, knowledge and technology are advancing fast in all fields. Priorities must be revisited, and our society has to reset and rediscover its ethical values. A new lifestyle, new social behav‑ iour and new consumption standards are shaping the way ahead.

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Creativity and Artificial Intelligence Technology has been a catalyst for creative innovations. Digital technologies revolutionized the creative landscape, providing artists, designers, and creators with unprecedented tools and opportunities. Artificial intelligence (AI), Augmented reality (AR), and virtual reality (VR), are innovative forces enabling new creative immersive experiences and personalized content. A turning point is occurring with the integration of AI in creative processes, bringing op‑ portunities and challenges. Discussions about the need to regularize the use of AI are gain‑ ing force and there are arguments pros and cons. AI algorithms can analyse vast amounts of data to generate original content, assist in creative decision‑making, helping artists to explore new ideas and collaboration with creatives from various fields. Conversely, AI tools can lead to a homogenization of creative output in detriment of truly original and unique ideas. Concerns about job displacement arise as AI automation may replace certain roles within creative industries. The question of ownership and copyright is also complex when AI is involved in the creative process.

Cultural Diversity and Inclusion Recently, more attention has been devoted to cultural diversity and inclusion everywhere.20 Recognizing the value of diversity in industries such as film, music, and fashion have strived a new pattern of ethnic representation breaking down traditional barriers. Movements like #OscarsSoWhite and #MeToo that started in the USA resulted in actions bringing greater diversity in casting choices, storytelling, and behind‑the‑scenes roles. These manifestations were introduced in other countries stimulating social change. Furthermore, initiatives and campaigns aimed at supporting underrepresented communi‑ ties in the cultural and creative sectors gained momentum. Funding programs, mentorship opportunities, and inclusive policies have been implemented to ensure equal access and op‑ portunities for individuals from diverse backgrounds.

Digital Transformation of Creative Industries The rise of digital platforms and streaming services disrupted traditional models in the crea‑ tive industries, reshaping how content is created, distributed, and consumed. The music industry21 experienced a transition from physical sales to digital streaming, challenging es‑ tablished revenue models and necessitating new approaches to monetization. The remuneration of artists through online streaming is influenced by several factors, including the platform’s payment model, the artist’s popularity, the number of streams and user subscriptions. The concern is that this system favours popular artists but leaves small independent creators with meagre earnings. Similarly, the film and television industry has seen the rise of streaming giants such as Net‑ flix, Amazon Prime Video, and Disney+, leading to an increased demand for original content and redefining the role of traditional studios. This digital transformation has democratized access to audiences, providing independent artists and creators with a global platform to showcase their work, but has also created issues related to the use of AI, job insecurity and

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contractual arrangements as exemplified by the 2023 strikes by writers and actors in Hol‑ lywood. The future is uncertain but art and culture will always find its way in modern‑day.

Sustainability and Ethical Practices In response to environmental concerns and growing consumer consciousness, sustainability became a key consideration in the creative economy. Consumers are increasingly demand‑ ing ethically produced and environmentally friendly products, leading to a shift in produc‑ tion practices and supply chains. Sustainable fashion22 has been focusing on reducing waste through the entire value‑chain and lifecycle of clothing while prioritizing decent labor prac‑ tices, as an example of how creative industries are responding to these demands. Likewise, more attention is paid on fair labour practices and the protection of workers’ rights within the creative industries. Ethical considerations, such as fair trade and respon‑ sible sourcing, are gaining prominence, as consumers seek transparency and accountability from the brands they support.

Collaboration and Convergence Greater collaboration and convergence across different creative sectors became a trend. In‑ dustries such as fashion, art, music, and technology are increasingly intertwining, resulting in innovative multidisciplinary projects. Collaborative efforts between artists, designers, and technologists led to ground‑breaking experiences that blur the boundaries between physical and digital realms. For instance, fashion designers are partnering with tech companies to develop smart tex‑ tiles and wearable technology, while musicians are exploring immersive concert experiences through virtual reality. This convergence has not only expanded creative possibilities but has also opened up new avenues for monetization and audience engagement.

Impact Investment and Socially Responsible Creative Economy A major constraint for the growth of the creative economy has been its limited access to investment and financing. Commercial banks usually are not acquainted with analysing the economic feasibility and the risks involved in creative projects. Investment and credit lines, including for independent creative workers and microenterprises, have been scarce but are essential to induce technology‑led creations, soft innovations, artistic creativity and creative businesses. A pragmatic way to nurture the creative economy is to put in place a “creative nexus” to reinforce the linkages between investments, technology, entrepreneurship and trade.23 The rationale is that effective public policies are likely to stimulate private‑sector investments, attracting technologies, and leading to export‑led strategies for creative‑indus‑ tries firms. In this way, bringing convergence between macro and micro interventions. A new trend is attracting impact investors for revamping the creative economy. For in‑ stance, in the USA, Upstart Co‑Lab has been successful in mobilizing millions of impact capital for funds and companies for the creative economy. Building a coalition of investors,

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donors funds, private foundations and cultural institutions who are committed with values of diversity, equity and inclusion and willing to invest in creative economy firms expected to have commercial success and generate environmental and social impact. Areas of greater interest to these investors are: ethical fashion, sustainable food, and social impact media.24

Creative Cities and Urban Policies Two years of COVID‑19 pandemic brought profound changes in the way we live, work, interact among ourselves and engage with our habitat and the planet. Lockdown and social isolation measures restricted citizen mobility. Once crowded urban centres became empty with no shopping or city life. Home‑office and the closure of schools, theatres and muse‑ ums, disrupted daily life. Parks and sport centres became inactive and international tourism halted. The confined society had to re‑think its attitudes in order to deal with a new reality. Before the pandemic, more than 75% of the world population were urban citizens (UNP, 2019), and in the post‑pandemic the revival of cities became a central issue for city govern‑ ments. The planning of creative districts, the location of public arts and green spaces are part of the process of urban revitalization. The challenge for urban planners is to find the right balance between the economic, social, cultural and environmental objectives. Preserv‑ ing cultural heritage while modernizing habitat areas, combining quiet parks with lively en‑ tertainment. Cities should provide not only the infrastructure and security needed to ensure well‑being but also offer educational and job opportunities to attract the youth, creative professionals, companies, investors and innovation. Culture and the creative economy have the capacity to stimulate urban liveability and tourism. A “creative city” is an urban complex where cultural activities are an integral component of the city’s economic and social functioning (Landry, 2000). The quality of life of a city is essential to attract and retain creative minds and increase the vitality of cities. Moreover, today every city has to define its sustainability agenda, revisiting policies as regards water, energy, transport and waste. In this sense, the creative economy and the green economy have common goals in the search for eco‑friendly solutions and eco‑urban developments.25 The creative cities of the future should build resilience while promoting a more inclusive, greener and smart urban towns.

Well‑Being, Leisure and Culture The pandemic imposed a drastic shift in human behaviour. As people were emotionally fragile, health and well‑being became the essence of life.26 Overcoming solitude and boost‑ ing mental resilience was vital. Afterwards, many people suffered from human and financial losses. Thus, in addition to the measures for accelerating economic recovery, governmental support is needed to improve well‑being and to raise the level of happiness of citizens in post‑pandemic times. A population will only experience high levels of life satisfaction if its people are pro‑social, healthy, and prosperous.27 In this context, free time, leisure, well‑ being, and culture are closely associated and should be considered in the formulation of poli‑ cies for creative cities.

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Trends and Prospects As the new generation is more attracted by creative occupations and digital technologies, the creative economy is set up for continued growth in the coming years. Some possible pros‑ pects can be explored: – Personalized and Interactive Experiences: With advancements in AI, AR, and VR, the creative economy will see a surge in personalized and interactive experiences. Consumers will have greater control over their entertainment choices, allowing for tailored content that aligns with individual preferences and interests. Interactive storytelling, immersive exhibitions, and personalized marketing campaigns will become more prevalent. – Creativity and Artificial Intelligence: Until recently, creativity was considered a human attribute. Now, what is a creative work in the AI era? What is the impact of generative AI on creativity and innovation? AI is a powerful tool but it’s too early to get a clear view about its impact and limits. Research, collaboration, policies and regulations are needed. AI has contradictions, but it may become a common good, and soon we all will be using it. AI can be of great service to humanity but raises many ethical concerns. In any case, AI is a tool not a substitute for creative minds. AI should empower not replace humans. – Cross‑Cultural Exchanges: As globalization continues, cross‑cultural exchanges will con‑ tinue shaping the creative economy. Collaboration between artists, designers, and creators from different cultural backgrounds will result in innovative fusions of styles, narratives, and aesthetics. This exchange will not only enrich creative expressions but also foster a deeper understanding and appreciation of diverse cultures. – Resilience and Adaptability: The COVID‑19 pandemic has underscored the importance of resilience and adaptability in the creative economy. Industries that have embraced digital platforms and flexible business models have been better equipped to navigate the chal‑ lenges posed by the pandemic. Going forward, the ability to adapt to changing circum‑ stances and embrace new technologies will be critical for sustained success. – Sustainability: The drive towards sustainability will persist in the creative economy. Con‑ sumers will demand greater transparency, eco‑friendly practices, and responsible sourc‑ ing. Companies that prioritize sustainability will have a competitive advantage in gaining consumer trust, while governments and industry bodies should introduce regulations to ensure ethical practices throughout the creative industries. The culture and creative economy in the 2020s have witnessed significant transformations driven by technology, diversity and inclusion, digital transformation, sustainability, and col‑ laboration. The ongoing integration of AI is transforming the creative scene. Cross‑cultural exchanges, resilience, and adaptability will be key factors in fostering growth and innova‑ tion. Moreover, sustainability and ethical practices will remain at the forefront of industry considerations. As we move further into the 2020s, the creative economy will continue to advance, offering exciting opportunities for creators, businesses, and consumers alike. Undoubtedly, the world became unpredictable and complex. The present is already very different as compared with recent past, and the future is uncertain. The role of creatives is constantly evolving as technology advances and societal shifts occur. In the future, crea‑ tive skills should involve a blend of artistic expression, technological innovation, social re‑ sponsibility, and cross‑disciplinary collaboration. Continuous learning and the search for 194

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excellence are essential. Creatives will continue to shape how we perceive the world, and navigate the challenges and opportunities of an ever‑changing society.

Lessons Learned • The Creative Economy (CE) concept emerged in the turn of this century, inspired by Howkins’ book about the relationship between creativity and economics. The concept and definitions of the CE evolved over the years to encompass a broader understanding of creativity, its economic impact, and its role in society. Initially, the CE was primarily associated with traditional cultural and artistic industries. However, as the economy and technology advanced, so did the understanding of what constitutes the creative economy. The concept of the creative economy has evolved from a narrow focus on artistic indus‑ tries to a broader recognition of creativity’s role across various sectors and its impact on economy, innovation and society. • The United Nations played a key role in promoting the creative economy as a develop‑ ment strategy. For the United Nations (UN) the role of creativity as a force in contempo‑ rary economic life, brings the idea that economic and cultural growth are part of a larger process towards sustainable development and can occur hand in hand. The CE was conceptualized as a set of knowledge‑based activities that uses creativity and intellectual capital as primary inputs, potentially generating economic growth and development. Over the years, most international agencies including the OECD, World Bank, Euro‑ pean Commission, and regional development banks among others, established programs and projects for enhancing the creative economy. Numerous international conferences, books, academic research, policy‑oriented reports and national plan of action have been focusing on the creative economy in all continents. • The CE has been growing faster than the rest of the economy in several countries. By generating economic and employment benefits in a number of services and technology‑ intensive fields, the creative economy is a high‑growth sector able to generate income through trade and intellectual property rights, with spill‑overs in other sectors like tour‑ ism. In the absence of international comparable statistics and the fact that governments adopt different classifications and parameters for mapping their creative economy, it is still difficult to access the gross value added of all cultural and creative sector industries, roughly estimated at 4% of global GDP. • The creative economy and digitalization have been growing hand in hand. Much of what happens in the CE can be transmitted in digital form and the power of social media accelerated this process. The Internet, digital distribution platforms, and social media transformed the way creative content was produced, distributed, and consumed. Digital technologies democratized creativity, permitting new business models such as streaming services and online marketplaces, which are transforming the music, film, and publishing industries. • During the COVID‑19 Pandemic, creative and digital industries, in particular radio and TV, social media, online news and press and communication services were influential in showing the reality of the pandemic crisis. The cultural and creative sectors had to re‑invent themselves in their struggle for survival. Physical consumption places struggled and online cultural consumption and digitalized creative‑content production escalated. 195

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• The culture and creative economy in the 2020s have witnessed significant transforma‑ tions driven by technology, diversity and inclusion, digital transformation, sustainabil‑ ity, and collaboration. The ongoing integration of AI is transforming the creative scene. Cross‑cultural exchanges, resilience, and adaptability will be key factors in fostering growth and innovation. Moreover, sustainability and ethical practices will remain at the forefront of industry considerations. As we move further into the 2020s, the creative economy will continue to advance, offering exciting opportunities for creators, busi‑ nesses, and consumers alike.

Notes 1 Howkins, John (2001) The Creative Economy: How People Make Money from Ideas, Penguin, London. 2 UNCTAD (2004) Creative Industries and Development (doc TD(XI)/BP713). 3 Soft innovation is innovation in goods and services that primarily impacts upon aesthetic or in‑ tellectual appeal rather than functional performance. 4 UNCTAD (2005) Creative Economy Programme. Brochure “Creative Economy & Industries: Promoting Development through Creativity”. UN, Geneva. 5 See video: Creative Economy: What Is the Role for United Nations? https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=M_anjYHBTjA&list=PLCQfvumW4LXCANfrcwfa1m48mIfSx5UYg. 6 https://unctad.org/publication/creative‑economy‑report‑2008‑challenge‑assessing‑creative‑econ‑ omy‑towards‑informed. 7 The terminology “creative goods” and “creative services” appeared for the first time at UNC‑ TAD’s Global Database on Creative Economy, (Dos Santos) presented at the Creative Economy Report 2008. 8 https://unctad.org/publication/creative‑economy‑report‑2010. 9 https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000224698. 10 https://unctad.org/topic/trade‑analysis/creative‑economy‑programme/2021‑year‑of‑the‑ creative‑economy. 11 PEC – Creative Industries Policy & Evidence Centre (2021) A Global Agenda for the Cultural and Creative Industries. A Contribution from the PEC’s International Council to the United Na‑ tions 2021 International Year of Creative Economy for Sustainable Development. https://pec. ac.uk/policy‑briefings/a‑global‑agenda‑for‑the‑cultural‑and‑creative‑industries. 12 Getting Creative in Indonesia. https://theaseanpost.com/article/getting‑creative‑indonesia. 13 UNESCO (2022): Reshaping Cultural Policies for Creativity, Paris. https://www.unesco.org/ reports/reshaping‑creativity/2022/en 14 Investing in Creativity. https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000265550. 15 Upstart Co‑Lab (2022) Investing for an Inclusive Creative Economy. https://upstartco‑lab.org/ impact‑report/. 16 Inter‑American Development Bank (2023) The IDB’s Commitment to Cultural and Creative Industries. https://www.iadb.org/en/news/idb‑publication‑sums‑10‑years‑lessons‑and‑guidance‑ boosting‑creative‑industries. 17 Schumpeter’s theory of Creative Destruction (1942) suggest that a creative destruction dismantle established processes in order to make the way for innovative ones. 18 Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2020) Brazilian Culture and Creativity during Covid‑19: Solidar‑ ity and Lives. Creative Industries Policy & Evidence Centre, London. https://pec.ac.uk/blog/ brazilian‑culture‑and‑creativity‑during‑covid‑19‑solidarity‑and‑lives. 19 Law 14.017 of 29.06.2020 – Brazilian Federal Government. https://www.in.gov.br/en/web/dou/‑/ lei‑n‑14.017‑de‑29‑de‑junho‑de‑2020–264166628 20 Dos Santos‑Duisenberg E. (2022) YouTube video: Sharing Reflections: Inclusion and Diversity. https://youtu.be/CEJXRkciftw.

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The Creative Economy So Far in the 2000s 21 Dos Santos‑Duisenberg E. (2022) YouTube video: Sharing Reflections: Music & Peace. https:// youtu.be/g2UhABXAjGg. 22 Dos Santos‑Duisenberg E. (2023) YouTube video: Sharing Reflections: Eco‑Fashion & Sustain‑ ability. https://youtu.be/Vmxmzu4P4‑Y. 23 The creative nexus model (Dos Santos), Creative Economy Report 2008 (225–226). 24 The Creator Economy: A Guide for Impact Investors. https://upstartco‑lab.org/impact‑investing‑ in‑the‑creator‑economy/?mc_cid=68d28935b6&mc_eid=2bb992055a. 25 Beyond Frames: Dynamics between the creative industries, knowledge institutions and the urban context (2016). Preface by Dos Santos‑Duisenberg – Urban policies in the creative era (17–18). 26 Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2020) Free‑Time, Leisure, Culture and Learning. Creative Indus‑ tries Policy & Evidence Centre (PEC), London. https://pec.ac.uk/blog/free‑time‑leisure‑culture‑ and‑learning‑in‑2020. 27 World Happiness Report 2023. https://worldhappiness.report/ed/2023/executive‑summary/.

Bibliography Deloitte (2021) The future of the Creative Economy, London, UK Department for Digital, Culture, Media & Sport, UK Government – Creative Industries Mapping Documents 2001 Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2009). After the Crunch. The Creative Economy: Beyond Economics (pp.  24–25). Edited by J. Holden, J. Newbigin, Watershed, UK. https://www.watershed.co.uk/ publications/after‑the‑crunch Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2013). International Trade in Creative Industries: From Production to Consumption. Journal of Cultural Economics, 37(3), 353–375. Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2016). Beyond Frames: Dynamics between the Creative Industries, Knowl‑ edge Institutions and the Urban Context. Edited by Schramme, Kooyman, Hagoor. Eburon, UK, Preface (pp. 13–19). https://ebin.pub/beyond‑frames‑dynamics‑between‑the‑creative‑industries‑knowledge‑in‑ stitutions‑and‑the‑urban‑context‑1nbsped‑9789059729230‑9789059728844.html Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2018). Trade in Creative Services: An Exploration of Developing and Developed Countries. In C. Nguyen (Ed.), The Routledge Companion to Global Creative Indus‑ tries (pp. 145–159). London: Routledge. Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2020a). Brazilian Culture and Creativity during Covid‑19: Solidarity and Lives. Blog article published by Creative Industries Policy & Evidence Centre, London, UK. https://pec.ac.uk/blog/brazilian‑culture‑and‑creativity‑during‑covid‑19‑solidarity‑and‑lives. Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2020b). Of Here & Now: Pandemic & Society in 2020. Modern Diplomacy, EU. https://moderndiplomacy.eu/2020/10/17/of‑here‑and‑now‑pandemic‑and‑society‑in‑2020/. Dos Santos‑Duisenberg, E. (2020c). Free‑Time, Leisure, Culture and Learning in 2020. Blog article published by Creative Industries Policy & Evidence Centre, London, UK. https://pec.ac.uk/blog/ free‑time‑leisure‑culture‑and‑learning‑in‑2020. European Commission. (2020). Creative Europe Monitoring Report. European Commission, Brussels. Florida, R. (2012). The Rise of the Creative Class‑‑Revisited: 10th Anniversary. Basic Books, New York. Hesmondhalgh, D., & Baker, S. (2020). Creative Labour: Media Work in Three Cultural Industries. Howkins, J. (2001). The Creative Economy: How People Make Money from Ideas. London: Penguin. Inter ‑American Development Bank. (2023). 10 Years of Championing Culture and Creativity. https://www.iadb.org/en/news/idb‑publication‑sums‑10‑years‑lessons‑and‑guidance‑boosting‑cre‑ ative‑industries. Landry, Charles (2000). The Creative City: A toolkit for Urban Innovation. Comedia/Earthscan, London. NESTA, UK. (2016). Creative Economy Employment in the US, Canada and the UK. https://www. nesta.org.uk/report/creative‑economy‑employment‑in‑the‑us‑canada‑and‑the‑uk/.

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Edna Dos Santos‑Duisenberg OECD. (2021). Economic and Social Impact of Cultural and Creative Sectors – Note for the G20 Presidency. https://www.oecd.org/cfe/leed/OECD‑G20‑Culture‑July‑2021.pdf. PEC –  Creative Industries Policy & Evidence Centre. (2021). A Global Agenda for the Cultural and Creative Industries: 11 Key Actions. https://pec.ac.uk/assets/publications/PEC‑A‑Global‑ Agenda‑for‑the‑Cultural‑and‑Creative‑Industries‑v11.pdf. UNESCO. (2018). Re‑Shaping Cultural Policies: advancing creativity for development, 2005 con‑ vention global report ‑ Paris ‑ https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000260678 UNESCO. (2022). Culture in Times of Covid‑19: Resilience, Recovery and Revival, Paris. United Nations. (2013). Creative Economy Report 2013: Widening Local Development Pathways. New York: UN Development Programme (UNESCO/UNDP). United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) (2024) Trade in Creative Ser‑ vices, Geneva United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD). (2022). Creative Outlook 2022, Geneva. https://unctad.org/publication/creative‑economy‑outlook‑2022 United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD/UNDP). (2008). Crea‑ tive Economy Report 2008: The Challenge of Assessing the Creative Economy: Towards Informed Policy‑Making ‑ Geneva. https://unctad.org/publication/creative‑economy‑report‑2008‑ challenge‑assessing‑creative‑economy‑towards‑informed. United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD/UNDP). (2010). Creative Economy Report 2010: A Feasible Development Option. Geneva/New York. https://unctad.org/ publication/creative‑economy‑report‑2010. United Nations World Population Prospects 2019, New York. Upstart Co‑Lab. (2022). Impact Report: Investing for an Inclusive Creative Economy, New York. https://upstartco‑lab.org/impact‑report/ WIPO. (2020). Intellectual Property Rights & Creative Economy, Geneva. https://www.wipo.int/ edocs/mdocs/mdocs/en/cdip_26/cdip_26_presentation.pdf.

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3.2 A GLANCE IN BRAZIL Creative Economy Policies Aimed at Mitigating the Effects of the Pandemic Christiano Braga

A Glance in Brazil: Creative Economy Policies Aimed at Mitigating the Effects of the Pandemic This chapter highlights how creative economy policies gained relevance in Brazil, thanks to the engagement of public and private institutions interested in understanding how culture and creativity can generate jobs, trade, innovation and social inclusion. This chapter exam‑ ines two public programs that were developed to respond to the difficulties caused by the impact of the COVID‑19 pandemic on culture and the creative economy. The 2000s were marked by a growing interest in the field of culture and creativity. This is especially the case in the first and second half of the decade, when the world witnessed a significant expansion in the circulation and trading of creative goods and services. Hence, a group of countries mobilized efforts to understand the dynamics of this phenomenon and develop policies and institutions capable of promoting and supporting cultural production and expression. This chapter puts into perspective the premise that cultural density and the creative capacities of a society were fundamental for development strategies cognizant of inclusion, whether based on job and income generation opportunities, or through the exten‑ sion of access and of the qualification of goods and services originated from creative work. A new stage of globalization and integration between different countries has impacted the circulation of creative goods and services. Globalization allowed lifestyles and cultural hab‑ its (gastronomy, fashion, music, audiovisual content, etc.) to go beyond national bounda‑ ries. However, it also generated reactions of self‑assertion of peoples and cultural uprooting, generating losers, as the dynamism of these transformations created homogenization move‑ ments, expanding existing inequalities without suppressing them (Peruffo, 2022). The expansion of agreements increased integration between countries through national cultural policies, especially in the audiovisual, new media, publishers, design and informa‑ tion technology sectors. The growth of these segments was consolidated not only because of its symbolic aspects, but also above all, because of its economic and social nature, generating spillovers to the other productive segments. Therefore, from this new stage of globalization, 199

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new economic configurations emerged that influenced the ways of producing, consuming and commercializing creative activities worldwide. Many authors defined this scenario as a “new geography of creativity” (De Propris, Chapain, Cooke, MacNeill, & Mateos‑Garcia, 2009) where urban spaces became centrally important. If in the global north this process began in the 1990s, in the global south, it began in the 2000s. This shift resulted in increased interest to design policies that viewed cities as the locus for the creation of new ideas and for the strengthening of creative industries. As a rule, alternatives were sought for economic growth and the reduction of inequalities where innovations and creativity were of central importance, believing that these did not originate only from companies, but from cities, which are considered to be pools of talent. The construction of policy agendas around these ideas has gained strength in countries like Brazil, where efforts have been made to understand the real impacts of the creative in‑ dustries, especially with regard to the shortcomings of an unequal country. In addition to the era of Cultural Minister Gilberto Gil, when articulations within the Ministry of Culture began to create programs of this nature, it was only in 2010 that the Secretariat for the Crea‑ tive Economy1 was created, which developed the first public policy instrument, the “Plano da Economia Criativa” (Ministério da Cultura, 2011. Plano da Secretaria de Economia Criativa: políticas, diretrizes e ações 2011–2014). At that time, sectoral programs aimed at the export of creative goods and services devel‑ oped by the Brazilian Export and Investment Promotion Agency and business associations were already underway. Also, many regional Departments of Culture were transformed into Departments of Culture and Creative Economy. Further, Development Banks ex‑ panded the supply of financing, legal frameworks changed and studies were launched aim‑ ing at assessing the impact of Brazilian cultural and creative production on the Gross Domestic Product. One of the first studies was developed by the Federation of Industries of Rio de Janeiro (Federação das Indústrias do Rio de Janeiro – FIRJAN), but other institutions such as uni‑ versities and the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE) also engaged in this research. In 2016, there was a first portrait of the potential of the creative economy in the country. The creative sectors represented 2.64% of the National GDP, contributing US$ 31.12 billion in production with an accumulated growth of almost 70% in the first and sec‑ ond half of the 2000s. Companies and businesses added 11.4% in terms of economic value to the total Brazilian economy and represented about 3.5% of the country’s export offer, representing 7.8% of the business fabric, 4.2% of occupations moving an internal market of about US$ 10.6 billion (Fundação Getúlio Vargas, 2020). Despite the real potential represented by these sectors and the presence of a prevailing op‑ timistic discourse, the challenges for Brazil in the field were immense. Brazilian society is one of the most unequal in the world. Although the new communication technologies expanded the distribution of content and diversified the means to produce and consume, connectivity and access to the internet continued to be a barrier for the most vulnerable populations. For creative companies, the challenges were also huge. According to UNCTAD (2018), new technologies create benefits in the creative economy by impacting production, distribu‑ tion and consumption with new business models and products. In addition, they enabled companies to open alternative channels that expanded global access, transforming busi‑ ness processes through networking and collaboration. Thus, digital technologies provided 200

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significant growth in the media through which creative content was known by consumers (podcasts, streaming, games, internet, etc.). This change in cultural consumption patterns positively affected the growth of the creative economy in Brazil, expanding the offer of cul‑ tural experiences and expanding the number of creators and co‑creators, interactions and exchanges in the market. However the benefits arising from these new technologies were not distributed in a balanced way. This imbalance was mainly due to the high degree of informality and the predominance of micro and small companies with difficulties in accessing not only new technological standards, but also credit and financing among other existing bottlenecks in the production chains. These challenges have expanded dramatically with the arrival of the COVID‑19 pandemic in 2020. According to a survey “Impacts of COVID‑19 on the Creative Economy” by the Bahia Creative Economy Observatory, the pre‑pandemic scenario in Brazil indicated that 80.7% of professionals in the sector worked informally, had an average salary of up to three minimum wages working more than 45 hours a week. With the consequent restriction on face‑to‑face activities, almost 80% of respondents had their activities postponed until April 2020. Fi‑ nancial reserves (71.2% of professionals and 77.8% of organizations) could guarantee their livelihood for a maximum of three months. On average, 83.7% of respondents did suffer consequences and indicated great difficulty in raising public and private resources (Canedo & Paiva Neto, 2020). In response to these situations, the #CulturaemCasa platform and the Aldir Blanc Act are part of the government’s efforts to resume the post‑pandemic creative economy. These two public initiatives were put into practice because the Brazilian State understood the importance of the creative sector for the economy. The Adir Blanc Law, for example, was made possible thanks to a great mobilization of different agents, public and private, who pressured deputies to approve an aid package that provided emergency income for cultural professionals. The Department of Culture and Creative Economy of the State of São Paulo, when creat‑ ing the #CulturaEmCasa platform, was one of the first public institutions in the country to offer a program that could mitigate the effects of the pandemic among the State’s creative workers. Faced with pressure from cultural agents and civil society organizations, through this project, it created conditions so that the content produced by public museums and theat‑ ers would have a space for its dissemination and enjoyment by the population. Both initiatives will be described below.

The #Culturaemcasa Platform and the Benefits of New Technologies in a Scenario of Adversity In this complex scenario, the departments of culture and creative economy of the Brazilian States began directing funds to meet the expectations of the population in search of live music concerts, theater shows and other performing arts training related to culture, among other content with growing demand during the pandemic. These funds were mainly directed to‑ ward creative professionals who, at first, excluded from federal financial support, demanded means that would allow them to sustain themselves and support their digital creations in an environment where equipment, concerts or any activity that gathered people was closed. 201

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A survey developed by the Fundação Itaú Cultural and Datafolha (2020) pointed out that 32.61% of these funds were directed to artistic productions in digital environments and an‑ other 23.91% to the acquisition/purchase of content for dissemination on digital platforms. Another 23.92% were allocated in promotion notices, while 13.04% served to pay emer‑ gency aid for professionals. This data demonstrated that the transition to digital platforms and the need to adapt productions to this environment were fundamental in helping the sec‑ tor and in the survival of creative enterprises during the pandemic in the country. One of the most important initiatives was developed by the Secretariat of Culture and Creative Economy of the State of São Paulo (SECEC SP) in partnership with Associação Paulista Amigos das Artes.2 Both institutions carried out a wide range of programs to sup‑ port the creative sectors and expand access to cultural and creative production in the State. With the stoppage of activities and the interruption of face‑to‑face programs, there was a sharp drop in the income of artists and technicians. With the population in quarantine, it was urgent to create an alternative public policy that would mitigate the effects of this dra‑ matic scenario. From this, emerged the #CulturaEmCasa platform. The platform was free and digital, with cultural content on demand, aimed at democra‑ tizing access to productions developed during the pandemic period and expanding its reach through digital means. It was launched in April 2020, with the initial objective of maintain‑ ing, albeit partially, the activities of museums, theaters, artistic bodies and the dissemina‑ tion programs of the State of São Paulo. Subsequently, to diversify the content offering, the “Festival #CulturaEmCasa” was created on the platform, with a program involving different artistic languages, and the “Intensivão #CulturaEmCasa”, with a wide program of debates, seminars and presentations. These initiatives had an emergency nature, hiring art‑ ists and professionals who had their activities interrupted. At the same time, they were ways of expanding the platform’s audience beyond the content originating from state government programs. The #CulturaemCasa platform, in addition to generating income for professionals, has become a space for disseminating the quality of Brazilian cultural and creative production during the pandemic years. By becoming a showcase for cultural and creative production in São Paulo, especially due to its free and wide range, it allowed this production to cross borders, with millions of viewers that reflected the nature of the changes in the way in which creative content began to be produced, distributed and consumed. As it is a public program, artists, musicians, filmmakers, among others, benefited by be‑ ing able to sell their content and access their audience, bypassing traditional intermediaries, democratizing the access to culture, allowing independent creators to earn income and reach new consumers even in a scenario adverse. According to the Secretariat of Culture and Crea‑ tive Economy of the State of São Paulo, during 2020, the content offered on the platform reached an audience of 1,363,681 people, benefiting 10,600 professionals, including 2,300 artists, 4,200 technicians and managers of the productive chains of culture and the creative economy. There were more than 5.1 million views on the platform, 200 cities in the State of São Paulo and more than 100 countries being able to access more than 3,000 activities (Braga & Guimarães, 2022). The emergency investment in #Culturaemcasa was around US$ 800,000 in its first year of operation, which denotes a significant effort by the public sector in its role of promoting

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culture and mitigating the effects of the pandemic. It was also an investment to provide well‑being to the population. This initiative attested, in turn, the importance of digital me‑ dia. Driven mainly by the pandemic, it remained in the following years and added to the post‑pandemic economic recovery efforts. Today it is considered the largest free streaming and video on demand platform in Brazil. In three years of operation, it has already made available to the population around 5,000 contents,3 with 7.7  million views, 3.62  million unique users, reaching 5,000 cities with 542,000 hours watched, according to the Secretariat of Culture and Creative Economy of the State of São Paulo.

Federal Support Fund: The Experience and Scope of the Aldir Blanc Act Despite the existence of the #Culturaemcasa platform and other state programs, compa‑ nies and creative professionals in Brazil demanded funds and federal resources that could mitigate the adverse effects of the pandemic. Information provided by IBGE (2022),4 proved the loss of 700,000 jobs in the cultural and entertainment sector (between 2020 and 2021). Informality rose 41.2%, in a sector that represented 5.6% of total employment. Copyright collections were estimated to drop by almost 50% between 2020 and 2021, which resulted in a significant decrease in the distribution of payments to songwriters and related rights holders. According to the Economics and Statistics Research Institute (IPEA), 900,000 cul‑ tural workers were affected. Faced with this situation, and five months after the beginning of the pandemic, a large national mobilization occurred with the aim of securing funds from the federal government, on an emergency basis, to support artists, organizations and companies that operate in the cultural and creative sector in financial difficulties due to cause of the pandemic. Thus, only on August 17, 2020, Law 14.017/2020, the Aldir Blanc Cultural Emergency Act, a National Law, was enacted. The purpose of the law was to guarantee access to: – emergency income for professionals in the cultural and creative sectors; – subsidy for the maintenance of cultural spaces that had their activities interrupted during this period; – actions to promote culture, through the holding of awards and notices for the cultural and creative sector. The Aldir Blanc Act provided for the transfer of R$ 3 billion (about US$ 600,000) to states and municipalities for initiatives to support workers and companies in the cultural and creative field. According to data from the Ministry of Culture of Brazil in 2021, 100% of the states and about 75% of the municipalities had plans approved for transferring these resources. On average, 92.5% of the resources were executed by the municipalities, except for the capitals. The capitals executed 98.5% of the values. The percentage of execution in the states was 95.8%. Even if there is still no clear picture of the benefits generated by this important program, it was undoubtedly essential to encourage the use of new technologies by artists, content producers and their businesses. If it is true that creative entrepreneurs had to reinvent them‑ selves in an adverse scenario, the resources arising from this Law served the purpose of 203

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offering cultural content better adapted to the digital context, redesigning business models and contributing to the well‑being and collective health during a period of uncertainty, opening and closing of trade and an unclear recovery horizon. On the other hand, this robust federal aid program faced a number of challenges in a continental country like Brazil, especially the great bureaucracy in accessing resources under the custody of the States. However, it was possible to capture that the necessary processes for receiving resources led to an improvement in the institutionality of municipal cultural departments and the dynamization of local participation processes. Complementary Law No. 195, of July 8, 2022, was enacted, created to encourage cul‑ ture and guarantee emergency actions, in particular those demanded by the consequences of the pandemic period. Known as the Paulo Gustavo Law, it directs R$ 3.86 billion from the financial surplus of the National Culture Fund to states and municipalities to promote cultural activities and products. Of this total, R$ 2.8 billion should be allocated to the au‑ diovisual sector and R$ 1 billion to other activities. The continuity of the Aldir Blanc Act was also enacted. It will be permanent, ensuring an‑ nual budgetary resources of around R$ 3 billion, for a period of five years, and should be re‑ assessed at the end of this period. This law will result in a total of R$ 15 billion, transferred to the country’s states and municipalities, ensuring predictability, since they will know in advance the amount they will receive each year, starting in 2023. This funding enables me‑ dium‑term planning, which goes beyond mandates. It will thus make it possible to structure the Sistema Nacional de Cultura, carrying out financial transfers to provide budgetary sup‑ port for a series of local and state attributions – from heritage maintenance and maintenance of cultural equipment to the acquisition of collections, educational programs in museums and libraries to funding for training, production/creation and circulation of the arts, as well as community‑based and diversity.

Lessons Learned • The efforts promoted by the Brazilian State were important to reduce the negative effects of the pandemic on the cultural and creative sectors. However, this was only possible through a major mobilization of civil society that recognized the importance of culture and the creative economy for the future of the country. • The #CulturaEmCasa platform demonstrated the benefits of new technologies in a sce‑ nario of great adversity. One of the lessons learned is that investment in digital presence and online content transmission platforms signals the importance acquired by digital technologies in recent years. The production and distribution of creative content, in a hybrid or fully digital form, was strengthened during the pandemic, but did not end with it. producing digital formats required continuous investment from public institutions in Brazil in these formats. • Regarding the #CulturaEmCasa platform, there was an important change in the con‑ sumption pattern of creative products. Such changes were shaped by the improvement of the aesthetic issues of the shows, which had to adapt to the audiovisual language to create live recordings and other digital content. Therefore, it was necessary to produce framing, audio mixing, etc., specifically for the digital medium, which was a novelty for productions that were previously focused on the physical presence of the public. 204

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• Finally, programs aimed at guaranteeing emergency income for creative professionals were essential for maintaining cultural spaces and creative enterprises whose activities were interrupted during the pandemic period. The #CulturaEmCasa platform, in the first phase of its implementation, fulfilled this role but above all, the federal aid program, Lei Aldir Blanc, which had an immense national reach, contributing to the gradual recovery and revitalization of the creative economy in post‑pandemic Brazil.

Notes 1 The Creative Economy Secretariat is a department linked to the Brazilian Ministry of Culture. Its attributions are to plan, promote, implement and coordinate actions for the development and strengthening of the economic dimension of Brazilian culture, in all segments of the production chains, seeking to value diversity, encourage social inclusion and articulate actions within the scope of the “Pluriannual Plan of Culture”. 2 The “Associação Paulista Amigos da Arte” is a Social Organization with more than 19 years of experience in artistic and cultural dissemination in the state of São Paulo. Its actions are focused on promoting São Paulo’s artistic diversity and managing programs, equipment and festivals. 3 The content offered by the platform was organized by language: cinema shows, theater, dance and circus shows, musical presentations, exhibitions and artistic performances, literary reviews, cultural training courses, cooking shows and so on. 4 The Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics – IBGE is the main provider of data and infor‑ mation in the country, which meet the needs of the most diverse segments of civil society, as well as federal, state and municipal government bodies.

Bibliography Braga, Christiano Lima & Guimarães, Andrea Santos. Análise Comparativa dos Programas de Emergência Cultural da Plataforma #CulturaEmCasa em relação em ao SESC Cultura Convida e o Festival Itaú Cultural Arte como Respiro. São Paulo: UFRGS, 2022. Brasil. Act 13.978, January 17, 2020. LOA 2020. Retrieved from: https://www.planalto.gov.br/ ccivil_03/_ato2019‑2022/2020/lei/l13978.htm. Brasil. Act 14.017, June 17, 2020. Retrieved from: https://www.planalto.gov.br/ccivil_03/_ato20192022/2020/lei/l14017.htm DePropris, L., Chapain, C., Cooke, P., MacNeill, S., & Mateos‑Garcia, J. (2009). The Geography of Creativity. NESTA, report, 2009. Retrieved from: https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/30684522.pdf FundaçãoGetúlio Vargas (FGV). Relatório sobre os Impactos Econômicos da Covid‑19 – Economia Criativa. Rio de Janeiro: FGV Projetos, 2020. FundaçãoItaú Cultural & Datafolha. Hábitos Culturais: expectativas de reabertura e comporta‑ mento digital. Setembro, 2020. Retrieve from: https://portal‑assets.icnetworks.org/uploads/at‑ tachment/file/100597/habitos_culturais.pdf IBGE– Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística. Agência IBGE. Janeiro, 2022. https://agenciadenoticias.ibge.gov.br/agencia‑noticias/2012‑agencia‑de‑noticias/ noticias/32482‑com‑pandemia‑setor‑cultural‑perde‑11‑2‑de‑pessoas‑ocupadas‑em‑2020 Ministérioda Cultura. Plano da Secretaria de Economia Criativa: políticas, diretrizes e ações 2011– 2014. Brasília: Minc, 2011. Retrieve from: https://garimpodesolucoes.com.br/wp‑content/up‑ loads/2014/09/Plano‑da‑Secretaria‑da‑Economia‑Criativa.pdf OBEC‑BA. Pesquisa Impactos da Covid‑19 na Economia Criativa: relatório final de pesquisa, Daniele Pereira Canedo & Carlos Beyrodt Paiva Neto (coords.). Salvador: Observatório da Eco‑ nomia Criativa; Santo Amaro: UFRB, 2020. Retrieved from: https://obec.ufba.br/wp‑content/up‑ loads/2022/07/OBEC_Pesquisa‑Panorama‑Nacional‑da‑LAB_boletim01.pdf.

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Christiano Braga Peruffo, Luiza. The international dimension of cultural and creative industries: International ­economy and creative industries. In: Marcelo Milán, Möller Gustavo & Débora Wobeto (eds.), Introdução à economia para atividade culturais e criativas. Porto Alegre: UFRGS, FEC, Itaú Cultural, 2022. Retrieved from: https://lume.ufrgs.br/bitstream/handle/10183/250810/001140601.pdf? sequence=1&isAllowed=y SCEC‑SP. Plataforma #CulturaemCasa, 2024. Retrieved from: https://cultspplay.com.br/ UnitedNations Conference on Trade and Development ‑ UNCTAD. Creative Economy Outlook. Trends in International Trade in Creative Industries, 2002–2015: Country Profiles 2005–2014. Genebra: UNCTAD, 2018. UnitedNations Conference on Trade and Development ‑ UNCTAD. Creative Economy Outlook, 2022. The International Year of Cretive Economy for Sustainable Development: Pathway to Resil‑ ient Creative Industries. Genebra: United Nations Conference on Trade and Development, 2022.

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3.3 NIGHT TIME ECONOMY From Cinderella Policy to a Global Movement Laia Gasch Casals

Introduction When we think of city nights, bright lights and urban glamour might not be the first thing that springs to mind. Instead, we might think of drunk people, dark and dangerous streets, and a lack of public toilets. It is as if we live in Cinderella’s fairy tale,1 where at the stroke of midnight, carriages turn into pumpkins, horses into mice, fine dresses into rags. Many see the night as a problem for cities. However, it is at night when so many of us meet friends, fall in love, have babies,2 go to the cinema, concerts, parties, and dance until dawn. For many, the night is all about socialis‑ ing. For others, it’s all about work. In 2018, 1.6 million people worked at night in London. Jobs in night industries are growing faster than jobs in the wider economy (Greater London Authority 2019b). Nightlife is a tourist magnet and most locals do errands in the evenings, go out to enjoy culture and leisure opportunities, free of the clock that dictates so much of the day. As cities strive to become 24‑hour cities, how do they need to plan for the night? A city at night needs more than essential services like police, firefighters and nurses. Nightlife needs public transport, food and hospitality and also leisure and cultural venues. For urban planners and policy makers, the night‑time has literally been a nightmare. It usually means conflicting priorities between those who want a good night’s sleep and those who want to revel. Cities have planning strategies to steer growth and development. In London, this strategy is called the London Plan, and every new plan involves many years of drafting, consultation and a rigorous legislative process. Until 2017, the London Plan had no planning policies for the night. There was no provision for the city at night, no plans to manage and support the growth of night‑time industries. Urban planning was almost entirely focused on daytime activities. In London, a dramatic decline in the number of music venues, clubs, pubs, and LGBTQIA+ venues put the spotlight on this neglected area of the economy. Action was needed, and research. For there was no data to prove the contribution night‑time industries 207

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make to city life and the economy as a whole. The night time was a blind spot in urban pol‑ icy, and like in Cinderella’s tale, left at home to rake the ashes, not allowed to go to the ball. This chapter is an auto‑ethnography based on my work over a decade as policy advisor in the Mayor of London’s office. I will trace how we took London’s night‑time economy from a neglected area of policy to embracing it as a key part of the city’s toolkit and an area for innovation. I will outline how we used global best practice, learning from pioneering cities in night‑time policies like Berlin and Amsterdam. I will explore turning points in London’s new blueprint policies now being shared with cities from Sydney to Tokyo, from Barcelona to Montreal. I believe that the lessons we learned in London are worth sharing and I hope that many other cities around the world may find some inspiration from our experience.

Saving the Ministry of Sound Nightclub: The Agent of Change Principle The story in London started in 2013 with the fight to save the world‑famous nightclub, the Ministry of Sound. It was to prove a turning point in the city’s handling of a conflict of inter‑ est between the development of luxury flats and the protection of an established night club. Going back to our Cinderella fairytale, we could say it was the point at which city hall began to roll out the red carpet for the night‑time economy, inviting it to take its place at the table alongside other players. The principle that saved the day – or rather the night – for the Ministry of Sound was called the ‘agent of change.’ This is a policy that has become enshrined in the national plan‑ ning legislation and a buzzword in cities all over the world, showing that seemingly conflict‑ ing activities – like a good night’s sleep and an all‑night rave – can in fact co‑exist. This chapter is how the story unfolded: In 2009, a proposal for a 41‑story tower block in the Elephant and Castle neighbourhood in London’s city centre was submitted to London’s city hall planning department. The new building was to be erected opposite the iconic Ministry of Sound, a world‑famous nightclub. Based in a converted bus garage, the legendary nightclub had been operating since 1991, home to thousands of revellers and the international record label of the same name. The management of the Ministry of Sound had, of course, vehemently opposed the devel‑ opment plans for the property opposite at every stage of the process. But four years of legal battles and media campaigns had brought little result. The hearing for the final decision to approve the development project was approaching fast. In November 2013, the Ministry of Sound Group published an open letter to the Mayor of London in the free newspaper the Evening Standard. The full‑page advertisement read: Ministry of Sound has been at the heart of London for a quarter of a century. We’ve earned our right to stay here. Over the past decade all of London’s big clubs have closed as a result of redevelopment. We’re the last man standing. Do you want to bring the shutters down on nightclubs in London for good? Please Boris,3 do the right thing for London, don’t stop the music. The letter was the nightclub’s last attempt to save its venue. The nightclub’s argument was that a single complaint from a resident in the new high‑rise tower would jeopardise the club’s licence and result in immediate closure. The club urged the Mayor to request for the 208

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new building to be acoustically sealed – with triple glazed windows, for example – and for residents to sign a legal agreement stating they would not file noise complaints (within a designated limit) to the local authority. I had just started my job as Policy Advisor at London’s City Hall and I was not sure what it entailed. I knew that the Ministry of Sound was a legendary club that attracted people from all over the world and had launched the careers of many DJs and musicians. In short, London was a better place because of it. I didn’t know anything about the procedures sur‑ rounding planning yet, but decided to step into action. We launched a fact‑finding mission with colleagues in London’s City Hall’s Culture and Creative Industries Unit. Again and again, we heard the same depressing story. The demise of London’s nightclubs, particularly in areas of rapid change and regeneration like King’s Cross and Dalston, they all follow a similar pattern. Nightclubs that had sprung up and flourished in abandoned warehouses were closed down and the properties converted into flats, often luxury flats. We were reminded of an important fact: the theatres in London’s city centre are protected by an Act of Parliament. This is why London still has a district that is referred around the world as the West End or Theatre‑land. We also researched other cities for international comparisons. We discovered Sydney’s innovative principle of protecting its music venues – the principle of the ‘Agent of Change.’ This principle gives the new player on the scene – the ‘agent of change’ – the responsibility for mitigating noise impact. So, if new housing is built near an existing venue, the developer must ensure the plans include noise mitigation features. Conversely, if a venue is built in an existing residential area, the onus is on the venue to ensure its neighbours are protected from the noise. Armed with our evidence, we walked into the Mayor’s office. If London’s theatres are protected, why aren’t its clubs? We were sure – we argued – this case could be symbolic. Ignoring the protests of some senior aides who couldn’t quite see what the case had to do with culture, we defended the club’s contribution to music and dance. We still didn’t really get a reaction. Then, from the back of the room, a young aide said: ‘You may be remembered as the Mayor who closed down Ministry of Sound.’ We left that room with the blessing to look into finding a solution. Protecting theatres may seem more obvious, they are often large buildings with grand staircases and beautiful and golden architraves, they have architectural value. To protect a nightclub in a disused bus garage, the value is not in the building but in the activity and its community value to the city. Our apprenticeship in urban planning began. We spent hours with colleagues from the city planning unit. They outlined the torturous planning history behind the project, and sank my desk with two years’ worth of paperwork: feasibility studies, plans, noise mitiga‑ tion assessments and legal advice. We got to grips with the whole process. But whenever we mentioned the ‘Agent of Change’ principle, the response was clear: ‘impossible.’ On December 19, 2013, the Ministry of Sound and the property developer agreed on a deal enabling the housing development project to go ahead without endangering the club’s future. This came after the Mayor encouraged a mediated solution at a three‑hour hearing in November The headline in the Evening Standard read ‘Hopeful resolution for Ministry of Sound in their ongoing battle against closure.’

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In the years that followed, we worked on turning this case into a policy in order to protect other clubs and music venues. Few venues have the means to fight four‑year legal battles or put full‑page adverts in newspapers. Working closely with the planning team, gathering evi‑ dence and ensuring the policy didn’t have any unintended consequences. In March 2021, the new London Plan was adopted outlining London’s legislation planning for the next 20–25 years. The Agent of Change became a new policy included in the London Plan (London City Hall 2021b) and referred in the chapter titled ‘Supporting London’s culture and creative industries’ as a policy that supports ‘a mix of uses which derive mutual benefits from, and do not compromise, the creative industries and cultural facilities’ (London City Hall 2021b). The Agent of Change and became known as the policy that protects night clubs, music venues and pubs from closure.

LGBTQIA+ Venues, Pubs: The Need for a Night‑Time Economy Plan Does Ministry of Sound classify as culture? Having answered that question with a resounding yes, it followed that LGBTQIA+ venues and pubs are culture too – a culture that requires pro‑ active policies to support it. This section outlines how we tracked the rapid loss of LGBTQIA+ venues and pubs and in understanding the causes behind the loss, we devised new policies to pro‑ tect these valuable venues. The campaign to save the Royal Vauxhall Tavern became a milestone.

Saving the Royal Vauxhall Tavern – London’s Iconic LGBTQIA+ Venue The Royal Vauxhall Tavern, also known as the ‘Vauxhall’ or the ‘RVT,’ is a Victorian pub and queer nightlife space, with a tradition of sexual and gender diversity dating back to the middle of the last century (Walters 2021). There is no clear date at which the Royal Vauxhall Tavern (RVT) became popular with queer communities. Built in 1860–62, it has continuously been identified with sexual and gender diversity and experimentation since the 1940s, and probably earlier. By the mid‑1970s, there were regular drag performances using the bar as a makeshift stage. To better suit cabaret in the early 1980s, the venue has become iconic for hosting a lively and international alternative performance and drag scene. (Campkin 2022) In 2014, the building was sold to a developer who had other ideas for the property. Situated in Nine Elms close to Battersea Power Station, this property dating from Victorian times was right in the middle of the largest development scheme London had experienced in the last 50 years, including a new underground station and new housing under a new local plan. The new owner of the Royal Vauxhall Tavern wanted to knock down the pub and build luxury flats. As a concession to the history of the much‑loved RVT, the developer proposed to open a champagne bar on the ground floor. New to London as they were, the developers had greatly underestimated how Londoners felt about this venue. A community campaign called RVT Future was set up to save the venue. At City Hall, we began to look into how we could mediate between the developers and the campaigners and retain the much‑loved and used LGBTQIA+ venue. The apprenticeship in city planning continued. In less than five years, a number of planning approaches were tested on the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. They were: 210

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1 Asset of Community Value: In 2014, the Royal Vauxhall Tavern was listed as an asset in recognition of its contribution to the community. The status of Asset of Community Value enabled the Royal Vauxhall Tavern campaign group to use the Community Right to Bid, a tool that gives locals six months to prepare a bid to buy or lease the building themselves. Designed to protect community spaces, this policy puts the onus on the com‑ munity to raise the necessary funds. Given London’s property market, the least it does is offer protection for a limited time. 2 The UK’s first ever LGBTQIA+ listed building: In 2015, RVT Future, the local authority and City Hall colleagues successfully put together the case for a Grade II Historic Eng‑ land listing. As the pub’s Victorian features were not significant enough for it to qualify as a place of architectural interest, the pub was listed for the value of its activities with and for the LGBTQIA+ community. It was the first‑ever listing of a venue for its significance to LGBTQIA+ history and heritage, a landmark in LGBTQIA+ rights (Walters 2015). 3 A local Conservation Area: In 2016, the local authority extended the Vauxhall Conserva‑ tion Area to include the Royal Vauxhall Tavern building, giving it further protection. 4 Designated ‘Sui Generis’: In 2017, the pub was officially put in a planning classification of its own. Sui Generis is a special category in planning use, which in the case of the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, guarantees its continued use as an entertainment venue, even in the event of a change of ownership. The efforts to protect the Royal Vauxhall Tavern show how city planning measures are nec‑ essary to safeguard cultural assets. It also shows how effective these measures can be if there is community support and political will (The Royal Vauxhall Tavern 2023). The campaign to save the RVT led the University College London (UCL) to conduct an in‑depth audit of LGBTQIA+ nightlife venues. The report maps data on all venues in London between 2006 and 2017, documenting closures and unpacking complex causes. (Campkin and Marshall 2017) This data was key to develop policy in the London Plan to support venues LGBTQIA+ ven‑ ues and develop a LGBTQ+ Venues Charter created by the Culture and Creative Industries Unit at City Hall. The Charter is ‘a five‑point pledge for operators, developers, pub compa‑ nies, property owners and others to support London’s LGBTQ+ pubs, bars, clubs and other venues.’ Creating a Charter is a means to encourage venues to self‑identify and ‘be counted’ as well as providing guidance to support the planning policy that supports the venue and its activity (London City Hall 2024; The Royal Vauxhall Tavern 2023).

Pubs Are Heritage London was not only losing its nightclubs and LGBTQIA+ venues, but London was also los‑ ing its public houses or pubs, as they are more commonly known. In 2015, the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) association of pub owners published a report that shocked the nation with the headline: ‘29 pubs closing every week across the UK’4 (CAMRA 2023). In London, we had anecdotal evidence of pub closures but these new statistics brought the de‑ cline into sharp perspective. At City Hall, we commissioned research to find out what was hap‑ pening to pubs in London. The figures were equally stark: between 2001 and 2017, the number 211

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of pubs in London had fallen by one quarter. A total of 1,220 pubs had closed since 2001, an average of 81 a year (CAMRA 2023). Further investigations showed that the main causes for closure were redevelopment schemes, rising rents and business tax as well as conflicts with resi‑ dents. All these causes point to market failure rather than a changing trend in society. Armed with the evidence, we began to build the arguments and explore policy instru‑ ments that could protect pubs. Interestingly, all political parties supported this endeavour, proof – should any be required – of what pubs mean in British culture. London is famous for its pubs, over half the city’s international visitors go to a pub during their stay (London & Partners 2017). Just as important, we argued, is the community value of pubs. Pubs make an invaluable contribution to social cohesion, economic development and community safety – they are part of London’s social capital. Again, we took a look at how other cities are trying to protect their more ‘informal’ herit‑ age assets, that are not formally listed as heritage. Buenos Aires, for example, has a list of ‘Bares Notables’ – bars considered remarkable for their historic, architectural and cultural interest or local relevance as meeting places for musicians and spaces of debate for writers, actors and civic leaders. These bars are now officially recognised as part of the city’s cultural heritage and protected by its planning system (City of Buenos Aires 2024; Páez 2023). Like‑ wise, Barcelona is aiming to protect over 200 emblematic shops ‘Establiments Emblemàtics’ (Comerç de Barcelona 2024) – with the city government offering protection and promotion to the emblematic shops. In London, we began work on developing a set of measures that would halt the number of pubs closing their doors across the capital. The Agent of Change principle was useful, as it meant that new residential properties near pubs were responsible for ensuring their own soundproofing. In 2017, the Mayor of London announced measures to protect pubs and in March 2021, when the London Plan was approved, these measures were included making it the most pro‑pub London Plan ever (London 2021). See Figure 3.3.1. Policy HC7 Protecting public houses A

B

C

In Development Plan Documents, town centre strategies, and planning decisions, boroughs should:

1) protect public houses where they have a heritage, economic, social or cultural value to local communities, or where they contribute to wider policy objectives for town centres, night-time economy areas, Cultural Quarters and Creative Enterprise Zones 2) support proposals for new public houses where they would stimulate town centres, Cultural Quarters, the night-time economy and mixed-use development, taking into account potential negative impacts. Applications that propose the loss of public houses with heritage, cultural, economic or social value should be refused unless there is authoritative marketing evidence that demonstrates that there is no realistic prospect of the building being used as a pub in the foreseeable future. Development proposals for redevelopment of associated accommodation, facilities or development within the curtilage of the public house that would compromise the operation or viability of the public house use should be resisted.

Figure 3.3.1 The London Plan – Policy HC7 – protecting public houses (Greater London Authority 2021).

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A Rescue Plan for music venues – paving the way for London’s night‑time strategy. Our work on music venues was another inflection point in developing a strategy for night‑time London. It allowed us to test the notion of the night‑time economy and create a dedicated task force who put forward recommendations, including the appointment of a Night Mayor for London. London’s music scene is a vital part of the city’s life, its economy and international appeal. Yet iconic venues are struggling under rising rents, soaring energy bills and the pressures of new housing nearby. Small and grassroots music venues are critical to the talent pipeline and the ongoing success of London’s and the UK music industry. They provide a platform where emerging and aspiring musicians can hone their work and build their audiences. As singer and songwriter Ed Sheeran recalls: There was a website that listed every promoter that did acoustic nights and I emailed every single one. There was probably about 300 of those gigs and I got about 50 replies. I did all those gigs. And then I went back and did them again. And again. (Greater London Authority 2015) Music venues are a major factor in making London a desirable city to live, work and visit. Live music events attract locals and tourists alike. Venues generate employment opportuni‑ ties including back‑of‑house jobs in lighting, sound engineering, marketing and promotion. The COVID‑19 pandemic had a devastating impact on the night time economy. The lock‑ downs and social distancing measures meant that cultural venues were the first to close and the last to open. According to UK Music,5 one in three jobs in the music industry was lost during the pandemic and live music revenues collapsed by about 90%. The pandemic’s en‑ during impact on music and live performance venues means musicians and people working in venues and recording studios are still recovering to this date. However, the pandemic highlighted issues and exacerbated problems that were there before. Since 2015, there has been an increasing number of campaign groups to save music venues. Live music venues were slowly disappearing but there was no system to track the net loss. We didn’t have the data. We set up the London Music Venues Taskforce to gather the evidence and examine the causes of closures. The Taskforce was also setting out recommendations to reverse the trend of closured. Working closely with the Music Venues Trust,6 we audited music venues in London. We agreed a definition of grassroots music venues as ‘a beacon of music and key generator of night‑time economic activity’ (Greater London Authority 2015). It is a space that: – focuses on cultural activities and is run by music experts – takes risks with its cultural programme – ‘plays nicely with others’, occupying an important role in the local community And finally, the elephant test: ‘A grassroots music venue must be recognised as such by the musicians and the audiences who go there.’ After months of meetings and discussions with the music industry, city planners, urban devel‑ opers and others, the taskforce published the Rescue Plan for London’s Grassroots Music Ven‑ ues in October 2015 (Mayor of London 2015). It was the first municipal document in the history 213

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of London to mention the night‑time economy. As shown in Box 3.3.1, the report concluded that one third of London’s grassroots music venues had closed between 2007 and 2015. This shocking figure gave us the best combination of data and jeopardy, and put us all into action.

Box 3.3.1 Data from Music Venues Audit, London’s Grassroots Music Venues Rescue Plan (Mayor of London 2015) • • • • •

348 live music spaces were trading in 2007. 82 additional live music spaces opened since 2007. 430 live music spaces traded in total between 2007 and 2015. Only 245 remain open in 2015, a decline in the number of trading live music spaces of 29.6%. Only 57% of the live music spaces that traded between 2007 and 2015 remain open, 185 live music spaces closed.

The Rescue Plan highlighted the value of the live music venues to the city and put forward arguments as to why the city should take action to rescue them. In doing so, the Rescue Plan paved the way for London’s night‑time economy strategy in the years to come. It influenced a number of new policies in London including the creation of the Culture at Risk office, which offers a one‑stop shop approach in supporting and advising cultural venues (a policy now replicated in New York City). The Rescue Plan was also the precursor of London’s first Cultural Infrastructure Plan, a tool to audit and provide planning visibility and advice to all cultural and community venues (London City Hall 2018b). The Rescue Plan recommendations also included a package of measures to address prob‑ lems in planning, licencing, business rates and promotion. First, it built on the work we did with the Ministry of Sound and recommended that the capital adopt the Agent of Change principle in its planning policies, which the 2021 London Plan proceeded to do. Second, it recommended that London’s planning policies should specifically refer to music venues and their economic, cultural and social value. It asked the Mayor to provide jar‑ gon‑free advice to the music industry on policies that can protect venues, how to use them and how to create new ones. All these recommendations were implemented in the course of the next mayoral administration, resulting in the most pro‑culture London Plan ever published. Finally, the Rescue Plan recommended the appointment of a Night Mayor for London.

The Night Time Commission and the Night Czar – The Plan Comes to Life The Grassroots Music Rescue Plan paved the way towards a night‑time economy strategy for London. We started an internal campaign to bring the notion of the night‑time economy into the various departments of City Hall, from our counterparts in economic development, to city planning and also in transport and policing. To establish a new approach for the night, we needed to get other colleagues on board. We tend to think that our city’s problems are unique, because each city is different, has its own character, demographics, governance and regulatory systems. But global cities are 214

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facing many similar challenges. In 2012, London along with eight global capitals set up the World Cities Culture Forum, a network of senior civic leaders who believe culture is key to thriving cities. Today, with over 40 cities across six continents the network shares culture so‑ lutions to urban challenges (World Cities Culture Forum 2024). So we activated our contacts in the World Cities Culture Forum to learn from cities pioneering the night‑time economy. In 2015, we invited Berlin’s Club Commissioner, Lutz Leichsenring, and Amsterdam’s Night Mayor Mirik Milan to meet London’s team and explain how their respectives roles work in their cities. In London, we worked with London’s Night Time Industry Associa‑ tion, then a newly set up trade organisation. As London was preparing to launch its first 24‑hour underground service, we had the perfect policy hook for our work on the night‑time economy. A big turning point came when Sadiq Khan, incumbent Mayor in the 2016 election, in‑ cluded the appointment of a Night Czar in his election manifesto. Once Sadiq Khan was elected as Mayor, we accelerated the plan. We set up a Night Time Commission that pro‑ duced a 24‑hour vision and appointed a Night Czar as the figurehead. The Night Time Commission conducted comprehensive research and gathered benchmark‑ ing data. It established a definition of night‑time as activities that take place between 6 pm and 6 am. The research dispelled some of the myths surrounding the night‑time economy. Look‑ ing at the relation between crime and alcohol consumption, for example, it found that as little as 4.3% of all crimes committed at night are alcohol‑related offences. On the subject of noise complaints, we found that national data shows that most complaints concern neighbours rather than cultural venues. We also discovered that night work does not pay well for everyone. Over half of employees on night shifts in the culture and leisure industry earn less than the hourly rate of the London Living Wage (Greater London Authority 2019a) (Figure 3.3.2). Based on the data and the evidence, a portfolio of projects and policies was developed, including: – setting up a Night Time Borough Champions Network to develop local night time strategies – publishing an LGBTQ+ Venues Charter to encourage more LGBTQIA+ venues to open – creating a Women’s Night Safety Charter with guidance for venues, operators, charities, councils and businesses to improve safety for women at night – scrapping Form 696, a controversial risk assessment form used by the Metropolitan Police that was considered racist for targeting particular music genres – creating Night Time Enterprise Zones to encourage investment and growth in night‑time businesses in the capital’s high streets. – encouraging night‑time businesses to pay the London Living Wage London’s night‑time economy also benefitted from initiatives that literally brought new light into the city. Lumiere London – a free festival of light with art installations dotted across the city centre – was attended by over 1 million people over a weekend in 2016 and also in 2018. Illuminated River was the world’s longest public art commission, lighting the bridges across central London. Spanning 3.2  miles, it was the first cohesive lighting plan for the River Thames ever created. Inviting locals and visitors to celebrate the city’s public spaces and architecture at night, the creation of city nightscapes with public light art installations is an emerging trend in cities all over the world. 215

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216 Figure 3.3.2  London night time facts (Greater London Authority 2019b).

Night Time Economy

A Global Movement: Future Trends Today, over 100 cities have dedicated champion roles to the night, from night mayors to advisors and night time deputy mayors. A forthcoming analysis of the 44 cities from the World Cities Culture Forum shows that a total of eight cities have included the night‑time economy in city policies. The list includes London, New York, Paris, Toronto and Sydney – with night‑time strategies and a dedicated team. A further 15 cities are engaging with their vibrant night‑time industries, but have not yet developed a specific night‑time vision or strategy. Finally, there are 21 cities that recog‑ nise their vibrant night‑time economies but have no dedicated policy or governance in place. When in 2016, Amsterdam hosted the first global Night Mayors Summit, the event was attended by a number of cities across the world. The depth of the discussions with sessions covered a wide range of topics from saving music venues to drug testing in clubs, and the camaraderie between the delegates was visible. This was a group of committed individuals championing the night, finding solutions and – importantly – starting to work as a collective, rather than as isolated activists in their separate cities. That summit was the genesis of the night‑time economy as a global movement. A lot of progress has been made since then. But there is more work to be done if the night‑time economy is to be a part of urban policy in global cities. Today there are now a number of conferences and events on the topic of the night‑time economy, proof of growing interest and the importance of exchanging ideas between cities. The trend may be upwards but we are still in the early stages of a global movement. A number of smaller cities are following suit: Manchester has a Night Time Economy Advi‑ sor and Bologna, a Deputy Mayor for the Night. Whilst Manchester aims to retain and grow its international reputation for a good nightlife and thriving music scene, in Bologna, the job is to balance the needs of local citizens with those of the city’s large student community. Bologna’s deputy mayor has had an early win, successfully establishing the city’s first‑ever night bus routes.

Future Trends From night transport to the club scene, night‑time mayors in city administrations are not just a fad. They are part of a plan to give visibility to the night‑time economy. Cities are increas‑ ingly seeing nightlife as an opportunity rather than a nuisance. Some possible policy trends for the future may include:

Night‑Time Jobs In London, research showed that night‑time jobs are growing fast with a 2.2% increase a year between 2001 and 2017 compared to 2% in the overall economy. With 65% of London‑ ers active at night, research also shows that the biggest growth in public transport use was at night (London City Hall 2018a). However, the rights of night‑time workers in London, the tough working conditions and the lower pay, remain a concern. With a burgeoning freight sector, the increase in automated jobs, night deliveries and work patterns to accommodate different time zones, night time jobs is an area where new policy may be required. 217

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Night‑Time Venues The loss of music venues, nightclubs and LGBTQ+ venues seems to be a concern in many cit‑ ies around the world, not just London. The densification of cities can bring tensions between residents and night‑time businesses, with competing demands on night‑time regulations and city government administrations. New policies will emerge to facilitate the reconciliation of different lifestyles and conflict‑ ing interests in a shared and increasingly limited space. The growing number of night may‑ ors underlines the importance of this area of action.

City Lighting Strategies Lighting in cities is seen as a safety factor but it is also an increasingly important feature of our cities at night. Free lighting festivals with a playful approach to illuminating heritage sites has become a global trend in cities from London to Nanjin, Barcelona and New York. Light can showcase flagship buildings like the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building, the colour‑ ful displays attracting tourism and media. Cities are also using light to mark occasions, both festive and solemn and buildings are beginning to light their shells as commercial canvases. However, no city has a lighting strategy, yet. If the trend for light grows, cities may end up with incoherent nightscapes, a hodgepodge of colours and lights at tourist hotspots and darkness in areas where light and safety measures might be needed most. Some work has be‑ gun in cities, such as London and Barcelona, to collate data and bring stakeholders together, but this policy area is clearly a pending subject.

Global Parliament of Night Mayors With over 100 cities boasting roles dedicated to the night‑time economy, there could be a role for a global parliament of night mayors. Networks like Vibelab and the World Cities Culture Forum are increasingly important as focal points for the international exchange of ideas, and an informal parliament could well be the next step forward.

Lessons Learned • The night‑time economy is now an established concept in London and many other cities around the world. It is regarded as a sphere of activity in its own right and an essential component of a dynamic and vibrant urban life. In London, it has a dedicated team and is a core part of the culture strategy. For the first time ever, the night‑time economy is included in the capital’s planning legislative framework – the London Plan – and is linked with wider policies including economic development, transport and safety. • Culture and the night‑time industries are key for a city to thrive. However, COVID‑19 had a devastating impact on night‑time businesses with many businesses still recovering from the pandemic. Understanding the support they need and establishing measures to protect them will continue to be a source of concern, particularly for the most fragile parts. • Cities are learning from each other and building international alliances to create better night‑time strategies across the globe. Active participation in city and night‑time economy networks is helping accelerate progress and the implementation of tried and tested ideas.

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• The night is the focus of our social lives and offers work to an increasing number of peo‑ ple. For too long, cities have regarded the night as a problem rather than an asset. The night, once seen as a Cinderella, the fairytale character left at home to rake the ashes, is now going to the ball, and when the clock strikes 12, it can carry on dancing. • Here are some of the guidelines based on our work in London: 1 Follow the data – Facts are friends. Analysing existing data and gathering new data is key. Data often tells a different story to accepted narratives. You may be surprised. Evidence and a good understanding of the data underpins a compelling case for new policies. 2 Start from the creative economy – The night‑time economy movement is led by the cultural and creative industries and their representatives in city governments. Work‑ ing with industry organisations is key for creating policies that are ambitious and realistic. 3 Build allies in other city departments – The night time does not exist in a vacuum. Co‑ operation across other teams including economic development, planning, transport and safety is key to success. 4 There is no silver bullet – The challenges facing the night‑time economy cannot be solved with one single policy. A portfolio of policies works best – an acupuncture ap‑ proach of precise aims and targeted measures. 5 Copy from other cities –  take the best ideas that work in other cities. Cities share many challenges, they can share solutions too. Learning from what works and – even more – what doesn’t work in other cities is a short cut to success.

Notes 1 Cinderella is a folk tale. The protagonist is a young girl living in forsaken circumstances that are suddenly changed to remarkable fortune. The word Cinderella has come to mean someone whose attributes are unrecognised, or someone unexpectedly achieves recognition or success after a pe‑ riod of obscurity and neglect (Wikipedia 2024). 2 In London, two thirds of babies are born at night – 4am being the most common time (Greater London Authority 2019). 3 Boris Johnson was Mayor of London from 3 May 2008 to 9 May 2016. 4 According to data from inter‑departmental business register (IDBR) and Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA), compiled by GLA Economics (available here: www.london.gov.uk/closingtime). 5 The UK’s music industry trade body. 6 A charity created in 2014, to secure the long‑term future of grassroots music venues.

Bibliography Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA). (2023). Pub Closure Report January‑June 2023. See: https:// camra.org.uk/campaign_resources/camra-pub-closure-report-january-june-2023/ Campkin, Ben, and Laura Marshall. (2017). “LGBTQ+ Cultural Infrastructure in London: Night Venues, 2006–2017.” UCL Urban Laboratory, September 2017. https://www.ucl.ac.uk/urban‑lab/ sites/urban‑lab/files/executive‑summary‑lgbtq‑cultural‑infrastructure‑in‑london‑night‑venues.pdf. Campkin, B. (2022). Royal Vauxhall Tavern: London, England. In Queer Spaces (pp. 126–127). RIBA Publishing.https://www.taylorfrancis.com/chapters/edit/10.4324/9781003297499‑57/royal‑vauxhall‑ tavern‑ben‑campkin

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Laia Gasch Casals City of Buenos Aires. (2024). “Bares Notables.” City of Buenos Aires. Accessed March 25, 2024. https://buenosaires.gob.ar/cultura/patrimonio‑de‑la‑ciudad/acciones/bares‑notables. Comerç de Barcelona. (2024). “Establiments Emblemàtics.” Comerç de Barcelona. Accessed March 25, 2024. https://ajuntament.barcelona.cat/comerc/ca/foment‑del‑comerc/establiments‑emblematics. Greater London Authority. (2015). “London’s Grassroots Music Venues Plan.” Greater London Authority, October 2015. https://www.london.gov.uk/sites/default/files/londons_grassroots_ music_venues_‑_rescue_plan_‑_october_2015.pdf. Greater London Authority. (2019a). Think Night: London’s Neighbourhoods from 6pm to 6am, July 2019. https://www.london.gov.uk/sites/default/files/ntc_report_online.pdf. Greater London Authority. (2019b). “London at Night: An Evidence Base for a 24‑Hour City.” Greater London Authority, November 2019. https://www.london.gov.uk/sites/default/files/lon‑ don‑at‑night‑full‑final.pdf. Greater London Authority. (2021). The London Plan 2021 ‑ The Spatial Development Strategy for Greater London. https://london.gov.uk/sites/default/files/the_london_plan_2021.pdf. London & Partners. (2017). “Tourism Report 2016–2017 ‑ London & Partners.” London & Partners, 2017. https://files.londonandpartners.com/l‑and‑p/assets/insights/london‑tourism‑report‑ 2016‑17.pdf. London City Hall. (2017a). “Shocking Data Reveals Number of Pubs in London Fell by 25% since  2001.” London City Hall, April 19, 2017. https://www.london.gov.uk/press‑releases/ mayoral/number‑of‑pubs‑in‑london‑fell‑by‑25‑since‑2001. London City Hall. (2017b). “Mayor Protects Pubs in His London Plan.” London City Hall, No‑ vember 27, 2017. https://www.london.gov.uk/press‑releases/mayoral/mayor‑protects‑pubs‑in‑his‑ london‑plan. London City Hall. (2018a). “Saving London’s Music Venues.” London City Hall, November 6, 2018. https://www.london.gov.uk/programmes‑strategies/arts‑and‑culture/music/saving‑londons‑ music‑venues. London City Hall. (2018b). “London at Night ‑ An Evidence Base for a 24‑Hour City.” London City Hall, November 14, 2018. https://www.london.gov.uk/business‑and‑economy‑publications/ london‑night‑evidence‑base‑24‑hour‑city. London City Hall. (2021a). “The London Plan Chapter 3 Design.” London City Hall, March 20, 2021. https://www.london.gov.uk/programmes‑strategies/planning/london‑plan/the‑london‑plan‑ 2021‑online/chapter‑3‑design#policy‑d13‑agent‑of‑change‑169867‑title. London City Hall. (2021b). “The London Plan Chapter 7 Heritage and Culture.” London City Hall, March 20, 2021. https://www.london.gov.uk/programmes‑strategies/planning/london‑plan/ the‑london‑plan‑2021‑online/chapter‑7‑heritage‑and‑culture. London City Hall. (2024). “LGBT+ Venues Charter.” City of London. Accessed March 24, 2024. https://www.london.gov.uk/sites/default/files/lgbt_venues_charter_2017.pdf. Mayor of London. (2015). London’s Grassroots Music Venues Rescue Plan. See: https://www.london. gov.uk/sites/default/files/londons_grassroots_music_venues_‑_rescue_plan_‑_october_2015.pdf and https://www.london.gov.uk/programmes‑strategies/arts‑and‑culture/music/saving‑londons‑ music‑venues. Páez, Natalia. (2023). “The Historic Cafés of Buenos Aires, a Protected Heritage.” The UNESCO Courier, March 2023. https://courier.unesco.org/en/articles/historic‑cafes‑buenos‑aires‑protected‑heritage. Roberts, M., and A. Eldridge. (2012). Planning the Night Time City. Routledge. RVT Community (2015). Listing Application. See: http://www.rvt.community/wp‑content/uploads/ 2015/09/Initial‑RVT‑listing‑application‑January‑2015.pdf. The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. (2023). “The Royal Vauxhall Tavern  –  The Story So Far, the Royal Vauxhall Tavern.” vauxhalltavern.com, July 2023. https://www.vauxhalltavern.com/24-april-2024royal-vauxhall-tavern-the-story-so-far/. Walters, Ben. (2015). Original Application to Make the Royal Vauxhall Tavern a Listed Building, January 2015. http://www.rvt.community/wp‑content/uploads/2015/09/Initial‑RVT‑listing‑appli‑ cation‑January‑2015.pdf.

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Night Time Economy Walters, B. (2021). ‘Once Upon a Time, There Was a Tavern’: Metadrag and Other Uses of the Past at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Drag Histories, Herstories and Hairstories: Drag in a Changing Scene Volume 2, 2, p. 15. Wikipedia. (2024). “Cinderella.” Wikipedia, March 20, 2024. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Cinderella. World Cities Culture Forum. (2024). ‘Definition of World Cities Culture Forum.’ World Cities Culture Forum website [online]. Accessed March 12, 2024. https://worldcitiescultureforum.com/about/.

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3.4 THE MAKING OF A MUSIC CITY Catalysts, Approaches, Benefits and Challenges of Enactment Christina Ballico

Introduction Music city frameworks leverage place‑specific music histories, heritages and/or present‑day activities for a range of social, cultural and economic benefits (Ballico and Watson, 2020; Johansson, 2023). Globally enacted, the number of city‑based applications of these frame‑ works has grown exponentially in the past decade, reflective of an increasing recognition of music’s vital role in everyday life and its capacity to contribute strongly to place‑based creative and cultural identity initiatives. Furthermore, the nuance of enactment of music city frameworks demonstrate the ways in which place‑based music industries and scenes can be supported within and beyond their home locales and across both private and public sectors. Considering the global scale at which music cities frameworks are being recognised and enacted, this chapter offers a critical examination of the different ways in which they can be leveraged in both formal and informal ways, offering insights for music industry practition‑ ers, advocates and government bodies wishing to enact such a framework in their city. Contextualised within broader debates regarding the creative and cultural cities move‑ ments, and music heritage and associated tourism, this chapter is underwritten by the con‑ cepts of the music scene and the music ecosystem as they relate to local, place‑based, music activity. While it does not present original empirical research, this chapter brings together a range of existing studies and publications  –  including that which has previously been undertaken by the author – in order to offer reflections on how cities can better support their local music industries and associated scenes through measures such as a music city framework. It draws on a combination of academic literature, as well as industry‑focused how‑to manuals, media coverage and associated analysis in its exploration of how such frameworks have and can be enacted, including the benefits and challenges of doing so. Its goal is to encourage a reflection and consideration on the ways in which music can be supported in place‑based contexts for those who wish to undertake such work, while also contributing to the ongoing discussion on the ways in which music is and can be supported within our cities and towns.1 DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-20

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A music city is one which ‘embeds music as a tool into its collective governance ethos across economic development, education, tourism and overall quality of life’ (Shapiro, 2022). The criteria for such a city encompass elements as they relate to the contributions to music his‑ tory and heritage, the attracting of music tourism and – owing to a thriving music scene and abundance of live music venues – one which attracts musicians and industry practitioners to live and work (Johansson, 2023, p. 40). To this end, as Bennett (2020, cited in Ballico and Watson, 2020, p. 10) explains, there is ‘no single, final answer, blueprint or original, and that as many ‘music cities’ exist as there are possibilities of encountering, interpreting, nurturing and remaking music itself.’ For the purposes of this chapter four music city frameworks are considered – three formal approaches – ‘superstar’ or ‘legacy’ cities, the UNESCO City of Music designation, and ac‑ tively branded cities – and one informal approach being the establishment of a city’s music office and/or associated music office/night mayor positions which have been adopted in cities around the globe. Such positions work to support growth in local music sectors, and more closely, the functioning and regulation of their associated music‑related nighttime economies (Reia, 2023). In addition, this chapter considers factors which can pre‑empt a music city framework enactment (such as the success of a music venue, community run museum or the student population associated with a conservatoire), as well as the ways in which herit‑ age and tourism activities can be leveraged within these frameworks. Taken collectively, the nuance of enactment to a music city framework demonstrates the varying ways in which music can be supported on a day‑to‑day basis, how it can be leveraged within both cultur‑ ally engaged place activation strategies, and its capacity for buy in from stakeholders who primarily sit within sectors outside the music industry.

The Structure and Evolution of Music City Frameworks The enacting of a music city framework can take a range of guises owing to the various for‑ mal and informal approaches outlined above. There are also various ways in which music culture, heritage and tourism can be enacted and commemorated in place‑based contexts, and resultantly engaged in such frameworks. Furthermore, the development and enactment of a music city framework requires the consideration of a range of factors as they relate to the identified needs of the music sector, the current and desired levels of music activity, the existing support mechanisms in place (such as government arts policies and funding measures), and the support of stakeholders within and beyond the music sector. Broadly speaking, a ‘successful’ music city enactment is one which creates ‘a supportive environ‑ ment for artists so that they can focus on doing what they do best: making music’ (Terrill et al., 2015, p. 14). An evolution of the creative and cultural cities movements of the past two decades (cf. Florida, 2003; Landry, 2012), the global reach and expansion of enactment music city frameworks can be tied to three 2015‑specific developments: an increase in UNESCO City of Music designations (see Table  3.4.1); the publication of The Mastering of a Music City handbook by Music Canada and the International Federation for the Phonographic Indus‑ try (Terrill et al., 2015); and, the establishment of the Music Cities Convention by research and strategy consultancy firm Sound Diplomacy. Continued growth of the movement is further evidenced in the establishment of various support networks such as the Music 223

Christina Ballico Table 3.4.1  UNESCO City of Music Designations (2006–2023) Year

Location

Year

Location

2006 2006 2008 2008 2012 2013 2014 2014 2014 2015 2015 2015 2015 2015 2015 2015 2015 2015 2015 2017 2017 2017 2017 2017 2017 2017 2017 2017 2017 2017 2017

Bologna, Italy Seville, Spain Ghent, Belgium Glasgow, Scotland Bogotá, Colombia Brazzaville, Congo Hamamatsu, Japan Hanover, Germany Mannheim. Mannheim Adelaide, Australia Idanha‑a‑Nova, Portugal Katowice, Poland Kingston, Jamaica Kinshasa, Congo Liverpool, England Medellín, Colombia Salvador, Brazil Tongyeong, South Korea Varanasi, India Almaty, Kazakhstan Amarante, Portugal Auckland, New Zealand Brno, Czech Republic Chennai, India Daegu, Korea Frutillar, Chile Kansas City, USA Morelia, Mexico Norrköping, Sweden Pesaro, Italy Praia, Cape Verde

2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2019 2021 2021 2021 2021 2021 2021 2021 2021 2021 2021 2021 2021 2023 2023

Ambon, Indonesia Essaouira, Morocco Havana, Cuba Kazan, Russia Kirsehir, Turkey Leiria, Portugal Llíria, Spain Metz, France Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago Ramallah, Palestine Sanandaj, Iran Santo Dominigo, Dominican Republic Valledupar, Colombia Valparaíso, Chile Veszprém, Hungary Vranje, Serbia Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates Batumi, Georgia Belfast, Ireland Huancayo, Peru Ibagué, Colombia Kharkiv, Portugal London, Canada Port Louis, Mauritius Recife, Brazil Santiago de Cuba, Cuba Tallin, Estonia Xalapa, Mexico Banja Luca, Bosnia and Herzegovina Bydgoszcz, Poland

Source: https://citiesofmusic.net/music‑cities/.

Cities Network (2016); the Music Policy Forum (2017); the Music City Awards (2020), and the wider uptake of positive government initiatives such as government – funded music offices and/or ‘night mayor’ positions which support music sector development and night‑ time economy functions (Reia, 2023). In addition, the academic study of the movement is a burgeoning field of study with various works examining the structure and application of different frameworks in situ (cf. Baker, 2019; Ballico and Carter, 2022; Ballico and Watson, 2020; Homan et al., 2021; Johansson, 2023). Owing to its growth and development over the past two decades, there are three formal music city frameworks which can be defined as follows:

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1 ‘Superstar’ or ‘legacy’ cities: These cities which have a particularly notable music herit‑ age – often associated with a particular genre of music or globally successful act. Ex‑ amples include Nashville, Tennessee and Seattle Washington in the United States and Liverpool, England in the United Kingdom. The musical legacy of these cities is typically leveraged as part of official tourism campaigns and showcased in museums (including genre and/or band specific spaces) (Ballico, 2024; Johansson, 2023). 2 UNESCO Cities of Music: These cities have received UNESCO City of Music designa‑ tion. The Cities of Music network forms part of the Creative Cities Network (CCN), which is underwritten by UNESCO’s 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development. The CCN comprises seven categories: Crafts and Folk Art, Design, Film, Gastronomy, Lit‑ erature, Media Arts, and as is our interest here, Music, and was established in 2004. The first Cities of Music designation was granted in 2006, and with some notable exceptions, cities which have received this designated are not associated with the prominent dis‑ course of contemporary music movements of the 20th century typically emerging from the United States or United Kingdom (Ballico and Carter, 2022). A list of UNESCO des‑ ignated Cities of Music is provided in Table 3.4.1. 3 ‘Actively branded’ cities: These are cities which engage a music cities framework and lever‑ age their own unique music‑related cultural and creative heritages in doing so. These cit‑ ies are not necessarily globally recognised for their musical talent and/or history, instead, music is recognised as a vital way through which a location’s creative and cultural histories and identities can be leveraged and supported (Ballico and Watson, 2020). An enactment of this sort will typically involve a range of economic feasibility studies into the state of the local music sector, considering its needs and the ways in which existing resources, activities and histories can be leveraged as part of a music city initiative (Johansson, 2023). In addition to these formal frameworks are initiatives which provide support (including but not limited to advocacy and advice) to local music industries and scenes such as funded mu‑ sic offices and/or music officer (or so called ‘night mayor’) positions. These positions provide specialised assistance to city‑based nighttime economies and broader music sector develop‑ ment (Reia, 2023). In other instances, cities may take a more ad hoc approach to supporting localised music activity in an attempt to enhance their cultural image and support economic development (Seman, 2010, cited in Johansson, 2023, p. 40). As identified by Terrill et al. (2015) and adapted by Johansson (2023, p. 42), there are seven key strategies which un‑ derly the enactment of a music city framework: (1) music‑friendly and musician‑friendly policies (2) a music office or officer (3) a music advisory board (4) engagement with the broader music community (5) access to spaces and places (e.g., venues and rehearsal spaces), (6) audience development and (7) music tourism. Taken collectively these varying approaches are influenced by the structure and function of the music industries and scenes as well as the broader ecosystems in which they engage. Broadly speaking, a music scene can be defined as ‘the production and consumption of specific music styles with collectively shared tastes and activities’ (Cohen, 1999, cited in Johansson and Bell, 2009, p. 220). To this end, a local music scene – i.e. one which exists in a specific geographical location – comprises a combination of musicians, industry prac‑ titioners and audiences who engage with (and/or are responsible for the development and

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sustention of) resources such as recording studios, record labels, artist management and live music venues. The development of such resources is influenced by the endeavours of individual innovators, with their prioritisation and engagement influenced by networks of learning and associated social capital within the local scene (2009, p. 222; Ballico, 2015). These varying scales and forms of activity are also impacted by a range of factors related to the city in which they operate. Such factors include a city’s size and relative location, its socio‑economic climate, urban planning initiatives, attitudes towards (and regulation of) arts and culture activity, supportive local media and flows of tourism (2009, p. 222). Further‑ more, the health of a city’s broader music ecosystem – that is, the wider remit of activities, services and infrastructure as they relate to music engagement within healthcare, education, hospitality, transport services, information technology and community settings (Sound Di‑ plomacy, 2019) – can influence the ways in which music is able to permeate beyond its scene and industry specific functions. As Schippers (2015, p. 137, cited in Johansson, 2023, p. 43) explains, music ecosystems encompass a wider remit of activities and resources than music scenes owing to the ways in which scenes can often be primarily focused on a narrow set of musical genres, with ecosystems extending to consider the broader context of music‑making culture and dissemination such as ‘infrastructure and organizations, rights and regulations, diaspora and travel, media and the music industry.’ To this end, as Johansson (2023, p. 42) posits, the enactment of a music city framework is in essence an act of the ‘creation, expan‑ sion, and maintenance’ of a music ecosystem. Furthermore, this interplay between music scenes, their wider ecosystems and the locations in which they operate demonstrate the importance of cross sector support, as well as external ‘buy‑in’ when enacting a music city framework. They also reveal a complexity to the relationship between sites of music activity and their engagement within such frameworks, particularly when considering music heritage and associated tourism.

The Role of Music Heritage and Music Tourism in a Music City Enactment Sitting at the juncture of both heritage and tourism industries, music tourism utilises so‑ cially constructed feelings of nostalgia, authenticity and the mythologising of place‑based music industries and scenes (Connell and Gibson, 2003; Fairchild, 2018; Gibson and Con‑ nell, 2005). Increasingly recognised for its capacity to drive economic development and to support the functioning of broader localised place‑based music industries and scenes (Ballico and Watson, 2020; Terrill et al., 2015), music tourism can leverage a combina‑ tion of elements as it relates to sites and activities of note within specific locations. These include the association of musicians and/or genres with specific geographical locations (such as The Beatles with Liverpool, The Smiths with Manchester, or grunge with Seattle), the notoriety of sites of musical creation (such as Abbey Road Studios in London, or Elec‑ tric Ladyland Studios in New York), sites of dissemination (such as CBGBs and The Fill‑ more East in New York) and/or the birthplace or former residence of a musician. These physical locations provide fans with sites to visit, while also being further bolstered by music‑specific and music‑engaged museums (Ballico, 2024). Furthermore, cottage indus‑ tries of privately run music history tours can support engagement with these place‑specific music histories and associated sites of activity (cf. Baker et al., 2016; Friedlander, 2018).

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Cities such as Liverpool in the United Kingdom and Nashville in the United States, for example, engage a broad cross section of music heritage initiatives. This effort results from their rich, internationally recognised music histories – being in relation to The Beatles and Country Music, respectively. These cities have leveraged a combination of music‑ and artist‑specific mu‑ seums, historically significant music venues, and/or recording spaces as part of a city‑wide mu‑ sic city framework enactment. Other cities, such as New York have leveraged their rich history of folk and punk music, through a range of walking tours, murals featuring musicians such as Joe Strummer of The Clash and Blondie (both of whom lived in the city), and streets being named after musicians such as Joey Ramone of The Ramones. In cities such as Austin, Texas in the United States, statues of Willie Nelson and Stevie Ray Vaughn – both of whom spent considerable time in the city – have been erected. The city is also home to the Texas Music Mu‑ seum – a government subsidised, and volunteer run museum commemorating the state’s music history – with the site of the original Austin City Limits music television show also being com‑ memorated by way of a plaque at the original site of its production (Ballico and Carter, 2022). The nuanced ways in which music heritage has been leveraged in these cities demonstrates the wealth of opportunities for music city framework enactment. They also represent the varying scale and scope at which a music city framework can be enacted – including in for‑ mal and informal ways – and in turn demonstrate how the flow of activities associated with these frameworks can be leveraged for cultural, social and economic benefits, as well as the possibilities for providing more support for music activities beyond a formal music city strat‑ egy. They also render clear the need for a combination of cross and beyond sector buy‑in, relationship building and government support in a music city enactment. Such buy‑in is particularly important owing to the ways in which music scenes and broader ecosystems function, and the ways in which they are regulated – positively and negatively – by way of various government‑based interventions. As outlined in Mastering of a music city (Terrill et al., 2015, p. 14), collaboration and cooperation ‘can lead to significant improvements to the regulatory and business environ‑ ments and are also the most effective means of gaining support from political leaders.’ As reported by Ballico and Carter (2022), the establishment and maintenance of relationships with stakeholders within public and private sectors play a vital role in developing and enact‑ ing a music city framework. In some cases – such as the UNESCO City of Music designa‑ tion  –  cross sector industry and government buy‑in is a requirement when applying, and because of this, relationships are developed during an application process, being further fa‑ cilitated through a music city framework enactment. This particular study – which examined the UNESCO City of Music designation processes, applications and impacts in the cities of Adelaide, Australia, Auckland, New Zealand, Kansas City Missouri, in the United States of America and Kingston, Jamaica, also found the value in such a process – with select cities citing the development of networks and relationships within and beyond the music sector as a key benefit to the enacting of a music cities framework. The UNESCO designation also supports the development of relationships – and associated knowledge sharing – between designated cities. These relationships can be further supported through having a central point of contact – such as the aforementioned city music office (and associated music officer roles), who can also assist in the development of supportive legislation and associated initia‑ tives (Terrill et al., 2015, p. 14).

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The Role of Governments in a Music City Enactment Night mayor (and other similarly titled roles) have become increasingly popular as a way for cities to support local music industries and scenes, particularly within the nighttime economy‑based live music space and, additionally, exist in cases whereby a city is not under‑ taking an official music city framework enactment (Reia, 2023). The establishment of a posi‑ tion which proactively works to develop positive and mutually beneficial dialogues between industry, government and the public and can be incredibly useful in supporting an effective music cities framework – particularly when considering challenges associated with restric‑ tive government regulation and ongoing urban redevelopment strategies (cf. Ballico, 2021; Ballico and Carter, 2018; Terrill et al., 2015). These roles can also assist in the development of healthy relationships within, between and beyond the various aspects of a city’s music industry, and in the cases of specific aspects of activity – such as live music venue operation, support said operators in being able to navigate complex regulatory environments. This is particularly useful owing to the ways in which the enactment of a music city framework will be influenced by the structure and function of local music scenes and ecosystems, and the regulations which govern – directly or indirectly – their functioning. Government regulation can impact a wide array of music activities, particularly in relation to that which occurs in space‑specific contexts such as live music venues, rehearsal spaces and recording studios. This space‑based regulation is multifaceted in nature, sitting across various regulatory acts, different government departments and different levels of govern‑ ment, encompassing aspects as they relate to business licencing, liquor regulation and urban planning (Ballico and Carter, 2018; Ballico and Carter, 2022; Terrill et al., 2015). While such policies may negatively impact the abilities of music scenes and industries to function, they can be mitigated through positive policy initiatives such as designated entertainment pre‑ cincts, rights of first occupancy/the agent of change principle,2 heritage designations and arts funding models which can support the protection of spaces and assist in allowing musicians and other industry practitioners to engage in their work (Burke & Schmidt, 2013; Johans‑ son, 2023; Terrill et al., 2015).

The Catalysts, Components, Benefits and Challenges of a Music City Framework The decisions to enact a music city framework can encompass wishing to diversify a city’s tourism offerings (such as in the case of Kingston, Jamaica), to leveraging the success of particular sites of activity (such as in the case of the community project space Fábrica de Arte Cubano in Havana, Cuba), a desire to support community engagement through music‑ related heritage in museum spaces (such as in the case of Birmingham in the United Kingdom), or educational institutions (such as the conservatorium at the University of Missouri‑Kansas City) which drive a student‑based population to the city. Furthermore, the desire for local music sectors to garner more government support and assistance for their activities – and a legitimisation in the process – has also been found to be a key deciding factor when deciding to enact a music city framework (Baker et al., 2020; Ballico and Carter, 2022; Soares, 2020). In turn, the cities which enact music city frameworks experience a range of social, cultural and economic benefits from doing so (Ballico and Watson, 2020; Baker, 2019). Enacting such a framework can also support the legitimisation of a place‑based music industry in 228

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several ways. This can include the legitimisation of music activities and associated histories, the capacity for additional support and regulatory reform of the sector and the develop‑ ment of networks within and beyond home locales (Ballico and Carter, 2022). An example of those benefits can be further demonstrated through the example of the UNESCO City of Music designation’s requirements (Ballico and Carter, 2022): • Legitimisation of music activities and associated histories: Engagement with music‑specific cultural and creative identities within a targeted framework and set of activities – such as a music city branding campaign or similar – can support the legitimisation of music as a cultural good and demonstrate a wider recognition of local music talent within the city. For musicians and music scenes which experience what is known as ‘cultural cringe’ – that is, the idea that only music from outside their city is legitimate and worthy of support, or that in order to be considered worthy of attention their music must make an impact outside the city – the activation of a local music scene through a music cities framework can help shift these attitudes and work to build local audiences. • Capacity to push for regulatory reform: The application of a music city framework sup‑ ports a push for regulatory reform. Such reform may be enacted through solutions as they relate to a range of activities within and beyond the music sector and in some cases has even included making changes to parking and/or public transport provisions which can assist in the functioning of live music scenes. • The development of networks: The development of networks within and beyond the city is also a benefit arising from a music cities framework. The ways in which a UNESCO bid is developed for example – requiring a cross section of support within and beyond the local music sector, including notably government support – facilitates the development of, or at the very least can strengthen existing support networks for music activity. A music city framework enactment extends to also support a range of economic outcomes as they pertain to job creation and tourism growth. Music can also work to attract other investments to the city and act as a vital tool for the regeneration of post‑industrial cities as well (Baker et al., 2020; Terrill et al., 2015, p. 13). That said, a range of challenges also ex‑ ist in the ways in which these frameworks can be enacted. This ranges to an erasure of the uniqueness of a city’s music scene/s, the capacity for music to be lost within a wider creative city framework enactment; as well as issues around music‑related urban governance regula‑ tion, and challenges as they pertain to audience development: • Uniqueness erasure: The potential for the erasure of uniqueness of a city’s music scene due to the focus on a particular genre/identity or a focus on historical over present‑day activities, as well as the tension which can result from honouring and leveraging histo‑ ries, which overtake from present‑day activities and music identities (Johansson, 2023). Such erasure is a particular challenge in cities such as Liverpool, in the United Kingdom, owing to the tension between the history of The Beatles with that city and its present‑day music activity (Ballico and Watson, 2020, p. 8; Bennett, 2020; Jones, 2020). • Issues pertaining to restrictive legislation: Despite significant local support, cities enact‑ ing a music city framework can still have otherwise restrictive legislation which can im‑ pact specific facets of local music activity and in turn limit the capacity for a successful 229

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music cities enactment. Furthermore, the capacity for a music city enactment will be limited in cases where there is little to now government support, as has occurred in the UNESCO City of Music designated Chenni, India (cf. Mani, 2020). • Challenges with audience development: Audience development can also be difficult to undertake in small cities and therefore, despite significant support locally through the enactment of a music cities framework, audiences can remain limited for local music activity (cf. Ballico, 2021). Audience development can be further exacerbated in cases where cities also have to overcome a lack of legitimacy and local support for their musi‑ cal activities – including that which results from ‘cultural cringe’ (Ballico, 2021) and/or small audience sizes for local music activity. Such benefits and challenges are both demonstrative of the need for a nuance of approach, while also being influenced by the approach/es undertaken. Furthermore, they also demon‑ strate the ways in which a music city enactment can work to redress particular challenges and in turn benefit the music industry and scenes in question.

Lessons Learned • We offered a critical examination of the different ways in which music cities frameworks can be leveraged in both formal (‘superstar,’ ‘UNESCO City of Music’ and ‘actively branded’) and informal ways (such as through the establishment of music offices and their associated music office and/or night mayor positions). • Taking the learnings shared in this chapter into consideration, when deciding to enact your own music city framework – whether it be a formal enactment or initiatives which can informally support your local music sector, it can be useful to work through the fol‑ lowing questions and prompts: 1 To what scale do you wish to enact a music cities framework? When deciding this, consider the ‘type’ of music city framework, as well as the short‑, medium‑ and long‑term goals which are required to be met in order for it to be successfully enacted. 2 How healthy is your local sector in relation to the spaces in which it operates? What are the key venues (live music, recording, office spaces – including co‑working hubs) needed to support your local sector? When determining this health, consider the shortcomings needing to be addressed in order to support this sector. 3 What local music heritages and histories can you leverage in your framework, and how can you ensure an equal spread of perspectives within and across these histories? 4 Who are the key actors you would need to engage with to enact your framework? In determining these actors, also consider how you can build these relationships – or leverage existing ones to support the enactment of your framework. 5 How is your local music sector regulated and who are the key agencies involved in the enacting this regulation? Consider the shortcomings which need to be addressed in order to have supportive regulatory (and broader) government support in place. 6 Does your city have a local music office, and if not, where does your culture and arts department sit within broader government structures? Consider whether it is feasible for your city to establish a music office, or have an advisory board and how you could go about this. 230

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Notes 1 An early version of this work presented in a Masterclass format for government and industry representatives at the Valparaiso Musical Conference in Santiago Chile in 2021. 2 The rights of first occupancy/agent of change principle require, per the Music Venue Trust (2022), “the person or business responsible for the change [to be] responsible for managing the impact of the change.” For example, a music venue establishing itself in a neighbourhood would be re‑ quired to pay for any and all sound attenuating required for the space. Similarly, a new apartment complex being built next to a live music venue would be required to ensure they were adequately sound proofed.

Bibliography Ballico, C. (2024). Taking music to the (museum) masses: The materiality of the country music and grunge histories in Nashville and Seattle. In O. Johansson, S. Guillard and J. Palis (eds.), New Geographies of Music 2: Music in Urban Tourism, Heritage Politics, and Place‑Making (pp. 97– 116). Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan. Ballico, C. (2021). You get to know the scene inside out, but the cost of travel is a burden: The im‑ pacts of isolation and peripherality on the contemporary music scene of Perth, Western Australia. In Ballico, C (ed.), Geographically Isolated and Peripheral Music Scenes: Global Insights and Perspectives (pp. 35–53). Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan. Ballico, C. (2015, January). The people who watch the bands are the people who are in the bands: The influence of social networks and social capital on creative and business activity in local music scenes. In Cattermole, J., H. Johnson, and O. Wilson (eds.), Into the mix people, places, processes: Proceedings of the 2014 IASPM‑ANZ Conference (pp. 3–11). Dunedin: IASPM ANZ. Ballico, C., & Carter, D. (2018). A state of constant prodding: Live music, precarity and regulation. Cultural Trends, 27(3), 203–217. Ballico, C. and Carter, D. (2022). Music cities, or cities of music? In Anderton, C., and S. Pisfil (eds.), Researching Live Music (pp. 199–211). Oxon: Routledge. Ballico, C. and Watson, A. (eds.). (2020). Music Cities: Evaluating a Global Cultural Policy Con‑ cept. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Baker, A. (2019). The Great Music City: Exploring Music, Space and Identity. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Baker, S., Istvandity, L. and Nowak, R. (2016). Curating popular music heritage: storytelling and narrative engagement in popular music museums and exhibitions. Museum Management and Cu‑ ratorship, 31(4), pp. 369–385. Baker, S., Nowak, R., Long, P., Collins, J. and Cantillon, Z. (2020). Community well‑being, post‑industrial music cities and the turn to popular music heritage. In Ballico, C., and A. Watson (eds.), Music Cities: Evaluating a Global Cultural Policy Concept (pp. 43–61). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Bennett, T. (2020). Re‑rewind: Heritage, representation and music city aspiration in Southampton. In Ballico, C., and A. Watson, (eds.), Music Cities: Evaluating a Global Cultural Policy Concept (pp. 19–42). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Burke, M. and Schmidt, A. (2013). How should we plan and regulate live music in Australian cities? Learnings from Brisbane. Australian Planner, 50(1), 68–78. Connell, J. and Gibson, C. (2003). Sound Tracks: Popular Music, Identity, and Place. London: Routledge. Fairchild, C. (2018). Caught between the spectacular and the vernacular: The illusory demos of the popular music museum. Music and Politics, 12(2), 1–30. Florida, R. (2003). Cities and the creative class. City & community, 2(1), 3–19. Friedlander, E. (2018). A walking tour of Manhattan’s rock ‘n’ roll past: The 2000s. New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/11/20/arts/music/indie‑rock‑walking‑tour‑manhattan.html.

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Christina Ballico Gibson, C. and Connell, J. (2005). Music and Tourism: On the Road Again. Clevedon: Channel View Publications. Grodach, C. (2013). Cultural economy planning in creative cities: Discourse and practice. Interna‑ tional Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 37(5), 1747–1765. Johansson, O. (2023). The music cities movement and circulation of best practices: A North Ameri‑ can case study. In Johansson, O., S. Guillard and J. Palis (eds.) New Geographies of Music 1: Urban Policies, Live Music, and Careers in a Changing Industry (pp. 39–65). Singapore: Springer Nature Singapore. Johansson, O. and Bell, T. L. (eds.). (2009). Sound, Society and the Geography of Popular Music. Surrey: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd. Jones, M. (2020). The place of the Beatles within Liverpool as a UNESCO City of Music. In Ballico, C., and A Watson (eds.), Music Cities: Evaluating a Global Cultural Policy Concept (pp. 81–101). Homan, S., O’Hanlon, S., Strong, C. and Tebbutt, J. (2021). Music City Melbourne: Urban Culture, History and Policy. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing. Landry, C. (2012). The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators. Sterling: Earthscan. Mani, C. (2020). Chennai: Culture at the cusp of change. In Ballico, C., and A. Watson (eds.), Music Cities: Evaluating a Global Cultural Policy Concept (pp. 103–125). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Music Venue Trust. (2022). What is ‘Agent of Change’… and why is it important? Music Venue Trust. https://www.musicvenuetrust.com/2014/09/what‑is‑agent‑of‑change‑and‑why‑is‑it‑important/. Reia, J. 2023. Why more cities are hiring ‘night mayors’ and establishing forms of nighttime govern‑ ance. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/why‑more‑cities‑are‑hiring‑night‑mayors‑ and‑establishing‑forms‑of‑nighttime‑governance‑202488. Schippers, H. (2015). Applied ethnomusicology and intangible cultural heritage: Understanding ‘ecosystems’ of music as a tool for sustainability. In Pettan S., and J. T. Titon (eds.), Oxford Hand‑ book of Applied Ethnomusicology (pp. 134–157). New York: Oxford University Press. Seman, M. (2010). How a music scene functioned as a tool for urban redevelopment: A case study of Omaha’s Slowdown project. City, Culture and Society, 1(4), 207–215. Shapiro, S. (2022). Commentary: How a ‘music audit’ led to equitable economic development in Huntsville, Ala. The Brookings Instiute. https://www.brookings.edu/articles/how‑a‑music‑audit‑ led‑to‑equitable‑economic‑development‑in‑huntsville‑ala/. Soares, T. (2020). Beyond nostalgic Havana: Music and identity in the Fábrica de Arte Cubano. In Ballico, C., and A. Watson, (eds.), Music Cities: Evaluating a Global Cultural Policy Concept (pp. 63–79). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Sound Diplomacy. (2019). Music ecosystem. Sound Diplomacy. https://www.sounddiplomacy.com/ our‑insights/2019/8/12/music‑ecosystem. Terrill, A., Hogarth, D., Clement, A. and Francis, R. (2015). The mastering of a music city: Key ele‑ ments, effective strategies, and why it’s worth pursuing. IFPI/Music Canada.

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3.5 FROM WELLINGTON TO WELLYWOOD Mapping the Emergence of a Global Screen Production Hub Alfio Leotta Introduction Traditionally, screen studies scholars have been concerned with the examination of the individual trajectories of specific auteurs, genres, production companies and TV networks. Similarly, screen studies’ place‑based unit of analysis has tended to be the larger national frame (O’Regan, 1996; Dunleavy and Joyce, 2011). However, since the early 2000s increas‑ ing scholarly attention has been paid to the analysis of how screen production works in particular cities (Scott, 2000, 2005). Recently, film and television studies scholars have at‑ tempted to situate screen media development in its relation to cities in order to think about the relation between places – some at the center, others at the periphery, some dominant, oth‑ ers subordinate – in an increasingly globalizing screen media system. In this context, Michael Curtin (2003) has coined the term ‘media capital’ and Stefan Krätke and Peter Taylor (2004) ‘global media cities’ to account for the web of connections extending outwards from major media centers to other cities in global networks. While this research initially focused on the larger European, American and Japanese cities, it has increasingly broadened to analyze both the rise of new ‘media capitals’ in India, Africa, Asia and Oceania and the role played by sec‑ ond‑ and third‑tier cities in the developed world (Curtin, 2010; Leotta and O’Regan, 2014). Contemporary discourses about ‘media capitals’ have often been informed by the concept of ‘Creative City’, a notion developed in 1988 by David Yencken to describe new urban planning paradigms that foster creativity and emotionally satisfying experiences among its citizens. The concept of the ‘creative city’ was further popularized by influential texts such as John Howkins’ The Creative Economy (2001) and Richard Florida’s The Rise of the Crea‑ tive Class (2002). Florida opened one of his subsequent books, The Flight of the Creative Class (2005), with a case study of Wellington, the capital of New Zealand, which he enthusi‑ astically defined as a quintessential ‘creative city’. In his book, Florida celebrated the crucial role that the production of The Lord of the Rings (LOTR) trilogy in the early 2000s played in enabling the transformation of Wellington into one of the most sophisticated screen pro‑ duction hubs in the world. Although Florida’s theories have been criticized for ‘work[ing] 233

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-21

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quietly with the grain of extant ‘neoliberal’ development agendas, framed around interurban competition, gentrification, middle‑class consumption and place‑marketing’ (Peck, 2005), many local stakeholders and policy‑makers continue to embrace the notion of Wellington as a ‘Creative City’. This chapter will map the development of Wellington into both a creative city and a screen media capital. More specifically, it will consider Wellington’s media cluster along two di‑ mensions – that of its internal organization within the geographical space of metropolitan Wellington and that of the city’s place within the ecology of both New Zealand and global screen media. The first part of the chapter will discuss how Wellington’s transformation into a global screen production hub, which some local stakeholders informally refer to as ‘Welly‑ wood’, was made possible in part by a number of factors including: – The cultural and economic policies developed by both the national government and the Wellington city council in the 1980s and 1990s. – The history of Wellington as one of New Zealand’s major centers of screen production. – The city’s cultural, economic, social and geographical specificities. The last part of the chapter will examine how the emergence of Wellington as one of the main hubs of global screen production was favored by both the international success of some large production companies and recent technological and economic changes in the global media system. The chapter will conclude with a discussion of the present and future chal‑ lenges Wellington will need to face to maintain its status as a global screen production hub.

The New Zealand Film Industry Wellington is the capital city of Aotearoa1 New Zealand, an island country located in the South Pacific. Aotearoa was settled by navigators coming from East Polynesia between 1250 and 1300 AD. These Polynesian tribes did not identify themselves by a collective name until the arrival of Europeans when, to mark their distinctiveness the name Māori (‘ordinary’) came into use (Wilson, 2020). The country’s modern history is marked by the process of colonization initiated by British settlers in the first half of the 19th century. Such process cul‑ minated in the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi, an agreement between the British Crown and Maori chiefs, which gave the British sovereignty over New Zealand. From the late 19th century until the 1960s, New Zealand, as an independent Dominion, maintained a privileged economic relation with Britain, which also represented the country’s main politi‑ cal, cultural and social reference. According to historian James Belich, the end of the 1960s represented an important turning point in New Zealand’s history, as the emergence of the European Economic Community induced Britain to reframe its economic, political and cul‑ tural activities within Europe. As a result of this, Britain started to loosen its ties with former colonies such as New Zealand, which, in turn, was forced to find a new position within the global market (Belich, 2007). The contemporary New Zealand film industry developed in the late 1970s when the coun‑ try was forced to rebrand itself, both in cultural and economic terms, as more than a mere producer of raw material (i.e. wool, dairy products and frozen lamb) for its former mother country, Britain. During the silent era New Zealand had produced several feature films, however, a number of factors including the small domestic market; the inability of local film 234

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producers to compete against Hollywood and British films that featured much higher pro‑ duction values; the lack of significant barriers to the import of foreign films, led to the rapid decline of the local film industry (Martin and Edwards, 1997). Between the early 1930s and the mid‑1970s most of the film production in New Zealand was constituted by documenta‑ ries and propaganda films produced by government‑funded institutions (Leotta, 2011). The New Zealand film industry experienced a significant revival in the 1970s when the national government was more receptive to the idea of both fostering new economic sectors and de‑ veloping a distinct national identity. In 1978, the minister for Arts, Recreation and Sport, Alan Highet, formulated a law that established the New Zealand Film Commission (NZFC), an institution tasked with funding and supporting local productions that featured ‘signifi‑ cant New Zealand content’ (Shelton, 2005, 24). The 1980s represented an important transition moment for New Zealand cinema, as film production increased from two features in 1980 to six in 1982 and 14 in 1984. This rapid expansion in the production of feature films was caused by several factors. On the one hand, the establishment of the NZFC provided essential funding for local features. On the other hand, local and international investors discovered loopholes in New Zealand tax laws which allowed movie production to become a means of obtaining tax relief (Leotta, 2011, 37). The tax loopholes were gradually closed in 1984, causing a temporary decline in the number of features produced, but the basis for a stable film industry had been set, thereby making possible the international success of the 1990s with films such as Once Were Warriors (Tamahori, 1993); Heavenly Creatures (Jackson, 1993) and The Pi‑ ano (Campion, 1994). In the mid‑1990s, New Zealand had also become the destination of several major American TV productions such as Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (1995– 1999) and Xena: The Warrior Princess (1995–2001). Similarly, in 1997 the availability of cheap labor and infrastructures, as well as favorable exchange rates, persuaded the execu‑ tives of Universal to produce the CGI‑rich blockbuster The Frighteners (Jackson, 1997) in Wellington.2 The successful completion of these major international productions enhanced New Zealand’s reputation as a potential film location paving the way for the making of LOTR in the early 2000s. Following the global success of LOTR, the 2000s were characterized by the extraordi‑ nary investment of the New Zealand government in the creative industries, with a particular focus on screen production. In 2003, the New Zealand government launched the Large Budget Screen Production Grant, which offered a 12.5% tax rebate for projects with budg‑ ets over NZ$ 15 million. The grant aimed to increase the allure of New Zealand for major international film‑producing companies, and it was successful in attracting international films such as The Last Samurai (Zwick, 2003), The Chronicles of Narnia (Adamson, 2005), Avatar (2009), X‑Men Origins: Wolverine (Hood, 2009) and The Hobbit trilogy (Jackson, 2012–2014). In 2013, as a consequence of the strong New Zealand currency there was a rapid decline in the number of international film productions made in New Zealand (Leotta, 2016). Several New Zealand film‑makers, including Peter Jackson, lobbied the government asking for more alluring tax incentives for international productions. The government even‑ tually complied by initiating a revision of the Large Budget Screen Production Grant and by establishing the New Zealand Screen Production Grant which offered qualifying interna‑ tional productions 20% cash grants (25% for productions which have significant cultural and economic benefits). The new incentives offered by the government proved to be crucial 235

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to secure the production of the Avatar sequels which were filmed in Wellington in the late 2010s (Hunt, 2013) as well as Amazon’s Rings of Power (2021). Since the production of the LOTR, the financial incentives offered by the national govern‑ ment have been the subject of heated debates regarding their financial effectiveness (Watkins, 2023). In 2018, an evaluation of NZSPG by the Sapere Research Group concluded that for every dollar spent on international film grants, New Zealand received $2.35 in net benefit. However, two subsequent independent reviews of the Sapere evaluation, commissioned by the Ministry of Business and Innovation questioned the validity of its numbers and suggested that the direct economic benefits for New Zealand were likely to be minimal (Chapman, 2021). It is undeniable, however, that since the early 2000s the international productions attracted by these schemes stimulated significant expansion in both industry infrastructure and the development of specialized post‑production facilities. They also played a crucial role in increasing the supply of work for a highly skilled local film workforce (Dunleavy and Joyce, 2011, 223). The development of a strong film culture led to the return of established film‑makers such as Jane Campion but also to the emergence of internationally acclaimed indigenous directors such as Taika Waititi. In turn, both Waititi’s success and the compre‑ hensive diversity and inclusion strategies deployed by NZFC in the 2010s contributed to spearhead a new wave of indigenous film‑makers (Webb, 2023). The importance of film production in New Zealand is highlighted by the fact that during the making of The Hobbit films in 2012 the screen industries contributed US$ 2.78 billion or 1.4% of the country’s total GDP thus surpassing the contribution a traditionally crucial eco‑ nomic sector such as dairy production (Pricewaterhouse & Coopers, 2012). In subsequent years, this contribution fluctuated, however the screen industries remained a key economic sector (NZIER, 2017). Between them, Wellington and Auckland, two of the three largest New Zealand cities, are responsible for the bulk of local film and television production. Auckland and Wellington’s 88% combined share of production and post‑production busi‑ nesses generate 96% of revenue in the country (Statistics NZ, 2015). While Auckland, as New Zealand largest city and main commercial hub, is the undisputed center for television commercial (TVC) production, TV broadcasting (100% of the share of gross revenue) and film and video distribution (98%), Wellington specializes in animation and post‑production (73%) (NZIER, 2017). Although there is significant production activity in the South Island of New Zealand, notably, in Christchurch and Dunedin, Auckland and Wellington remain the main New Zealand media cities.

Wellington Wellington is the political capital of New Zealand and with a population of 435,000 is the country’s third biggest city after Auckland and Christchurch. The Wellington urban area is the New Zealand region with the highest median incomes, highest proportion of working age population and highest proportion of its population working in communication ser‑ vices, finance, insurance and business services industries (Pearce, 2007, 9). The city is also characterized by the presence of a political elite, public servants, diplomatic contingents and those working in national cultural institutions. Many of these characteristics of Wel‑ lington derive ultimately from the presence of the national government in Wellington as

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New Zealand’s capital. This gives the city a depth and scale of cultural activity that its size belies (Leotta and O’Regan, 2014). Historically, Wellington hosted some of the most significant screen production institu‑ tions in the country and is informally considered the film capital of New Zealand (Tourism NZ, 2023). For a long time during the 20th century, Wellington was home to the only two film production companies in the country, The National Film Unit (NFU) and Pacific Films. The NFU was a government‑funded institution established in 1941 with the goal to produce documentaries as well as tourism and propaganda films for the government (Leotta, 2011). The NFU did not produce feature films, however, it assisted other film‑makers as it was the only major post‑production facility in the country. The NFU represented an important train‑ ing ground for some of New Zealand’s future film‑makers such as Sam Neill, Roger Mirams and Cecil Holmes. Peter Jackson himself applied (unsuccessfully) for an internship at the NFU after graduating from high school (Sibley, 2006, 46). Eventually, when the NFU was privatized in the 1990s, Jackson purchased it and renamed it as Park Road Postproduction. Pacific Films was established in 1948 by former NFU members Alun Falconeer and Roger Mirams and it was New Zealand’s only major private film production company until the 1970s. When film pioneer John O’Shea joined the company in 1950 he produced and di‑ rected the only three feature films made in New Zealand during the 1950s and 1960s (Leotta, 2011). Pacific Films provided a number of emerging New Zealand film‑makers with crucial training opportunities and contributed to the development of Wellington’s film culture. During the 1970s and 1980s, Wellington was also a major TV production center courtesy of the Avalon Studios, which in the late 1970s were considered to be the largest television studios in the southern hemisphere. Many prominent collaborators of Peter Jackson, includ‑ ing Jamie Selkirk, Fran Walsh and Richard Taylor, started their career working for some of the television productions based in the capital city during the 1980s (Leotta and O’Regan, 2014). Finally, the city’s general orientation to film was also reinforced by the presence of important film institutions such as the New Zealand Film Commission, the New Zealand Film Archive (now Ngā Taonga) and the Wellington Film Society, which screened many of the international film classics that were not distributed by mainstream exhibition outlets (Sigley, 2013). Some important socio‑economic changes that occurred in Wellington during the early 1980s further contributed to its subsequent transformation into a global hub of film pro‑ duction in the late 1990s. Since the late 1970s Wellington faced a difficult process of struc‑ tural change, as the city progressively lost its New Zealand centrality in finance, corporate headquarters, advertising and television and film production (Page, 1996, 129). These struc‑ tural changes had been compounded by broader changes in national government settings as the public service underwent restructuring with the privatization and selling of govern‑ ment assets. This combination of privatization and deregulation of government functions led to a significant loss of jobs, many of which had been located in Wellington (Leotta and O’Regan, 2014). The privatization and downsizing of the public sector which corresponded to Wellington’s decline during the 1980s translated into low property prices, which allowed film‑makers such as Peter Jackson to gradually purchase a number of buildings and former government infrastructures (including the NFU and various studios) which were used for the production of his large international blockbusters in the late 1990s (Leotta, 2016).

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More importantly, this economic decline meant that Wellington had to move earlier than many other New Zealand, or even Australian, cities to adopt the nomenclature of the knowl‑ edge economy and brand itself as a cultural and creative city (Leotta and O’Regan, 2014). The notion of Wellington as the cultural capital of New Zealand gained significant traction in 1998 with the opening of Te Papa, New Zealand national museum and other significant urban cultural developments. These innovations, together with a new emphasis upon café culture and Wellington’s traditional national performing arts role, underwrote the city’s re‑ branding as New Zealand’s cultural and creative capital. The rebranding of Wellington was the consequence of a series of policies implemented by the Wellington city council (WCC) in the mid‑1990s. During that period, the WCC intro‑ duced a number of pedestrian enhancements, which increased the ‘walkability’ of the city and brought significant economic benefits to the inner city center (Eley, 2008). In 1995, WCC also adopted the new ‘Absolutely Positively Wellington,’ brand, designed to present the city as an urban arts and cultural destination and to ‘help achieve economic growth, greater prosperity and an improved quality of life’ (Wellington City, 2004). Positively Wel‑ lington Tourism (the tourism office of WCC) was the first New Zealand regional tourism organization to develop a significant domestic marketing campaign in the country, launch‑ ing its ‘Send yourself to Wellington’ campaign in 1995 with Air New Zealand, Te Papa and Wellington hotels. Positively Wellington Tourism has continued to make significant invest‑ ments in domestic marketing ever since (Pierce and Ritchie, 2007). When Peter Jackson moved to develop the digital capabilities of Weta (his visual effects company) with The Frighteners in 1996, both the Wellington Council and the central gov‑ ernment took this as an opportunity to craft a new image for the city’s aspirational relation to the creative economy. Film  –  and Jackson’s film‑making in particular  –  provided both visibility and tangible character to Wellington’s claims as a creative hub and as a provider of advanced post‑production services (Leotta and O’Regan, 2014). The geographical and eco‑ nomic resources offered by the city also played a key role in enabling its transformation into a major screen production hub. One of the preconditions to the recreation of the fantastical worlds depicted in many of the large international productions made in Wellington from the late 1990s onwards, is easy access to unspoiled, rural landscapes. Wellington’s geographical location, surrounded by rural areas such as the Hutt Valley and the Wairarapa, is particu‑ larly serendipitous from this point of view. The construction of fantastical worlds also requires extensive investment in terms of set design, physical and digital effects. Projects such as LOTR or King Kong (Jackson, 2005) would have not been economically viable in the United States due to the high costs as‑ sociated with hiring extensive numbers of cast and crew. However, Wellington was able to provide highly skilled, cheap and non‑unionized labor; favorable exchange rates; and, courtesy of the national government, alluring tax incentives. The incentives are perceived as being particularly important for the Wellington economy, which heavily relies on screen production. Since their inception Peter Jackson often urged the government to increase their size and scope and in 2023 a number of stakeholders, led by CEO of WellingtonNZ (the re‑ gion’s economic development agency) John Allen, successfully lobbied to revise the NZSPG (Watkins, 2023).3 The overall film friendliness of Wellington is also enhanced by its key transport infra‑ structures, such as the port and the international airport (this latter strategically close the 238

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Miramar film industrial district), which facilitated equipment and labor mobility. Further‑ more, the geographical configuration of Miramar, the suburb where companies such as Wētā FX,4 Stone Street Studios and Park Road Post5 are located, is a key ingredient to the city’s success as a global production hub. Former Wētā FX CEO Joe Letteri, for example, credits part of his own professional success to the spatial layout of the Miramar industrial district, characterized by the close proximity of companies that specialize on different aspects of film‑making (Letteri cited in Poland, 2009). During the making of LOTR, for example, film‑makers interacted extensively with each other, becoming involved in different aspects of production, pre‑production and post‑production, including storyboarding, the development of physical and digital effects and the supervision of actors’ performances. Wellington’s relative geographical proximity to other international media production centers such as Auckland and Australia also represented an important asset. LOTR, for ex‑ ample, employed Australian cast and crew members and benefited greatly from the expertise generated by the earlier production of films such as The Matrix (2000) in Australia (Leotta, 2016). Similarly, the city offered a vibrant café culture, a dynamic nightlife and some major cultural attractions that represented a significant appeal to the international cast and crew involved in long projects such as LOTR. Furthermore, as the political capital of New Zealand, Wellington was already home to a highly educated workforce. The presence in Wellington of significant public, education and cultural sectors attracted professionals with expertise in project management, media and IT skills that were useful for Jackson’s companies. IT capability and expertise are particularly crucial to Wētā FX, the most important VFX company in Wellington, employing more than 1,500 IT artists and professionals. Wellington was also one of the first Australasian cities to lay fiber optic cables throughout the whole downtown area. To coincide with this rollout during the 1990s Wellington City Council launched its Info City project aiming to make Wellington a ‘knowledge city’ by enhancing its communication infrastructures through the rollout of fiber‑optic cables across the whole downtown area (Huff, 2014). Wellington attracted and facilitated the develop‑ ment of many prestigious IT companies and it has been home to some of Australasia’s biggest software producers including Xero and Sidhe. Jackson’s Weta (famous for winning several Oscars for films such as LOTR) benefited from the Council’s investment in the IT sector as this led to the development of a relatively large pool of IT workers that have contributed to the success of Weta. Similarly, the Wellington City Council continued to help Jackson by contributing substantially to bringing the iconic 1920s movie theater, The Embassy, up to the standards New Line required for the world premiere of The Return of the King in 2003.

From Wellington to ‘Wellywood’ Wellington’s transformation into a major satellite production center was also possible be‑ cause of significant changes at the level of global media production. The contemporary decen‑ tralization of the value chain through the split between film pre‑production, production and post‑production, along with the internationalization of film funding and distribution has led to what Miller et al. call a ‘new international division of cultural labor’ (Miller et al., 2008, 50–110). According to Miller et al. the traditional opposition between a free market, commer‑ cial and industry‑oriented system (Hollywood) against a culturally informed state‑subsidized 239

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model typical of European national cinemas has been replaced by ‘Global Hollywood’, a new order characterized by the hegemonic participation of Hollywood in other national film industries. ‘Global Hollywood’ has been defined as the global exchange of people, places and financing that characterizes the contemporary internationalization of film pro‑ duction (Goldsmith et al., 2010, 1). Global Hollywood can be understood as a global space of relationships and flows of capital, places and people. Los Angeles, however, remains the main design center that coordinates the production, marketing and distribution of films at the global level. The geographical dispersal of film production has been caused by a number of social, economic and technological factors. Increasing mobility, telecommunications, global busi‑ ness development and expanding markets for film and television have led to stronger in‑ terconnections between people, places and companies. Technological innovations such as high‑speed data transfers have allowed for greater levels of collaboration and control of film production even in regions of the world such as Australia or New Zealand that were previ‑ ously considered as being too distant from Hollywood (Goldsmith et al., 2010, 15). At the same time, local, regional and national governments are increasingly aware of the economic benefits associated with attracting major globally dispersed film productions. In order to understand the global dispersal of film production, it is necessary to examine, on the one hand, the actions and motivations of the Hollywood majors and, on the other hand, the ac‑ tions and motivations of the places and people that engage with Hollywood thus becoming ‘Local Hollywoods’. Referring to the characteristics of global production networks Jeffrey Henderson points out that: In order to understand the dynamics of development in a given place (…) we must com‑ prehend how places are being transformed by flows of capital, labor, knowledge power, etc. and how, at the same time, places are transforming those flows as they locate in place specific domains. (Henderson et al., 2002, 438) Different places have different interests, histories, politics and cultural dynamics and deploy different, but often converging strategies to profit from their engagement with Hollywood. Wellington’s transformation into Wellywood can be understood only by simultaneously ana‑ lyzing the macro shifts in global film production and New Zealand’s own significant invest‑ ment in the creative industries. In turn, Global Hollywood has also reshaped the cultural, social and economic fabric of Wellington as a creative city. Since the early 2000s with the production of LOTR, Global Hollywood brought about a number of benefits to Wellington such as the enhancement of the city’s film infrastructure; the upskilling of local film crews; and an increase in Wellington’s visibility as a destina‑ tion for both tourists and international film producers. More broadly the trilogy enhanced the city’s reputation as a major creative hub, giving it its international standing as ‘Welly‑ wood’. LOTR consolidated Wellington’s role as a post‑production and high‑end digital and prop production services location for ‘born international production’ – that is, productions which are from their inception conceived for global markets. Weta Workshop, Wētā FX and Park Road Post, originally created to service Jackson’s own needs, attracted fellow high‑end

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Hollywood producers like James Cameron and Steven Spielberg, who became interested in the innovation and the cutting edge digital visual effects these companies can offer. During and after the making of LOTR, Jackson purchased more property in Miramar and further expanded his empire. Some of the new enterprises established by Jackson and his collaborators directly fed into the film culture that animates the city and particularly the suburb of Miramar. After the release of LOTR Weta Workshop opened the Weta Cave, a mini museum which displays a selection of props and collectibles produced by the vis‑ ual effects company. A few years later, Jamie Selkirk and other Jackson’s collaborators opened The Roxy, an iconic art deco movie theater that showcases Weta’s sculptures and artwork. Both the LOTR and The Hobbit trilogies had a significant impact on travel to New Zealand and Wellington has since become the gateway to ‘Middle Earth tourism’ (Leotta, 2011; Leotta, 2016). The development of Wellywood as an international production center also had a posi‑ tive impact on the local film industry. New Zealand film‑makers have been able to transfer the skills and expertise generated by the LOTR and other international blockbusters to smaller projects. Similarly, independent producers are now granted relatively easy access to the high‑end post‑production facilities built by Peter Jackson. The presence of both so‑ phisticated film infrastructures and a vibrant film culture contributed to the emergence of a new generation of internationally acclaimed, Wellington‑born actors and film‑makers such as Taika Waititi, Gemaine Clement (both of Māori descent) and Brett Mackenzie.6 Like Jackson, Waititi capitalized on the success of his early, low budget New Zealand projects, which explored indigenous stories and humor, to gain international visibility. This visibility, in turn, allowed him to direct large Hollywood blockbusters and TV series (i.e. Thor Ragn‑ arok, 2017; Thor: Love and Thunder, 2022 and Time Bandits, 2024), many of which were produced in Australia or New Zealand. Similarly, New Zealand’s success as a screen produc‑ tion hub contributed to the return of established auteurs such as Jane Campion. Although born in Wellington, throughout the 1980s and 1990s Campion pursued her film‑making career overseas, returning only occasionally to film in New Zealand. As the local film indus‑ try developed throughout the 2000s, however, Campion returned to Aotearoa more often to direct large productions such as Top of the Lake (2013) and The Power of the Dog (2021). In 2022, following the international acclaim received by The Power of the Dog, Campion announced she would establish her own film school in Wellington thus further contributing to the already dynamic screen culture of the city (Chumko, 2022). The idea of Wellywood as the creative capital of New Zealand appealed to both local and national authorities. Commenting on the success of the World Premiere of The Return of the King (2003), Wellington’s Mayor, Kerry Prendergast claimed that ‘the film industry is a cru‑ cial one for the Wellington region […] and will ensure that the Wellington region continues on its path to become one of the leading Creative Capitals of the world’ (Prendergast cited in Anderton, 2003). Wellington has been for several years now basing both its business at‑ traction and tourism campaigns on its creativity with the knowledge economy taking on a creative hue. At the same time, Wellington’s related status as the gateway to LOTR and The Hobbit locations added another dimension to the city’s branding. ‘Wellywood’  –  and blockbuster film production  –  became important not only to the city but also to the New Zealand government and more broadly New Zealand’s sense

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of itself. Former Prime Minister Helen Clark crystallized the official commitment to the national spin‑off possibilities: Set against the spectacular and diverse New Zealand landscape, the LOTR trilogy has the potential to be a major tourist promotion and investment tool for years to come, by highlighting the country’s natural beauty and the creative talent of its people across a wide range of knowledge‑based industries. (Clark, 2001) For the New Zealand government and its policy‑makers Jackson’s companies provided a very different model of internationalization than that of a homegrown New Zealand company developing into an Australasian‑focused enterprise and outgrowing its New Zealand base. Although Jackson’s economic contribution to the country’s GDP may be still inferior than that of other industries it has the capacity to gain an international profile for New Zealand that other ‘world famous in NZ’ firms cannot (Campbell‑Hunt, 2001).7 Wellywood provided a model and narrative for success in the digital content industries that was homegrown, internationally connected and home staying. This model was unlike the more traditional logics of the film and television industries in New Zealand in which working overseas was a means of advancing not only career prospects but also developing film‑making skills and expertise. Until the 1990s, relocating to Australia, United Kingdom or the United States was almost a rite of passage for New Zealand film‑makers, but with ‘Weta Inc’, Wellington, and by implication New Zealand, was attracting skilled personnel not only from Australia but also from the United States, United Kingdom and continental Europe (Leotta and O’Regan, 2014). The ‘Wellywood’ rhetoric, however, has not been uncritically embraced by all sectors of New Zealand society. Some of these tensions surfaced during the so‑called ‘Hobbit labour dispute’. In 2010, during the pre‑production of The Hobbit trilogy (2012–2014) Warner Brothers and the film producers came into conflict with some representatives of the local in‑ dustry. A group of local and international film actors called for the boycott of The Hobbit in a bid to obtain equity with some of the performers employed in the project. In particular, the group, supported by the Australian Actors union asked for collective contracts that would include minimum guarantees for the performers. In retaliation, Peter Jackson and Warners Bros. threatened to move the production of the film to countries that offered cheaper labor, better tax incentives and more favorable currency exchange (Dunleavy and Joyce, 2011: 225–226). Fearing the potential negative repercussions on the national economy, thousands of New Zealanders organized protest rallies around the country asking for Jackson to stay. The Prime Minister himself, John Key, was forced to step in to keep The Hobbit in the country. As well as offering a substantial grant to the producers, the national government went as far as changing the New Zealand Employment Relations Act passing an amendment bill under urgency which made film industry workers independent contractors by default and created a hurdle for workers willing to enter into employment agreements (Roberts, 2010). Some commentators criticized the government’s decision arguing that the amend‑ ment compromised New Zealand social values and economic principles (NZ Herald, 2010). In 2013, following the Ombudsman’s order to release emails and documents concerning the industrial dispute it was revealed that New Line Cinema was not planning on filming 242

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The Hobbit in a different country, despite its concerns over the union’s boycott. Further evidence confirmed that Warner Bros withheld the announcement that the actors’ union intended to lift the boycott on The Hobbit movies several days before popular protests were organized (Leotta, 2016).

Conclusions Throughout the 20th century, Wellington established itself as the film capital of New Zea‑ land. In the first decades of the 21st century, the city transformed into a major global center for post‑production, animation and digital effects that mainly services large international screen productions. Wellington is home to three internationally acclaimed auteurs such as Peter Jackson, Taika Waititi and Jane Campion. A number of prominent Hollywood film‑makers like James Cameron have also relocated to Wellington, due to the unique tech‑ nological capabilities, skill‑force and lifestyle offered by the city. Initially Wellington’s suc‑ cess as a global media capital was made possible by the serendipitous combination of cheap labor and infrastructures, daring cultural policies and a charismatic auteur‑entrepreneur like Jackson. In the 2020s, however, the city’s position of strength within the global media system relies on the presence of state‑of‑the art infrastructures, cutting edge technology and highly skilled labor. Wellington is not the only New Zealand media city capable of attract‑ ing large international productions, as Auckland, which in 2021 hosted the production of Amazon’s Rings of Power, is also able to offer a large pool of studios and skilled workforce. However, while Auckland’s offer is highly dependent on favorable exchange rates and com‑ petitive financial incentives, Wellington can count on the established international reputa‑ tion of companies like Weta and Park Road Post which are able to offer unique skills and technologies. Wellywood’s success, however, is not confined to the economic sphere as com‑ panies like Weta embody New Zealand’s contemporary aspirations by connecting ‘tradi‑ tional themes of national identity – technical ingenuity, teamwork – with the new economy themes of creativity, technological innovation and entrepreneurial skills in the global arena’ (Jones and Smith, 2005, 98). Wellington’s status as a screen capital was formally recognized in 2019 when it was nomi‑ nated a UNESCO city of film. However, in the 2020s the city’s standing as a creative global media capital is challenged on a number of fronts. At the global level, Wellington needs to compete against a plethora of screen production hubs both in Western and developing coun‑ tries and offer cheaper labor and infrastructures as well as skilled personnel and advanced technologies. The ‘Hobbit labour dispute’ dramatically highlighted the fragility and vulner‑ ability of the New Zealand film production industry, suggesting the country can only attract international producers as long as it is able to provide non‑unionized labor. Within New Zealand, Auckland and Wellington, which have traditionally dominated the local screen industry, face new competition from Christchurch, which after the 2011 earthquake un‑ dertook an extensive rebuild and now boasts new studios and transport infrastructures. Recently, Christchurch, which already provides easy access to spectacular natural locations for large international productions, has explicitly attempted to position itself as a major creative hub in the South Island (Gates, 2021). Finally, a number of internal factors related to Wellington’s geographic and economic specificity, such as high living costs, a housing cri‑ sis and concerning predictions around an impending major earthquake, have recently acted 243

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as deterrents for emerging film‑makers considering to live in the capital (Mitchell, 2023). Wellington’s ability to effectively navigate such challenges will determine the city’s future as a global media production hub.

Lessons Learned • Historically, Wellington has always been the ‘film capital’ of New Zealand, however, in the early 2000s, courtesy of large productions such as The Lord of the Rings, the city transformed into a major global screen production hub. • Wellington is now home to three globally acclaimed auteurs such as Peter Jackson, Taika Waititi and Jane Campion and its large, cutting‑edge production infrastructure has attracted a number of major international productions and film‑makers, including James Cameron. • Initially Wellington’s success as a global media hub was made possible by the serendipi‑ tous combination of cheap labor and infrastructures, daring cultural policies and a char‑ ismatic auteur‑entrepreneur like Peter Jackson. • In the 2020s, the city’s position of strength within the global media system relies on the presence of state‑of‑the art infrastructures, cutting edge technology and highly skilled labor. • The ‘Hobbit labour dispute’ dramatically highlighted the fragility and vulnerability of the New Zealand film production industry, suggesting the country can only attract inter‑ national producers as long as it is able to provide non‑unionized labor. • In order to maintain its status as a major screen production hub, Wellington will need to compete against a plethora of screen production hubs both in Western and develop‑ ing countries and offer cheaper labor and infrastructures as well as skilled personnel and advanced technologies.

Notes 1 Aotearoa, which loosely translates as ‘land of the white cloud’, is the indigenous (Māori) name of New Zealand. 2 At the production level, The Frighteners was a very ambitious project which required extensive use of VFX. Eventually, the producers developed over 500 CGI shots for the film, more than al‑ most any other movie made until then (Leotta, 2016). 3 The changes to the NZSPG (now simply known as Screen Production Rebated) aimed to make it simpler, more competitive, and easier to access. More specifically the new scheme makes the ad‑ ditional 5% rebate easier to achieve and also broadens the range of support offered to post‑pro‑ duction work to be carried in New Zealand (RNZ, 2023). 4 Formerly known as Weta and Weta Digital, Wētā FX is a digital visual effects company founded in 1993 by Jackson and his collaborators. The company has produced VFX for some of the highest grossing films ever made (including LOTR and Avatar) and it is now considered to be one of the largest and most successful VFX companies in the world. 5 Park Road Post is the largest TV and Film postproduction facility in New Zealand. 6 Clement and Mackenzie achieved international success as the lead characters of the Flight of the Conchords (2007–2008) tv series. 7 Screen production is crucial to Wellington’s regional economy, generating over US$ 422 million in revenue per annum and employing more than 2,500 people. From 2013 to 2017, the screen industry contributed an estimated US$ 1.13 billion to the region, 21.4% of the gross revenue of the country’s screen industry (UNESCO, 2023).

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3.6 WORLD DESIGN CAPITAL 2024 SAN DIEGO – TIJUANA Preparing a Region for a Global Designation by Owning Your Foibles, Warts and Scars Jonathon Glus Introduction An enduring influence on my understanding of the world we live and work in here in North America is Joel Garreau’s 1981 book, The Nine Nations of North America (Garreau 1981). Garreau repaints a continent whose borders are determined by economy, culture and ­values – not by the political boundaries that are drawn oftentimes by those elsewhere with little or no understanding of the very localized systems of place and people in every corner of the Americas each day. In 2014, Garreau reexamined the hypothesis (Garreau 2014) and found that his culture‑ and values‑based approach was even more profound than 20‑plus years prior. Technology, immigration and other demographic shifts, continued population shifts toward the southern and western United States, greater mobility and a splintering economy favoring fewer with greater resources, all continued to inform the way North Americans organize themselves. Much of what Garreau and his colleagues in journalism, academia and public policy were talking about as issues of the future are now some of our most critical issues of the day: a global climate crisis, the need for more immediate delivery of alternative methods for mobil‑ ity, imperative calls for racial, cultural and economic justice and a crisis in affordable hous‑ ing in many cities across North America and Europe as well as global cities throughout Asia and the Middle East. The world is a much smaller place today than in 1981. By that, I mean, the need to share information is essential to address shared global concerns and the opportunity to co‑create solutions is easier than ever, leveraging technology and the comparative ease of world travel, both in person and virtually. So, what does Joel Garreau have to do with the first United States city, second Mexican City and first binational region ever to receive the World Design Capital designation? In this chapter, I consider the sister border cities of San Diego in the United States and Ti‑ juana in Mexico, the federal border that separates these otherwise ‘conjoined twins’ and the power in organizing a region to bid for and win a global designation. The supposition here 247

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is that by organizing authentically, through localized economies, cultural pathways, shared power and the human experience – not arbitrary political boundaries – a more expansive, inclusive and far more compelling experience can evolve for residents and visitors. With it can emerge a deeper, human‑centered narrative reflective of a storied and complex region that functions daily as one of the largest communities and economies in the Americas, with its own shared histories and systems of contemporary culture.

Why World Design Capital World Design Capital (WDC) is a program of Montreal‑based World Design Organiza‑ tion (WDO) that works globally to promote design and its ability to generate better prod‑ ucts, systems and experiences, and ultimately a better environment. An anchor program of WDO’s work, World Design Capital is a biennial designation that recognizes cities for their effective use of design to drive economic, social, cultural and environmental development and showcases best practices in sustainable design‑led urban policy and innovation (World Design Organization). In short, WDC, like other global designations, is an opportunity for a city or region to pause, take stock and look to the future – and do so with the benefit of all‑but‑guaranteed attention from media outlets across the world, many of which may be covering your city for the first time. It is a moment in time, a tool, a catalyst. If conceptual‑ ized, organized and implemented well, WDC can be an opportunity to raise the visibility of a city’s successes, galvanize already existing civic efforts and boost tourism. If conceptualized with humility, transparency and human‑centered ambition, WDC and similar global desig‑ nations can be a watershed moment, with long‑lasting impact on a community or region. Every two years a highly competitive bid process is conducted by the World Design Or‑ ganization utilizing the expertise of an independent jury composed of design experts from across the world to identify the next World Design Capital. Local government buy‑in is es‑ sential. Only bids with the personal involvement of the primary municipality and its mayor are considered. With the strong leadership of two mayors, University of California at San Diego and its Design Lab, a grass‑roots binational design sector and the Burnham Center for Community Advancement (a binational policy think tank and facilitator), in 2022 San Diego‑Tijuana won the 2024 designation over fellow semi‑finalist Moscow. Initial discussions of organizing a bid began more than a decade prior to actually sub‑ mitting an official bid document. Design Forward Alliance (DFA), the convener of the broad binational design field – from architecture to graphic design, industrial design, urban planning and design, to software designers in the rapidly expanding biotech and biomed sectors  –  enlisted hundreds of independent designers, design‑based businesses, educa‑ tors and urban design professionals to develop a preliminary bid packet, called HOME (HOME2024). HOME submitted that the San Diego – Tijuana region is a microcosm of global successes, shared global crises and human potential, thus an ideal location for designers and policy makers to consider the future through the lens of design. By 2019, HOME was endorsed by both cities and Burnham Center for Community Advancement, an NGO already working across the binational region. An organizing committee composed of delegates from each of the five partners submitted the bid and managed the region’s role in the selection process on behalf of the five partners. 248

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At its core, the intent of World Design Capital San Diego‑Tijuana 2024 is to harness the power of human‑centered design to transcend, re‑imagine and ultimately change policy for the betterment of the daily lives of residents in our region. It is a region that is inextricably interlinked by history, culture, economy and common values. A region that models inter‑ governmental cooperation. A region that is not governed by a single anchor municipality, but by two cities in two countries. In a region where two federal governments, two coastal commissions, two states and two large municipalities govern with overlapping policy and jurisdictions, cooperation is essential. Conventional policy practices do not always work. The ethos of WDC2024 is the conviction that human‑centered design can forge new systems specific to and in service of the specific needs of the region.

San Diego, United States and Tijuana, Mexico The US–Mexico border is the most frequently crossed international border in the world. Forty percent of the US–Mexico border population resides in the San Diego‑Tijuana conur‑ bation, populated by approximately 5,330,000 people. The bi‑county region of Baja Cali‑ fornia and San Diego County is home to more than seven million. If the conurbation were identified as one US city, it would rank as the fourth largest city, approximately the same size as Houston. If the bi‑county region were considered a US metropolitan area, it would rank as the sixth largest, immediately behind Houston, surpassing metropolitan Washington, DC, and metro Philadelphia.1 The distance between the two cities’ city halls is 14 miles. The southern portion of San Diego stretches from city hall and downtown along the coast to the west and abutting the foothills to the east to meet the city of Tijuana. The San Diego side is a dense urban mash‑up of residential, commercial and industrial areas hugging the working port of San Diego, the US military port and the Tijuana River Estuary. Much of San Diego’s physical recognition of Chicano culture resides in this 14‑mile stretch, including Chicano Park and Museum. Today home to one of the largest collections of outdoor Chicano murals and a museum dedicated to teaching the history of the region’s Chicano history, the park was born out of a 12 day occupation in 1970 by neighborhood residents to protect what remained of the histori‑ cally Chicano neighborhood after the demolition of much of the area to make way for the Coronado Bridge, an element of the US Interstate highway system connecting mainland San Diego to Coronado Island. San Ysidro, the San Diego gateway neighborhood to Tijuana, is the informal center of the border region. Artists and cultural practitioners, designers, political and social activists work to express both the trauma and the beauty of the region, alongside multi‑generational fami‑ lies who call the border their home. In Tijuana, the northern part of the central city abuts San Ysidro, divided by the border crossing. Tijuana Cultural Center (CECUT), the largest Mexican federal cultural center outside of Mexico City, dominates that part of the city, along with new construction residential high‑rises and medical tourism office complexes. Friendship Park sits at the western‑most edge of the international border where it meets the Pacific Ocean. At the heart of the park at the site of the international boundary sits a monument to the binational region. Half sits in the United States and half in Mexico. Until 2006 Friendship Park was both the formal gathering place for official events and ceremonies between the two cities and states, and the informal gathering place for families and friends 249

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living in both cities. That year the US government took the San Diego side by eminent ­domain and erected a fence that stands today. On the Mexican side the park continues as a gathering spot for families, artists and activists. According to the Smart Border Coalition (Regional Crossing Statistics 20‑15‑2019), the San Ysidro and El Chaparral ports of entry – the two primary crossing points in San Diego‑Tijuana, constitute the world’s busiest land border crossing. Each year the border crossing processes more than 106 million individual crossings in 48 million cars and trucks. About 150,000 people cross the border every day. More than 20,000 cross each day on foot, using a patchwork of mass transit options in both cities. More than 60,000 of those people live in Tijuana and work in San Diego, and more cross to attend school. As the cost of living in San Diego continues to rise, so does what is often referred to as expat gentrification in Tijuana, where middle class residents on the San Diego side of the region chose to move to Tijuana and commute across the border or find exclu‑ sively virtual work opportunities. Significant infrastructure and technology efforts have made crossing the federal border somewhat reliable for specific segments of crossers. San Diego Trolley, the city’s light rail, connects major population and education centers to downtown and the San Ysidro border crossing. While a similar system does not connect on the Tijuana side, app‑based transit has allowed for a relatively seamless connection from light rail to pedestrian crossing to app‑based transit. Cross Border Express (CBX) is a privately operated 390‑feet long bridge that connects the Tijuana International Airport with a service terminal in San Diego, allowing travelers to bypass the busy San Ysidro crossing (CBX). Frequent ground crossers can apply for an auto fast pass for expedited border crossing and special populations such as students and medical professionals can receive an expedited crossing pass. These efforts can reduce crossing time by auto to considerably less than 30 minutes each way and pedestrian crossing to less than 15 minutes each way. These improvements aside, the majority of crossings each way on any given day can take two hours or more. In addition to impacting the lives of residents, transit of goods can be substantially delayed, and regional tourism is a challenge at best. A few decades ago – pre‑the 9/11 terrorist attacks on the United States – the border was significantly more porous. What now is a wall of cement and steel fencing was then crossing guard stations where one could use a domestic ID such as a driver license. It was common for border residents and visitors to cross multiple times a day to attend school and work, visit family, seek entertainment and participate in cultural activities.

Mythologizing the Bi‑National City Every city – every place, has a mythology. The stories told at the Chamber of Commerce din‑ ner; that same piece of local history the local daily touches on every few months in the op‑ed section; the stories told from behind the pulpit. The stories of human greatness, tragedy and renewal; civic achievements and collective aspirations. Whether the myth is based in fact is largely inconsequential. It drives or dwarfs collective ambitions and is likely only a sliver of the collective story. Why does myth matter? Myth also informs media perceptions, which reinforce the myth. It is true that Salem, MA was the center of the infamous witch trials of 1692, and a robust 250

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tourism economy has been built around that single chapter in the city’s ancient history. ­Today, Salem’s main industry is health care. Building an innovation brand for Salem without diminishing the myth is the work of intentional brand management. San Diego’s intentional tourist brand for decades has been ‘sun‑n‑sea.’ Surfers and tacos. The city’s intentional business brand for the past few decades has been innovation – in par‑ ticular biotech. As the saying goes, ‘Come for the work and play in the sun.’ Tijuana’s inten‑ tional brand is as an engineering and research hub and gateway city to the US west coast as well as a gastronomical hotbed for chefs from across the world eager to explore the melting pot of the region. An unintended brand for Tijuana has emerged as well, that of a center of gang violence making the city potentially unsafe for residents as well as visitors. These brands are separate and city‑specific following economic and political boundaries. Neither capture the rich cultural complexity of an urban border region of millions.

Capitals of Culture North America, and in particular the United States, does not do a particularly good job of creating designations to highlight the unique assets of a city or region. The European Union in 1985 established the European Capital of Culture designation as a tool to unite Europe‑ ans through common culture and to celebrate unique cultural aspects of Europe cities and regions (European Capitals of Culture). Leveraging civic pride and the opportunity to ex‑ pand tourism, the effort has resulted in tremendous investment in cultural infrastructure, ex‑ pedited public works projects, sharpened and updated city cultural brands and increased the awareness of arts, culture and creative industries as key element of a diversified economy. Extensive documentation exists for most of the past designees, tracking hard data such as economic impact and increases in tourism for the year of the designation and beyond, as well as perception shifts by media, travelers and residents (EU Capitals of Culture 2023). Similar efforts more focused on regional cities include the American Capital of Culture, an effort backed by the Organization of American States in South and Central America and Mexico and the United Kingdom Capital of Culture. Similar designations exist outside the realm of arts, culture and the creative industries such as the Green Capital of Europe.

World Design Capital San Diego‑Tijuana One of the foundational goals of World Design Capital San Diego‑Tijuana is to expand global awareness of the region as a center for design and innovation. The idea to bid for the designation was born out of our design community. Design practitioners and small business owners, academics and a few interested economic devel‑ opment practitioners from both cities recognized that the power of their sector was its cross‑border network and the unique esthetic of the region. They set out to elevate aware‑ ness locally and internationally of the scale and unique characteristics of the design sector in the region. Another foundational goal is to advance the power of design – human‑centered design2 – in the community. A core principle evolved early in the planning process. This designation would not showcase ‘design for design’s sake,’ but rather it would employ design for the betterment of the region. 251

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Our ideals are that design will be put to work to better systems of transportation, deliv‑ ery of clean water, shelter for immigrants stopped at the border, assistance for other un‑ sheltered residents throughout the region, and to design software to strengthen community cohesion. The work will be regional. The often mis‑aligned interests of two federal governments, two states and two municipalities can squelch even the most authentic commitment to equal bi‑nationalism. Systems of philanthropy is only one way in which systems do not align. Throughout the entire process of planning and implementing 2024, systems will be docu‑ mented. In 2025, a robust impact study and systems data will launch what is envisioned as the primary legacy – a multi‑year plan to further research the year’s findings and implement key findings through partnerships with government, academia and the private sector. A final foundational goal is to be audacious and long term. The purpose of the World Design Capital program is to launch our community’s efforts to center design and design principles in our policy, the built environment and systems to improve regional vital‑ ity. Democratizing design and democratizing through design does not begin and end in a single year. WDC2024 is the launch of a community exploration of human‑centered design. The results may be far reaching. Imagine if undocumented migrants, asylum seekers or po‑ litical and environmental refugees held‑up at the border for days, weeks or months, could spend time with friends and family or even work in the United States due to a software designed to allow for periodic real time visits in a neutral zone. This would not be white‑collar professional work that can be conducted virtually from anywhere, but rather work of the hand – artisanal, fine craft and even culinary, produced by migrants ultimately enroute to elsewhere in North America. Think of it as a duty‑free zone at the federal land border. Instead of centering commercial products as we see in airport duty‑free shops, we would center the individual, empowering self‑sufficiency and creat‑ ing pathways for their future. Imagine if a cohort of designers from across the world could design prefabricated hous‑ ing from locally sourced reclaimed materials that could be rapidly and affordably built in Tijuana that meet rigorous US building regulations – and investors were identified to opera‑ tionalize the product. At scale, housing could be deployed in a matter of months, not years, throughout the Baja California San Diego County region to provide high‑quality housing in Baja and shelter for homeless in San Diego. The audacious element is employed when the scaling shifts to the entirety of the Americas to meet the dire needs of the unsheltered and under‑sheltered. The legacy is identifying every policy that inhibits the rapid expansion of prefabricated housing in California and elsewhere in the United States while offering a suite of policy solutions for the future. Housing justice for all and cultural humility. It is important to pause and consider the difference between a regional bid for an interna‑ tional sporting event such as the Olympics or World Cup or large‑scale events such as the Super Bowl or the Latin Grammys and a year‑long designation. Short‑term high‑visibility events create a huge opportunity – and obligation – on the part of the host city to leverage media attention to the greatest potential. These efforts can be a huge economic driver for a few years in the life of a city and if managed well, can enhance brand and stimulate civic pride for years in the future. Ultimately, however, these are imported events hosted by a community for only a short period of time. 252

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Lessons Learned • Designations such as World Design Capital or European Capital of Culture are com‑ munity‑driven efforts. If done poorly or in a vacuum, the effort can simply reinforce the myth of a region or an outdated brand. If done well, such a designation can be a water‑ shed moment where a community examines the stories it tells, the brand it invests in and the people and systems that benefit. A community can address historic inequities, identify needed policy shifts and implement new, more just and inclusive systems. • These designations are different from a biennale or similar art event where global artists may be invited to respond to a localized subject matter or landscape, such as Prospect New Orleans (Prospect). While Prospect has had an extraordinary impact on its host city and any city would be fortunate to host a similar endeavor, a designation year by design is organic to and reflective of the city or region. • Why is the distinction important? Common global concerns matter today more than ever. Community matters. Authenticity matters and legacy matters. • World Design Capital San Diego‑Tijuana 2024 will reveal the full complexities of a dy‑ namic border city and her American counterpart that are culturally, economically and environmentally dependent on each other. The binational region will open up for explo‑ ration and incubation – foibles and all. • The 21st century has shown us that the need for immediate, honest dialogue is critical. For a global city or region of today to lead, isn’t it incumbent on them to be transpar‑ ent, practice humility and share resources? For the San Diego‑Tijuana region of tomor‑ row, it is imperative that our shared culture leads to policies of shared responsibility and ­resources. Designing a more human‑centered region begins in 2024. • The basic elements of organizing at the regional level to attract and implement a global event or designation are relatively constant. A local steering committee or host commit‑ tee will likely include local government officials, a few corporate leaders and the tourism sector. Perhaps a local university. This model is efficient and is designed to contain the messy work of fast‑moving negotiations with global entities and local partners. • However, this structure is not designed for community‑informed, potentially change‑ making work. The partnership model for WDC2024 is human centered by design, prior‑ itizing shared leadership and cultivation of program content focused on improving lives through design. • We have three suggestions for this type of designation: 1 Do the hard work upfront. Working authentically may very well mean creating a network of partners that have not worked together before. Real and perceived power imbalances must be addressed early on. Beyond a contractual relationship among all partners – which is essential, consider a mission statement for the partnership (not the project, but the partnership), as well as a values statement and code of conduct. Foster an environment of transparency within the partnership. 2 Commit to shared leadership and the money will come. While multi‑year funding streams are essential to sustained efforts such as WDC2024, each partner has a specific and singularly essential role in the success of the effort. In other words, the partners that bring the most financial resources cannot play a larger role in decision‑making. While one partner may bring a disproportionately large portion of the budget, important 253

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in‑kind services or political clout, others may bring content e­xpertise or long‑time trusted alliances at the community level. Tell the story of shared leadership. It will reso‑ nate with funders and garner respect from those with whom your mission is aligned. 3 Invest early in a communications strategy. A global designation such as WDC2024, its program content and ultimate goals, will likely not be as clearly defined as a one‑time global event. A highly skilled communications team – ideally one located in a variety of key media markets across the globe, must be in place to tell the many nuanced stories that ultimately create the compelling, authentic story to which your entire effort aspires.

Notes 1 An US American of Mexican descent, especially if conscious of one’s political identity in the US body politic. (Merriam‑Webster). 2 Human‑Centered Design (HCD) is a methodology that places the user at the heart of the design pro‑ cess. It seeks to understand users’ needs, behaviors, behaviors and experiences to creative effective solutions catering to their unique challenges and desires. www.interaction‑design.org. Also, note‑ worthy, is the following definition set forth by Arounda Design Agency. The human‑centered design principles involve putting the needs and experiences of people at the forefront of the design process. They include collaboration, empathy, iteration and a focus on the user experiences. Key Principles of Human‑Centered Design, Vladislav Gavruluk, 12 April 2023, www.arounda.agency.blog.

Bibliography “Chicano”: an American (and especially a man or boy) of Mexican descent. Merriam‑Webster. https://www.merriam‑webster.com/dictionary/Chicano. Accessed 17 Aug 2024. Clemens Gerland. EU Capitals of Culture: A Place‑Based Policy to Improve Economic ­Development, 14 April 2023. Global Europe: New Perspectives on Global & European Dynamics. www. globaleurope.eu. Cross Border Express. https://www.crossborderxpress.com/en/about. Accessed 17 August 2024. Decision No. 445/2014/EU of the European Parliament and the Council, 16 April 2014, establish‑ ing a Union action for the European Capitals of Culture for the years 2020 to 2033 and repealing Decision No. 1622/2006/EC. Official Journal of the European Union, 3.5.2014. 1.132.1. www. eur‑lex.europa.eu. This action extended the European Capital of Culture program until 2033, citing the program’s successes since its inception. European Capitals of Culture. For general information about the intent of establishing, ­governing documents and past capitals of culture. https://culture.ec.europa.eu/policies/culture‑­in‑­cities‑and‑ regions/designated‑capitals‑of‑culture. Accessed 17 August 2024. HOME2024. https://designlab.ucsd.edu/community‑all/world‑design‑capital. Accessed 17 August 2024. Joel Garreau. Nine Nations of North America. Houghton Mifflin, 1981. Joel Garreau. Nine Nations of North America, 30 Years Later. New York Times, July 3, 2014. Prospect New Orleans. https://www.smartbordercoalition.com/about‑the‑border. Accessed 17 ­August 2024. Smart Border Coalition. https://smartbordercoalition.com. The use of “Chicano” is especially prevalent in the southwest of the United States, where the major‑ ity of the Latino/a/x population is of Mexican descent. While “Chicano” is traditionally appro‑ priate to use when referring a general population, “Chicana” is feminine. More recently the term “Chicanx” has been adopted when speaking in a gender‑neutral way. https://www.dictionary. com/browse/chicanx. Accessed 17 August 2024 World Design Capital San Diego‑Tijuana 2024. https://wdc2024.org. Accessed 17 August 2024. World Design Organization. https://wdo.org/programmes/wdc/. Accessed 17 August 2024.

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SECTION 4

Financing Arts and Culture – For What Goal?

4.1 THE EIGHT PILLARS OF AMERICAN CULTURAL POLICY Randy Engstrom and Jasmine Mahmoud

Growing up I would attend free cultural events in Chicago’s Grant Park. From Blues Fest to Jazz Fest to Taste of Chicago, these programs shaped not just my cultural aware‑ ness, but also a sense of civic identity. I did not realize that those events were the result of cultural policy choices made by the City. – Randy Engstrom In St. Louis, I never had to buy a museum ticket – I could just walk in. I experienced Ke‑ hinde Wiley’s new exhibition featuring portraits of Black St. Louisans at the Saint Louis Art Museum, and histories of racially restrictive covenants at the Missouri Historical Museum – all for free. With friends, I attended live jazz concerts at the Botanical Gar‑ den, and free theater on “Art Hill.” I later learned that a 1970s property tax supported that cultural policy. – Jasmine Mahmoud

What is United States (U.S.) cultural policy? How does cultural policy weave into the fabric of our communities, cities, regions, and country? How does cultural policy impact urban planning? In this chapter, we engage those questions by proposing “The Eight Pillars:” Grant‑ making, Public Art, Festivals, Cultural Facilities, Arts Education, DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion), Creative Placemaking, and Creative Economy. Each “pillar” structures an under‑ standing of distinct cultural policy history, rationale, urban planning functions, infrastruc‑ tural and organizational work, and operations through local, municipal, state, and regional arts agencies, as well as the federal National Endowment for the Arts. Although distinct, these pillars serve as a lens to understand core functions of American cultural policy, and of inter‑ locking structures of public policy that collectively weave and sustain arts in the United States. In this chapter, we ask: how did these pillars come about? Why are they important? What does each anchor within cultural policy and urban cultural planning? How might urban planners more deeply understand the arts, and utilize these specific pillars to accomplish civic planning goals? 257

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-24

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Our methods are collaborative and (auto)ethnographic. We write this chapter drawing from our own careers as practitioners and professors, as well as a conversation we recorded where we talked through each pillar, including histories, function, practices, and impact. Given our collective geographic base, we weave in examples from Seattle1 and Washington State, as well as from other U.S. cities, rural areas, and regions. We also write because cultural policy (especially as a vehicle of urban policy) is under‑re‑ searched, and arguably underfunded in the United States. The Eight Pillars as a frame, we hope, can enter into urban, public, and cultural policy discourses as a lens to clarify, under‑ stand, and improve cultural work, and how cultural work robustly intersects with the power of the arts, racial equity, and urban planning. This chapter is organized pillar by pillar with a focus on each pillar’s history, practices, legacies, and examples, as well as interconnectedness to other pillars. First, this introduction continues by defining the arts, detailing what cultural policy is and why it matters, providing a U.S. cultural policy timeline, and then situating cultural policy within public policy.

Defining the Arts Defined, the arts are a form of human expression; other definitions frame “the various branches of creative activity, such as painting, music, literature, and dance,” and “subjects of study primarily concerned with the processes and products of human creativity and social life.”2 As a field, the arts are vast and include so much: concert dance, music festivals, Shakespeare in the Park, visual art exhibitions, new plays, musicals, spoken word performances, afterschool arts education, theater performances and talkbacks, social practice, public art on buses and at transit stations, art galleries, orchestra rehearsals, holiday choirs, jazz dance lessons, theater games, participatory and collaborative performances, and community‑led murals. To some, the relevance of the arts in public policy and urban planning is an afterthought, or merely a surface‑level way to beautify urban spaces. To us, the arts – as the central form of human expression and storytelling, and what makes us human (Dissanayake 1995) – are a tool for animating expression, joy, belonging, communication, discourse, collaboration, and vibrancy in policy. Thus we write this chapter as a story for policymakers and urban planners to understand and anchor the arts in planning processes.

Defining Cultural Policy for Urban Planners Scholars like Kevin Mulcahy3 define cultural policy as “governmental strategies and ac‑ tivities that promote ... ‘the production, dissemination, marketing, and consumption of the arts’.” Through Mulcahy, we can think about each of The Eight Pillars – from grantmak‑ ing and public art to arts education and creative placemaking – as cultural policy, that is as governmental actions including legislation, strategies, and activities that promote the arts. Cultural policy has existed in the United States for 150 years, both formally and informally. The arts are important because they produce intrinsic values of joy, belonging, captiva‑ tion, social bonds, increased empathy, community meaning, as well as instrumental values like improved test scores, stronger health outcomes, and transformed social capital, and urban vitality (McCarthy et al. 2005). Thus, we write with the belief that thoughtful cultural policy is essential to strong civic and urban infrastructures. A healthy cultural ecosystem is the skeletal system of a healthy 258

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democracy. Put another way, we cannot have democracy without discourse. Culture is the vehicle to allow for different modalities and identities to be expressed. When we have a thriving cultural ecosystem, we have a thriving democracy. The arts also have a distinct ability to connect and support efforts in other areas impor‑ tant to urban planners, including transit and safety. As the creative industries are the second largest and one of the fastest growing sectors within the United States (NEA 2023), cultural activity stimulates, for example, utilization of transit infrastructure, and fosters public safety by increasing pedestrian activity.

A U.S. Cultural Policy Timeline Failed attempts to fund the arts frame the origins of early U.S. federal cultural policy. In 1789, George Washington unsuccessfully urged Congress “to accelerate the progress of art and science” (Smith 1995). In 1877, Rep. Samuel Cox introduced the “first formal bill to establish a federal arts council”; it died in session (Smith 1995). In 1891, “Congress passed a bill creating a National Conservatory of Music but failed to appropriate funds for its support” (Binkiewicz 2005). However, culture has always been present and there has always been an awareness of it and a civic curiosity about it, especially at local and state levels. In the late 1800s, the State of Utah legislated the first U.S. state arts agency. In 1911, Philadelphia became the first U.S. city to establish a local arts agency. In 1931, the City of San Francisco wrote support for its symphony into its city charter.4 In 1935, cultural policy as a national endeavor in the United States began. That year, Pres‑ ident Franklin Delano Roosevelt signed into law the Emergency Relief Appropriations Act to provide economic relief during the Great Depression. With $27 million for Federal Pro‑ ject Number One (1935–1939), this program began what is popularly called WPA (Works Progress Administration) Arts. It contained five distinct projects: Federal Art Project, Federal Music Project, Federal Theatre Project (FTP), Federal Writers Project, and the Historical Records Survey. The result of this policy was that more than 40,000 artists were paid to work as ac‑ tors, composers, conductors, dancers, designers, directors, musicians, playwrights, stage‑ hands, and writers. Well‑known WPA artists include choreographer Katherine Dunham, anthropologist and novelist Zora Neale Hurston, actor Rosetta LeNoire, playwright Arthur Miller, sculptor Augusta Savage, and director Orson Welles. They painted murals, wrote and adapted plays, staged theatrical productions, conducted and performed in music concerts, curated art exhibitions, taught arts classes across the United States, conducted oral histories with community members, and collaborated with other artists to tell community stories through the arts. WPA Arts programs not only paid artists to work, but they also drastically altered the aesthetics of the United States. In Mississippi, James Washington, Jr., a Black painter and sculptor, curated a WPA exhibition of Black artists, after he was excluded by a white WPA curator. Washington’s show was “the first known exhibit of African American art in Missis‑ sippi” (Mahmoud 2022). Across the U.S., American folk, African American, and European classical music filled concert halls. In New York, Chicago, Portland, Seattle, and dozens of other cities, new works, ancient Greek plays, and adaptations filled theatrical stages. 259

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On October 27, 1936, 17 FTP companies across the U.S. simultaneously staged Lewis Sinclair’s anti‑fascist plays It Can’t Happen Here  –  including Seattle’s Negro Repertory Company, an all‑black theater company. During the Great Depression as hundreds of post offices were constructed, WPA fund‑ ing supported murals therein painted by local artists. In one mural, viewers find a sweep‑ ing portrayal of white settlers and indigenous communities, horses and carriages, livestock, and produce. This is Peggy Strong’s “The Saga of Wenatchee” (1939) a mural adorning the Wenatchee, WA post office. Within Renton, WA’s post office, Jacob Elshin’s “Miners at Work” (1937–1938) depicts a labor scene of men in hard hats with shovels. These murals were funded by another policy called the Treasury Relief Art Project (TRAP), which set aside 1% of post office construction costs for art, a mechanism that continues to influence percent‑for‑art5 cultural policy to this day. In 1939, WPA funding ended due to the impend‑ ing World War, and the fear by many in Congress that artists supported communism (Green‑ berger 2022). In 1965, the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) was established. A federal grant‑ ing agency, the NEA based its grant‑matching funding strategies of the Ford Foundation,6 and the NEA and Ford Foundation continue to partner to this day. The NEA’s creation also fostered the creation of state arts agencies, who today receive around 20%–40% of their budget from the NEA and are legislated to match the NEA funding with state fund‑ ing. Contemporary U.S. cultural policy anchors itself to the NEA’s establishment, and many of the Eight Pillars are a byproduct of this grant‑matching model cultivated in the 1960s. In the same decade, the Tax Reform Act of 1969 greatly expanded the nonprofit sector, including the growing number of arts organizations designated as nonprofit 501(c)3s to receive tax benefits.7 In the 1960s and 1970s, President Lyndon B. Johnson implemented the Model Cities program (1966–1974) as part of his Great Society and War on Poverty. In Seattle, a com‑ munity‑based theater company called Black Arts/West received Model Cities funding “to expand theater activities and provide community exposure to drama. Funding supported a children’s theater, the professional training of actors, and the production of plays of local and regional interest” (Archives West 1967). Their theater programs continued even after the funding was eliminated in the 1970s. Also in the 1960s and 1970s, the movement around local arts agencies (LAA) and state arts agencies (SAA) – where and how most people experience culture – started to mobilize in chartering local and regional departments. LAA and SAA are municipal (city, county, and state) arts agencies that foster cultural policy and programs. In 1971, Honolulu’s Mayor’s Office of Culture and the Arts (MOCA) was founded. Atlanta’s Office of Cultural Affairs was established in 1974. As of 2019, the NEA estimates that there are about 1,500–2,000 local arts agencies, depending on how one is defined.8 In 1974, the National Assembly for State Arts Agencies (NASAA) was incorporated (UMass Amherst Libraries 2024). Today, the national nonprofit organization is “dedicated to the nation’s 56 state and jurisdictional arts agencies” (NASAA 2024a), including the Or‑ egon Arts Commission, Arkansas Art Council, South Carolina Arts Commission, and Colo‑ rado Creative Industries. NASAA’s website includes a colorful page with images of artists, communities, landscapes that frame the following headings: “Support Rural Communities,” “Enliven Public Spaces,” “Promote Health & Healing,” “Spark Economic Growth,” “Drive 260

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Educational Success,” “Foster Inclusion & Equity,” “Reach Low‑Income Communities,” “Create Opportunities for Artists,” and “Serve the Public.” These descriptors align with The Eight Pillars and describe the work done by state arts agencies. Also in the 1970s, the Comprehensive Employment and Training Act (CETA) signed un‑ der President Nixon produced “federal funds [that] provided employment to 10,000 artists nationwide” from 1974 to 1981. Virginia Maksymowicz and Blaise Tobia’s article in Hy‑ perallergic, “The Forgotten Federally Employed Artists,” details this history and its effect, including in San Francisco where “[a]ccomplished but unemployed artists were hired into positions, many of them full‑time with benefits, some of them for as long as two years” (Maksymowicz and Tobia 2020). Across the NEA’s history, and especially in the 1980s, individual artists received grants to support their work. Robust NEA funding to individual artists changed in the early 1990s when the NEA grant applications by four performance artists – Karen Finley, Holly Hughes, John Fleck, and Tim Miller – were vetoed because some legislators considered their work “indecent.” These “NEA Four” artists sued but a U.S. Supreme Court case ruling (the Na‑ tional Endowment for the Arts v. Finley) upheld the denied funds, with the argument that NEA funds were already so limited, decency could be a justification. After this case, individ‑ ual artists (except for writers, jazz, and folks artists)9 no longer received direct federal NEA funding. Instead, federal funds went to state agencies (some of whom do fund individual artists) and arts organizations. Economic relief during the COVID‑19 pandemic ushered in a robust (though temporary) set of pandemic‑era cultural policy. Arguably most significant: the Shuttered Venue Operat‑ ing Grant, passed in December 2020, which provided $16 billion of pandemic relief funds to arts venues, administered by the federal government’s Small Business Association, the largest federal arts funding in our nation’s history. Pandemic arts relief also took the form of the Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security (CARES) Act, which “included $75 million in funds distributed through the NEA granted to arts organizations directly,” (Stubbs and Mullaney‑Loss 2021) as well as the Paycheck Protection Program (or PPP) loans for em‑ ployees, unemployment benefits for arts workers, and grants from local and state agencies.10 A 2023 study relieved that “[o]ut of the $4.6 trillion in federal relief funds, $53 billion went to arts and entertainment” (Blair 2023). In their Grantmakers in the Arts report on “Public Funding for Arts and Culture in 2020,” Ryan Stubbs and Patricia Mullaney‑Loss suggest that, during the pandemic, “public and private sectors … had to adapt to new public health and economic realities.” With these drastically new adaptations during the pandemic, many cultural leaders began to look back at the WPA and other funding models that directly funded artists, and made intrinsic and instrumental11 arguments for arts and culture as essential for recovery. Jason Farago’s 2021 New York Times editorial, “The Arts are in Crises: Here’s How Biden Can Help,” (Farago 2021) situated how the soon‑to‑be‑inaugurated Biden administration could better support the arts, and combat an increase in artist unemployment, and the drastic closures of venues, galleries, and companies. Among Farago’s solutions: “Reach for a New Deal” touting the 1930s WPA arts poli‑ cies and “cultural works programs” to “[e]mbed… unemployed artists nationwide,” and “bring… artists on board for infrastructure projects.” Other suggestions: support murals in rural areas to benefit Biden’s favorability with conservative voters, and establish a cabinet 261

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level “Chief of the Arts.” The importance of this cultural policy, Farago championed, was both instrumental (including economic relief) and intrinsic, including catharsis, or emo‑ tional purging and how “[a]rt, music, drama are instruments of psychic and social health.”

Cultural Policy as Public Policy Political scientist Thomas Dye famously defined public policy as “whatever governments choose to do or not to do” (Dye 1972). Thus governmental actions and inactions can be considered public policy. Many political scientists cite Theodore Lowi to conceptualize four functions of public policy (Lowi 1972). The first is constituent policy, which sets up governmental structures, rules, or institutions such as the WPA or NEA. The second function is regulatory policy. It ostensibly reduces harm through protections, such as food handling laws, and restrictions, such as traffic laws. Across the U.S. history, regulatory policy has caused inequitable harm to minoritized communities. Through arts, this includes what we might call “regulatory cultural policy.” Especially during and after President Andrew Jackson’s administration (1829–1837), U.S. laws prevented Indigenous people from retaining their language and cultural traditions. In 1926, New York City implemented the Cabaret License to prevent interracial dancing; this law stayed on the books until 2017 and caused early 21st‑century arts venues where dancing took place to pay onerous fines (Correal 2017). Ostensibly to reduce drug use and abuse to‑ ward youth (though many argue also to reduce teen exposure to Black and other alternative music), Seattle’s Teen Dance Ordinances (1967, 1985–2002) prevented youth attendance at many live music venues, especially those that promoted hip hop, rock and metal music. Anti‑graffiti laws are also a form of regulatory cultural policy. A third function of public policy is distributive, that is to increase wealth. These include the mortgage system, which subsidizes home ownership, and whose history is entangled with racist redlining practices. Distributive cultural policies include establishment of cultural districts  –  something named with the “Creative Placemaking” pillar  –  and the nonprofit 501(c)3 tax code. Most cultural policy falls into a fourth category: redistributive public policies. These are designed to decrease poverty by redistributing wealth. Examples include NEA grants, per‑ cent‑for‑art funding for public art, admissions, and lodging taxes as sources for local arts agencies, and COVID‑19 relief for arts organizations. Cultural policy as largely redistribu‑ tive suggests how cultural policy is supported and funded, often through general funds, percent‑for‑art capital funding that supports public art, and sales,12 lodging (or hotel/motel) taxes, sin, and admissions taxes.

The First Pillar: Grantmaking The first pillar  –  and still the most prominent function of cultural policy in the United States  –  is grantmaking. Grantmaking is a tool for public investment into the arts. Since the NEA’s establishment in 1965, grantmaking has historically provided state and regional arts agencies and nonprofit arts organizations with general operating support. Sometimes grantmaking has been connected to capital support or venue maintenance, or funding for a season, performance, or exhibition. 262

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Fiscally, grantmaking takes place at the federal, county, and city (or other local) levels, and across many tribal nations.13 According to a report on “Public Funding for Arts and Culture in 2020,” agencies across those levels “appropriated a combined $1.47 billion to the arts in FY2020.” Interestingly, a larger amount of funding often increases in state and local agencies. For example, in FY2020, there was “$162.3 million in appropriations to the NEA” at the federal level, more double that amount at “$435.4 million in legislative appro‑ priations to state and jurisdictional arts agencies,” and almost double that amount for state, county, and municipal governments with “$860.0 million in funds allocated by municipal and county governments to local arts agencies (LAAs)” (Stubbs and Mullaney‑Loss 2021). In a 2022 interview with Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson, the 16th Chair of the National En‑ dowment for the Arts, she stated: I’m really excited about leaning into our identity not only as a grant maker but also as a national resource. … We continue to be a funder, a grant making organization, which is how we’re primarily known, but we’ll also focus on our role as a national resource for creating and bolstering healthy arts ecosystems, and these are ecosystems that contrib‑ ute to building healthy communities where all people can thrive. (NEA 2023) Grantmaking for the arts is important because it recognizes that many arts economies do not align with capitalist economies, and thus have non‑capitalist value that nevertheless needs government support. Theater and performance, for example, are often framed as “­ephemeral” – as scholars including economists Baumol and Bowen and performance theo‑ rist Peggy Phelan argue – and the product of this work is the live performance itself which doesn’t accumulate capital and requires the presence of live labor (Baumol and Bowen 1981; Phelan 1993). Though the arts may not accumulate capital, they do produce intrinsic values including joy, empathy, discourse, belonging, health, and community vitality. As of this writing, federal level grants through the NEA support include Partnership Agree‑ ment Grants, funds to partially “support the 56 state and territory arts agencies;” Grants for Arts Projects, described as “the NEA’s largest grant program that provides matching grants of $10,000 to $100,000 to arts nonprofits and local arts agencies;” Challenge America sup‑ porting underserved communities; Our Town supporting grants for creative placemaking; research awards to scholars studying the arts; and “grants to individual writers who work on creative writing and translation” (NEA 2024c). A few other points about NEA grant funding: the NEA has had an on‑and‑off again relationship with robustly funding individual artists, and since the 1990s (and the NEA Four controversy), the NEA has only funded individual writers, jazz masters, and heritage awards, rather than a more genre‑inclusive set of artists. Also, the NEA’s first budget line includes those “Partnership Agreement Grants” that provide a large segment of state arts agency budgets. This budget suggests that grantmaking was the genesis of both the NEA and the vast majority of local arts agencies including at the state level. State agencies  –  whose funding comes in part from the National Endowment for the Arts  –  often offer more particular grant making streams. For example, during the 2021– 2023 legislative cycle, the Washington State Arts Commission’s annual budget was around $4.1 million, of which the NEA contributed around $1.1 million (Washington State Office 263

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of Financial Management 2024). The rest of the state agency’s budget came from Washing‑ ton State’s general fund (about $2.5 million), private/local funds ($25,000), and a percent of state construction costs (around $460,000). With this funding, the Washington State Arts Commission (ArtsWA) supported (1) public art, (2) granting for arts organizations, arts education (largely for schools and nonprofits), and the Wellness, Military, and the Arts pro‑ grams, (3) Creative Districts, and (4) additional programs including the State Poet Laureate, the Governor’s Arts and Heritage Awards, and the Center for Washington Cultural Tradi‑ tions, which through a matching grant from the Humanities Washington, funds apprentices to learn ethnic and cultural arts traditions. Local, county‑based, and state arts agencies14 are often more nimble and responsive to their communities. 4Culture is the name of the King County Cultural Funding Agency, a region that includes Seattle, Bellevue, and Renton, among other cities and unincorporated areas in Washington State. Over the past decade, 4Culture’s annual budget has ranged from $20 to $50  million sourced from lodging taxes on motel/hotel stays. The “4” stands for what the agency funds through grants: arts, heritage, preservation, and public art. This in‑ cludes grants to newer organizations, cultural facilities funding (including to acquire spaces, equipment, and landmark status), operating support for organizations and individuals, and poetry in public. 4Culture also runs a gallery (a cultural facility) in downtown Seattle that highlights regional artists. Recent exhibitions spotlit Allyce Wood’s textiles, Eunsun Choi’s sculptural bird houses, Stefan Gonzales’s multimedia decolonial work about roadways, and Elisheba Johnson’s mosaics about lotteries in Black communities. Local arts agencies – at the city level – often expand this nimble responsiveness to their communities. Seattle’s Office of Arts and Culture’s budget comes in large part from the ad‑ missions tax on for‑profit entertainment events, sourcing the agency with an annual budget that ranges from $10 to $20 million per year. Programs include ARTS at King Street Station (a community‑responsive gallery that has frequent exhibitions and events), Civic Poet (the city’s poet laureate), Creative Youth (including the agency’s innovative Creative Advantage program to fund arts education programs in the city’s public schools), Cultural Space (pro‑ viding arts spaces to the city’s artists and organizations), Langston Hughes Performing Arts Institute (which the City owns and funds), Mayor’s Awards, Public Art, and Racial Equity. Grant‑wise, Seattle’s Office of Arts and Culture funds Artists at the Center, CityArtist Grant, Youth Arts Grant, Arts in Parks Programs, smART ventures grant, Centering Art & Racial Equity Grant, Neighborhoods & Communities Arts grant, and Work Readiness Arts Pro‑ gram grant. Many arts advocates have worked to increase the budget of governmental arts agencies – and granting budgets. In 2020, Grantmakers in the Arts, a American collective of arts funders both governmental and non‑governmental, estimated that the “federal government, states, and lo‑ calities appropriated a combined $1.47 billion to the arts in FY2020, for a total per capita investment of $4.42” (Stubbs and Mullaney‑Loss 2021). NASAA has tracked the per capita arts spending state by state agency as a way to compare states, and advocate for increased state budgets overall. In 2022, Washington State Arts Commission’s budget represented $0.87 per capita, where the average state (and territory) amount is $2.71 (NASAA 2022). Beyond the federal level, state and local sources for grantmaking often comes income and property taxes, and also from other innovative streams.

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Hotel, motel, lodging, and transient occupancy taxes have supported grantmaking in mu‑ nicipalities including King County, WA (through the county arts agency, 4Culture), as well as in Greater Miami, Dade County, Florida, Stamford, Connecticut, and Columbus, Ohio (Cohen 2019). In Austin, TX, 15% from the Hotel Occupancy, via the Texas Tax Code, funds the city’s Cultural Arts Fund; in fact the city ordinance uses the following language: 15 percent of the funds collected is allocated to the Cultural Arts Fund and may be used for the encouragement, promotion, improvement, and application of the arts, includ‑ ing instrumental and vocal music, dance, drama, folk art, creative writing, architecture, design and allied fields, painting, sculpture, photography, graphic and craft arts, motion pictures, radio, television, tape and sound recording, and other arts related to the pres‑ entation, performance, execution, and exhibition of a major art form. (Municode Library 2024) In December 2023, the San Diego City Council “unanimously voted to recommend the city use nearly 10% of its annual Transient Occupancy Tax revenue to fund arts and culture, nearly double the current amount” (Sandla 2023). As a funding source, hotel, motel, lodging, and transient occupancy taxes are appealing because they tax non‑residents to fund the arts; a downside is when lack of occupancy reduces annual budgets, something that happened ­during the COVID‑19 pandemic, and drastically decreased 4Culture’s funding revenue. Another innovative funding source is the admission taxes, often called an amusement tax. This is a tax on entertainment events. Seattle has had an admission tax since the 1930s via state law, and the 1940s via local laws. Other municipalities with admissions taxes include Chicago, IL and Spokane, WA, as well as Portland, OR (begun in the 1980s) and Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada (enacted in 1994 as another arts funding stream after the city enacted massive cuts to arts funding) (Carlin 2019). With admission taxes, often certain types of venues (including music venues and/or non‑profit arts venues) are exempt from these taxes, ostensibly to benefit the arts.15 What is popularly called “sin taxes” – that is taxes on “vices” such as tobacco, alcohol, and gambling – have also supported arts agency budgets. In Cuyahoga County (which in‑ cludes Cleveland, OH), a 30% tax on cigarettes funds the arts. This policy began with a voter‑approved initiative in 2006 but has been marked by declines with cigarette purchases (Bhatia 2023). NASAA describes lottery and gambling taxes: Seven state arts agencies receive funds from lottery and gaming revenues, comprising on average 27% of these agencies’ state funding in fiscal year 2022. Lottery and gam‑ ing funds are significant sources of income for state arts agencies in Colorado, Iowa, Kansas and West Virginia (20 to 90% of state funding); they provide modest funding in Wisconsin. The newest programs include Maryland, which started to receive rev‑ enue from the state’s admission and amusement tax (on electronic bingo and electronic tip jars) in 2016; Oregon, where arts and culture began receiving funds from the state lottery in 2020; and Massachusetts where, since 2021, casino gaming revenue has sup‑ ported the arts council’s arts and education programs. (NASAA 2024)

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Another source includes dedicated sales taxes passed through public or legislative vote. For example the SCFD (Scientific and Cultural Facilities District) “is a seven‑county tax district created within Colorado law, approved by Colorado’s General Assembly, and renewed by vot‑ ers multiple times over more than 30 years.” Through an increase of one penny on every ten dollars in sales taxes, the SCFD generates $60 million annually, which is granted to over 300 cultural organizations (SCFD 2024). In Washington State, Cultural Access legislation passed in 2015 allows a similar sales tax model to support arts municipally. Passed by voter‑approved initiative in 2019, Tacoma Creates (in Tacoma, WA) provides $5.6 million annually to 65 arts and culture organizations in the city; a similar program exists in Olympia, WA. In December 2023, the King County Council unanimously passed Doors Open King County, enacting “a 0.1% sales tax, totaling a penny for every $10 spent … to raise more than $90 million each year” for the county’s arts organizations (Doors Open Kings County 2024).

The Second Pillar: Public Art If grantmaking – the first pillar – is the genesis of contemporary cultural policy, then public art – the second pillar – is cultural policy’s most prolific form (Eche 2023). Often when commuting in Seattle via light rail, passengers view dozens of colorful, large scale artworks. Greens and browns inundate Addison Karl’s thickly forested ʔiʔibać ʔal tiʔa siɁáb siɁáł/Chief Seattle’s Grandchildren, a portrait of Mary Lou Slaughter and her son Mi‑ chael Halady of the Duwamish tribe16 as guardians of the Emerald City.17 In Georgia Hill’s I’ll Be There Soon, those words appear in large white and block lettering. These works comprise SODO Track, an outdoor art exhibition of murals experienced by public transit and “the first to commission over 60 artists from 20 countries to explore one theme, and paint side‑by‑side” (SODO Track 2024). A 2018 Crosscut article chronicled this public art project’s history and facilitation: “This project is expanding what public art can be,” says Tamar Benzikry, the senior 4Culture project manager who shepherded the project to completion over the last three years. “People think of public art in public places — parks, plazas, transit stations — but looking out a bus window can be an opportunity for public art too” (Davis 2018). The aesthetic and infrastructural result achieved is captured in this quote: “SODO Track has transformed the portal to Downtown Seattle – a two‑mile transit corridor traveled by over 50,000 daily – into an imaginative raceway in motion” (SODO Track 2024). In most instances in U.S. cultural policy, public art is funded by “percent‑for‑art” mecha‑ nisms (Hein 1996). In particular, when governmental buildings are constructed or renovated, a percentage of that budget (usually 1%) goes into a pool to fund public art. As mentioned above, this model began in the 1930s to support WPA murals. It continued municipally in 1959 when Philadelphia was the first city to initiate the percent‑for‑art structure (Philadelphia Office of Arts, Culture and the Creative Economy 2024). As of today, most cities, counties, and states use a “percent‑for‑art” mechanism to fund public art within their jurisdiction. Although the NEA funds public art projects, including through Our Town and regular visual art grantmaking, the federal government does not support public art the way that lo‑ cal arts agencies do, in part because public art at the municipal level is tied to capital projects that tend to have multi‑year grant cycles and don’t correspond to the annual grantmaking 266

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cycle used by the NEA. Federally, the government supports the Smithsonian (which includes the National Museum of African American History and Culture, Smithsonian American Art Museum, National Museum of the American Indian, and National Portrait Gallery) whose funding comes in part from federal appropriations. (In its initial decades, the NEA did com‑ mission public art works including the 1967 Black Sun sculpture by Isamu Noguchi located in Seattle’s Volunteer Park.) A few other notes about public art as a pillar. First, the “percent‑for‑art” mechanism is fairly consistent from city to city and state to state, though different municipalities vary in what is appropriated. Washington State, for example, only permits for 0.5% of capital construction costs (rather than 1%) to fund public art. Second, “percent for art” is a frame people usually understand. In contrast to debates around defending grantmaking expendi‑ tures and appropriations, there is often an implicit understanding that a percent of building costs should go into making that building aesthetically pleasing and reflect the community’s character, values, and identity. Third, the percent‑for‑art mechanisms for public art has more intrinsic values baked into them than grantmaking, which is often justified by instrumental values such as return on investment, economic impact, and student retention. By contrast, public art usually aims to make the case for aesthetics and for publicly available artwork for everyone that we all deserve. Public art funding primarily funds visual art, but there has been public art funding of per‑ forming arts. For example, in 2021, the City of Seattle’s Office of Arts and Culture hosted Created Commons, “in partnership with the Department of Transportation (SDOT) and Seattle Parks and Recreation” to “transform … outdoor spaces across Seattle into venues for spectacular temporary arts and cultural extravaganzas” (Jingco 2021). Performers included local Seattle talent Hollis Wong‑Wear, Massive Monkees, the Black Tones, Chong the No‑ mad, Party Hat Gallery, and Digable Planets. Percent‑for‑art funding has also supported art‑ ists‑in‑residence programs including in Seattle, Oakland, and across Hawaii (NASAA 2013).

The Third Pillar: Festivals The third pillar is festivals, that is publicly funded parades, celebrations, concerts, and per‑ forming arts events meant to build community, lift up a region’s assets, and drive interest in redevelopment (Silber and Rosenstein 2010). One of the precursors to large public festivals were world’s fairs, which have animated U.S. cities and have built new parks, buildings, and other infrastructures that planning commit‑ tees have wanted to build. Historic world fairs – with anthropological display halls – have also promoted racist attitudes, especially toward non‑white community members. Past world fairs include the first in the U.S., Philadelphia’s Centennial World’s Fair in 1876, as well as Chicago’s World’s Columbian Exposition in 1893, and St. Louis’s Louisiana Purchase Ex‑ position in 1904. In fact, much of Seattle’s cultural ecology was created during and after the city’s 1962 World’s Fair. Called the Century 21 Exposition, that fair built the Seattle Center – the city’s arts and sports campus – with several theaters, including the present‑day Seattle Rep, Center Stage, McCaw Hall, and Climate Pledge Arena. C21E also later created offices for the city’s arts commission at Seattle Center, which existed as a line item in the budget. These were place‑based investments that leveraged the world’s fair to create the scaffolding for an arts ecosystem. 267

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In contemporary cultural policy, festivals function as a catalytic intervention that funds artists and uses arts and culture as a vehicle to accomplish other goals such as bringing people together, driving investment, and staging performances in the public. Shakespeare in the Park, pioneered by The Public Theater’s Joe Papp in 1954 (Miller 2016), has become a model that many cities replicate. Chicago’s Department of Cultural Affairs and Special Events presents over 1,000 events a year, including through the annual Blues Festival, Gos‑ pel Music Festival, Jazz Festival, Summer Dance, and World Music Festival.

The Fourth Pillar: Government‑Owned Cultural Facilities Many communities own and operate cultural facilities, hosting concerts, theater programs, visual art exhibitions, and other events, animating the cultural life of the region. This fourth pillar is cultural facilities, or governmentally owned arts venues. Municipalities will often make cultural facilities available for public use to support their arts ecosystem. For a long time, the City of Dallas owned several buildings and would let people use the buildings as cultural support infrastructure, rather than direct grant making. In the early 21st century, Chicago’s Department of Cultural Affairs owned and operated the DCA Store‑ front Theater (closed in 2012), which hosted plays and other theatrical events featuring Chicago‑based ensembles, companies, and artists, including Chicago Dance Crash’s Gotham City. Outside of Denver, Red Rocks Park & Amphitheatre hosts musicians including Sting, Hozier, and Counting Crows, alongside “Yoga on the Rocks” and film events. The City of Seattle owns the Langston Hughes Performing Arts Institute, a cultural venue where the non‑ profit arts organization LANGSTON – which produces Black arts and cultural events – re‑ sides. In 2023, in SeaTac, WA, The Roundhouse opened as an all‑ages music venue near the Angle Lake Light Rail Station. New York City18 also owns and provides funding to 33 of the major institutions in the city. Cultural facilities further the cultural life of cities, in at least three ways. First, in provid‑ ing cultural space, cultural facilities underwrite a key expense (space) that arts organizations have and do so without direct grantmaking or transfer of dollars. This provision of space is sometimes easier than the provision of dollars. Second, sometimes cultural facilities owned and operated by a municipality themselves generate revenue which in turn support the arts. Red Rocks – outside of Denver – is aesthetically one of the most iconic arts venues, and gen‑ erates $6 million annually, funds that support other arts programming in the region. Third, cultural facilities might function to further a municipality’s policy goal (such as the racial equity); examples include LANGSTON or King Street Station, which houses Seattle’s Office of Arts and Culture, also includes ARTS at King Street, a gallery and cultural event space that features work by Black, Indigenous, and other of color artists.

The Fifth Pillar: Arts Education In 2011, the National Endowment for the Arts published a study entitled “What the declines mean for arts education.” Prepared by Nick Rabkin and E.C. Hedberg, the University of Chicago scholars found that “long‑term declines in Americans’ reported rates of arts learn‑ ing align with a period in which arts education has been widely acknowledged as devalued in the public school system” (Rabkin and Hedberg 2011). 268

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In fact, during a 26 year period from 1982 to 2008, childhood arts education participa‑ tion rates in America declined from 64.6% to 49.5%. However, along racial lines, white student participation only decreased from 59.2% to 57.9%, where Hispanic student par‑ ticipation decreased from 47.2% to 28.1%, and Black student participation decreased from 50.9% to 26.2%. Put another way, that drastic decrease in arts education fell primarily on Black and Hispantic students. These declines in arts education – especially through public schools – are linked to how the U.S. President Reagan administration prompted the steady disinvestment in arts edu‑ cation from primary and secondary education, especially those that did not have external fundraising capacity from volunteer Parent Teacher Associations. For cultural policymakers, then, arts education emerged in the 1990s as a vital need. The “STEMification” of education in the early 21st century further divested from arts education (Seitz et al. 2023). The fifth cultural policy pillar, arts education, grew in the late 20th century to meet this need. In fact, in 1995, the Department of Education and NEA founded the Arts Education Partnership, which exists to this day with over 200 organizations “committed to making high‑quality arts education accessible to all U.S. students.” In the late 20th century, arts education had been robust but uneven, with arts education in public schools and teaching artists providing after school arts lessons in cities like San Francisco and New York City in the 1970s due to CETA funding. Today, even though arts education is enshrined in Common Core standards that changed under the Obama adminis‑ tration, it remains inadequately funded. This pattern repeats at the state level as many states have arts education policies that are not fully funded; the National Center for Education Statistics includes reports on state level arts education requirements (NCES 2024). Cultural policy often addresses that gap, including the Washington State Arts Commis‑ sions Arts in Education grants, given to public schools and nonprofits organizations for in school and after school learning opportunities. Due to these gaps in education policy and inadequate funding, many contemporary arts education policies are “collective impact” models – such as Big Thought in Dallas, EdVes‑ tors in Boston, and Ingenuity in Chicago – bringing together public‑private partnerships to affect systemic and policy change to structurally restore funding to arts education. In Seattle, The Creative Advantage launched after a 2012 Wallace Foundation funded study showed “access to an arts education is predictable based on race and ethnicity, Free and Reduced Lunch, Special Education, and English Language Learner status” (Soto 2012). Run through Seattle’s Office of Arts and Culture with a partnership with Seattle Public Schools, The Creative Advantage exists as a public‑private partnership to restore and grow high‑quality arts instruction in all public schools. Why does arts education matter? The Rabkin and Hedberg study suggests that K‑12 arts education produces arts participation throughout life. A 2012 NEA‑sponsored study by James Catterel revealed severely worse life outcomes for economically at‑risk youth not ex‑ posed to the arts. Those youth with arts exposure had significantly higher writing and science scores, higher overall GPA, and more likelihood to earn a bachelor’s degree. Significantly, “High school students who earned few or no arts credits were five times more likely not to have graduated than students who earned many arts credits” (Catterall 2012). Beyond these instrumental values, arts education has been championed for the intrinsic “21st‑century”

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skills it often confers, such as critical thinking, problem solving, collaboration, communica‑ tion, creativity, and risk‑taking. Also, arts organizations – a bedrock of vibrant urbanism – have also realized that their fu‑ ture audiences are tied to robust K‑12 arts education. If residents were not likely exposed to arts at a young age, they were not going to consume arts as adults. After about 2010, there was a reduction in subscriptions and participation due to lack of arts education.

The Sixth Pillar: Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) Constant dispossession of Indigenous land and culture, the Three‑Fifth Compromise (1787), the Fugitive Slave Act (1850), the Chinese Exclusion Act (1882), and Redlining (1930s) – these policies represent intentional decisions made by the U.S. government to ex‑ tract resources or lives from one group of people for the enrichment and benefit of another group. They are a well‑documented practice throughout U.S. history with a government complicit in these harmful, oppressive systems. The importance of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) as the sixth pillar, then, is em‑ bedded into the fabric of U.S. history and public policy. It asks the public sector in particular to have a responsibility in naming and addressing those historical harms, to practice more just realities, and to do so through the arts. As a frame, DEI is also for representation as well as production. And especially for Black, Indigenous, and other racially minoritized artists, the arts have long been a central means of sharing undervalued history, communication, and storytelling (Taylor 2003). In 2021, on President Biden’s first day in office, his administration put out an Executive Order on Racial Equity, and defined equity as: the consistent and systematic fair, just, and impartial treatment of all individuals, in‑ cluding individuals who belong to underserved communities that have been denied such treatment, such as Black, Latino, and Indigenous and Native American persons, Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders and other persons of color; members of religious mi‑ norities; lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ+) persons; persons with disabilities; persons who live in rural areas; and persons otherwise adversely affected by persistent poverty or inequality. (WH 2021) In this chapter, we suggest that diversity asks for more variety (racial and/or otherwise) of who is invited in, inclusion seeks to give more people power, and equity, defined by the NEA, means a “systematic approach to embedding fairness in all decision‑making pro‑ cesses” (NEA 2024). Many activities in the arts sector have long evaded DEI: all‑white non‑profit arts boards, large resources for the white Western canon versus paltry resources for non‑Western and non‑white work, and mostly white audiences for diverse arts programming. The NEA picked up these DEI conversations – even if they were not named as such – in the 1980s, two dec‑ ades after the Civil Rights Act, when many noticed the disproportionate amount of white communities as NEA grantees. As a response, the NEA started, in 1985, its Urban Arts pro‑ grams, targeted toward communities of color. Yet, this funding was scarce. More recently, 270

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a 2017 Helicon report “Not Just Money: Equity Issues in Cultural Philanthropy,” found that “despite important efforts by many leading foundations, funding overall has gotten less equitable, not more, over the past five years” (Sidford and Franz 2017). In 2004, the City of Seattle became the first U.S. city to adopt a Race and Social Justice Ini‑ tiative, an apparatus to assess racial inequities in policy outcomes and then to make changes (City of Seattle 2024). In the 2010s, Seattle’s Office of Arts and Culture used this initiative to do an assessment of their work through a racially equitable lens. Outcomes included King Street Station, which particularly platforms BIPOC (Black Indigenous and People of Color) artists. When King Street Station first opened in 2019, its first visual art show was yəhaw̓, an “Indigenous‑led” decolonial project and group exhibition of Indigenous artists, whose title was “drawn from the Coast Salish story of people from many tribes uniting around a com‑ mon cause and lifting the sky together” (yəhaw̓ 2019). Since 2021, the NEA has done more racial equity work, including launching a “Racial Equity and Access Working Group,” to develop an Equity Action Plan that will frame decision‑making from 2022 to 2026. For urban planners, recognizing DEI (especially in dialogue with government policies that produce racist urbanism processes, including redlining) is paramount. These racist processes continue; in 2023, laws passed in both Florida and Texas banned DEI offices at higher edu‑ cation institutions, and were severe pushbacks to DEI efforts. Some recent work on the next pillar, Creative Placemaking, continues approaches to racial equity and DEI.

Seventh Pillar: Creative Placemaking In 2010, cultural policy researchers Ann Markusen and Anne Gadwa Nicodemus published Creative Placemaking: A White Paper for The Mayors’ Institute on City Design, a leader‑ ship initiative of the National Endowment for the Arts in partnership with the United States Conference of Mayors and American Architectural Foundation. The paper defines that crea‑ tive placemaking works through public‑private partnerships to strategically shape the physical and social character of a neighborhood, town, city, or region around arts and cultural activities. Creative placemaking animates public and private spaces, rejuvenates structures and streetscapes, improves local business viabil‑ ity and public safety, and brings diverse people together to celebrate, inspire, and be inspired. (Markusen and Gadwa 2010) Their paper launched “creative placemaking” as a NEA priority. Starting in 2011, the NEA began Our Town grants as the agency’s creative placemaking grant program…. Since  2011, the agency has funded over 700 projects in all 50 states, DC, Puerto Rico, Virgin Islands, and Northern Mariana Islands. Our Town supports local partnership projects that have social, economic or physical impacts. The ultimate goal of Our Town is to sustain support and recognition of arts, design, and cultural strategies as integral to every phase of community development across the United States. (NEA 2024)

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One impact of this policy was that in the 2010s, with creative placemaking as a key cultural policy and planning concept, and Our Town as an annual NEA grant, the concept of cultural districts exploded in the United States. We can think of the 2010s as the golden age of the cultural district. As of this writing, there are now more than 1,800 listed on the Cultural District Finder on the Americans for the Arts website (AFTA 2019). In 2018, the Washington State Arts Commission launched their Creative Districts pro‑ gram, providing small grants and administrative support to cultural regions in the state that “helps communities turn cultural activities into economic growth.” As of this writing, Wash‑ ington State has 13 districts including in Edmonds and Olympia, and the more rural towns of Twisp, Moses Lake, and Chewelah. Cultural districts are not the only focus of creative placemaking. In 2010, ArtPlace Amer‑ ica launched, and grew to become “a ten‑year, $150 million collaboration among a num‑ ber of foundations, federal agencies, and financial institutions that operated from 2010 to 2020.” The mission of ArtPlace was “to position arts and culture as a core sector of equi‑ table community planning and development” (ArtPlace 2020). Over the program’s decade, 285 projects were funded that sought to engage place and culture equitability, and through foci including health, agriculture and food, youth development, environment and energy, transportation, public safety, and workforce development. Funded programs included Ap‑ palachian Artisan Center of Kentucky, Inc., Imaginart in the Alleys in Marion, IA, and The Waniyetu Wowapi Lakota Youth Arts Institute in East Butte, SD. Innovatively, ArtPlace America worked as a partnership between multiple federal agen‑ cies and foundations. In fact, one thing that creative placemaking as policy does differently than public art is working through public‑private partnerships, to align investment among federal, local, and philanthropic support sources. Though not named as such, creative placemaking also happened prior to the 2010 white paper. In 1970s St. Louis, the “Zoo Museum District” policy was created to support “then financially‑struggling cultural institutions: the Museum of Science and Natural History, then located in Oak Knoll Park in Clayton, and the Saint Louis Zoo and Art Museum, located in Forest Park” (Metropolitan Zoological Park and Museum District 2022). Through a property tax, St. Louis City and County residents have funded these organizations and their facilities, including free admission tickets to all visitors. Major critiques of creative placemaking include that these policies are often “race‑neu‑ tral,” and ignore redlining and “urban renewal,” and other racist place policies, and thus foster displacement and accelerate gentrification (Bedoya 2016). A leading voice in these critiques  –  and someone who advocates for more racially equitable creative placemaking policy – is Roberto Bedoya, Cultural Affairs Manager for the City of Oakland. In a Grant‑ makers for the Arts essay, Bedoya wrote: Against this background, Creative Placemaking practices must understand history, critical racial theory, and politics alongside the spatial planning and economic develop‑ ment theories that dominate the discourse. How race, class, poverty, and discrimination shape place — through a politics of belonging or dis‑belonging — needs to be reflected upon whether one is engaged with Creative Placemaking practices as an artist, funder, developer, NGO, or governmental agency.

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One needs to reflect upon US history and its troubling legacy of “placemaking” man‑ ifested in acts of displacement, removal, and containment. This history is long and horrible, from the forced movement of American Indians from their lands and their confinement to reservations, the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, the internment of Japa‑ nese Americans during World War II, to the urban redevelopment movement of the 1960s and 1970s that destroyed working poor and ethnic neighborhoods across Ameri‑ can cities using the language of blight alongside bulldozers. How is Creative Placemak‑ ing different or complicit with these actions? What are the imperatives that infuse Creative Placemaking activities? What are the visions of our humanity that are manifest in the plurality animated by Placemaking ac‑ tivities? Its ethics? How do these ethics inform policies that support the distinctiveness and identity of a place? (Bedoya 2013) We cite this fuller passage to frame how urban planners can engage creative placemaking equitably, rather than in ways that promote displacement. One example of more racially equitable creative placemaking includes Seattle’s Cultural Space Agency (CSA).19 Char‑ tered by the City as a Public Development Authority in November of 2020, the CSA serves as a mission driven real estate intermediary seeking to foster community wealth within BIPOC communities, and to prevent the displacement of vulnerable cultural communities throughout the Seattle area. In its first year of operation, the CSA was able to success‑ fully purchase multiple projects – including Station Space at King Street Station with To‑ tem Star, Red Eagle Soaring, and the Rhapsody Project, and Columbia City Theatre with Rainier Avenue Radio – for deeply rooted cultural organizations, creating pathways for community ownership. Arguably, creative placemaking was a return to the original vision of public art, art as an explicitly transformational ingredient in the public realm and creating a sense of identity in a particular place through creative practice. That idea was taken up during the pandemic, of being able to directly resource artists to meet the needs of their community which progres‑ sive public art practitioners have done for a long time, with for example, mural programs in Nashville and in Philadelphia.

The Eighth Pillar: The Creative Economy A 2023 strategic plan created for the economy section lead for the Washington State Depart‑ ment of Commerce defines creative economy as: encompass[ing] … the following economic sectors: Architecture and Living, Creative Technology (For example: Video games, Web design, Podcasts), Culinary Arts and Bev‑ erage, Cultural Institutions, Design and Advertising, Fashion, Film, Television, and Ra‑ dio, Music, Performing Arts, and Visual Arts, and Publishing. (Washington State Department of Commerce 2023) Furthermore, the creative economy frames arts, culture, and creativity as a driving sector of the national economy. Creative economy policy draws upon often ephemeral artistic

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work – as a form of human expression – work that cannot be automated, and in part because technology just amplifies the amount of creative work one can do and the kinds of content one can consume. The ideas of the creative economy have existed for a long time – including previous economic framings of the ephemeral, non‑scalable nature of theater (Baumol and Bowen 1981; Phelan 1993). As the eighth and final pillar, the creative economy policy requires: (1) equitable access to resources, such as financial and capacity‑building, (2) creative infrastructure (such as broadband and cultural space) and/or investments in the creative economy that allow for the development of work, (3) a robust creative talent pipeline, who have learned skills in K‑12 and/or postsecondary education, and/or (4) support for creative entrepreneurship and crea‑ tive workforce development. In 2002, Richard Florida published The Rise of the Creative Class. The book described “the emergence of a new creative class” of artists or people (like scientists or engineers) for whom at work “creativity is a key factor.” At the time of initial publication, Florida esti‑ mated that the creative class were 30% of the nation’s workforce, and because “creativity is the driving force of economic growth,” this class has “become dominant in society in terms of its influence” (Florida 2006). Florida’s theories ushered in – especially to cultural policymakers and urban planners – the idea of the “creative economy,” that is that artistic and creative work is a driving factor of economic growth. As the eighth pillar, the creative economy exists as a rationale behind much of the current cultural policy discourse. Notably, most of Florida’s theories have been much debunked and criticized. A 2004 City Journal article described how “Far from being economic powerhouses, a number of the cities the professor identifies as creative‑age winners have chronically underperformed the American economy” (Malanga 2023). A 2017 Guardian article summarized the result of the implementation of Florida’s theories, such as racially inequitable gentrification and dis‑ placement that “benefit the already rich, mostly white middle class; fuel rampant property speculation; displace the bohemians he so fetishized; and see the problems that once plagued the inner cities simply move out to the suburbs” (Wainwright 2017). A result of the creative economy can be gleaned from the 2019 Seattle’s Office of Film & Music, Office of Economic Development and Office of Arts & Culture report, “There’s Something About Seattle,” the city’s first creative economy report (Crawford‑Gallagher et al. 2019). The report included: Seattle is an economic and cultural powerhouse; we consistently rank as a top destina‑ tion for tourists and as one of the best places to live in the United States. We owe this reputation in large part to the imagination and inventiveness of our local workforce. Not only do creative workers fill our local performance spaces and art galleries, but they are also essential to our booming tech sector, where computer programmers and software developers use creativity in their work every day. As a pillar, the creative economy is also a recognition that creative jobs and creative workers represent a larger sector of the economy but existing systems don’t adequately support those workers. As a frame, the creative economy offers an asset‑based approach to consider the economic assets of artists and the arts sector. For example, many state arts agencies capture 274

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their creative economy workforce; Washington State lists theirs as 8.7% of the state’s GDP. Nationally, statistics from the Bureau of Economic Analysis reveal that the arts and culture satiettle account has consistently outperformed the national GDP over the last decade (BEA 2023).

Lessons Learned • The Eight Pillars is a lens to understand core functions of American cultural policy. The pillars reveal how individual areas of cultural policy practice evolved to support the arts to better meet a changing society and a changing world. • These pillars lead with grantmaking, as grants continue to evolve to support institutional priorities (such as the NEA’s Our Town grant program), and national ones, such as the COVID‑19 pandemic relief for arts organizations. • During the pandemic, we saw many new ways of resourcing cultural policy from one time initiatives to ongoing policy efforts. Most of the newer policy efforts focus on pro‑ viding income to artists. • These programs highlight one long emerging policy – and one pillar not named in this essay but in existence during the WPA and with CETA, as well as through existing policy providing salaries to a city’s civic or state poet laureate – about providing income to sup‑ port artists in their work as laborers deserving of a living wage. • Artists are being employed by organizations focused on other sectors such as climate change and transportation. There is a recognition that artists are not trapped in bi‑ nary thinking and feeling, which can be useful with creative, community‑engaged policy responses. • We offer five lessons learned that we hope urban planners can apply to cultural policy. 1 First, the Eight Pillars as a framework reveals the breadth and depth of ways to re‑ source cultural policy for urban planning in ways that have both historically existed and are still emerging. The admission tax to fund the arts has been around since the 1930s; in King County, the Doors Open sales tax to fund culture (passed by unani‑ mous council vote in December 2023) will be implemented in 2024. We ask urban planners to understand this dynamic historical patchwork to better frame openings and opportunities to fund the arts. 2 Our second lesson paraphrases Roberto Bedoya, “culture is fluid, while policy aims to fix, that is to create stability and permanence.” Urban planners and policymak‑ ers need to be aware of challenges and opportunities to come from adopting (fixed) policy around (fluid) cultural activities. 3 Third, there is a risk of thinking that arts and culture are inherently only intrinsic (such as “art for art’s sake”) or instrumental (such as the arts are good for transit, health, safety, agriculture and workforce development). In this chapter, we have weaved arts examples throughout to show what the arts foster – including expression, joy, com‑ munication, discourse, belonging, health, placemaking, and creative economies – and how they do so, often inextricably weaving across intrinsic and instrumental values. 4 Our fourth lesson: a racial equity lens should frame approaches to and critiques of cultural policy. U.S. public policy has long entangled with systemic racism includ‑ ing through indigenous genocide, chattel slavery, the Chinese Exclusion Act, and 275

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redlining, and more recently with the effect of Florida’s “race‑neutral” creative econ‑ omy theories on cities. Urban planners must research and understand histories of racism and other forms of oppression that especially manifest in cities, and center racially equitable frameworks (such as through racial equity toolkits) in their cultural planning. This is especially important because communities who have experienced oppression (such as Black, indigenous, and queer communities) often have important cultural practices that, when supported, only strengthen belonging and communities. 5 Fifth, cultural activity and cultural policy is not just an amenity of comfort or de‑ light. We have aimed to emphasize this through our definition of the arts and fram‑ ing through intrinsic and instrumental values. Cultural activity and cultural policy are crucially material, economic, and workforce strategies. They are critical tools to anchor expression, belonging, and social cohesion. The arts – as bolstered by cultural policy as central in urban planning – have and will continue to unify, tell stories with, and heal communities.

Notes 1 In cultural and urban policy scholarship, Seattle is under‑researched. Yet, as the most populous city in Washington State, and the fastest growing U.S. city, Seattle holds particular significance in urban and cultural policy. In 1955, Seattle was the third U.S. to establish an arts commission in 1955, which in 1971, turned into the Seattle’s Office of Arts and Culture. In 2004, Seattle was the first U.S. city to adopt a Race and Social Justice Initiative. In that same year, Seattle had the most arts per capita of any U.S. city. 2 “The Arts,” New Oxford American Dictionary. 3 In his 2006 article “Cultural Policy: Definitions and Theoretical Approaches” in the Journal of Arts Management, Law, and Society, Kevin Mulcahy writes: Cultural policy can be most use‑ fully considered as the sum of a government’s activities ‘with respect to the arts (including the for‑profit cultural industries), the humanities, and the heritage’ … Cultural policy, then, involves governmental strategies and activities that promote ‘the production, dissemination, marketing, and consumption of the arts’ … Yet, if policy is the ‘intentionality’ of programs that seek to achieve certain outcomes in a field of activity, there are also goals that are ‘implicit’ in a policy and its programs … A cultural policy encompasses a much broader array of activities than what was traditionally associated with an arts policy. 4 As explained by Tom DeCaigny, Director of the SF Arts Commission, 2012–2020. 5 Percent for art programs are programs are explained in further detail in The Second Pillar: Public Art. 6 The Ford Foundation is one of the largest foundations in the United States. The foundation’s funding priorities include the arts. “In 1936, Edsel Ford—son of Henry, the founder of the Ford Motor Company—established the Ford Foundation with an initial gift of $25,000. During its early years, the foundation operated in Michigan under the leadership of Ford family members. Since the founding charter stated that resources should be used for “scientific, educational and charitable purposes, all for the public welfare,” the foundation made grants to many kinds of organizations.” See more here: https://www.fordfoundation.org/about/about‑ford/our‑origins/. 7 Other policies prior to 1969 also framed nonprofit and charitable organizations in the U.S. See more here: https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=&cad=rja& uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwjuvrje5t‑DAxWEMTQIHb_0BZsQFnoECA0QAw&url=https%3A%2 F%2Fwww.irs.gov%2Fpub%2Firs‑soi%2Ftehistory.pdf&usg=AOvVaw18XWysf2ueP0‑UI6Od V4Jk&opi=89978449. 8 According to Michael Orlove, Director of State, Regional, and Local Partnerships, National En‑ dowment for the Arts.

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The Eight Pillars of American Cultural Policy 9 Alexander Manshel, writes about the funding of writers even though individual funding went away for other types of artists. 10 A fuller list of relief resources can be found here: https://www.artsactionfund.org/covid19resources. 11 Across the eight pillars, we indicate rationale, and these come directly with understanding intrin‑ sic and instrumental values of the arts. A 2005 RAND report “Reframing the Debate about the Value of the Arts” by Kevin F. McCarthy, Elizabeth Heneghan Ondaatje, Laura Zakaras, and Ar‑ thur Brooks suggested that neoliberal policies under Reagan had – starting in the 1980s – framed the arts away from intrinsic values towards instrumental values. They wrote: “Generally overlooked in this approach is an appreciation of the intrinsic benefits of the arts— those effects inherent in the arts experience itself. The authors point out that two essential aspects of intrinsic benefits are not being recognized. First, individuals participate in the arts for the intrinsic benefits of arts experiences— pleasure, stimulation, meaning—not to improve their test scores or to stimulate the economy. In this sense, intrinsic benefits are the starting point for all benefits. Second, as the framework suggests, intrinsic benefits are not strictly private—some of them also contribute to the public welfare.”# Their report, then, provides a fuller framing of intrinsic and instrumental values and does so across more individual (or private) to more public/group dynamics. These include captivation and pleasure (intrinsic‑private) towards social bonds and communal meaning (intrinsic‑public) as well as improved test scores and health (instrumental‑private) towards health, social capital, and development growth (instrumental public). Across our analysis, we will refer to these values in each pillar’s rationale. 12 Although redistributive, sales taxes are also often regressive as they most impact those of low wealth. 13 Governmental arts grantmaking does grant funding to Native Americans and tribal na‑ tions bounded by the United States. At the federal level, see: https://www.arts.gov/impact/na‑ tive‑arts‑and‑culture; in Washington State see: https://www.arts.wa.gov/tca/. However it must be stated that there continues to be wide dispossession and erasure of indigenous peoples due to longstanding American policy that has displaced and removed indigenous people from their lands and their cultural practices. 14 In contradistinction to Regional Arts Agencies, WESTAF (Western States Arts Federation) is not primarily a funder; instead the organization does convening and regranting. 15 In Seattle, there is a loophole that prevents an admissions tax on male sport teams. An admis‑ sions tax on women’s sports teams including the Seattle Storm WBNA team and Seattle Reign FC does, however, exist. 16 The Duwamish are indigenous Coast Salish peoples located in the current day Seattle, WA area. Seattle as a city, is named for Chief Seattle, who was Duwamish and Suquamish. “The Duwamish people have been in the Seattle/Greater King County area since time immemorial. Our stories, such as “North Wind, South Wind”, tell of the last Ice Age, and an Ice Weir breaking over the Duwamish River. We were the first signatories on the Treaty of Point Elliott in 1855, signed by Chief Si’ahl, who was chief of the Duwamish and Suquamish tribes.” From https://www.duwamishtribe.org/history. 17 Emerald City is a nickname for Seattle, as the city contains and is surrounded by green parks and forests. 18 For more on New York City’s venues, see: https://www.nyc.gov/site/dcla/cultural‑funding/ city‑owned‑institutions.page. 19 For more see: https://www.culturalspace.agency/.

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4.2 ARTISTS AS ALLIES IN ECONOMIC JUSTICE Laura Zabel

Artists can be powerful partners in the work of cities and communities. Artists have valuable skills to help us build social connection, improve mental health, rethink and reimagine pub‑ lic spaces and institutions and tackle our most pressing challenges like environmental justice, racial equity and education (ArtPlace America 2020). As cities consider how to partner with and benefit from artists skills and practices, they must also address the inequities in the ways that artists are resourced and supported. Like many other independent workers and small business owners, there is little to no safety net for most individual artists in the United States, creating a pressing emergency of equity in economic opportunity and representation, especially for artists who are Black, In‑ digenous and/or People of Color (BIPOC), artists in rural places, artists from the disability community and LGBTQIA+ artists (Helicon Collaborative 2017; Iyengar 2021). To address these challenges, new systems and solutions need to be tested to increase economic equity and ensure that our communities have access to creativity and culture to build more just and thriving neighborhoods. Urban planners and community developers have the opportunity to partner and collaborate with economic justice and system change initiatives, such as Guar‑ anteed Income, to create programs and projects that ensure the long‑term viability of their creative community and strengthen place‑based outcomes.

Conditions for Artists in America First though, some clarity on what is meant by “artists.” Artists exist in every com‑ munity already, regardless of size or geography. Locally rooted artists with existing neighborhood relationships are the ideal partners to help build community participation and community‑relevant programming. These artists are visual artists, performing art‑ ists, writers, crafters, storytellers, designers, creators of experiences and culture bearers (UNESCO). Working with artists who are from and of the community can create new pathways for public participation in design and input gathering for public infrastructure

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projects; activities that attract people, attention and dollars to local business districts; and activate public spaces in culturally relevant ways among many other impacts (Sidford 2011; Zabel 2022b). These artists’ livelihoods often don’t fit neatly into the category of either gig worker (Gig Economy Data Hub) or small business owner. For example, their work is primar‑ ily episodic, rarely under traditional employment agreements, and because this work is chronically undervalued, artists are usually piecing together a living from multiple differ‑ ent sources and contracts. Where some gig workers may have two or three contracts to report on their income taxes in the United States, an artist might have 30. Thus, artists are operating as small or micro‑business owners – in charge of the promotion, recordkeeping and staffing of these many contracts, as well as developing and delivering their artistic product. In addition to the volatility and lack of stability of these conditions, the gray area between gig worker and small business owner also means artists often fall through the cracks when it comes to some of the American safety net protections like unemploy‑ ment and healthcare. Furthermore, these microbusinesses are often ineligible for tradi‑ tional small business support and access to business growth capital. For example, many assistance programs require a small business to have a physical location outside of the business owners home, or define “small” businesses as businesses with at least 50 employ‑ ees or $500,000 in revenue. The COVID‑19 pandemic has worsened and exposed these gaps in the systems of support for the creative community. Over 90% of artists in the United States reported significant in‑ come loss due to the pandemic (Cohen 2022) and even several years out from the lockdowns of 2020, the unemployment rate for artists remains twice as high (National Endowment for the Arts 2022) as it was pre‑pandemic. Of course, artists are not alone in this, and the economic gaps exposed by the pandemic have sparked a new interest and resolve to ad‑ dress these gaps with economic interventions such as the Child‑tax credit, portable benefits protections and paid family leave policies which are being tested at local and national levels across the United States. A particularly promising development in the movement for greater economic equity is the popularization of Guaranteed Income.

What Is Guaranteed Income? One of the leaders of the contemporary Guaranteed Income movement, The Economic Se‑ curity Project describes Guaranteed Income (GI) this way: By ‘guaranteed income’ we mean a regular cash payment accessible to members of a community, with no strings attached and no work requirements. Guaranteed income helps build a robust floor under which no one can fall. Guaranteed income is meant to supplement, not supplant existing social safety net benefits. It is grounded on the values of trust and respect for recipients with a fundamental commitment to preserving and reinforcing the freedom of choice and dignity of individuals and families. The proposal has been championed as a means of ending poverty, reducing social inequalities, and promoting gender and racial equity. (Guaranteed Income Community of Practice 2024)

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Although similar to ideas like Universal Basic Income, Guaranteed Income is meant to target populations who have been harmed and extracted from by existing economic systems as a means of repair or stabilization, which makes it a particularly well‑suited complement to urban planning and community development strategies that impact the built environment (Jain Family Institute 2021). To be effective and equitable, urban planning practitioners must not only be aware of the context in which new projects are happening but also address and repair the harms caused by previous planners. Redlining, the interstate highway system, and placement of harmful infrastructure such as trash burners have caused generations of environmental harm, ad‑ verse health impacts and economic extraction from low‑income communities and dispropor‑ tionately from American BIPOC communities and neighborhoods (Energy Justice Network 2022; Federal Reserve History 2023; Fernandez 2023). As the planning sector considers its current opportunities to try to address some of the harm caused by previous generations of planners and public leaders, attention must be paid to the economic harm caused by these infrastructure decisions (Nicholas 2022). Supporting and collaborating with culture bearers and artists from these communities is an important ingredient in ensuring that community voices are represented in planning decisions and that changes to the built environment pre‑ serve and encourage the culture and character of the place. In 2021, Springboard for the Arts launched one of the first Guaranteed Income pilots in the country focused on individual artists and creative workers.1 Springboard for the Arts is a Minnesota‑based nonprofit organization whose mission is to support artists with the tools to make a living and a life, and to build just and equitable communities full of meaning, joy and connection. Springboard has a 30‑year history of work that connects economic justice and place‑based community development. Springboard’s Guaranteed Income for Artists was designed in partnership with the City of Saint Paul’s People’s Prosperity Pilot guaranteed income program. In addition to the neighborhood‑focused pilot that provides artists and culture bearers with a monthly guaranteed income payment, Springboard’s program includes the engagement of artists to design projects to help change the narrative and counter harmful and racist tropes that proliferate about guaranteed income and other social safety net programs. The City of Saint Paul is a leader in the national Mayors for Guaranteed Income network, which works to incorporate learning and research from local pilots into state and federal policy recommendations. Springboard undertook this work to demonstrate that artists should be recipients of economic system change and that they are powerful allies in movements for economic justice. The goals of Springboard’s original Guaranteed Income pilot were: 1 Provide 25 artists and creative workers located in the Frogtown and Rondo neighbor‑ hoods of Saint Paul, MN with $500 monthly payments for 18 months. 2 Support a cohort of artists to lead narrative change projects to build understanding about the need for economic justice in our community. 3 Develop research and inform policy by specifically demonstrating the impact that guar‑ anteed income has on artist communities and the ways in which artists can contribute their skills to movements around economic justice.

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Saint Paul’s Frogtown and Rondo neighborhoods are culturally vibrant, resilient and com‑ munity oriented, yet they continue to be disproportionately impacted by historical disinvest‑ ment, discrimination and extraction. Rondo Avenue was once the heart of Saint Paul’s most prominent African‑American community with a rich history, dating back to the years fol‑ lowing the Civil War. The center of Rondo was demolished between 1956 and 1968 to build the I‑94 freeway, displacing families, homes, businesses and community sites. Frogtown is one of the most ethnically diverse communities in the Midwest, home to families from Southeast Asia, Africa, Central and South America who began emigrating to Minnesota in the late 20th century. A 2020 study by the Economic Innovation Group identified these neighborhoods as either “persistently poor” (neighborhoods that had a high poverty rate in 1980 and 2018) or “deepening poverty” (neighborhoods that had a poverty rate above or equal to 20% and below 30% in 1980 and were high poverty in 2018) (Distressed Commu‑ nities Index 2024). These neighborhoods also have a higher‑than average percentage of rent‑ ers (62%), and more than half of residents have annual household incomes under $35,000 (Minnesota Compass 2024). These neighborhood corridors were also impacted by the upris‑ ings following the murder of George Floyd by the Minneapolis Police in 2020 (Kaul 2020). Springboard selected participants at random from an eligible pool of artists in these two neighborhoods. Selection criteria included individuals who had been adversely impacted by COVID‑19, received support from Springboard’s Coronavirus Personal Emergency Relief Fund and lived in Frogtown or Rondo. Over 85% of the participants identified as Black, Na‑ tive and/or People of Color. 30% are ages 20–29, 20% are ages 30–39; 30% are ages 40–59; 20% are age 60+. Recipients identified as painters, sculptors, hip‑hop artists, visual artists, singers, composers, teaching artists, culture bearers, performers and writers. Springboard for the Arts is working with the University of Pennsylvania Center for Guar‑ anteed Income Research to collect data and analyze the impact of guaranteed income at both the individual and community level. Emergent themes from the pilot are compelling, with monthly income positively contributing to: 1 Financial Stability; including helping with basic needs, especially as pandemic‑related aid runs out; 2 Long‑term planning; including healthcare, savings, homeownership and equipment for art practice; 3 Shifting exclusionary practices in the art world to make them more accessible; and 4 Increases in resiliency leading to artists being able to generate creative work for their community and stay in their neighborhood For many artists, the pandemic wiped out savings as gigs and opportunities dwindled due to restrictions, such as bans or limits on indoor gatherings. Most participants spent the first months of the pilot paying down debt and stabilizing, after which they were able to shift to more long‑term planning. In one example, a participant reported having their rent raised three times in the previous year, the first raise occurring as soon as pandemic restrictions on rent increases lapsed. Without the guaranteed income program, this participant would have been displaced from their neighborhood. Another participant, a hip‑hop artist, was able to buy back DJ equipment he had sold to pay his rent, invest in maintaining the SUV he uses to

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transport his gear to gigs, and buy groceries. “I’ve literally been using it to restart, or kick‑ start, my career from a bit of a dead zone” (Springboard for the Arts 2023). Guaranteed Income has also provided freedom in creating, letting artists take risks, in‑ vest in themselves (such as renting dedicated studio space and upgrading equipment) and allowing them to create what they want and what serves their communities rather than what is driven by funders. One artist shared, “Having a little comfort means I can go back to creating. Before, I couldn’t create unless it was generating income. I couldn’t justify it.” Participant data has also been collected and shared via The Guaranteed Income Pilots Dash‑ board (Stanford Basic Income lab), a national platform designed to visualize data from 30+ guaranteed income pilots across the United States. Spending habits are almost identical when comparing artist participants in Springboard’s pilot to other Guaranteed Income par‑ ticipants across the country.

Artists as Allies to Economic Justice While the concept of Guaranteed Income is gaining traction across the country, there are still deeply embedded cultural and political beliefs that limit how far economic justice policy change can go. Narrative change is a strategy of shifting the patterns embedded into the stories we tell and believe. There are many harmful, often racist, stories around the idea of guaranteed income, including questions like: “Do people deserve it? How do they spend the money? Why don’t they just get a job?” One of the most effective ways of countering these questions is for people to experience the stories of others on a human level, which can transform pervasive narratives about inequality and poverty into belief systems of belong‑ ing, deservedness and inherent self‑worth. We also know that artists who are locally rooted in their communities are best positioned to tell these stories. With this in mind, Springboard for the Arts and The City of Saint Paul collaborated with a cohort of artists on the narrative change project: Artists Respond: Peo‑ ple, Place, and Prosperity.2 In this program, artists created public projects highlighting the root causes that lead to the need for guaranteed income, and its impact on families and communities. These projects were designed by artists deeply rooted in their own communi‑ ties which made the projects relevant and able to reach community members who might not otherwise encounter research, OpEds or public awareness campaigns. Culminating projects have ranged from podcasts and coloring books, to audio postcards, a stained glass installa‑ tion and a collaborative performance/dance meditation made available on YouTube. Springboard has now launched a second phase of guaranteed income work, which in‑ cludes extending and expanding the urban Saint Paul pilot for another 18 months, adding a rural pilot in Otter Tail County, Minnesota and launching a new set of artist‑led narrative change projects.

Lessons Learned • A healthy and representative creative community that is well connected to resident voices and stories is vital for engaging art in any kind of planning, placemaking, placekeeping or public art. Although most urban planning is focused on individual projects, taking a step back to prioritize the people who make these projects possible will create better long‑term outcomes and relationships for your community. 286

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• Ensuring that artists, culture bearers and creative workers have access to economic sup‑ port and safety nets, including a Guaranteed Income, can help prevent displacement, allow and support artists to deepen their community relationships and contribute to the health, justice and equity of your place. • Whether you are specifically incorporating Guaranteed Income as a portion of your ur‑ ban planning project, partnering with an existing effort, or working to include economic justice policies into planning and infrastructure development, the Saint Paul example provides applicable lessons: 1 Engage artists as allies in economic justice: Artists, creative workers and culture bear‑ ers can bring their powerful skills to help support more economically just systems that support more equitable urban planning. In particular, artists can help build com‑ munity participation, address narrative change and share information in community relevant ways. 2 Ensure artists are represented and supported in economic support: Whenever you are engaging artists in the work of community development, urban planning or place‑ making, careful attention to how artists are compensated and supported is vital. Fair and transparent compensation, including ethical contracts (Zabel 2022a) is impor‑ tant to the long‑term health and viability of cultural practitioners. 3 Find the places for reciprocal relationships with artists: The best way to both benefit from the contributions of artists and to support systems that allow their creativity to be a sustainable asset is to build reciprocal relationships with your creative commu‑ nity. Make sure that artists are benefiting from changes to economic policies as well as contributing to their effectiveness.

Notes 1 The following program descriptions were adapted from Springboard for the Arts’ report ‘Art of Economic Justice.’ https://springboardforthearts.org/wp‑content/uploads/2023/02/GI_Impact_ Report_SBftA_2023.pdf. 2 Springboard for the Arts Guaranteed Income Program. https://springboardforthearts.org/ guaranteed‑income/.

Bibliography ArtPlace America. 2020. Creative Placemaking Research. https://creativeplacemakingresearch.org/. ‘Distressed Communities Index.’ 2024. Economic Innovation Group. https://eig.org/distressed‑ communities/. Cohen, Randy. 2022. ‘Covid‑19’s Pandemic Impact in the Arts’. May 12, 2022. Americans for the Arts. https://www.americansforthearts.org/node/103614 ‘Energy Justice Network. Incineration and Environmental Racism.’ 2022. http://www.energyjustice. net/incineration/ej. Federal Reserve History. 2023. ‘Redlining.’ June 2, 2023. https://www.federalreservehistory.org/ essays/redlining. Fernandez, Jay. 2023. ‘Racism by Design: The Building of Interstate 81.’ ACLU Magazine. https:// www.aclu.org/news/racial‑justice/racism‑by‑design‑the‑building‑of‑interstate‑81. Guaranteed Income Community of Practice. 2024. https://gicp.info/about/. ‘Guaranteed Income in the U.S. ‑ Abridged Toolkit.’ 2021. Jain Family Institute (JFI). https://jainfami‑ lyinstitute.org/wp‑content/uploads/pdf/jfi‑abridged‑toolkit‑on‑guaranteed‑income‑in‑the‑us.pdf.

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Laura Zabel ‘Involvement of Tradition Bearers and Practitioners.’ 2003. UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage. https://ich.unesco.org/en/tradition‑bearers‑and‑practitioners‑00259. Iyengar, Sunil. 2021. ‘But What about the Artists?’ National Endowment for the Arts (NEA). https:// www.arts.gov/stories/blog/2021/what‑about‑artists. Kaul, Greta. 2020. ‘Seven Days in Minneapolis: A Timeline of What We Know about the Death of George Floyd and Its Aftermath.’ MinnPost. https://www.minnpost.com/metro/2020/05/ what‑we‑know‑about‑the‑events‑surrounding‑george‑floyds‑death‑and‑its‑aftermath‑a‑timeline/. Minnesota Compass. ‘Summit University Neighborhood Data.’ 2024. https://www.mncompass.org/ profiles/city/st‑paul/summit‑university. National Endowment for the Arts (NEA). 2022. ‘New Data Show Economic Impact of COVID‑19 on Arts & Culture Sector.’ https://www.arts.gov/news/press‑releases/2022/new‑data‑show‑economic‑ impact‑covid‑19‑arts‑culture‑sector. Nicholas, Byron. September 19, 2022. ‘Communities Can Tear Down Harmful Highways with $1Billion in New Federal Grants.’ Planning Magazine. American Planning Association. https:// www.planning.org/planning/2022/summer/communities‑can‑tear‑down‑harmful‑highways‑with‑ 1‑billion‑in‑new‑federal‑grants/. “Non‑Standard or Gig Work Consists of Income‑Earning Activities Outside of Standard, Long‑Term Employer‑Employee Relationships.” 2024. From The Gig Economy Data Hub. https://www. gigeconomydata.org/basics/what‑gig‑worker. ‘Not Just Money: Equity Issues in Cultural Philanthropy.’ 2017. Helicon Collaborative. https:// www.giarts.org/sites/default/files/not‑just‑money‑equity‑issues‑cultural‑philanthropy.pdf. Sidford, Holly. 2011. ‘Fusing Arts, Culture, and Social Change: High Impact Strategies for Philan‑ thropy.’ Washington, DC: National Committee for Responsive Philanthropy. https://www.giarts. org/sites/default/files/Fusing‑Arts‑Culture‑Social‑Change.pdf. Springboard for the Arts. 2023. ‘The Art of Economic Justice.’ https://springboardforthearts.org/ wp‑content/uploads/2023/02/GI_Impact_Report_SBftA_2023.pdf. ‘The Guaranteed Income Pilots Dashboard.’ 2024. Stanford Basic Income Lab, University of Penn‑ sylvania Center for Guaranteed Income Research, and Mayors for a Basic Income. https://guar‑ anteedincome.us/. Zabel, Laura. 2022a. ‘Ethical Artist Contracts.’ https://springboardforthearts.org/stories‑writing/ ethical‑artist‑contracts/. Zabel, Laura. 2022b. ‘A Trellis for Community Power.’ Arizona State University Studio for Creativity, Place and Equitable Communities. https://springboardforthearts.org/wp‑content/uploads/2022/09/ A‑Trellis‑For‑Community‑Power‑2022_Laura‑Zabel.pdf.

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4.3 FINANCING A DIVERSE FUTURE THROUGH COMMUNITY OWNERSHIP Angie Kim

New Priorities Conventionally, the urban planning sector beautifies cities, attracts residents, and catalyzes economic growth. The flip side is that after years of such outcomes, urban planners are part of a critique of market‑driven practices that homogenized cities and, relatedly, displaced diverse people whose racialized othering kept them from political and economic power. Conven‑ tional planning practices exacerbate socio‑economic challenges facing people who, because of racial or class discrimination, already struggle to afford access to good jobs, obtain hous‑ ing (let alone affordable home ownership), and benefit from safe schools and neighborhoods. In the U.S. capitalist system, the already poor and economically vulnerable are far from being the target consumers, let alone beneficiaries, for the work of planners and developers. This problem is well understood, and solutions are complicated. What is clear is that the vitality of places depends on keeping diverse people and their unique community identities and expressions. This desired outcome needs planners who eschew the conceit of economic development to instead embrace a different set of values and purpose. For the urban cultural planner, this has looked like projects that reflect the voices and cultural expressions of com‑ munities, but expectations need to be raised to also include helping communities achieve long‑term sustainability in place. An important experiment is underway in the United States that both centers the diversity of marginalized communities as well as shifts ownership of real estate assets from specula‑ tors to community members for their long‑term control. Based in the city of Oakland in the state of California, East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative (EB PREC) demonstrates how a local African American community is innovating the use of money to remain in a city that has historically and continually acted to displace them. For urban cultural planners, EB PREC’s 7th Street Cooperative Cultural Corridor Revitalization Plan is a powerful example of preserving the culture of the community and fighting back against destructive and historic racist market forces. EB PREC is demonstrating a way for local businesses to structure capi‑ tal campaigns to be both supported by and accountable to their own communities. 289

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The desire to shift power and privilege is a progressive goal transcending geopolitical borders. The intent of this essay is to illuminate how urban cultural planners can help diverse, living cultures become resilient to threats posed by conventional economic devel‑ opment practices and priorities, thus ensuring dignity and self‑determination to specific communities and contributing to a more richly textured sense of unique places that benefits everyone. Before covering the innovative cooperative model in detail and showing how cul‑ ture fits into it, the essay will provide relevant history of some of the forces at work in the U.S. communities.

Homogenizing Privatization versus Diverse Community Ownership Widespread criticism exists that the U.S. type of profit‑at‑all‑costs capitalism undermines social harmony and environmental sustainability. Those who benefit economically, socially, and politically are few compared to the vast majority of people whose labor and indebted‑ ness create value for others in this market‑driven system. In the United States, the wealth generated by private‑market capitalism is funneled and concentrated to benefit those at the top. The belief that communities, cities, and nations should realize economic growth as an indicator of societal stability and sustainability has perpetuated inequitable and extractive systems that hollow out households, natural resources, and community assets like schools, food systems, and health care (Piketty, 2017). Another way that the United States manifests capitalism problematically is by perpetu‑ ating neoliberalism as the prevailing political‑economic norm—the idea that government is not to be trusted and that problems should be solved by private entrepreneurs and corporate actors. The neoliberal distrust of the state has meant privatization of all sorts of things, including things that should be in the public interest or commonly held—from energy sources, education delivery, health care, justice systems, and national defense to food, arts, and volunteerism (Cohen & Mikaelian, 2023). Inside a market‑based system that prioritizes profits over people’s interests, privatization also creates and exacerbates racially based inequities: From school lunch debt harming Black households that dispro‑ portionately struggle with low wages and food deserts (Gupta et al., 2020; Hanson, 2024) to Black men earning less than White counterparts in privatized employment situations (Wilson et al., 2015). In the context of planning, a problem of neoliberal ideology and its systems is that neoliberalism begets individuation, which keeps people from acting interdependently and prevents places from feeling communal. This neoliberal individuation brings about self‑in‑ terest, loneliness, and isolation. Astra Taylor, a political organizer of debtors, observes that neoliberalism develops a sense of insecurity that is “manufactured”—a result of beliefs and reinforcing systems that are meant to extract people’s labor, assets, and even time (Taylor, 2023). In a market system wherein every service provider clamors for people’s consumption, it is no wonder that people do not know whom and what to trust, thus ex‑ acerbating their sense of isolation and insecurity. Conflating the desire for individuals to realize agency with free‑market economics has actually made people less empowered and less secure. While individual expression and personal choice may temporarily feel like free‑ dom, this sense of freedom comes at the cost of being easily exploited and turning people against each other. 290

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Making Mutualistic Alternatives Matter for Vulnerable Communities For many, damages wrought by profit‑at‑all‑cost capitalism have led to renewed interest in alternative systems that draw people together. People are seeking to be part of interdepend‑ ent, trusting, and mutualistic communities (Horowitz, 2021). Attention is being paid to cooperatives, collectives, and the commons. Historical precedents in the United States for mutualistic societies exist, most notably the cooperative economies of African American cultural communities, which flourished in the postbellum Civil War. Denied integration into White society, formerly enslaved African Americans used mutual aid organizing to pool their resources to afford land, food, medical services, and the price of their freedom from indentured service. Cooperativism also helped them acquire knowledge—from sharing safe places to eat and sleep to learning farming techniques. Renowned scholar and co‑founder of the U.S. civil rights organization National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), W.E.B. DuBois was a lead‑ ing proponent of African American cooperatives. He published a book on economic coop‑ eration in 1907 and went on to found the Negro Cooperative Guild in 1918. This history is documented by Dr. Jessica Gordon Nembhard in her seminal book, Collective Courage: A History of African American Cooperative Economic Thought and Practice. She docu‑ mented how African Americans’ growing consumer, economic, social, and political coop‑ erative power threatened the exclusivity and privilege enjoyed by White people (Nembhard, 2014). African Americans successfully created their own economic infrastructure: They founded Black‑owned banking, lending, and insurance institutions; started businesses— from tailors to restaurants—that circulated income‑producing opportunities communally; and led religious, civic, and arts organizations—from churches to political groups to record‑ ing studios and music venues—that facilitated the production and consumption (i.e., the creation and enjoyment) of their artistic expressions. The sum of such activities diversified and strengthened their cultural cohesion. The history of cooperative economics also proves that collective efforts can scale up to societal levels. This American, uniquely African American, form of cooperativism is not the only example. Today, cooperative economies like Mondragon in Spain and the Italian re‑ gion of Emilia‑Romagna are being studied so as to apply their beneficial practices to places around the world. For example, cooperative businesses and communities, like those in Emilia‑Romagna, often act counter‑cyclically to economic downturns by prioritizing employment over profit, showing that democratic governance can create economic stability. In fact, prioritizing peo‑ ple enabled the Emilia‑Romagna cooperatives to weather the 2008 economic downturn without layoffs (Caselli et al., 2022). In addition, localized economies make distinct cultural expressions possible. African Amer‑ ican cooperative economics created cities and consumers whose built environments, dispos‑ able income, and leisure time created the conditions for jazz music to uniquely develop and flourish nationally. Jazz musicians traveled across the country, from gig to gig, afforded by centers of jazz—places like New Orleans, Kansas City, Chicago, and New York—where they could earn income and cross‑pollinate artistically. In Spain, Mondragon’s cooperative busi‑ ness purpose is to manifest their Basque identity and culture: Its mission is “a socioeconomic business project deeply rooted in Basque culture, created by and for people” (Mondragon 291

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Corporation, n.d.). In Italy, Emilia‑Romagna’s roots in Catholic humanitarianism and Ital‑ ian socialism intersected with strong independent craft traditions resulting in cooperatives becoming an extension of their distinctive Italian heritage (Duda & Zamagni, 2016). Cooperative economics may have continued to flourish in African American communities beyond the 19th and 20th centuries. However, the lynching, razing, and burning, and later the taking of properties through eminent domain, of affluent African American businesses, household‑owned residences, and entire towns erased these examples from historical ac‑ counts in favor of false narratives about the inherent poverty and ignorance of people of color and the virtues of competition‑based, not mutualistic, capitalism. These examples of cooperative economies do not reduce flourishing to median household income, real estate valuations, balanced budgets, or net worth. Flourishing happens at com‑ munity levels wherein people have the means to be expressive uniquely, culturally.

Model for the Masses: East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative Cooperative work is happening in Oakland for diverse people and their cultures to thrive. East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative (EB PREC) is experimenting with innovating conven‑ tional contractual deal terms of money that is invested in acquiring and developing real estate. They have innovated who can participate and how investors can act mutually in order to upend power dynamics in favor of the very people who are displaced when property values rise and developers and elected officials conspire. EB PREC is a for‑profit company with a nonprofit mission to practice community wealth building in ways that subvert neoliberal practices. EB PREC’s work is historic: It is extending the lineage of postbellum African Americans, Basques at Mondragon, and Emilia‑Romagna cooperative artisans to similarly interweave economic opportunities with self‑determining autonomy, cultural sustainability, and social cohesion. Located in Oakland, California, United States, EB PREC is building on a vibrant local African American cultural history. In the early to mid‑20th century, the city was the West Coast center of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters—the first African American labor organization accepted by the American Federation of Labor. The city of Oakland has also been home to artist luminaries, such as nationally renowned poet Maya Angelou who first became famous locally as the region’s first female African American streetcar conductor. It is also the hometown of filmmaker Ryan Coogler whose 2022 Marvel movie Wakanda was inspired by Black Oaklanders’ fight for justice. Notably, the city is where the Black Panther Party for Self Defense began. Founded in 1966 by activists Huey P. Newton and Bobby Seale, the Black Panther Party promoted Black freedom and socialist politics. With chapters across the nation and a few in‑ ternationally, African American members defended their communities from police brutality, advocated a separatist approach to protecting their rights, and implemented social programs to respond to the needs of their racially marginalized and discriminated people. Although more well known for eschewing contemporaneous civil rights calls for peace in favor of militant dress and tactics to defend themselves against police brutality, it is their community organizing to deliver social services that have continued to inspire African Americans, par‑ ticularly in Oakland. According to the Black Panther Party Alumni Legacy Network web‑ site, the Black Panther Party for Self Defense provided 65 social‑service programs, such as free school breakfasts, community pantries, visiting nurses, voting registration drives, sports 292

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and teen programs, legal aid clinics, and more (Black Panther Party, n.d.). Black Panthers created the infrastructure for their community members to be self‑reliant since they were nei‑ ther welcome nor safe in accessing White‑owned services. Their provision of social services eschewed replicating a market‑driven approach: Rather than provide services for financial gain, the Party instead prioritized improving the quality of life for everyone collectively. Prioritizing the well‑being of communities is a key aspect of EB PREC’s work as the organ‑ ization fights the continuing displacement of African American Oaklanders due to rising real estate costs. Oakland’s real estate values have skyrocketed, leading to a significant loss of this population. The city has seen a 178% increase in the median cost of housing since 2011, which has directly caused African American Oakland residents to move out of the city in search of more affordable housing (PolicyLink, 2016). As a legacy of racist economic and housing policies, African Americans are poorer and more housing insecure than most other ethnic groups. Consequently, over a single decade from 2000 to 2010, the city lost nearly a quarter (24%) of its African American residents due to rising housing costs (PolicyLink, 2016). The displacement of a quarter of Oakland’s Black residents in a decade means “losing the intergenerational treasures of [Oakland’s] community” (PolicyLink, 2016). EB PREC’s co‑founder and executive director, Noni Session, is a third‑generation Afri‑ can American Oaklander whose grandparents moved to the area around the 1940s. She, her family, and their African American Oakland communities have been under threat of displacement across generations. Mid‑20th‑century infrastructure developments effectively closed down West Oakland’s Black downtown and subjected residents to harmful environ‑ mental and noise pollution. Today, as the City of Oakland profits from urban growth and development, West Oakland’s neighborhoods and its residents continue to be overlooked for the kinds of urban improvements that would improve their lives. Instead, they fight a stream of developers seeking to buy residents’ commercial and residential properties for projects that will erase signs that a Black community had ever existed. Session was academically trained as a cultural anthropologist, which has helped her rec‑ ognize that these economic and political challenges threaten both the viability of African American Oaklanders’ ability to stay in place as well as existentially threaten their Black cultural identity. She asks questions such as: Who are they as a people when they move farther away and dissipate into various suburbs? How do they claim the dignity and pride of being African American when there are no more places that economically and culturally enable them to be self‑determining economically and freely expressive? (N. Session, personal communication, September 19, 2023). In 2016, Session nearly won an election for the Oakland City Council. Despite losing the seat, she experienced the power of the African American community galvanizing to ­support her. No longer perceiving that City Council is where answers lie, she now exercises her political and social currency by working within her own cultural community (N. Session, personal communication, March 6, 2023). With this motivation, Session co‑founded EB PREC to activate a localized, cooperative economy. Researchers of community wealth projects, Theodos, Marx, and Nunna described EB PREC’s model: In EB PREC, members work together to identify existing properties for acquisition (e.g., abandoned properties, properties at risk of being sold to speculative investors, etc.), pool 293

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equity from investor owners, raise capital from external funders, and secure loans to purchase properties. Once properties are collectively purchased, the cooperative entity holds the titles to the properties. The monthly contributions of resident members who live or work at each property are calculated to cover the costs associated with the property (property taxes, utilities, maintenance, etc.), and a small fee to cover the Cooperative’s expenses. Any surplus (or “profit”) generated from the property (when expenses are less than resident contributions) are reconciled at the end of the year and allocated to resident accounts, which may be held in reserve, or distributed to members if they ever decide to leave the cooperative. This arrangement builds wealth for the community in the form of property, provides a modest return (1.5 percent) to investor owners, creates affordable housing for current and future residents, and shares any surplus with those who gener‑ ate them: the residents themselves. The cooperative can customize each Resident Share Agreement to meet the needs and context of the project and community. (2021, p. 8) EB PREC is fighting potential displacement by buying and holding real estate in perpetuity. By owning housing, land, and commercial spaces permanently (as reflected in EB PREC’s name), the organization is decommodifying spaces and, thus, enabling West Oaklanders to stay in place. Owning land is also a long game to help future generations have social stability and political and financial leverage. Moreover, by creating cooperative ownership and decision‑making stewardship of the properties, they are building social ties and a cul‑ ture of mutuality and interdependence. Giving cooperative community members a reason to work together, be accountable to one another, and govern together is creating the kind of healthy social environment that is not possible in the competition‑based paradigm of capitalism. Its experimental model has already demonstrated success: EB PREC has created a mission‑driven opportunity for homeowners to donate their properties, and they have at‑ tracted enough financial capital to acquire commercial properties.

A New Law of Opportunity On April 5, 2012, former U.S. President Barack Obama signed the Jumpstart Our Business Startups (JOBS) Act into law. Before the Act was enacted, only wealthy people and com‑ panies could purchase an equity stake in businesses. This law meant that only already‑rich people profited from financial windfalls by investing in startup companies like Facebook, Alphabet, or Apple. Startup investing had been considered too risky for people without disposable income to take such risks, as it used to be that only those with financial means could afford expert financial and investment advice. Because the United States has significant racial wealth disparity, exclusions from equity investing meant that people of color were disproportionately denied such wealth‑building opportunities. Their exclusion made true the impression that one had to already be rich to get rich. However, the idea that only the wealthy could afford expert guidance and access to information became moot with technol‑ ogy. Investment information is now publicly available online. Today, any careful researcher of investment prospects can conduct thorough due diligence online with access to market performance, biographies of company founders, definitions of contractual deal terms, and publicly posted U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) investment information. 294

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One of the changes stemming from the new law was the opportunity for non‑accredited, non‑wealthy people (a.k.a. retail investors) to purchase equity shares in businesses. Titles III (a.k.a. Regulation Crowdfunding) and IV (a.k.a. Regulation A) of the 2012 JOBS Act now allow startup and growing businesses to raise investor capital from everyday people in the form of a Direct Public Offering (DPO). Investors, who can now be anyone wanting to see the enterprise succeed, can purchase equity ownership shares in a public offering and either weather the risk of losing their investment if the enterprise fails or reap the financial gains if the enterprise succeeds. The new law is meant to democratize capital—enabling anyone to invest in the kinds of businesses that are important to them (Kim, 2021). With legal support from the Sustainable Economies Law Center (SELC)—a worker‑cen‑ tered, cooperative nonprofit—EB PREC became the first African American cooperative com‑ pany to raise crowdfunded capital by selling equity ownership shares in its business. In 2020, EB PREC successfully filed its application to the Securities and Exchange Commission for a DPO to finance its startup years. The DPO enabled the organization to raise money from its community of friends and family, rather than conventional investors and lenders; thus making cooperative owners, shareholders, and community members one and the same. That funding provided EB PREC the financial running room to launch its first capital campaign to purchase real estate. EB PREC raised capital through a unique combination of crowdfunded equity, loans, and grants. Esther’s Orbit Room is culturally important to Black Oaklanders, particularly those in West Oakland. Originally an African American blues and jazz club along the historic 7th Street entertainment corridor, this space contributed to Oakland’s thriving reputation as the “Harlem of the West” during the 1930s to 1960s. From the 1940s to the 1980s, three major freeways—Interstates 580, 880, and 980—as well as a noisily clattering commuter rail sta‑ tion were built through and over the predominantly African American West Oakland com‑ munity. This practice of dividing African American neighborhoods and their once‑thriving downtowns with polluting rail lines and freeways, as well as tactics of White flight to sub‑ urbs that disinvested in the urban core and seizing their properties through eminent domain, were common and, unfortunately, successful. A 1967 New York Times article described the practice of “white roads through black bedrooms,” being used all across the country; from San Francisco and Seattle; throughout the Midwest and Central U.S. cities of Cleveland, St. Louis, Nashville, and New Orleans; along the eastern seaboard in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York; and various points in between (Ayres, 1967). Threatened by African Ameri‑ cans’ growing wealth or their standing in the way of White people’s interests, these tactics ensured White economic and political power would remain intact. After many years of disrepair, Esther’s Orbit Room was on the real estate market, and EB PREC staff perceived its anchoring potential in bringing back an economically thriving 7th Street Corridor for the people who still live in West Oakland. In 2021, EB PREC purchased Esther’s Orbit Room as a starting, keystone piece of its 7th Street Cooperative Cultural Corridor Revitalization Plan. The space will be revitalized to house three profit‑generating commercial footprints on the ground level: (1) a bar and performance venue; (2) a café and a juice bar (which is envisioned as an inviting space for local youth to gather for events, like open mic nights); and (3) a gallery for fine, movement, and healing arts. Above these three commercial spaces, there will be three co‑housing residential artist units for 11 artists who will become Resident Owners of EB PREC upon moving in. With Esther’s Orbit Room 295

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anchoring one end of historic downtown 7th Street, EB PREC staff are working with com‑ munity members on the corridor to re‑establish this road as a Black Business District with entertainment, arts, a farmers’ market, and affordable commercial spaces. These improve‑ ments will cater to a predominantly diverse and multi‑generational local population who would be displaced if conventional economic development took place.

Empowering Community Ownership EB PREC successfully raised $6.6  million to purchase, repair, and update Esther’s Orbit Room. They sourced this capital from a unique combination of institutional investors, grantmakers, and lenders as well as individual community members. Of this amount, the SEC‑qualified DPO generated $1.6 million. Under the investment terms, investors are pur‑ chasing a minimum five‑year share, with dividends paid every year at an annually com‑ pounded target rate of 1.5%, when possible. The DPO has two types of investors: local, mostly diverse community members who can purchase $1,000 shares and outsiders who are in solidarity with EB PREC’s vision. Purchas‑ ing shares means owning a part (i.e., a share) of the property. At the same time, because EB PREC is a cooperative, being a shareowner and a member of the company cooperative are one and the same, achieving and delivering on the promise of mutualism among all in‑ vestors. This gives local, non‑wealthy shareholders equal footing with larger institutional or private accredited investors. Its cooperative financing and ownership structure flattens power among investors, regardless of race, class, or wealth. Lowering the cost of entry for community members to become equity shareholders was only possible because EB PREC took advantage of the relatively new Title IV (a.k.a. Regulation A) of the 2012 JOBS Act. Retail, crowdsourced equity capital raises now means that everyday people can collec‑ tively invest in supporting businesses and local establishments that they want and need—a beloved bookstore, a walkable cafe, their own solar power‑generating farm, a locally rel‑ evant theater company, or a needed grocery. EB PREC is demonstrating a way for local businesses to structure capital campaigns to be supported by and accountable to their own communities. Rather than serve the interests of outside financial stakeholders only seeking profits, local businesses can now be supported by the people who know them the best and value them the most. It is yet to be seen, but the potential of the new law may be in using capital virtuously to interconnect the fates of local enterprises and its community members.

Subordinating Outside Investors to Elevate Community Shareholders Another innovative aspect of EB PREC is how it is shifting the flow and terms of financial capital to benefit its community, not outside investors. Noni Session talks about the “spatial flow of capital” (McRae & Shabazz, 2021), which EB PREC demonstrates. Rather than re‑ ject the role of outside capital (such as capital from impact investors and private foundations that are outsiders to the community), EB PREC welcomes outside investors of institutional or individual wealth. The organization intentionally structures investment deal terms and rules so that outside investors are helpful and not harmful to community members’ inter‑ ests. EB PREC’s DPO shares target a 1.5% annual dividend return, capped at 5%. In addi‑ tion, investors have the option to receive or decline the annual 1.5% dividend return (East 296

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Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative, 2022). According to EB PREC’s investment and fundraising director, an impressive 49% of investors have opted out of receiving a dividend (A. McShiras, personal communication, September 19, 2023), indicating that investments were made for social and not financial return. Offering a relatively low‑rate return, with an easy‑to‑check box for the investor to donate back their profit, ensures that EB PREC only at‑ tracts investors who are mission‑aligned. These terms exert a chilling effect on any potential investors who may try to force a sale of real estate assets for greater profit, which is doubly safeguarded from happening by being explicitly prohibited according to EB PREC’s bylaws. In addition, the cooperative’s investors must agree to an investment period of five years before they can withdraw the original amount invested. Being able to hold monies for five‑year terms gives EB PREC “patient capital,” which is needed for complex development deals. This kind of patient capital is difficult to obtain—conventional bank loans typically require earlier repayments and investment capital factors time into expectations for higher financial returns. Another way that EB PREC shifts the balance of power is that outside investors are cat‑ egorized differently than community, resident, and staff owners of the cooperative. Unlike the other member categories, the investor‑owner is the only class that does not have full governance rights. Investor‑owners are not allowed in steering and community participation circles where operational, programmatic, and governance decisions are made. By segment‑ ing and restricting investors’ access to decision‑making power and influence, EB PREC in‑ verts conventional power dynamics. Rather than investors using their wealth to override or ignore the will of communities that have the most at stake, investors and their capital are now subservient to the decisions and sense of belonging afforded community members. For investors genuinely interested in being part of the community, investors can join EB PREC as community owners and, through participation, can attain the same rights and benefits as any other active member of the EB PREC community. EB PREC is demonstrating what is possible to fix a pervasive and pernicious problem typically faced in economic development work. Usually, development money is dispropor‑ tionately raised from capitalist financing tools—subsidies, bonds, bank loans, tax credits, investments, and corporate pledges. By design, this toolbox is meant to generate economic profits and wealth. To repay borrowed money or to generate profit, development projects must rely on cheap labor and sets of activities that speculatively increase the prices of de‑ veloped assets (e.g., limiting affordable housing, setting affordable housing prices too high for long‑standing residents, etc.). Cities pay for development projects by reducing services, such as decreasing or eliminating funding for schools, hospitals, emergency services, and city workers’ pensions. In so many ways, financially vulnerable, long‑standing residents are worked, taxed, underserved, and then displaced in order to flow financial returns outward to non‑local wealthy investors, institutions, and markets. Deprioritizing local well‑being happens because these types of capital give investors—bondholders, national and multina‑ tional banks, outside private investors, and real estate investment trusts—primary rights to financial returns. Conventional development financing altogether ignores the communities most impacted. In EB PREC’s case, the money from local investments are derisked by out‑ siders and allowed to circulate within the community, thereby giving community members more buying power and political leverage—the opposite of being hollowed out.

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Lessons Learned The lesson of EB PREC is relevant for any place that has a population vulnerable to specu‑ lative‑market displacement. Anyone seeking locally empowering outcomes should look for opportunities wherein local community members can gain asset ownership (i.e., title) and governance (i.e., decision‑making) authority. • Projects structuring community or neighborhood ownership can be expensive and com‑ plex. What EB PREC accomplished required considerable money, knowledge, and time in securities law, real estate, financing, and cooperative structuring. Significant legal and financial knowledge was needed to offer investments, let alone with terms that pro‑ vide fractionalized equity ownership in ways that de‑risk community members’ capi‑ tal while subordinating institutional profit‑motivated interests. Urban planners need to participate in these kinds of community‑empowering experiments to be a part of val‑ ues‑based solutions, identify innovations, and share experience and knowledge. • Mutualistic projects are growing in interest and market demand, particularly those that are economically self‑sustaining and resilient in the face of development and dis‑ placement threats. Urban cultural planners can find opportunities in their communities, wherever they are, to introduce and practice collective or participatory decision‑making, cooperative structuring, and mutualistic deal terms. For instance, planners can scrutinize every project by asking how impacted communities will be practically (not symbolically) empowered by this project: Who will own title, and what can they govern as a result of a planning project? • Discriminatory practices that prevented integration and denied people of color from ac‑ quiring land and housing that could have led to wealth building have meant that ­leaders of color face hurdles that others do not: Everything from lack of access to affordable credit to being at the mercy of zoning rules that originally ghettoized their communi‑ ties are intentional structural barriers to their success. Urban cultural planners have a responsibility to know the histories of the places and people that their interventions will impact. Only by knowing the deliberate ways that harm has been enacted on people of color or class will planners both avoid replicating harms and identify ways to enact real solutions. • EB PREC is more than a real estate project. Acquiring and managing property is a means to preserving and activating their cultural identity. Therefore, working on a culturally specific planning project is less about visual signs of artistic expression and more about shaping and sustaining living culture. It is incumbent on anyone outside of an impacted community to understand how to be respectful and understanding of a ­community’s specific expectations and norms. Seeking to be invited, learning which people are respected leaders to work with, participating in formal and informal gather‑ ings, and sharing meals together are important to recognizing, validating, and being invited into cultural communities. As a profession, urban planning is concentrated on  getting things done, but conventional, project‑oriented approaches must take a back seat to the people‑powered parts of the work—being able to listen, learn, and earn trust.

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• Cultural interventionists seeking to sustain diversity in communities have an ­opportunity to shift from projects that merely reflect the uniqueness of communities to now upend‑ ing conventional financing and ownership deal terms so as to make cultural commu‑ nities resilient and sustainable. In doing so, urban cultural planners can greatly help ­marginalized and vulnerable communities under culturally existential threats of erasure by displacement. When communities work collectively to exercise ownership and gov‑ ernance power, they can better control their destinies, act counter‑cyclically to economic downturns, and be self‑determining. • Shifting the balance of ownership and governance power from outside monied inter‑ ests to community and neighborhood levels is a significant part of shaping alternatives to profit‑at‑all‑cost capitalism and individuating neoliberalism. Commensurate to the harms realized by conventional practices and systems, planners—from professionalized planners to cultural leaders participating in planning—have no limits to what they can accomplish when prioritizing the interests of those who have been excluded or ostracized from having agency.

Bibliography Ayres, Jr., B. D. (1967, December 31). White roads through Black bedrooms. New York Times, 97. Black Panther Party community survival programs 1967–1982. (2023). Black Panther Alumni Leg‑ acy Network. Retrieved April 21, 2024, from https://bppaln.org/programs. Caselli, G., Costa, M., & Delbono, F. (2022, December). What do cooperative firms maximize, if at all? Evidence from Emilia‑Romagna in the pre‑COVID decade. Annals of Public and Cooperative Economics, 93(4), 821–847. Cohen, D., & Mikaelian, A. (2023). The privatization of everything: How the plunder of public goods transformed America and how we can fight back. The New Press. Duda, J., & Zamagni, V. N. (2016, February 18). Learning from Emilia Romagna’s cooperative economy. The Next System Project. https://thenextsystem.org/learning‑from‑emilia‑romagna. East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative, Inc. (August 26, 2022). United States Securities and Exchange Commission, Regulation A Offering Circular under the Securities Act of 1933. Re‑ trieved March 1, 2023, from https://www.ebprec.org/offering. Gupta, P., Gonzalez, D., & Waxman, E. (2020, December). Forty percent of Black and Hispanic parents of school‑age children are food insecure. Urban Institute. https://www.urban.org/sites/ default/files/publication/103335/forty_percent_of_black_and_hispanic_parents_of_school_age_ children_are_food_insecure_0.pdf. Hanson, M. (2024, January 9). School Lunch Debt Statistics. Education Data Initiative. https://edu‑ cationdata.org/school‑lunch‑debt. Horowitz, S. (2021). Mutualism. Random House. Kim, A. (2021, Summer). Democratizing capital. Stanford Social Innovation Review, 19(3), 59–60. McRae, Z, & Shabazz, R. (Hosts). (2021, July 2). Racial Capitalism [Audio podcast episode]. Com‑ munity Visions. https://www.listennotes.com/podcasts/community‑visions‑zach‑mcrae‑rasheed‑sh abazz‑SKymfI7ODWQ/. Mondragon Corporation. (2024). About Us. Retrieved April 21, 2024, from https://www.mon‑ dragon‑corporation.com/en/about‑us. Nembhard, J. G. (2014). Collective courage: A history of African American cooperative economic thought and practice. Penn State University Press. Piketty, T. (2017). Capital in the Twenty‑First Century (A. Goldhammer, Trans.). Belknap Press.

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Angie Kim PolicyLink. (2016, September 2). Oakland’s displacement crisis: As told by the numbers. PolicyLink Brief (p.  2). Retrieved September 20, 2023, from https://www.policylink.org/sites/default/files/ PolicyLink%20Oakland’s%20Displacement%20Crisis%20by%20the%20numbers.pdf. Taylor, A. (2023, August 18). Why does everyone feel so insecure all the time? New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2023/08/18/opinion/inequality‑insecurity‑economic‑wealth.html. Theodos, B., Marx, R., & Nunna, T. (2021). Community wealth‑building models: Opportunities to bolster local ownership. Urban Institute. Wilson, G., Roscigno, V. J., & Huffman, M. (2015). Racial income inequality and public sector pri‑ vatization. Social Problems, 62, 163–185. doi: 10.1093/socpro/spv001

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4.4 CULTURE, COMMUNITY, EQUITY, BELONGING Caroline Woolard and Natalia Linares

Left and right, calls for systems‑change in cultural planning can be heard. While “economic justice” may be a new concept to grantmakers, activists, and creative people alike, most people understand that it is hard to make art if you cannot eat. In the United States, which remains the largest economy of the world, the U.S. Census Bureau reports that the official poverty rate was 11.5% in 2022. Artists are no exception. According to the National En‑ dowment for the Arts’ 2019 statistical portrait of the field, “dancers and choreographers are the artists [making their primary living in the arts yet living] closest to poverty.” Artists are precarious workers. Structural changes are starting to be made in practice, policy, and mis‑ sion to advance equity and justice in the sector. It is time for urgent action. If not now, when? As you read this, in the United States alone, members of the East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative in Oakland and members of the Cooperative Community of New West Jackson are making land and housing permanently affordable. Investors are gathering at the Boston Ujima Project and at Seed Commons across the nation to channel funding to marginalized communities. Culture‑bearers, those people who practice sacred and healing lifeways and share those practices across generations, at Sipp Culture in Mississippi, His‑ toric Clayborn Temple in Memphis, and Double Edge Theatre in Northampton are placing community ownership and reparations at the center of their performing arts work. Culture and cooperative enterprise push back against racism, gentrification, and violence to imagine and enact a future of BIPOC brilliance, safety, and joy. The economic system culture‑bearers and artists want is not only possible—it already exists, and can be strengthened and cultivated with intention. This system includes worker co‑ops, community land trusts, concessional loans, and mutual aid networks. What do these things have in common? They all center community ownership and democratic govern‑ ance for political, cultural, and economic power (Nwamaka Agbo Consulting, 2021). This emergent movement goes by many names—economic democracy, regenerative economics, community wealth, just transition, self‑determination, degrowth, the commons, local com‑ munity economic development—but internationally, it is known as the Social and Solidarity Economy, or the Solidarity Economy. 301

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While practices of equitable and sustainable self‑determination and community‑control are rooted in Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) ancestry—the term Solidarity Economy is relatively new. The term emerged in Chile and France in the 1980s (Laville et al., 2006; Razeto Migliaro, 2011), gained popularity in Latin America as Economia Solidária in the 1990s, and spread globally as an interdependent movement after the first annual World Social Forum in Brazil in 2001, which popularized the slogan “another world is possible” (Arruda, 2004). The Solidarity Economy is a term used internationally to describe sustain‑ able and equitable community‑control of work, food, housing, and culture using a variety of organizational forms (New Economy Coalition, 2021). The Solidarity Economy prin‑ ciples include cooperation, participatory democracy, intersectional equity, sustainability, and pluralism (Kawano & Matthaei, 2020). The United Nations Inter‑Agency Task Force on Social and Solidarity Economy (SSE), established in 2013, defines the SSE (or Solidarity Economy) as “a concept designating organizations, in particular cooperatives, mutual ben‑ efit societies, associations, foundations and social enterprises, which produce goods, services and knowledge while pursuing both economic and social aims and fostering solidarity” (UNTFSSE, 2020). In the Solidarity Economy, a majority of the things a community needs are controlled and governed by everyday people: housing, schools, farms and food produc‑ tion, local governance structures, art and culture, healthcare and healing, and transportation (New Economy Coalition, 2021). Dynamic collaborations between planners, grantmakers, government agencies, and fed‑ erations of cooperatives have produced thriving Solidarity Economy ecosystems around the world1 with tailored tools of support, training programs, financial vehicles, and policy plat‑ forms (Utting, 2017). Cooperatives, land trusts, and other elements of the Solidarity Economy have been proven more likely to withstand financial crises, advance racial equity, and increase community wealth (Roy et al. 2015; Utting, 2017). However, there has been little field‑wide research of the Solidarity Economy as it relates to arts and culture in the United States. This chapter aims to kick off a necessary exploration of the intersection of cultural practice and the Soli‑ darity Economy—of culture and community‑control of work, housing, land, energy, media, and healing. This chapter begins to demonstrate some of what the Solidarity Economy can offer for cultural equity and racial justice, and what planners can do to contribute to lasting change. There is great evidence that the Solidarity Economy provides resilience amid crisis and has lasting impact, when supported as a holistic ecosystem. For example, when policymak‑ ers and planners support community‑controlled, permanently affordable infrastructure and space, they create long term efficiencies in their giving practices as grantees who benefit are no longer spending large portions of their organizational overhead on rent. For example, the East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative (EBPREC) centers their work in the Black Arts Community, making space affordable for generations to come. This is one of many efforts to ensure that land and infrastructure are held by communities who have been most harmed by neoliberal capitalism that privatizes public and common goods. Many examples exist. The oldest Native co‑op in the United States, Qualla Arts and Crafts, is led by culture‑bear‑ ers. The first democratically managed investment fund in the country, the Boston Ujima Project, places BIPOC arts and cultural organizing at the heart of its work. The oldest non‑extractive venture capital firm in the United States, The Working World, was started 302

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by artists. Artists in Belgium founded Smart.coop, the co‑op that gives 35,000 freelancers the benefits of full‑time employees (including unemployment insurance and pensions). This model—Smart.coop—is now being piloted in the United States with the US Federation of Worker Cooperatives’ Guilded. To survive and thrive, creative people are co‑creating more humane and racially just eco‑ nomic models in their local communities. Cultural planners can conduct a power analysis by mapping out the people, interests, and relationships that shape the social and political land‑ scape and discern how they can play a role in the transformation of the sector by following the lead of historically disadvantaged groups of arts and culture‑bearers who are building economic democracy in their communities now. While these entities might seem disconnected, they often rely upon one another for support as interdependent parts of an economic justice ecosystem. In many parts of the world, entities that share principles of cooperation, participatory democracy, intersectional equity, sustain‑ ability, and pluralism are actively supported under one umbrella: the Solidarity Economy. These entities are supported and incentivized to connect across sectors in the Solidarity Econ‑ omy with policies that address their shared social, fiscal, credit, investment, and training needs.

Case Studies In the following section, case studies presented will connect culture and economic innova‑ tion go together, revealing that: • Many of these “innovations” of economic justice are longstanding cultural traditions. • Artists and culture‑bearers want a world where everyone’s needs are met so everyone can participate in the remaking of culture and society. • The arts sector has a “superstar” system where the winners take all and the rest are left with crumbs. • Just like art, housing and dignified work are human rights. • Artists are the original gig workers. • Culture‑making and political organizing go hand in hand.

Case Study: Boston Ujima Project The first democratically managed investment fund in the United States places historically disadvantaged arts and cultural organizing at the heart of its work. In 2018, after years of conversation and organizing work, the Boston Ujima Project launched the Ujima Fund, a democratic investment vehicle raising capital to finance small businesses, real estate, and infrastructure projects in Boston’s working‑class historically disadvantaged communities. Ujima, named for the Swahili word for collective work and responsibility, uses a partici‑ patory budgeting process in combination with traditional underwriting to put economic development decisions in the hands of community members. The Ujima Fund raises capital from investors and institutions from across the country, Ujima Voting Members (current and displaced working‑class Boston residents, grassroots partner organizations, community business owners and their employees), and Solidarity Members (non‑voting members) (Bos‑ ton Ujima Project, 2021a). Ujima also has a timebank which allows members to exchange time rather than money and to expand notions of community wealth. 303

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Since the launch of the Ujima Project, the organization has put forth a number of cultural offerings. Artists are listed as Economy Builders on the Ujima website, to “expand popular definitions” of what an artist is and can do (Boston Ujima Project, 2021b). Multiple Ujima programs center arts and culture, including the Ujima Arts and Cultural Organizing Fellow‑ ship, Arts and Cultural Organizing Micro Learning Pod, and the Black Trust: Chuck Turner Arts and Lecture Series with study materials including poems alongside reports (Boston Ujima Project, 2021b). Black Trust is an ongoing initiative to build a community space for engagement and celebration around economic, political and cultural transformation. The events feature a unique combination of artists/cultural organizers and leading thinkers, au‑ thors, and organizers whose work ties to Ujima.

Case Study: Non‑Extractive Loans Both affordable space and housing assistance are a perennial need for the arts and culture sector. When planners advocate for and support community‑controlled, permanently afford‑ able space—both commercial space and residential—they create long term efficiencies as the people who benefit are no longer spending large portions of their organizational overhead on rent or extractive finance (Di Mento, 2019). In 25 cultural districts nationally, artists and those working in the arts field are rent‑burdened, with 30%–50% of their income going to cover rent (Buzec, 2019). This burden need not be the case. For example, in 2019, the average monthly rent within a 0.5 mile radius of Fourth Arts Block in the Lower East Side of New York City was $4,660 per month (Buzec, 2019) while the average monthly main‑ tenance fee in the Cooper Square Community Land Trust in the same neighborhood was $240–480 (Holodak et al., 2016). Brewster Kahle, the founder of the Internet Archive, said, our biggest expense is people; our employees’ salaries make up about 80% of the budget. The biggest cost to our employees is housing, and the biggest cost of housing is debt service. If we could find a way to transition housing over a course of decades from being debt burdened to debt free, we could create a housing class that would be of enduring value to people in the nonprofit sector. (Conrad, 2013) Artists and culture‑bearers across the country are innovating models for community land trusts: community‑based organizations that create affordable housing and commercial space in perpetuity by owning land and leasing it to community members who use spaces on that land. Artists living in cultural districts pay over 60% of their income on rent (Buzec, 2019). Hence, advocating for and investing in community land trusts allows planners to ensure that their resources go to artistic production and affordable overhead that will support artists remaining in their communities for generations. For example, a typical dancer/choreographer, who makes $31,200, the annual average earnings for their field before COVID‑19 hit (National Endowment for the Arts, 2019b), will only have to spend six hours a week to cover their housing costs in a community land trust, compared to the 28 hours a week it would take to cover a market‑rate rental in the same area. 304

Culture, Community, Equity, Belonging Cooper Square CLT avg. maintenance

$360/month (Holodak et al., 2016)

Market‑rate rent in the area

$1,850/month [artists share an avg. 1BR $4,660/month rental (Buzec, 2019)]

A typical dancer would have to spend six hours per week working to cover housing costs. A typical dancer would have to spend 28 hours per week working to cover housing costs (Buzec, 2019).

As Ford, Hewlett, MacArthur, Open Society, and Packard Foundations shift their grant‑ making practices to underscore the importance of general operating support for grantees (Di Mento, 2019; The Bridgespan Group, 2020), arts ecosystem‑wide support for perma‑ nently affordable housing and commercial space should be explored by planners. The com‑ munity land trust model is being used to support space for artists and arts organizations in the East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative today and is a solution to housing insecu‑ rity (Shatan & Williams, 2020). In the 2007/2008 crisis, homeowners living in Community Land Trusts were ten times less likely to be in foreclosure proceedings and 6.6 times less likely to be at least 90 days delinquent, compared with homeowners in the conventional market (Lincoln Institute of Land Policy, 2009). The community land trust model is one of many Solidarity Economy models which are both resilient in crisis and are championed by historically disadvantaged artists and culture‑bearers today.

Case Study: Worker Cooperatives Artists and culture‑bearers are increasingly turning to worker and producer coopera‑ tives—businesses that are owned and managed by the workers—because they provide job security and a meaningful work environment (Barco Serrano et al., 2019).2 Evidence shows that cooperatives are more efficient than traditional firms (Pérotin, 2018) and have fewer layoffs during economic crises because they are able to call upon their community for support, and workers can decide to adjust the hours worked by all employees rather than reducing the number of employees (Buendía‑Martínez et  al., 2020). Cooperatives are more likely to succeed than traditional corporations because they are developed in‑ tentionally in dialogue with their customers and with the community (Olsen, 2013). Co‑ operative businesses have six times lower failure rates than traditional corporations and small businesses—60%–80% of cooperatives are running after the first year (10% failure versus 60%–80%) and after five years in business (90% still operating versus 3%–5% of traditional businesses) (Williams, 2007). Evidence shows that worker and producer co‑ operatives both successfully address the effects of crises and survive crises better (Gordon Nembhard, 2014a, b). Worker cooperatives also provide better and more equitable wages. In worker co‑ops, the average ratio between the highest and lowest pay is 2:1 compared with 300:1 in large corporations (Democracy at Work Institute, 2020). In 2019, the US Federation of Worker Cooperatives reported that the average entry‑level wage paid at all reporting worker coop‑ eratives was $19.67 per hour. This figure is more than $7.00 higher than the minimum wage in the 13 states with the most worker co‑ops (Democracy at Work Institute, 2019). Fur‑ ther, cooperatives advance gender equity at work (McMurtry & McMurtry, 2015). Worker

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cooperatives today employ more women and pay women at better wages than conventional businesses.3 A recent survey of worker‑cooperatives in the United States found that 58.8% of people employed at worker co‑ops identify as people of color and 62.5% of workers identify as female and 1.7% identify as non‑binary (Manklang et al., 2020). Worker cooperatives provide a pathway for more diverse and equitable working arrangements because these arrangements are determined by the workers themselves. Currently, Latinx women earn 55 cents for every dollar that White men make (AAUW, n.d.‑a), Black women earn 63 cents for every dollar that White men make in the workforce (AAUW, n.d.‑b), and women artists of any race earn 77 cents for every dollar that male artists of any race earn (National Endow‑ ment for the Arts, 2019a).4 As is often cited, providing equal pay to women in the workforce would cut the poverty rate for all working women in half and the number of children with working mothers living in poverty would be nearly cut in half (Milli et al., 2017). Coop‑ eratives offer a promising model for economic justice when cultivated with intentionality (Gordon Nembhard, 2020). Cooperative Business success rate after five years (Williams, 2007) Traditional Corporation success rate after five years

90% 3%–5%

It is anticipated that the desire for cooperatives will continue to increase due to demo‑ graphic, cultural, and technological shifts in the labor force. In December of 2020, New York City launched Employee Ownership NYC, the nation’s largest municipal initiative for education and technical assistance around employee ownership and conversion.5 This ad‑ dresses the need for increased local jobs as well as the needs of business owners who want to retire. Almost half of all business owners are 55 years of age or older; Baby Boomer retire‑ ments (people born between 1946 and 1964) will cause more than $10 trillion in business assets to change hands over the next five to 20 years as an estimated 70% of privately held businesses will be sold or closed (Gregory et al., 2016). Millennials (United States people born between 1981 and 1997) are moving into positions of power and tend to prioritize jobs and businesses that center equity, sustainability, and local impact (Deloitte Global, 2020) and are drawn to shared leadership (Ono, 2016). The United Nations’ International Labor Organization reports that The importance of the Social and Solidarity Economy for the future of work is not lim‑ ited to a residual role that only concerns more disadvantaged people but also shows a way in which the world of work can be transformed, creating new employment based on competencies and skills that cannot be replaced by algorithms. (Barco Serrano et al., 2019) The past decade has seen increased research and development of cooperative digital plat‑ forms (Scholz, 2020; Schneider, 2018). In 2014, one in every six people on average in the world had membership in a cooperative or was a client of a cooperative (Dave Grace & As‑ sociates, 2014).

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Case Study: Meerkat Media Meerkat Media was founded as an informal arts collective in New York City in 2005 and has grown to become a cooperatively owned production company that produces work for clients as well as a collective of artists who create their own independent artwork with finan‑ cial and social support from the co‑op production company. Their work has been broadcast on HBO, PBS, and many other media networks, and screened at festivals worldwide, includ‑ ing at Sundance, Tribeca, and Rotterdam. Originally formed because a group of friends wanted to find a way to work with one another on a daily basis (Serabian‑Arthur, 2016), Meerkat found a way to freelance to‑ gether (the client‑facing side) and make personal projects together (the collective side). As of the fall of 2021, Meerkat has eight worker‑owners, with two more worker‑owner candidates being considered, and supports roughly 15 artists through the Meerkat Media Collective program. The collective is made up of filmmakers who successfully apply to join the collective and who agree to engage in critical feedback and mutual aid support with one another. Clients such as Sesame Street, Art21, and community‑based organizations hire Meerkat to make media for them. This client income fuels the cooperative and collective ecosystem. Meerkat members are all paid the same amount for a day rate, regardless of the task they do, and can earn up to $120k a year as well as receive parental leave and benefits if they want to work full time and offer a skill set to match incoming client work. Every fall, a portion of the client‑facing surplus (gross income) is requested from the co‑op for the Meerkat Media Collective members to use for convenings and education. Previously, around 12% of Meerkat’s budget was held for this pool; the collective of artists had be‑ tween $40,000 and $50,000 a year in support. In recent years, the co‑op has moved from a percentage‑based model to a flat annual budget for the collective. Since the 2020 COVID‑19 pandemic began, this has been reduced to $20,000 a year, though this shifts based upon the collective’s requests and the cooperatives’ available surplus. In addition to the collective pool of funds, artists in the Meerkat Media Collective receive an individual stipend of $1,000 a year with which to create their own independent work. They also gain access to the cooperative’s software, equipment, space, and community for screenings, parties, and events. Meerkat Media Collective members are often the first people to be hired for the cooperative’s client work and are eligible to join the cooperative when membership opens as well.

Case Study: U.S. Federation of Worker Cooperatives Meerkat Media, alongside many cultural cooperatives, is a member of The United States Federation of Worker Cooperatives (USFWC) is the largest and most important national grassroots membership organization for worker cooperatives. The USFWC’s mission is to “build a thriving cooperative movement of stable, empowering jobs through worker‑owner‑ ship. [They] advance worker‑owned, ‑managed, and ‑governed workplaces through coopera‑ tive education, advocacy and development” (US Federation of Worker Cooperatives, 2021). The federation includes more than 300 business and organizational members representing

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10,000 workers across the country, organized through regional cooperative networks while building power with national and international partners to advance an agenda for economic justice rooted in community‑based, shared ownership. The USFWC was founded in 2004 when a core of worker co‑op members came together with co‑op developers, scholars, community organizers, and supporters from the broader co‑op sector to strengthen worker co‑ops through a national, sector‑specific organization. Building on growing momentum, this founding event brought together worker co‑op practi‑ tioners from the existing Western Worker Co‑op Conference and the Eastern Conference for Workplace Democracy, as well as key players in Midwest and Southern states, to galvanize and support rising interest in the worker co‑op business model. As of fall 2021, their membership consists of worker co‑ops, democratic workplaces (consumer cooperatives, non‑profits, and ESOPs with democratic staff management), Co‑ operative Developers, and various organizations and individuals that support worker coop‑ eratives. These federation members range from two to 2,000 workers and span dozens of industries with varying management and governance structures. The primary source of USFWC’s capital is from its worker members, who pay annual dues. These funds are supplemented by financial and other support (provided via grants, consulting and program contracts, and individual donations from the broader public), and managed by a member‑elected board with support from its Policy and Advocacy, Racial and Economic Justice, Union Co‑ops, and Movimiento de Inmigrantes in Cooperativas member councils. In addition, members can gain access to a Worker Ownership Loan Fund (WOLF), which USFWC participates in through a partnership with Shared Capital Cooperative. WOLF “provides financing to worker‑owned co‑ops to create democratic jobs, especially in low‑income communities” (Shared Capital Cooperative, 2021).

Case Study: Open Collective Open Collective launched in 2015, to offer solutions to a basic need: informal groups, like collectives, have few places to put their shared money. For example, if a group raises $1,000 for a project that builds community power—like a mutual aid group, a skillshare, a giving circle, a timebank, or a tool library—who is going to hold onto the money that was raised? Open Collective allows groups to legally spend and collect money without incorporating, opening a bank account, or unfairly burdening an individual in the group with responsibil‑ ity for collective funds and complicating their taxes. Combining a tech platform with fiscal sponsorship, Open Collective can take on the compliance side—like dealing with the United States Internal Revenue Service (the agency that collects federal taxes)—so that groups can focus on their work. The platform allows aligned groups to operate under the umbrella of a legal entity, called a “fiscal host” (fiscal sponsor) or just a “host”—for example, a nonprofit 501(c)(3) or NGO or charity. The cutting‑edge payments and budget management platform tracks everything transparently. The host team processes the groups’ transactions and handles all tax report‑ ing, banking, liability, contracts, etc., according to regulations of the country where the host is. In this way, Open Collective is an innovative “fiscal sponsor of the future,” allow‑ ing groups to be hosted by any node in a globally connected, hyperlocal network of legal entities. For example, the Kola Nut Collaborative timebank is hosted by Open Collective 308

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Foundation 501(c)(3) and LinuxServer is hosted by Open Source Collective 501(c)(6). Each node, or “host” on the platform offers their legal status to the groups that they support. There are 100‑plus hosts on the platform now, each serving 1 to 2,800 collectives. Open Collective considers themselves to be a steward of a legal, financial, and techni‑ cal commons—a piece of shared infrastructure. When an improvement (whether technical, policy, or knowledge‑based) is made that supports a host and its collectives in one location, it can propagate out to all other hosts around the world, because it is an online platform. The unique impact of Open Collective lies in leveraging the commons and network effects to connect grassroots initiatives with funds that they would not be able to access otherwise due to legal barriers, e.g. they need access to 501(c)(3) status to receive a grant, to open a bank account, or to provide invoices/receipts to funders. Open Collective is an unconventional fundraising and spending platform because it ena‑ bles groups to borrow the legal status and bank account of another organization as a fiscal sponsor. Any legal entity can use the tech platform as a way to host groups that want to spend and collect money transparently. Hosts that provide services to their collectives for free can use the platform for free. If hosts charge a fee to their collectives, Open Collective asks for a 15% cut of that host fee. For example, if a host charges a 5% fee and a group raises $1,000, the host takes $50 and passes $7.50 of that to Open Collective, leaving the collective with $950. Open Collective has created multiple fiscal hosts in different countries and topic areas, to be directly connected to the communities they serve, testing out software features and im‑ proving services in response to community needs on a daily basis. Two hosts founded and operated by the same people who founded Open Collective Inc (the company that builds the tech platform) are Open Collective Foundation, a US 501(c)(3), and Open Source Col‑ lective, a US 501(c)(6). The latter, Open Source Collective, supports open source developers to be able to do their work for the commons without working for non‑cooperative compa‑ nies. Open Collective Foundation supports the solidarity economy movement in the United States, with over 150 mutual aid groups and 100+ other solidarity economy initiatives using the platform as of 2021. Fiscal hosts charge a “host fee” to resource their operating costs (4%–8% for OCF and 10% for OSC), with 15% of that host fee going back to Open Col‑ lective Inc to fund improving the tech platform itself. Groups hosted by Open Collective Foundation raised over $5 million dollars in 2020 (set to top $10m in 2021), thus passing significant resources to Open Collective Inc to maintain and improve the software platform. In this way, the platform is sustained and requests from collectives can be implemented as tech features that all hosts in the entire ecosystem can use (Open Collective, 2021). Open Collective demonstrates the ways that non‑extractive investment and grants can build shared wealth and shared power. The co‑founders raised nearly $3 million with inves‑ tors who agreed to: (1) not have majority ownership and (2) not be able to force dividends because they do not have board seats. In fact, the $3 million can be paid back as debt (the platform began making profit in 2020). Unlike most venture‑backed startups, Open Collec‑ tive can pay computer engineers at market‑rate and also guarantee that the platform works to build a culture of shared stewardship so that it can eventually be given back to the people who use it, to maintain and control collectively. Open Collective Inc is currently legally structured as a private business entity with own‑ ers, investors, and employees, but is run in practice as a worker collective where individuals 309

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are empowered to participate fully in decision‑making. Open Collective members are now in discussions with advisors about the best way for the thousands of groups worldwide that rely on the platform to steward it and share ownership. To do this work, Open Collective is partnering with Exit to Community (E2C), an ef‑ fort to develop alternatives to the standard model of the startup “exit.” Rather than sim‑ ply aiming for an acquisition by a more established company or a public stock offering, E2C asks: “Could startups aim to mature into ownership by their community of stake‑ holders?” (MEDLab: University of Colorado Boulder, 2021). Recognizing that creative learning environments center embodied, heart‑opening gatherings that can develop and sustain a culture of shared ownership, Open Collective Foundation has given unrestricted funds to Cultural Organizers who are building the Solidarity Economy movement in the United States.

Conclusion Cultivating Solidarity Economy institutions and networks will allow our nation’s arts and culture planning community to (1) conduct rapid responses to interpersonal and structural crises with more clarity and trust going forward, (2) build capacities for deep intersectional collaboration and partnership across social identity, and (3) call in decades of wisdom, practice, and innovation in planning practices that advance racial and economic justice. In turn, grantmakers will support artists and culture‑bearers as they withstand financial crises, advance racial equity, and increase community wealth. In order to support the Solidarity Economy with integrity, a slow process of relation‑ ship‑building between culture‑bearers, Solidarity Economy organizers, public sector workers, and arts and culture grantmakers must begin. Lasting impact will not be made if Solidarity Economy becomes a “buzzword” that is popular for a short time, or if newcomers with vis‑ ibility are supported instead of community‑based groups who have been doing this work for decades. This chapter exists to begin a process of study about the ways in which arts and culture intersect with the Solidarity Economy and to encourage bold action. A future of racial and economic justice depends upon it.

Definitions of Terms Culture‑bearers are those people who practice sacred and healing lifeways and share those practices across generations. Systems‑change addresses root causes rather than symptoms and thus tends to take a mul‑ tidisciplinary, long‑term approach that requires transforming policies, practices, relation‑ ships, and power dynamics (Frischen et al., 2020). Racial capitalism refers to the ways in which racialized subjects made (and make) capitalism possible, including slavery, violence, imperialism, and genocide (Robinson, 2000). Neoliberalism is an economic philosophy which entails a belief that private markets will solve all problems and a corresponding defunding of state and public sector services and has likewise eviscerated public arts funding (Koch, 1998).

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Structural racism involves “macro level systems, social forces, institutions, ideologies, and processes that interact with one another to generate and reinforce inequities among racial and ethnic groups” (Gee & Ford, 2011). BIPOC: This chapter uses the term “Black, Indigenous, and other communities of color” or BIPOC rather than People of Color (POC) or African, Latinx, Arab, Asian, Na‑ tive‑American (ALAANA) in order to center Black and Indigenous experience and to acknowledge ways that anti‑Black racism and the practiced erasure of Indigenous peo‑ ples continues to shape dominant culture, practice, and policy in the United States (The BIPOC Project, 2021). Equity: Grantmakers in the Arts defines equity as the fair treatment, access, opportunity, and advancement for all people, while at the same time striving to identify and eliminate barriers that have prevented the full par‑ ticipation of some groups. Improving equity involves increasing justice and fairness within the procedures and processes of institutions or systems, as well as in their distribution of resources. Tackling equity issues requires an understanding of the root causes of outcome disparities within our society. (Grantmakers in the Arts, 2019) Philanthropic Racial Equity: Grantmakers in the Arts defines racial equity in philanthropy as “the investment of social and financial resources in policies, practices, and actions that produce equitable access, power, and outcomes for BIPOC]” (Grantmakers in the Arts, 2019).

Lessons Learned • Cultivating Solidarity Economy institutions and networks will allow our nation’s arts and culture planning community to (1) conduct rapid responses to interpersonal and structural crises with more clarity and trust going forward, (2) build capacities for deep intersectional collaboration and partnership across social identity, and (3) call in dec‑ ades of wisdom, practice, and innovation in planning practices that advance racial and economic justice. In turn, grantmakers will support artists and culture‑bearers as they withstand financial crises, advance racial equity, and increase community wealth. • In order to support the Solidarity Economy with integrity, a slow process of relation‑ ship‑building between culture‑bearers, Solidarity Economy organizers, public sector workers, and arts and culture grantmakers must begin. • Lasting impact will not be made if Solidarity Economy becomes a “buzzword” that is popular for a short time, or if newcomers with visibility are supported instead of com‑ munity‑based groups who have been doing this work for decades. This chapter exists to begin a process of study about the ways in which arts and culture intersect with the Soli‑ darity Economy and to encourage bold action. A future of racial and economic justice depends upon it (Figure 4.4.1).

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Figure 4.4.1  Organizational forms in the solidarity economy.

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Figure 4.4.1

Notes 1 In Brazil, Colombia, Italy, Luxembourg, Quebec, France, South Korea, Ecuador, Spain, Cam‑ eroon, Cape Verde, Japan, Indonesia, Japan, Malaysia, and Costa Rica. 2 “The SSE has significant potential for the creation of employment in new or emerging sectors. This is true in particular—as stated above—of care services, education and cultural services, and in general of jobs with a high relational content. In other words, in the face of the transformations that are reshaping the world of work, the SSE provides a stronghold for all of those activities that are more markedly social and empathic in nature” (Barco Serrano et al., 2019). 3 “Women in cooperatives fare better than women in capitalist firms in terms of occupational at‑ tainment, hourly wages, and achievement of leadership positions” (Miller, 2011). 4 “In 2012–2016, women in the United States labor force (working full‑year/full‑time) earned $0.79 for every dollar men earned. Among artists, the ratio was slightly lower—$0.77. As women age, they earn progressively less than their male counterparts. For example, women artists aged 18–24 earn $0.97 for every dollar earned by men artists in that age group. But for women who are 35–44, the ratio drops to $0.84. By the time they reach ages 55 to 64, women artists earn just $0.66 for every dollar male artists make” (National Endowment for the Arts, 2019b). See also “Get the Facts: learn about gender inequity in the arts with some eye‑opening facts,” NMWA, 2018, https://nmwa.org/support/advocacy/get‑facts/. 5 “Sell Your Business to the People Who Care Most,” Owner to Owners, accessed January 16, 2020, https://www.owner2owners.nyc/.

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Culture, Community, Equity, Belonging Gordon Nembhard, J. (2020). Racial Equity in Co‑ops: 6 Key Challenges and How to Meet Them. Nonprofit Quarterly (NPQ), October 21, 2020. Retrieved from https://nonprofitquarterly.org/ racial‑equity‑in‑co‑ops‑6‑key‑challenges‑and‑how‑to‑meet‑them/. Grantmakers in the Arts. (2019). Racial Equity in Arts Funding: Statement of Purpose and Recom‑ mendations for Action. Grantmakers in the Arts (GIA), Bronx, NY, Revised April 11, 2019. Re‑ trieved from https://www.giarts.org/sites/default/files/GIA‑racial‑equity‑statement‑of‑purpose.pdf. Gregory, D., Josephy, M., Kerr, C., & Lingane, A. (2016). The Lending Opportunity of a Genera‑ tion: FAQs and Case Studies for Investing in Businesses Converting to Worker Ownership. The Cooperative Fund of New England (CFNE), Project Equity, The Democracy at Work Institute. Retrieved from https://project‑equity.org/wp‑content/uploads/2019/11/LendingOpportunityOf‑ AGeneration_updated‑Nov‑2019.pdf. Holodak, A., Lowing, J., & Breault, M. (2016). Community Land Trusts & Mutual Housing Associa‑ tions, May 20, 2016. Retrieved from https://www.amyholodak.com/wp‑content/uploads/2017/08/ AmyHolodak‑CLT‑MHA‑Paper.pdf. Investors (2021). Accessed September 18, 2021. Retrieved from https://drive.google.com/drive/ search?q=investors. Kawano, E., & Matthaei, J. (2020). System Change: A Basic Primer to the Solidarity Econ‑ omy. Nonprofit Quarterly, July 8, 2020. Retrieved from https://nonprofitquarterly.org/ system‑change‑a‑basic‑primer‑to‑the‑solidarity‑economy. Koch, C. (1998). The Contest for American Culture: A Leadership Case Study on the NEA and NEH Funding Crisis. Public Talk, 1998. Retrieved from https://www.upenn.edu/static/pnc/ptkoch.html. Laville, J., Lévesque, B., & Mendell, M. (2006). The Social Economy: Diverse Approaches and Practices in Europe and Canada. OECD, Washington, DC, 155–187. Retrieved from https://cced‑ net‑rcdec.ca/sites/ccednet‑rcdec.ca/wp‑content/uploads/2022/09/canada‑europe.pdf. Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. (2009). Survey Finds Low Foreclosure Rates in Community Land Trusts, March 17, 2009. Retrieved from https://www.lincolninst.edu/es/news/press‑releases/­ survey‑finds‑low‑foreclosure‑rates‑community‑land‑trusts [Accessed: April 10, 2023]. Luis Razeto Migliaro. (March 2011). The Meaning of Solidarity Economy: Interviews with Luis Razeto Migliaro. Retrieved from https://cborowiak.haverford.edu/solidarityeconomy/wp‑content/ uploads/sites/3/2013/07/Interview‑with‑Luis‑Razeto_May‑2010.pdf. Manklang, M., Trenholm, Z., & Prushinskaya, O. (2020). Worker Co‑Ops: Weathering the storm of Covid‑19 and Beyond. Democracy at Work Institute & The U.S. Federation of Worker Coopera‑ tives. Accessed January 16, 2021. Retrieved from https://institute.app.box.com/s/5x34s7yax2iw mce28q2yeh1x8lfmmjiq. McMurtry, L. S., & McMurtry, J. J. (2015). Advancing Gender Equality: The Co‑Operative Way. International Labour Organization, Geneva, 2015, 20. Retrieved from https://www.ilo.org/wc‑ msp5/groups/public/‑‑‑ed_emp/‑‑‑emp_ent/‑‑‑coop/documents/publication/wcms_379095.pdf. MEDLab: University of Colorado Boulder. (2021). Exit to Community. Accessed September 19, 2021. Retrieved from https://www.colorado.edu/lab/medlab/exit‑to‑community#:~:text=Exit%20 to%20Community%20(E2C)%20is,by%20their%20community%20of%20stakeholders%3F. Miller, G. R. (2011). Gender Equality in U.S. Worker Cooperatives. Grassroots Economic Organiz‑ ing (GEO) Newsletter, Volume 2, Issue 7, April 7, 2011. Retrieved from http://geo.coop/node/615. Milli, J., Huang, Y., Hartmann, H., & Hayes, J. (2017). The Impact of Equal Pay on Poverty and the Economy. Institute for Women’s Policy Research (IWPR), April 2017. Retrieved from https:// iwpr.org/wp‑content/uploads/2020/09/C455.pdf. National Endowment for the Arts. (2019a). Artists and Other Cultural Workers: A Statistical Por‑ trait. National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), April 2019, 14. Retrieved from https://www.arts. gov/sites/default/files/Artists_and_Other_Cultural_Workers.pdf. National Endowment for the Arts. (2019b). Artists and Other Cultural Workers: A Statistical Por‑ trait. National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), April 2019, 28. Retrieved from https://www.arts. gov/sites/default/files/Artists_and_Other_Cultural_Workers.pdf. New Economy Coalition. (2021). The Solidarity Economy. Accessed January 12, 2021. Retrieved from https://neweconomy.net/solidarity‑economy/.

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Caroline Woolard and Natalia Linares NMWA. (2018). Get the Facts: Learn about Gender Inequity in the Arts with Some Eye‑Opening Facts. Retrieved from https://nmwa.org/support/advocacy/get‑facts/. Nwamaka Agbo Consulting. (2021). What Is Restorative Economics? Accessed February 7, 2021. Retrieved from https://www.nwamakaagbo.com/restorative‑economics. Olsen, E. K. (2013). The Relative Survival of Worker Cooperatives and Barriers to Their Creation. In Sharing Ownership, Profits, and Decision‑Making in the 21st Century (Advances in the Economic Analysis of Participatory & Labor‑Managed Firms, Vol. 14). Emerald Group Publishing Limited, Leeds, pp. 83–107. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/287576212_The_relative_survival_ of_worker_cooperatives_and_barriers_to_their_creation Ono, E. M. (2016). Moving Arts Leadership Forward: A Changing Landscape. The William and Flora Hewlett Foundation. Retrieved from https://hewlett.org/wp‑content/uploads/2016/08/Mov‑ ing%20Arts%20Leadership%20Forward_2016.pdf. Open Collective. (2021). Our Pricing Structure. Accessed September 18, 2021. Retrieved from https://opencollective.com/pricing. Pérotin, V. (2018). What Do We Really Know about Worker Co‑operatives? Co‑operatives UK, No‑ vember 19, 2018. Retrieved from https://www.uk.coop/sites/default/files/2020‑10/worker_co‑op_ report.pdf. Robinson, C. J. (2000). Black Marxism: The Making of the Black Radical Tradition. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Roy, M. J., O’Connor, C. H., McHugh, N., Biosca, O., & Donaldson, C. (2015). The New Merger: Combining Third Sector and Market‑Based Approaches to Tackling Inequalities. Social Busi‑ ness, 5(1) (Spring 2015), 47–60. https://www.ingentaconnect.com/content/westburn/sb/2015/ 00000005/00000001/art00005;jsessionid=2rcdufe6mieq7.x-ic-live-03 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Schneider, N. (2018). Everything for Everyone: The Radical Tradition That Is Shaping the Next Economy. Nation Books, September 2018. Retrieved from https://nathanschneider.info/books/ everything‑for‑everyone/. Scholz, T. (2020). The Year in Platform Cooperatives. Platform Cooperativism Consortium, January 7, 2020. Retrieved from https://platform.coop/blog/the‑year‑in‑platform‑cooperatives/. Serabian‑Arthur, Z. (2016). Labor. In Jahoda, S. & Woolard, C. (Eds.), Making and Being: Em‑ bodiment, Collaboration, & Circulation in the Visual Arts. Pioneer Works Press. Retrieved from https://makingandbeing.com/. Shared Capital Cooperative. 2021). Worker Ownership Loan Fund. Accessed September 18, 2021. Retrieved from https://sharedcapital.coop/borrow/worker‑ownership‑fund/. Shatan, N., & Williams, O. (2020). A Guide to Transformative Land Strategies: Lessons from the Field. MIT CoLab, June 2020. Retrieved from https://static1.squarespace.com/static/59e749467131a5e036c 15d82/t/5f06708154b02120ab2c8ef0/1594257540711/Community+Land+Trusts_CoLab.pdf. The BIPOC Project. (2021). The BIPOC Project. Accessed February 6, 2021. Retrieved from https:// www.thebipocproject.org/. The Bridgespan Group. (2020). We Help You Create the Social Change You Seek. Accessed January 17, 2021. Retrieved from https://www.bridgespan.org/. UNTFSSE. (2020). What Role for the Social and Solidarity Economy in the Post COVID‑19 Cri‑ sis Recovery? United Nations Inter‑Agency Task Force on Social and Solidarity Economy (UN‑ TFSSE), ILO, June 2020. Retrieved from https://www.gsef‑net.org/sites/default/files/publication/ What%20role%20for%20the%20Social%20and%20Solidarity%20Economy%20in%20 the%20post%20COVID‑19%20crisis%20recovery%20%28UNTFSSE%2C%202020%29.pdf. US Federation of Worker Cooperatives. (2021). About the USFWC. Accessed September 15, 2021. Retrieved from https://www.usworker.coop/about/. Utting, P. (2017). Public Policies for Social and Solidarity Economy; Assessing Progress in Seven Countries. ILO, Geneva. Retrieved from https://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/‑‑‑ed_ emp/‑‑‑emp_ent/‑‑‑coop/documents/publication/wcms_582778.pdf. Williams, R. C. (2007). The Cooperative Movement: Globalization from Below. Burlington, Ashgate Publishing Company, 7–35 and 139–148. Retrieved from https://library.uniteddiversity.coop/Co‑ operatives/The_Cooperative_Movement.pdf.

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4.5 CULTURAL LAND TRUSTS AS AN EMERGING SOLUTION TO THE ARTS SPACE CRISIS Erika Hennebury

Introduction Community Land Trusts (CLTs) are having a moment. Increasingly lauded as an innovative solution to the housing crisis, residential CLTs are seeing unprecedented growth in many major cities around the world (Davis et al., 2020; Trana et al., 2023; Wang et al., 2023). While CLTs can hold land for housing, agricultural, social services, commercial, cultural, or other uses, they have become predominantly associated with housing. Residential CLTs, often paired with housing cooperatives or non‑profit housing providers, offer affordable housing in perpetuity by removing land from the speculative real estate market, decom‑ missioning its commodity status (Moore & McKee, 2012), and holding it in perpetuity for the benefit of the “tenant class” (Trajan et al., 2023), predominantly low‑income and working‑class renters. As this chapter explores, CLTs also hold a great deal of promise as an anti‑displacement strategy for working‑class artists and cultural workers in rapidly gentrifying cities. Cultural CLTs offer the possibility of permanently embedding arts and cultural space in communi‑ ties without triggering gentrification and displacement, when they are grounded in a local place‑based community. I use the term “cultural CLT”, rather than “cultural land trust” or “creative land trust,” as community is a key CLT feature and should not be overlooked. Although cultural or creative land trusts without any form of community governance can also be an effective tool for governments, sectoral, or philanthropic actors to create cultural space, artists can be overlooking. In contrast, community land trusts enable democratic community control by low‑income and working‑class artist tenants, placing grassroots com‑ munity decision‑making at the center of the CLT model. This chapter explores the first wave of cultural CLTs in the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada. Drawing on four case studies, I aim to document the place‑based, iterative nature of emerging cultural CLTs, and critically map their variations from the clas‑ sic CLT model, to inform future CLT organizing and policy development.

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-28

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Cultural CLTs As cultural CLTs are a new and rapidly evolving model for cultural space provision, not much has yet been theorized or documented. Legal scholar Sarah Ross has mapped the pos‑ sible legal models of Canadian cultural land trusts (2020) and their capacity to help artists resist displacement (2022). Rhian Scott, Luke Dickens, and Phil Hubbard have explored creative land trusts for the provision of affordable artist studio space in Bain and Podmore’s 2023 book, The Cultural Infrastructure of Cities. Building on this important work, I define cultural CLTs as non‑profit community‑led organizations that hold land for the purpose of creating and maintaining affordable community cultural space in perpetuity. Just as CLTs can offer affordable community‑owned housing, cultural CLTs can offer permanently af‑ fordable community‑owned cultural space while mitigating the impacts of gentrification and displacement that often accompany creative place marking initiatives (Pratt, 2011). The development of cultural CLTs has been highly iterative, evolving organically from within each community, driven by artists and cultural communities to meet immediate and urgent needs, to seize upon emergent opportunities and to leverage willing partners (Ross, 2020). The cultural CLT mission/vision/values and governance models vary widely, depend‑ ing on partnerships, legal and political environments, land availability, and how and why a CLT was developed. Before exploring emerging cultural CLTs, I will provide an overview of the cultural space crisis, and briefly describe the history and features of CLTs.

The Space Crisis The COVID‑19 pandemic subjected the cultural sector to what Andy Pratt (2020) called a “cultural heart attack.” The pandemic triggered mass lay‑offs, the cancellation of perfor‑ mances and events, and the mass closure of rehearsal, creation, teaching, and presentation spaces to the public, leaving artists, arts organizations, and venue owners with continuing space‑related expenses and no revenue from planned in‑person programming. Temporary closures soon led to the permanent shuttering of cultural spaces. Though the Canadian cul‑ tural sector has not yet been able to fully enumerate the loss of arts spaces, the combination of pre‑pandemic financial pressures and COVID‑19 closures has been a major factor in the decline of cultural spaces across Canada. The Government of Canada’s Canadian Artists and Content Creators Economic Survey Report (2019) indicates that, even before the pandemic, 57% of survey respondents re‑ ported low and volatile income, often less than $40,000/year (CAD), including from crea‑ tive work and other sources. This is consistent with provincial and municipal statistics, where available (Toronto Arts Foundation, 2020), which rank most artists’ income levels as well below the poverty level. The loss of small independent creation spaces and perform‑ ing arts venues has been widespread. A recent study, Reimagining Music Venues (Bunce & Silver, 2020) by University of Toronto and Wavelength Music Festival estimated the rate of closure of Ontario’s music venues at 13%. Artist displacement has hit an inflection point whereby artists, along with so many others, can no longer afford to live in cities. Reimagin‑ ing Music Venues recommended cultural land trusts as a key strategy for the provision of new music spaces. A 2022 report by Dance Umbrella of Ontario and Nordicity outlined the loss of affordable dance spaces in Ontario and identified the need for new solutions to the space crisis. 318

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Cultural infrastructure, the buildings, spaces, services, networks, and relationships that enable cultural production, is crucial urban infrastructure (Bain & Podmore, 2023), yet it has not been as rigorously developed through government planning, policy, and funding as other sectors. Very few artists and arts organizations, outside of a university setting, have access to high‑quality purpose‑built cultural facilities, and very few communities have access to local cultural spaces that are affordable, appropriate, safe, and accessible. Vernacular cultural spaces are rapidly disappearing with the proliferation of condomin‑ ium developments. Since the 1970s and 80s, artists have adapted vacant industrial spaces in provisional, inventive ways (Catungal et al., 2009). These fabled inner‑city factories and warehouses, abandoned as a result of deindustrialization, often squatted or rented cheaply, were shared by artists across a variety of disciplines. Artists living and working in these post‑industrial cultural hubs are not protected by commercial or residential tenancy legis‑ lation. In many jurisdictions, such as Ontario, Canada, commercial tenancies are exposed to several risks, including short‑term leases (typically five years), eviction, and unrestricted rent increases. Artists living illegally in non‑residentially zoned areas are not protected by residential tenancy legislation, which, in some jurisdictions, has the power to limit rent in‑ creases, limit evictions, and require replacement of any demolished residential rental units and/or first right of refusal for displaced tenants to return to new units. Many post‑indus‑ trial cultural hubs have been retaken (Zukin, 2013) through the processes of financializa‑ tion, land use change, and mass eviction of artists for condo conversion (Patterson, 2007). These processes allow artists’ labor, networks, and outputs to be enclosed by investors and converted to surplus value, displacing and dispossessing artists and communities, while si‑ multaneously advertising their presence and services to incoming condo dwellers. Artists, having invested their limited resources, labor, and time into these abandoned and previously unwanted spaces, are then “dispossessed of the common, which they created,” after which “the common itself becomes so debased as to be unrecognizable” (Harvey, 2012, p. 78). Al‑ though artists are often represented in the gentrification literature as “first wave gentrifiers” (Zukin, 2016) or the “pioneers of gentrification” (Smith, 2013), artists are predominantly low‑income and precariously employed. Although artists can and have been complicit with gentrification, artists are rarely themselves the agents and profiteers of gentrification.

Radical Roots of Community Land Trusts The community land trust model has grown and evolved since its agricultural origins in the 1960s (DeFilippis, 2019, Bunce & Barndt in Davis et al., 2023). The first community land trust, New Communities Inc., was founded in Georgia in 1969. New Communities was de‑ veloped by African American farmers and was deeply rooted in civil rights activism. Acquir‑ ing over 5,000 acres of land, New Communities CLT represented the largest tract of land ever owned by African Americans in the United States. Promoting self‑determination, land stewardship, and community‑led development, the CLT model was enthusiastically adapted to the urban context, offering a new model for collective land ownership, in partnership with the cooperative movement of the 1980s. A community land trust (CLT) is defined by the Canadian Network of Community Land Trusts as a “community‑governed organization, or program of an existing organization, that owns land to be used for community benefit, often but not always focused on the provision 319

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of affordable housing” (Trana et  al., 2023, p.  1). CLTs are largely non‑governmental, community‑based organizations that hold land for the benefit of a place‑based community (Bunce et al., 2013; Bunce, 2016; Bunce & Aslam, 2016; Davis, 2010, 2020; Goodmurphy & Kamizaki, 2011). A CLT is a membership‑based organization open to people who live in a defined geographical area. A CLT may hold a single property or multiple parcels of land. Properties could be assembled or scattered across a wider geographical area. Lands owned by the CLT are never resold but are held in stewardship for the future and managed demo‑ cratically by a board of directors, elected by its membership. In the classic CLT model, ownership of the land is severed from ownership of the buildings on the land, as CLTs often lease their buildings to non‑profit housing providers through a long‑term (usually 99‑year) ground lease (Davis, 2010). The ground lease “knits together – and equitably balances” (Da‑ vis, 2014, p. 5) the interests of the CLT, which represents the local community and residents though the membership and board of directors, with the interests of the leaseholder. Ground leases are mortgageable and inheritable, allowing leaseholders to obtain financing through bank mortgages. However, not all CLTs lease their buildings in this way. Some CLTs (i.e.: Kensington Market Community Land Trust) retain full ownership, managing and maintain‑ ing their own properties, while leasing directly to individual tenants. The more recent gen‑ eration of CLTs have evolved in a number of ways, which have been well documented in the 2022 Census of Community Land Trusts and Shared Equity Entities in the U.S. (Wang et al., 2023) and the 2023 Census of Community Land Trusts in Canada (Trana et al., 2023). Community stewardship is a key feature of community land trusts. CLTs exemplify “dem‑ ocratic stewardship of place” (Thompson, 2015), recognizing that land is a “common herit‑ age” (Davis, 2010), and not a private commodity. Community stewardship is organized in a way that ensures substantial representation of key stakeholder groups, including those who live and work on the CLT land, local residents, as well as government and philanthropic stakeholders (Trana et al., 2023; Wang et al., 2023). The community governance model en‑ sures that decisions are taken by a democratically elected by a board of directors. In the tra‑ ditional CLT model, the board of directors is composed of equal parts: (1) people who live and work on the CLT land, (2) residents of the broader geographical community, and (3) community stakeholders and members of the public and private sectors (Bunce et al., 2013; Goodmurphy & Kamizaki, 2011). However, many emerging CLTs do not yet own land and so have no tenant representation. The CNCLT Census (Trana et al., 2023) reported very few Canadian CLTs follow a strict tripartite board structure. Instead, they have adapted the CLT model to ensure representation from local stakeholders and equity‑deserving communities in a variety of different ways that better serve the community’s needs. CLTs help to build community capacity to resist aggressive market‑driven development by asserting the primacy of a community‑determined vision for investment and intervention (Bunce, 2016). CLTs protect land from the dual threat of disinvestment and revalorization through speculation and gentrification (DeFilippis, 2004). By taking land off the market and sharing or limiting equity realization through land title or deed restrictions, CLTs can act as an anchor for affordable housing and communal space, in the context of an increasingly privat‑ ized urban environment (Moore & McKee, 2012; Abromowitz in Geisler & Daneker, 2000). CLTs can be an effective strategy for resisting gentrification and displacement when they act as a locus for community‑led planning and when those planning processes are driven by, and grounded in, the interest of low‑income, working‑class, and marginalized communities. 320

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Cultural CLT Case Studies The emerging and rapidly evolving nature of cultural CLTs makes them difficult to define and categorize. There are few established examples of cultural CLTs, and their titles and scopes of practice vary widely. San Francisco’s Community Arts Stabilization Trust1 (CAST) and the Austin Cultural Trust2 both call themselves “arts stabilization trusts,” not commu‑ nity land trusts. While CAST acquires properties and leases them to arts organizations with the goal of finally transferring ownership, Austin Cultural Trust raises philanthropic funds to assist with arts space acquisition by arts organizations. Although both are innovative models for cultural infrastructure development, neither would meet my definition of a Cul‑ tural CLT because they do not hold land in perpetuity. Both are highly effective in assisting non‑profits to acquire land and merit further exploration outside of the scope of this chapter. Cultural CLTs have pushed the definitional limits of the classic CLT model even farther than their housing predecessors, to the potential exclusion of community altogether. Cul‑ tural CLTs are being adapted within a variety of different legal and political environments to address specific, place‑based, urgent local challenges and therefore exhibit locally contingent features. While there are advantages to these wide‑ranging adaptations, new interpretations that sideline or omit community may run the risk of accelerating gentrification and artist dis‑ placement, much like some creative city placemaking initiatives (Pratt, 2011). In this section, I will explore four cultural CLTs and how they are working to support the cultural space needs of their communities using different variations on CLT model. While these cultural CLTs go by a range of different terms, including “cultural land trust,” “creative land trust,” “cultural spaces trust,” and “artist space trust,” they do share common CLT features.

Artist Space Trust, San Francisco Bay Area, USA The youngest of the four cultural CLTs discussed in this section is Artist Space Trust (AST). AST, like CAST, works in the San Francisco Bay Area. A program jointly launched in 2023 by Vital Arts and Northern California Community Land Trust (NCLT), AST seeks to stem the displacement of low‑income artists and culture‑bearers from the Bay Area, prioritizing marginalized racial and cultural demographics locked out of homeownership opportunities due to systemic racism and oppression (Shiffler, 2023). AST meets my definition of a cultural CLT. The first of its kind in the United States, AST gathers individual properties into the community land trust, offering long‑term community control along with artist‑sensitive management and expertise. AST will acquire single‑family homes, multi‑unit housing, and a range of creative spaces through bequests, donations, and below market purchases. AST will use limited‑equity deed restrictions to ensure affordability for future generations of artists and culture‑bearers (Shiffler, 2023). AST is initially building their property portfolio by cultivating relationships of care with the generation of aging Baby Boomer3 artist homeowners living in the Bay Area who wish to exercise mutual aid and build a legacy with their home/property. Many artist homeowners in their 80s and 90s are “house poor” and at risk of losing their housing in their later years due to mounting medical and housing expenses and dwindling income. Homeowners may opt to bequeath their properties to AST or participate in their “Aging in Place” program, which provides an annuity to support ongoing care for senior artists in their final years, after which the property is transferred to AST. Once a property is available for new occupants, 321

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a qualified artist or cooperative will be selected to purchase or rent the property at an afford‑ able rate (Shiffler, 2023). In addition to facilitating an intergenerational transfer of property from elder artists to younger generations, AST will also purchase existing artist live/work, studio, and perfor‑ mance spaces with impact investment funding and without government funding. In their first six months, AST has secured a bequest, with several more in development, and is working on the purchase of a larger live/work building. AST is also building a public programming series for artists focusing on financial literacy, qualifying for low‑income housing, community land trust basics and how to form a cooperative. In the future, AST plans create a toolkit so that other communities can launch their own community land trusts for artists (Shiffler, 2023).

221A/Cultural Land Trust, Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada Eastside Culture Crawl Society’s City without Art (2019) report identified that since 2017, more than 400 arts spaces in Vancouver, British Columbia (BC), have closed. Eighty percent of Vancouver’s arts spaces face imminent displacement, and two thirds of spaces have leases of less than five years remaining (City of Vancouver, Making Space for Culture, 2019), leav‑ ing them vulnerable to immediate eviction due to changes in land use. 221A is a Vancou‑ ver‑based arts organization that works with artists and designers to research and develop social, cultural, and ecological infrastructure. 221A has identified security of tenure as the most pressing threat to the survival of most arts spaces (McBay, 2023). The organization is supporting the creation of Canada’s first cultural CLT, the Cultural Land Trust. Cultural Land Trust will offer shelter from the waves of investment and disinvestment that character‑ ize the real estate market over time, providing permanent affordable artist space. Cultural Land Trust was incorporated in 2022 as a non‑profit organization under the Brit‑ ish Columbia Societies Act to provide a collective response to escalating real estate values that have placed severe pressure on security of tenure for artists and arts organizations. Cul‑ tural Land Trust meets my definition of a cultural CLT. It is an artist‑led organization with 100% of the board represented by equity‑deserving and BIPOC artists (McBay, 2023). The CLT’s mandate ensures membership and governance by artists, CLT tenants, and representa‑ tion from local First Nations and equity‑deserving communities. Cultural Land Trust prior‑ itizes community membership and representation on the board of directors, considering it a best practice to pay board members for their time and expertise and to accommodate any access or childcare supports needed to allow board members to fully participate. The organization is funded by the province of British Columbia and is provincial in its scope but rooted in Vancouver’s Chinatown neighborhood as a site of intense land specu‑ lation and urban change. In 2019, 221A led an “Idea Validation Report” to conduct a jurisdictional scan, literature review, and gather data and input from local artists and art organizations on the feasibility of a cultural land trust. The report demonstrated the viability of a CLT, with a particular focus on relief for non‑profit cultural organizations located in Vancouver. In 2022, Creative Land Trust incorporated as a not‑for‑profit organization under the British Columbia Societies Act (SBC, 2025). Cultural Land Trust will work closely with 221A as its mentor and key space operator, as well as other operators, to co‑design cultural spaces. 221A sees Cultural Land Trust as a grandparent organization, who supports and backstops the creation of new spaces for its 322

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operators (grandchildren), ensuring they are stabilized and secure (McBay, 2023). Cultural Land Trust will explore a number of possible CLT space development models, including long‑term lease arrangements with cultural organizations, prepaid leases, stratification and partial sale, air rights parcels, community amenity contributions, and mortgage guaran‑ tees. Cultural Land Trust’s acquisition strategies include municipal asset transfer, donation, and bequest, as well as purchasing land on the market. Cultural Land Trust considers any arts organization leasing on the private commercial market to be precarious and aims to transition as many as possible to a CLT space for long‑term stability of the sector (McBay, 2023). Its goals are to recycle funds back into the cultural sector, leverage assets for acqui‑ sition and expansion, and to support sector transformation by increasing the volume of community‑owned arts spaces, thereby decreasing precarity. 221A is currently exploring development of three new funds to support the cultural CLT sector in BC, an Opportunities Securement Fund, which allows for emergency acquisition, an Equity Fund, which supports space development led by equity‑deserving groups, and a First Nations tax, which reinvests a percentage of all CLT revenue to First Nations‑led CLTs. Cultural Land Trust aims to ac‑ quire 30 properties by 2050.

Community and Cultural Spaces Trust (CCST), Toronto, Ontario, Canada Founded in 2022, CCST is a new community‑led trust dedicated to creating and preserving affordable community cultural space in Toronto’s Ward 9‑Davenport, a densely populated downtown district located on Toronto’s subway line. CCST developed out of an historic community benefits negotiation instigated by a local resident group called Build a Better Bloor Dufferin. In response to the sale of publicly owned school lands to private developer, BBBD helped to win an unprecedented settlement of $17 million dollars (CAD), in in‑kind, in‑situ and funds for affordable housing and $2 million (CAD) in cash towards community cultural space. The community benefits contribution was secured by the City of Toronto through the (now defunct) height and density bonusing allowance (widely known by On‑ tario planners as “Section 37”) in the previous iteration of Ontario’s planning legislation (The Planning Act, RSO 1990). CCST’s mandate is to create and facilitate sustainable pro‑ cesses for acquiring and maintaining real property for use by community, cultural and arts organizations in Toronto’s Bloor Dufferin neighborhood (Fleisher, 2023). CCST meets my definition of a cultural CLT as the organization is community and artist led. CCST is a grassroots community‑led organization that prioritizes community steward‑ ship and leadership. The organization is currently in the process of undertaking a commu‑ nity‑engaged cultural space needs assessment to determine priorities for the ward. Led by community‑based real estate and infrastructure professionals and local artists, CCST has engaged real estate and planning students from the University of Toronto’s Department of Geography & Planning to support an analysis of real estate opportunities and build‑ ing types. This work will support the development of feasibility studies, risk assessments, and cost analyses to prepare for future acquisition and investment opportunities (Fleisher, 2023). CCST is currently building their board of directors, preparing to engage the com‑ munity and carefully developing policy to strategically steward the funds in a way that maximizes impact and minimizes risk. The organization is committed to careful and stra‑ tegic use of the funds and is cautious not to rush into an acquisition that may expose them 323

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to financial risk (Fleisher, 2023). They are currently exploring various CLT models and will continue to resist definition until they have completed their community needs assessment and feasibility work. The trust will hold the funds in a guaranteed investment, allowing it to build a small dividend to support future plans. CCST are developing an organizational infrastructure with volunteer community labor until they are ready to hire staff and acquire property (Fleisher, 2023).

Creative Land Trust, London, UK The Greater London Authority’s (GLA, 2014) Artist Workspace Study determined that there were over 298 buildings, supporting 11,500 artist studios in London, but only 17% are owned in freehold, making artist studios incredibly vulnerable to eviction and changes in land use. Security of tenure was identified as an immediate threat. In 2016, the Mayor of London and Arts Council England funded a feasibility study led by Outset Contemporary Arts Fund for a Creative Land Trust to help support and retain creative and artist studios in London. The Creative Land Trust was established and funded in 2019 by the Mayor of London, Arts Council England, Bloomberg Philanthropies, and Outset Contemporary Art Fund to address the rapid loss of artist studios in London. In partnership with studio providers, investors, local authorities and property developers across London, Creative Land Trust has begun to acquire properties. The land trust either owns the land in freehold or leases land through long‑term ground leases. The studio pro‑ viders lease and manage the buildings on the land, enter into any subtenancy agreements for individual studios, and provide management and maintenance service through subcontracts. Greater London Authority defines affordability as being between £11 and £19 per square foot per year. Creative Land Trust’s goal is to support over 1,000 creatives within the first five years of the launch of its acquisition strategy (Seabright, 2023). Creative Land Trust acquires land through freehold purchases, long‑term lease agreements, gifts, asset transfers, and by working with town councils and developers to secure space through local develop‑ ment agreements and Community Infrastructure Levies. Current Creative Land Trust prop‑ erties in development include Wallis Road, Alice Billings House, and Friary Park. Wallis Road is a 30,000 square foot artist studio complex in Hackney Wick secured through a 999‑year ground lease. Fit ups for the Wallis Road studios were funded by NES‑ TA’s Arts and Culture Impact Fund,4 a social impact loan fund that supports arts, cul‑ tural and heritage organizations. The project was also supported by the Mayor of London, Bloomberg Philanthropies, Arts Council England, and the London Legacy Development Corporation. The Alice Billings House, a cluster of vacant former firemen’s housing, was transformed into 6,800 square feet of artist studios in the center of Stratford in East London, secured through a 25‑year lease with the Borough of Newham. Heritage refurbishment on the Alice Billings House was funded by the Architectural Heritage Fund. The Alice Billings House redevelopment was supported by the London Borough of Newham’s Active Spaces5 regen‑ eration project, Greater London Authority’s High Streets for All6 initiative, National Lottery Heritage Fund7 and the Levelling Up8 fund. Friary Park artist studios is a purpose‑built 4,700 square foot facility to be built by 2026 in The Verdean development in Friary Park, an estate regeneration project in the town of 324

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Acton, Borough of Ealing in West London. Creative Land Trust has signed a 999‑year lease with London housing specialist Mount Anvil and housing association Catalyst that will preserve affordable artist studio space in perpetuity. Friary Park is part of the Mayor of London’s Creative Enterprise Zones,9 an initiative to support the provision and affordability of artist studios and creative workspaces. The Friary Park studios were funded by Mount Anvil, Peabody, Mayor of London, Bloomberg Philanthropies, and ACE. England’s Housing and Regeneration Act 2008 provides a legal definition of a Commu‑ nity Land Trust as a corporate body which expressly services “social, economic and envi‑ ronmental interests by acquiring and managing land and other assets in order to provide a benefit to the local community, to ensure that the assets are not sold or developed except in a manner which the trust’s members think benefits the local community.” The Act enshrines the non‑profit status of CLTs, requiring that “any profits from its activities will be used to benefit the local community.” It also provides that any local resident should have the op‑ portunity to become a member of the CLT and that “the members of a trust control it” (Wilson, 2017, p. 4). Provision of a legal definition provides clarity to real estate actors and investors who may see CLTs as a trendy place marketing opportunity, or NIMBY groups, who may want to use CLTs to retain their low‑density neighborhoods, create gated commu‑ nities, or otherwise exclude certain people or land uses. Legislative recognition also provides an advantage to CLTs, as it lends an air of legitimacy in the eyes of governments, real estate partners, funders, investors, and financial institutions. The Creative Land Trust board of trustees is composed of real estate investors, finance ex‑ perts, lawyers, philanthropists, and artists. Creative Land Trust does not have a membership structure, but it does have an artist advisory committee, composed of artists who occupy studios within the CLT. Though Creative Land Trust meets my definition of a cultural CLT, the balance of power seems to disproportionately tip toward the professional sector, with artists playing more of an advisory role. In 2024, Creative Land Trust will be launching a social investment fund, which will help to support future acquisitions while offering investors a modest return. London has over 250 studio providers. The two currently operating Creative Land Trust properties are running at 100% capacity with substantial waiting lists, demonstrating the clear market demand for affordable studio space. Creative land Trust, though still in an early stage of development and operation, has proven highly effective in providing affordable artist studio space and they plan to scale up by acquiring more properties in the coming years (Seabright, 2023).

Conclusion While interest in the CLT model continues to grow and CLTs are adapted to a wide range of legal, geographical, and political environments, the radical, democratic, racial justice, and community roots of CLT must not be forgotten. Proponents of the classic CLT model assert that community land trusts must remain in community control (Defilippis, et  al., 2018). When democratic community control by low‑income and working‑class tenants is neglected (or intentionally omitted) and financial, political, and landowner interests are prioritized, the community land trust model is at risk of being eroded beyond recognition. As artists and cultural workers explore the CLT model, community ownership should be retained as a core precept. 325

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Lessons Learned • As illustrated in the case studies, emerging cultural CLTs share few similarities. For Artist Space Trust, Cultural Land Trust, and Community and Cultural Spaces Trust, commu‑ nity control is a core value. In contrast, Creative Land Trust is primarily led by state and industry stakeholders, though artists are involved at the board and advisory level. Each of these cultural CLTs is using locally contingent and place‑based strategies to leverage available resources and serve the space‑based needs of artists. • Both Artist Space Trust and Cultural Land Trust are spearheaded by established non‑profit organizations. The expertise, networks, partnerships, staffing capacities, funding track records, and community relationships of these initiating organizations will be incredibly valuable for the emerging cultural CLTs. Like Cultural Land Trust, Creative Land Trust is also supported by its regional government and is deeply involved in city‑planning poli‑ cies and process. • Like Creative Land Trust, Community and Cultural Spaces Trust benefits from volunteer leadership by real estate industry experts and has excelled at navigating development and planning processes. • While Creative Land Trust and Artist Space Trust operate in federal jurisdictions where CLTs are legally recognized, Cultural Land Trust and CCST do not. A federal legal defi‑ nition will ensure the CLT model is not diluted to the extent that it no longer serves community’s land‑based needs. As CLTs proliferate and evolve, the Canadian govern‑ ment will need to provide definitional, legislative, and taxation frameworks to govern CLTs. AST will benefit from tax deductions and capital gains exemptions available to land donors in California, while Creative Land Trust will benefit from the UK tax relief programs for donated land. • Cultural CLTs are mandated to pass along cost savings to tenants. Cultural CLTs re‑ quire start‑up funding, operational funding, acquisition support, land donation, capac‑ ity‑building programs, and technical support. Start‑up funding enables cultural CLTs to hire consultants to undertake strategic planning processes, community engagements, architectural feasibility studies, cost estimates, long‑term operational budgets, social fi‑ nance strategies, and other due diligence work. Operational funding allows CLTs to reduce the impacts of staffing and operational costs on rents, contributing to sustain‑ ability and affordability. Acquisition assistance programs can enable CLTs to produce downpayments and to secure financing. • Community Asset Transfer (CAT) programs are an excellent option for cash‑strapped cities. CAT programs allow freehold title or long‑term leases of underutilized or surplus publicly owned lands to be transferred to non‑profit community organizations, like CLTs. CAT programs can use legal tools to safeguard community assets, such as limited‑equity resale formulas, restrictive covenants, and other asset locks to ensure that the benefits of publicly owned lands are passed on to future generations and not converted to a one‑time windfall. CAT programs should also be accompanied by capacity‑building support, capi‑ tal funding, operating funding, technical assistance programs, and other resources (Rex, 2023). Depending on the available legal and planning tools, local governments can use density bonusing, community benefits contributions, land value capture, and air rights development and trading to secure lands and units in planned developments to be trans‑ ferred to cultural CLTs. 326

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• While not a panacea, cultural CLTs represent an innovative emerging model for per‑ manent affordable cultural space in rapidly gentrifying cities. In the face of escalating land, building, and environmental costs, and continued lack of government investment in community infrastructure, cultural CLTs offer a proven alternate pathway to securing affordable community cultural space in perpetuity. Cultural CLTs leverage public‑private and cross‑sectoral collaboration to build community‑owned assets that contribute to long‑term social, cultural and economic stability and are thus an important tool to de‑ velop and stabilize cultural space and prevent precarity, outmigration, and displacement of artists from cities. Cultural CLTs present a timely opportunity for the development of community cultural space at a moment of crisis.

Acknowledgments Deepest gratitude to Rana Amirtahmasebi, Hannah Fleisher, Brian McBay, Jason Schup‑ bach, Gordon Seabright, Meg Shiffler, Celia Wandio, Abi Gilmore, and Roberta Best.

Notes 1 https://cast‑sf.org/. 2 https://www.austinedc.org/cultural‑trust. 3 Baby Boomer is defined by the United States Census Bureau as anyone born between 1946 and 1964: https://www.census.gov/library/stories/2019/12/by‑2030‑all‑baby‑boomers‑will‑be‑age‑65‑or‑ older.html. 4 https://www.nesta.org.uk/project/arts‑culture‑impact‑fund/. 5 https://www.newham.gov.uk/regeneration‑1/regeneration‑project‑stratford/2. 6 https://www.london.gov.uk/who‑we‑are/what‑mayor‑does/priorities‑london/londons‑recovery‑ coronavirus‑crisis/london‑partnership‑board/recovery‑context/high‑streets‑all. 7 https://www.heritagefund.org.uk/. 8 https://levellingup.campaign.gov.uk/. 9 https://www.london.gov.uk/programmes‑strategies/arts‑and‑culture/space‑culture/explore‑ creative‑enterprise‑zones/about‑creative‑enterprise‑zones.

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4.6 REIMAGINING THE CULTURAL DISTRICT From Economic Transaction to Collective Cultural Thriving Jennifer Gilligan Cole Introduction Urban cultural policy exists not as a unified set of principles but as a loose constellation of embedded practices that have been rooted in the public and private sectors over the last 30 years. In the 1990s, city‑making in the American context advanced in response to specific demographic realities such as the shrinking nuclear family, retreat from suburban living and the growth of the knowledge class workforce (Zukin, 1996). These inputs served to recali‑ brate the shape of cities; clustering workers, housing and social activation in new down‑ towns. Undergirding this downtown renaissance was the fostering of cultural attractions and creative industries as key drivers, “developing spaces of consumption and aestheticizing the city to attract the creative class” (Grodach, 2017). The intent of these practices was to “repair and replace” decades of primarily industrial manufacturing activity in urban areas with cultural and creative activity designed to bolster the city image and ultimately, tax base. While there is no formulary for the policies that emerged to support what came to be called the creative city, municipalities tend to deploy a core set of practices in land use, cultural production incentives and special taxation practices to mold culture‑centered urban plan‑ ning (Landry, 2008, 2019). In particular, the cultural district, or specific geographic area within a city organized around cultural activity, emerged as a way to focus and measure these strategies (Sparks & Waits, 2012). In the United States, cultural district proliferation tracks alongside the creative economy and creative class theories that abounded in the early 2000s (Florida 2002; Howkins, 2002). Cultural districts are expected to attract new users and visitors and to spur investment in the area’s properties. The goals of cultural districts include increased business activ‑ ity; enhanced tax revenues; and the creation of safe and clean public areas, comfortable housing and areas for leisure‑time activities. (Frost‑Kumpf, 1998)

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-29

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At its most elemental level, the creative class thesis mechanized long held colonialist prac‑ tices of importing dominant‑Eurocentric culture amenities as “preferred” and framing cul‑ tural activation as explicitly as prime commodity within specific urban geographies. As such, much of the creative class movement was decried by many scholars and activists as new forms of erasure and cultural red‑lining (Bedoya, 2014). Despite the counter‑movements, the creative class zeitgeist dominated creative urban planning circles through the late 2010s. The collective impact was to reinforce in the minds of many elected officials, policy makers, urban planners and arts leaders the notion that knowledge workers are the key to urban revitalization and that those workers (and only those workers) can contribute to cultural activity centers to fuel growth. Not surprisingly, the number and concentration of cultural districts in the United States alone exploded, growing more than 1,500% from 1995 to 2017 (Ferreria Neto, 2021). Despite the rapid growth, there is no universal definition of a cultural district. In the United States, more than 19 states have organized legal definitions and guiding frameworks for the formation and management of districts (National Assembly of State Arts Agencies, 2020). Municipalities, economic development authorities and local arts agencies use an array of investment structures like grants, marketing campaigns and national technical assistance programs (e.g. Main Street USA) to facilitate creative districting. Although the framework for formal designation for cultural districts range widely and are far from regularized, sev‑ eral common policy structures are deployed in the United States, to incentivize concentrated cultural economic growth activity (Noonan, 2013). These structures are reviewed below.

Land Use Designations The underpinning of a district is the notion that cultural amenities and creative business are organized geographic nodes in the urban core to facilitate “spillover” economic activ‑ ity. To facilitate this, states and regional economic development authorities often deploy enterprise zone, historic or environmental land use designations to fuel density, industrial land redevelopment and spatial clustering (van Oort et al., 2008). Additionally, cities have utilized form‑based codes to support maker districts, artisan manufacturing or historic dis‑ trict overlays to support culture‑focused development. More recently city comprehensive general plans from Boston to Chicago, have explicitly framed art/culture and creative dis‑ tricts within their long‑term land use and economic development strategies (NashvilleNext General Plan, 2015; Boston Creates Cultural Plan, 2019).

Tax Incentives Cultural districts in the United States often include federally designated tax credits to incen‑ tivize rehabilitation of private and commercial properties in areas in other targeted redevel‑ opment zones. Additionally, states and localities offer additive tax‑based structures such as special cultural taxing districts, hotel and amusement taxes (transient occupancy tax) and sales tax credit programs to reinforce concentration of economic incentives via place‑based districts. Numerous scholars have sought to quantify the efficacy of these tools on urban economic development (Portillo & Wagner, 2021). The results are generalized and mixed. It is difficult

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to separate the specific geographic effect of policies on districts from the surrounding neigh‑ borhood conditions; however, some research indicates some correlation to enhanced prop‑ erty value, resident income and decreased vacancy rates in key district samples (Noonan, 2013). Because the field of cultural districts is both new and non‑standardized, we cannot make broad correlations to economic growth indicators, but the pattern shows evidence that the active and passive policies deployed by cities in cultural districts reinforces a free market‑centered, capitalist model that primarily benefits the state and the investor over ur‑ ban residents. Alongside this cultural district growth, Americans have seen a widening of income in‑ equality within urban areas. The rapid rise and infill boom to attract knowledge workers has spiked housing costs, urban segregation and wage inequality (Nijman & Wei, 2020). While creative and cultural districts are clearly not explicitly causal in this reality, there is some evidence that districts do spur property value escalation and infill redevelopment fea‑ tures that facilitate income and social inequalities. This presents a critical dilemma for policy makers – how do we celebrate culture in the urban core without intentionally or uninten‑ tionally fueling economic and social harm? In the rest of the chapter, we explore the emer‑ gence of new frameworks for cultural‑first, people‑first cultural policy making to counteract the current reality.

The Inclusive City and Implications for Cultural District Making Since the 1960s critical urban theory scholars like Lefebvre and Harvey have argued that cities are the nucleus of commodification and are both economically and spatially organized for this express purpose. The policies in cities then, particularly around land use, economic production and consumption, are organized to fuel the state versus the worker (Lefebvre, 1991; Harvey, 2003; Brenner et al., 2009). This framework drives the general shape of many cultural districts, particularly in the United States, that share similar features like intensive mixed‑use private development, con‑ centration of nightlife amenities for tourists and investments in events aimed at retail activa‑ tion. Everywhere the behemoth performing arts center, the summer music festival, the local pub/coffee shop/distillery begin to look the same from Austin to Des Moines to Cleveland. Effectively cities have evolved spatially to fuel “fairest and best use” practices for profit. The most ubiquitous example may be the proliferation of the London Eye‑type Ferris wheel at‑ tractions that now exist in dozens of U.S. cities. There is no doubt that artists and culture workers driving meaning‑making through traditional music, art, food in cities from Seattle, Washington to San Diego, CA are widely different and yet restaurants, attractions and shop‑ ping districts have begun to reflect a landscape of sameness that drives profit while sidelining the very creative workers that make each city, and its cultural life special (Whack, 2014). ‘Just city’ activists, planners and scholars argue that in order for urban environments to benefit all residents we must re‑center the notion of collective wealth and cultural diversity. As Lorena Zárate argues in her Right to the City: A Manifesto for Social Justice in the Urban Century, A just city is one that assures that the distribution of territory and the rules governing its use can thereby guarantee equitable use of the goods, services and opportunities 332

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that the city offers. In other words, a city in which collectively‑defined public interest is prioritized, guaranteeing a socially just and environmentally balanced use of the territory. (Zarate, 2015) She goes on to argue that the way we must re‑engineer the urban ecosystem is with policies in collective governance, ownership, land use and commercial control. In general, the policy underpinnings of U.S. cultural districts have normalized capitalist and colonial constructs of land ownership, cultural value and production. In other words, to enact a more equitable city, we must reshape our notion of cultural districts from “reve‑ nue‑first” to “people‑first” practices. To unwind this policy making commons, we only need to look to the earth and its keepers. Traditional ways of knowing have long reflected truisms of the natural world in structures that guide social interaction, economics and community. Globally, this is approach is also reflected in UNESCO’s resolutions on the Historic Urban Landscape, which calls for, “identifying, conserving and managing historic areas within their broader urban contexts, by considering the inter‑relationships of their physical forms, their spatial organization and connection, their natural features and settings, and their so‑ cial, cultural and economic values” (UNESCO, 2011). In a way, regenerative practices that support holistic ecological and community wellbeing are in fact, our original cultural devel‑ opment policy. America’s living cultural heritage is an essential feature of our national biography and is a critical component of individual and community identity. Each cultural community is rooted in a sense of belonging shared by its members and anchored by collective wis‑ dom and aesthetics. The health and vitality of those underground roots, the taproots, contribute directly to the vigor of the community above ground. (Kitchener et al., 2022) Culture and its ancillary arts and traditional practices are how communities in reality create shared real and perceived value. If culture then, is a rhizome, contemporary urban cultural policy must be the act of nurturing roots. This body of practice is organized widely under terms such as regenerative, rematrial and inclusive economy building which focuses on ecosystem repair through collective well‑being (Benner & Pastor, 2021). These principles have been broadly synthesized globally under the UN‑SDG (‘2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development’) and more specifically under what the World Secretariat of United Cities and Local Governments (UCLG) have framed as Agenda 21 for Culture. This collective agenda situates culture not as commodity but as ele‑ mental to peace, participatory democracy and climate justice. Globally, thousands of models collected and monitored through the UN, show inclusive city policies that expand cultural and land policy frameworks beyond commodification to policies that amplify community governance, community democracy and property ownership, cooperative income structures and broad access to cultural participation. For example, the state of Hawaii has adopted the Aloha+ Challenge, a comprehensive framework for community development centered in Native Hawaiian ancestral knowledge. The policy is grounded in the relationship between people and ‘āina. ‘Āina (meaning that 333

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which nourishes us) encompasses land, ocean, ecosystems and all living things. Aloha ʻāina is a way of life that practices reverence and stewardship for the land and all life forms. The resulting policies from this central framework guide community planning, land use, cultural economic development, sustainability, education and native language standards (‘Aloha + Challenge’). This example and others provide a road map to interrogate and replace the normative practices and policies in U.S. cultural district making.

Cultural Human Rights and Policy Implications for Cultural Districts In general, cultural district policies emerged in a specific socio‑political moment as a means for the state to exercise physical and resource control over space and means of capital production in cities (Grodach, 2017). Commonly used tools in the United States, such as tax incentives, capital infrastructure investments, percent for art programs and land use regulation were spe‑ cifically employed to hone spatial economic production to a specific urban footprint. Culture is by its very nature un‑spaced. Culture is hula, Holi and hot chicken. Culture is ritual, sound, taste and shared belief. Culture is the collective manifestation of joy and hu‑ manity in material, spiritual and intellectual form. It is not where, it simply is. If we accept that culture is a universal human right and that our collective participation in culture has value beyond commodity, then urban policy makers must begin to let go of constructs that have fueled creative city making for decades. Some cultural livability indexes like Landry and Hyams Creative Cities Index™ have sought to measure multiple dimen‑ sions of creative‑civic value, but many of these models still situate culture as a product shaped, organized and managed by the city organism itself. In general, our urban cultural policies and certainly those deployed in cultural districts, are molded to shape land use that activates largely Eurocentric cultural production (and thereby tax revenue) for a few, over broader cultural participation, production and access that benefits the wider urban residen‑ tial population.

Rethinking Common Cultural District Policy Tools If policies are ways we form and manifest value, then the policies in most U.S. cultural dis‑ tricts center commercial property value, tax collection and commercial sameness, all con‑ structs firmly grounded in colonialist and capitalist foundations. The future of urban policy making in an inclusive city framework requires us to untether policy from clustered eco‑ nomic output and imagine how we value, invest and measure collective cultural thriving.

Embed Cultural Policies in Comprehensive General Plans In order to receive certain federal economic, housing and transit funding, municipalities are required to put forward comprehensive general plans every decade or so. In California, Oak‑ land’s Belonging in Oakland, a Cultural Development Plan explicitly outlines people first, cooperative economics and solidarity frameworks across units of government from land use to parks to education to broaden the context of culture in city life (refer to Chapter X of this volume) (‘Belonging in Oakland: A Cultural Development Plan’). Explicit un‑spaced poli‑ cies that push cultural activation, cultural space preservation, culture‑based cooperative real estate ownership, arts workforce apprenticeship and traditional practice preservation and 334

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artist live‑work affordable housing should be explicitly called out in more city plans as part of an equitable development framework and nested within long‑term planning comprehen‑ sive strategies.

Development Requirements and In Lieu Fees Many U.S. cities, deploy in lieu fee structures within their planning and zoning regulations. These effectively allow a private developer to seek an exemption to a regulatory requirement by paying a fee into a pooled fund to support public‑benefit infrastructure. Often these are used for affordable housing development; however, some cities use in lieu fees outside of a housing context for other infrastructure for public benefit like storm water systems, green space expansion and sidewalks. For example, a developer who seeks a waiver for their sidewalk allowance may pay into a pooled fund that allows the city to expand sidewalks throughout the municipality. Cultural space and infrastructure are often dismissed in com‑ munity infrastructure planning. What if cities identified cultural infrastructure in terms of performance facilities, shared cooperative retail spaces, intergenerational arts learning spaces and other arts vocational learning/therapy spaces as critical civic infrastructure? Could cit‑ ies begin to frame these as core development requirements as they do with greenspace and mobility? If this was normalized, could “collected pooled in lieu fees” expand neighborhood cultural access and inclusion? Cities can consider cultural life as vital to health as water, sewer, parks and walkability and embed that in their policy structures – it only requires us to spatialize culture away from commodity production to collective activity coordination.

Create Cultural Set‑Asides in Housing Trust Funds Many cities have legislation enabling sales and property taxes collected for the general fund to be used to incentivize public–private projects for affordable housing. Cities may require private developers using public funds to include specific requirements for housing types (e.g. to support seniors or veterans). Housing trust funds can create bonus points in development plan review for the inclusion of cooperative or neighborhood managed cultural space like galleries, performance or micro retail spaces that would be open for resident or community use. In Nashville, Tennessee one of the first projects funded by the Barnes Housing Trust Fund was Urban Housing Solutions “26th and Clarksville” multi‑phased 144‑unit project that included senior citizen and non‑senior options for those making 60% of area median income or AMI (Barnes Housing Trust Fund; Urban Housing Solutions). The project prior‑ itized working artist housing and integrated community gallery, pop‑up event and cultural program space as part of the development footprint. This project served as a model and the Housing Trust fund, later which enacted bonus points for proposals prioritizing culture workers, live‑work studios and cultural amenities in future projects. This model could be easily adopted by other cities with active public–private alliances like Housing Trust Funds.

Set aside a percentage of public infrastructure spending on arts and Culture Cultural districts are often centered around specific cultural facilities such as arenas, perform‑ ing arts centers or museums, many of which receive significant city‑backed capital construc‑ tion support. Additionally, most major U.S. cities deploy a “percent for art” capital funding 335

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model setting aside 1%–2% of the total cost of some bond funded p ­ ublic ­infrastructure projects for the creation of public artwork that is often deployed as a ­wayfinding and ­placemaking strategy within the district. The bond funding structure could be shifted not to commission individual works of public art, but to embed within the capital project it‑ self a percentage set aside for cultural space acquisition, improvement or expansion within the capital project construction. Under this, if a 10‑million‑dollar library renovation was planned, the library could set aside $100,000 of the total project cost “percent for culture” for amplification of common and community use cultural activities within the project. This could mean the build out of gallery space for free use by residents, the acquisition of port‑ able performance platform and stage loaned in perpetuity to local theater company, a tra‑ ditional arts studio in residence to support regional Indigenous and other traditional arts knowledge‑keepers in the neighborhood to share and pass on their practices, or a space to support youth‑led creative start up business projects. This approach moves from creation of passive public art objects to active investment in the long‑term cultural life and activities of residents. This leaves behind the idea that public art is a rarified “collection” for public view (a very Eurocentric cultural notion) and shifts the idea of cultural infrastructure spending to those permanent assets that amplify community care, wealth‑building and social cohesion for a wider range of residents. These experiments and new ideas point toward a reimagining of the policies that have become harmful in cities and cultural clustering. These ideas allow us to imagine what might be possible if we measured the efficacy of a cultural district not on its generated tax revenue, but by the cultural health of its residents, measured through their ability to participate in a wide variety of traditional and heritage cultural activity, to live and produce in in affordable space and to practice self‑governance and co‑creation of the cultural practices within the district itself.

The Emergence of Regenerative Cultural District Policy Models As noted earlier, cultural district policy is by and large grounded in old and capitalist struc‑ tures. In the United States, COVID‑19 response and recovery combined with racial and political reckoning has ushered in a moment of public sector experimentation in solidarity and cooperative practices that bode well for cultural planning and a new era of cultural planning policy. These new models of policy action for creative cities are molded around what cultural activist and city leader Roberto Bedoya calls “a belonging strategy” (Bedoya & DeCaigny, 2021). This type of urban cultural policy begins to recalibrate explicitly capi‑ talist structures like tax and zoning regulations deployed in a way that bends toward justice.

Land Policy Is Cultural Policy One of the scars of our current urban cultural policy structures is the explicit use, control and management of land resources for highest and best use economic development that often limits the facilitation of community‑led cultural activities, practices and rituals. If we accept that places and land are necessary to support cultural activity and that that activity has value beyond commodity, then urban land practices are, by definition, also explicitly cultural. Land policies either activate or restrict cultural activity. In many instances, policies 336

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under the guise of arts, culture and tourism districts have concentrated wealth and removed access to and management of cultural spaces from the creative workers, neighborhoods and original land stewards. However, examples are emerging that can change the shape of cul‑ tural districts and how we frame cultural value and land practices in the urban debate.

Cultural Land Banking According to the Center for Community Progress more than 250 U.S. communities operate land banks, legal municipal structures allowing the conversion of vacant, condemned prop‑ erty and excess land for individual or community redevelopment (‘2022 State of Landbank‑ ing’). These structures are most heavily used in U.S. urban areas that have seen population decline. They are leveraged by cities to stabilize neighborhood address blight and affordable housing redevelopment. Recently, U.S. cities have deployed strategic land banks and prop‑ erty disbursement to facilitate broad‑cultural engagement of citizens. In Gary, Indiana, the city transferred its 1910 historic train station property to a broad coalition of citizen activists, the “Decay Devils” in an effort to coordinate social activity and long term cultural/community activation in the city core (Hart, 2023). The citizen‑driven group is stewarding a community‑wide planning initiative to define cultural and historical priorities and use activities within the station. The landbank ensures the property is stew‑ arded under a public agreement with shared governance and oversight over the long‑term use of the parcel and structure. In 2022, the San Juan County Commission which includes the City of Seattle in Wash‑ ington State, accepted the deed for a privately held property that abuts a U.S. Government agency Bureau of Land Management easement and extends in the San Juan Islands to Wat‑ mough Bay (Wing, 2022). This property was held privately for more than 100 years, but the county deployed public funds to secure the parcel for the public land bank. In turn, the Commission partnered with the Samish tribal and local conservation leaders to convert a long‑term easement dedicated to the cultural and ecological stewardship of the site, includ‑ ing the re‑establishment of traditional fishing and estuary practices culturally vital to the Samish and other Coast Salish people. Elsewhere, cities, fueled by wage stagnation in the creative workforce combined with rapid rent hikes in commercial creative spaces have sought to stave off displacement through cul‑ tural land banks. From London to Vancouver, prototypes are working with cultural work‑ ers to hold in public trust, pop‑up, performance and collaborative maker spaces that have been swallowed up by rapid gentrification. These allow artists/designers and urban makers space to create their work and generate income without matching the rapid pace of real estate (Iveson, 2013). These spaces operate against what legal advocate and scholar Sara Ross calls “renoviction” – the passive removal of culture workers from informal gathering and creatives spaces when rental rates, causing passive eviction dynamics (Ross, 2022). The cultural land trust and land bank models provide a way for public sector leaders to keep cultural districts affordable and accessible. Rather than spur private economic develop‑ ment, cities can imagine cultural land banks and land trusts as a way to drive cooperative and community control over cultural, artistic and heritage assets for public good versus highest and best use.

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Cultural Redevelopment Authorities American cities often fuel cultural district development via passive land use regulation that allows private developers to benefit from policies which fuel revenue (Portillo & Wagner, 2021). Quasi‑public redevelopment authorities are tasked with commercial and housing infill in targeted corridors. In the last 30 years, private public interest real estate coopera‑ tives such as the East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative in Oakland, California have emerged as legal structures to enable collective ownership investment for community real estate, specifically cultural and creative workforce space in racial and economically mar‑ ginalized neighborhoods. Although these models often work with public sector tax credits in their redevelopment packages, the cooperative has largely functioned within the private funding realm (Ettlin, discussion with author). The Cultural Space Agency in Seattle, Washington has emerged as a new public sector model. Approved in 2019 under the state’s Public Development Authority (PDA) statute and chartered by the City of Seattle, it seeks to build wealth by public investment in long term community owned cultural space. The model combines public and private assets regulated under the PDA to purchase and rehabilitate cultural facilities such as theaters, cultural cent‑ ers and creative small businesses. The Agency is managed by a community governance board made up of creative workers, who are predominantly Black, Indigenous and Asian American or Pacific Islander. Under the PDA, cultural community benefits agreements1 and long‑term community ownership of cultural facilities and spaces are coordinated to support neighbor‑ hood stabilization and wealth creation.

Public Land Back The reality is that urban land in the United States is in fact, land stolen from Indigenous people. New momentum is emerging in cultural and land policy circles to facilitate land re‑ matriation of urban parcels. In 2018, the city of Eureka, California unconditionally returned Tuluwat Island, a mile and a half long marsh island in Humboldt Bay to its original stew‑ ards, now the Wiyot Tribe (Helvarg, 2020). This return not only cedes lands to its original inhabitants to steward ecological, cultural and economic practices rooted in the community; the public act addressed 160 years’ worth of state sponsored massacres, resource extraction and forced removal by the city leaders. Land use policy has been the cornerstone of regulat‑ ing urban cultural production dynamics in U.S. cultural districts. This concentration and commodification led to erasure of critical traditional cultural practice and heritage; part of a way forward must be to review land policy as cultural policy and to explicitly look to new practices that enable and liberate land so that a far broader range of cultural practice, production and self‑management can be re‑asserted. Similarly, in 2021, the City of Richmond, California and the Richmond Arts and Cultural Commission returned ‘Ookwe Park to the care of the Confederated Villages of Lisjan and Sogorea Te’ Land Trust, a Native woman‑led real estate cooperative dedicated to traditional care, economic and land stewardship practices (What is Rematriation?). The complexities of land and land keeping are specifically complex in urban communities in the United States which often have racial layers of historical displacement, forced relocation and slavery lay‑ ered in the urban core. There is no policy panacea to redress historical trauma; however, the public act of land return is a tool that planners and city leaders should actively imagine and 338

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facilitate. This momentum, and even the act of openness to restoration, amplifies traditional cultural expression and sets a policy context for long‑term cultural truth and reconciliation in the public sector.

Tax Incentives to Community Wealth Building One common principle in the cultural district is clustering of venues for small businesses geographically in gallery/theater/fashion/maker districts with the policy aim of driving tax collection through enhanced retail traffic. Some districts even employ special arts taxing (e.g. Scientific and Cultural Taxing District in Denver, CO; Cultural Facilities District in St. Louis, MO). In nearly all cases, tax revenue is either returned directly to the general fund or collected or redistributed via grants to cultural nonprofits in the district footprint. These practices serve the city coffers but do little to help culture workers producing the cultural work. Smaller BIPOC‑led or culturally specific nonprofit institutions in neighborhoods face the double impact of land and rent escalation as the cultural district practices drive rent cost and ownership costs out of reach for many. People‑first cultural policies reframe the traditional district tax collection ideas to support broader worker income stabilization and community wealth creation. Some examples of these are outlined below.

Creative Sales Tax Exemptions The city of Los Angeles, CA has sought to un‑space tax policy and support wealth build‑ ing for individual artists. Under the entertainment creative talent exemption, creative artists who generate up to $300,000 in total taxable and non‑taxable in‑city and out‑of‑the‑city gross receipts attributable to their qualifying creative activities are exempt from taxes. This policy fuels individual creative work throughout the city and links tax incentives with the individual creator versus a relatively few private development‑based beneficiaries (City of Los Angeles Office of Finance). By aiming tax structures at the creative individual worker versus the institutional level, policy impact shifts from broad workforce wage improvement to hyper‑focused institutional revenue capture.

Tourism Tax to Community Cultural District Hotel‑Motel or so‑called Transient Occupancy axes (TOT) are employed by many global cities to support cultural events, festivals and even large‑scale venues, aimed at tourism promotion. In general, these are large revenue sources for municipalities, often governed by a convention and visitor authority which tend to have limited citizen oversight, through largely appointed boards that by and large represent private sector tourism entities like hotels and other entertainment venues. Most TOT taxes are geographically defined within tourism or cultural development districts and funds collected are sometimes reinvested in a very small number of cultural or commercial enterprises within the geographic zone. Effec‑ tively, residents throughout a city including artists, micro‑enterprises, small nonprofits and buskers who activate entertainment districts, rarely receive direct financial benefit from TOT tax collection. In 2018, San Francisco voters approved Proposition E, a ballot measure amending the business and tax regulations administrative code to distribute 1.5% of the hotel occupancy 339

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revenue tax toward spending related to achieve cultural equity outcomes (‘SF Cultural Dis‑ tricts Program’). The measure supports specific cultural grant funding for BIPOC led cultural organizations and neighborhood cultural centers. Most importantly, the measure funded the creation of the San Francisco Cultural Districts program, administered by the Mayor’s Office of Housing and Community Development (MOCHD). Working collaboratively with other public agency partners like Office of Economic and Workforce Development (OEWD), Plan‑ ning Department, the Arts Commission, MOCHD supports eight cultural districts that ex‑ plicitly benefit communities or ethnic groups who have experienced historic discrimination, displacement and oppression in the city. The legal aim of the TOT tax revenue redistribution is to redress harms of past gentrification, land use and harmful economic and social policies faced by the Indigenous, Black, Chinese, Japanese, Mexican, queer and transgender commu‑ nities of San Francisco. Collectively, the Cultural Districts have adopted Cultural History, Housing, and Economic Sustainability Strategies (CHHESS) which guide the coordination of public sector agencies and tax revenue to repair communities and amplify cultural diversity. Despite these innovative models, they remain a small set of examples in a few U.S. states and municipalities. These models show us imagination and point toward a future where cul‑ tural districts could be organized around broad participation instead of a specific footprint of nightlife activation or tourism expenditures. This un‑spacing, un‑monetizing, un‑district‑ ing of the traditional cultural district framework presents a potential new policy future valu‑ ing cultural wellness and shared ownership of the cultural commons.

Lessons Learned • The pace of economic and social inequality in U.S. cities has been exposed and laid bare by COVID‑19, racial trauma and sustained national political instability. The combina‑ tion of mass scale shifts to remote work, ongoing urban affordability and spikes in crime, homelessness has emptied many city Central Business Districts (CBD). This is a moment of reckoning for our cities. Will they drive bold experiments, take risks and invest in new models? Will they snap back to the creative city context of the 1990s and 2000s – organ‑ izing damaging policies that center investors at the expense of cultural democracy in a fast attempt to resuscitate downtowns? • Our way forward requires us to adopt a broad approach to urban cultural policy that seeks to undo the geospatial land use and tax frameworks that have been used to fuel urban and cultural planning in the United States. For 30 years our resources, investments and attention have narrowly focused on a handful of tax, land use and capital incen‑ tives to micromanage the shape and form of cultural life in cities. In doing so, our very policies have sought to erase or minimize the rich cultural diversity in our urban areas and disrupted the human drive to work together to create ritual, beauty and collective wellbeing. • Seeds have been planted and new models have sprouted. Cities have boldly led economic recovery plans full of people‑first, cultural policies from artist guaranteed basic income programs to community cultural co‑ops to public cultural health prescription programs. These models show cultural ecosystem repair in practice. The public sector and its lead‑ ers must drive deeper to broadly codify and normalize these experiments in the policy commons. If we do, a new kind of cultural district is possible, one formed around care 340

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over commodity. New cultural districts can measure social cohesion instead of sales tax and creator well‑being over property valuation. These cultural districts are a messy, ex‑ perimental, radical “we” space, creative rhizomes anchoring civic possibility.

Note 1 A community benefits agreement (CBA) is an economic empowerment mechanism by which com‑ munity organizations and representatives can negotiate directly with developers for the benefits most important to them – shaping urban development projects to improve the lives of the low‑in‑ come residents and residents of color who bear the burdens of systemic inequities and are typically excluded from or harmed by such projects (PolicyLink).

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Reimagining the Cultural District Roanhorse, V., R.H. & Scholz, A. (2023). ‘Community Ownership: Emerging Models and Roles for Philanthropy,’ The Kresge Foundation. Ross, S. (2020). ‘Comparative Legal Perspectives on Cultural Land Trusts for Urban Spaces of Cul‑ ture, Community, and Art: A Tool for Counteracting Displacement,’ Milan Law Review 2: 98. Ross, S. (2022). ‘Resisting Renoviction and Displacement through Cultural Land Trusts: Art and Performance Spaces, Pop‑Ups KYI’s and Protest Raves in Vancouver,’ Yale Journal of Law Hu‑ manities 33(1): 92–124. Seattle Cultural Space Agency (2020) [online]. Available: https://www.culturalspace.agency/. ‘SF Cultural Districts Program.’ City and County of San Francisco (2020) [online]. Available: https:// www.sf.gov/san‑francisco‑cultural‑districts‑program. Skelcher, C., Mathur, N. & Smith, M. (2005). ‘The Public Governance of Collaborative Spaces: Dis‑ course, Design and Democracy,’ Public Administration 83(3):573–596. Seifert, S. & Stern, M. (2007). ‘Culture and Urban Revitalization: Harvest Document,’ University of Pennsylvania Social Impact of the Arts Project (5): 72–76. Sparks, E. & Waits, M.J. (2012). New Engines of Growth: Five Roles for Arts, Culture, and Design. National Governors Association Center for Best Practices. [online]. Available: https://www.nga. org/publications/new‑engines‑of‑growth‑five‑roles‑for‑arts‑culture‑and‑design/ ‘2022 State of Landbanking.’ (2022). Center for Community Progress. Available: https://communi‑ typrogress.org/publications/2022‑update‑from‑the‑national‑land‑bank‑network/. ‘2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development.’ (2015). United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs. Available: https://sdgs.un.org/goals. UNESCO. General Conference, 36th. Paris, 25 October‑10 November, 2011. v1: Resolutions. Urban Housing Solutions (2014). Available: https://www.urbanhousingsolutions.org/news/properties/ 26th‑clarksville/. Van Oort, F.G., Cooke, P. & Lazzeretti, L. (2008). ‘Creative Cities, Cultural Clusters and Local Eco‑ nomic Development,’ Journal of Cultural Economy 32: 237–240. Whack, E. (2014). ‘What Happens When Every City Has a Giant Ferris Wheel?,’ Bloomberg City Lab, July 25, 2014. ‘What is Rematriation?’ The Sogorea Te Land Trust (2015) [online]. Available: https://sogore‑ ate‑landtrust.org/what‑is‑rematriation/. Wing, G.K. (2022) ‘Most Special Place’ for Salmon, Native Culture Gains Protection with San Juan Land Bank Purchase,’ Salish Current. Available: https://salish‑current.org/2022/02/25/most‑spe‑ cial‑place‑for‑salmon‑native‑culture‑gains‑protection‑with‑san‑juan‑land‑bank‑purchase/. Zarate, L. (2015). ‘Right to the City for All: A Manifesto for Social Justice in an Urban Century,’ October 10, 2015. Available: https://www.thenatureofcities.com/2015/10/19/right‑to‑the‑city‑for‑ all‑a‑manifesto‑for‑social‑justice‑in‑an‑urban‑century/. Zukin, S. (1996). The Culture of Cities. Oxford: Blackwell.

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SECTION 5

Cultural Institutions and Buildings, Public Space and Public Art

5.1 THE FUTURE IS PROMISED TO NO ONE On Museum Precarity, Adaptability, and Sustainability nico w. okoro Introduction In the wake of publishing Museum Metamorphosis: Cultivating Change through Cultural Citizenship, I am often asked, what is the future of museums? Ironically, this question typi‑ cally follows a keynote in which I, as in the book, critique mainstream museums’ capacities to adapt to social change, celebrate artist‑ and community‑led cultural innovation, or blue‑ print the strategic dematerialization of the museum itself. To be clear, this critique is not an abolitionist argument, but rather an evolving pragmatism informed by two decades of build‑ ing cultural equity – and studying, scaffolding, and advancing structural change – within the arts and culture sector. While uncomfortable with the presuppositions that (1) the museum field is entitled to futurity and (2) its future can be forecast by anyone given the precarity of every other ecosystem on our planet, I simply respond, the future is promised to no one. Many mainstream museums today are undergoing rapid, reactive change in response to the forceful resurgence of social justice movements, kicking up dust in their wake that makes any so‑called view of their future merely a mirage. As a strategic consultant engaged in itera‑ tive processes of emergent, proactive change, I consider the prompt a shortcut to nowhere, that privileges conceptual vision over concrete work. Depending upon the context in which it is asked, it too enables change‑adverse museums and cultural leaders to find comfort in myths surrounding the sustainability of the sector, and shirk their duty to participate in, learn from, and be accountable to our evolving socio‑political reality and its discomforts. Moreover, given the gravity of what is at stake – including the proliferation of institutional racism within mainstream museums, alongside its attendant practices of cultural appropria‑ tion, extraction, and tokenization, the history of which author Aruna D’Souza expertly sur‑ veys in her book, Whitewalling: Art, Race & Protest in 3 Acts – I consider this theoretical exercise far more reckless than playful (D’Souza, 2020). Held in public trust yet entangled within the trappings of capitalism, the future of muse‑ ums – like the future of any cultural institution – will be informed by how well they serve public interests and needs, and how deeply they engage the makers and consumers of culture, 347

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if at all. Recent protests, unionizations, and social media campaigns have called complacent museums to task, unveiling the myth of museum neutrality in civic life, holding them ac‑ countable to redressing harms, and demanding they more actively engage the socio‑political issues affecting their communities today (wheadon, 2022, pp. 217–226). On the one hand, mainstream museums that failed to meaningfully engage diverse communities prior to global protests in response to the police murder of George Floyd in 2020 – or who unduly relied on artists and educators as purveyors of political discussion – are likely still reeling from solidarity missteps and playing catchup in matters of social inclusion and cultural equity. Yet, on the other hand, smaller, often culturally specific museums with clearly articulated values – and whose mission‑driven programs and services continue to meet evolving com‑ munity interests and needs – are best poised to both ride the waves of our current sea change and chart a future course. Compiled during this extraordinary moment of social rupture and institutional reckon‑ ing, Museum Metamorphosis works from the premise that the museum field faces a crisis of relevance and that those invested in envisioning museum futures must first audit this crisis alongside communities most harmed by their legacies of colonialism, social exclusion, and cultural erasure (wheadon, 2022, pp. 1–7). Utilizing the case study method and featuring transcripts from roundtable discussions and interviews, the book platforms the visionary work of over 40 changemakers and innovators in contemporary art, who represent and/or work deeply with said communities and share tested tools to reshape museums into more vital, relevant forms. While broad in its survey of the entrenched perspectives that hold many museums back from evolving with the times, Museum Metamorphosis also articulates pointed strategies to build toward museum futurity, including, (1) exercising adaptability and responsiveness to evolving societal needs as vital practices of sustainability, (2) replacing outmoded infra‑ structure and hierarchy with nimbleness and reciprocity in pursuit of cultural equity, and (3) cultivating deep cross‑sector relationships to learn from critical perspectives beyond the museum field’s echo chamber. For this chapter, I have been invited to expound upon this thesis, adding new lines of thinking that have emerged since the book’s release in February 2022 by Rowman & Lit‑ tlefield Publishers, and the American Alliance of Museums Press. Given The Handbook of Urban Cultural Planning’s focus on the intersections of the arts and culture ecosystem and the built environment, I will pull forward important perspectives shared by book contribu‑ tors working in the fields of architecture and public art. I will point to promising models for reciprocal exchange between artists, arts audiences, and arts organizations, and analyze cul‑ tural planning’s effectiveness at balancing these cross‑sector relationships, building cultural equity. In conclusion, I will argue that, now more than ever, mainstream museums must demonstrate their relevance, proving that they add sociocultural value to the ecosystem that artists and communities cannot simply build for themselves.

Architecture and the Dematerialization of Institutional Authority In Chapter 2 of Museum Metamorphosis, “Museum as Medium,” I invite three architects to share their visions for how we might liberate the future museum from the designed hierarchies that have historically entombed it. As designers of new cultural spaces who 348

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are also engaged in the redesign and adaptive reuse of existing ones, Mario Gooden of Huff + Gooden Architects, and Deborah Berke and Maitland Jones of Deborah Berke Part‑ ners, “share a belief in the transformative power of their chosen medium, advocat[ing] for architecture to work harder and in some cases toward its own obsolescence” (wheadon, 2022, p. 49). Early in our discussion, Berke questions architecture’s role in, at times, reinforcing inac‑ cessibility and social exclusion within museums, stating, I feel there’s another aspect about the architecture of most museums, which is that the buildings are often intimidating. It can make us question if we have a right to be there. Do we have the right to go up those big steps and walk between those giant columns and stand next to those 25‑foot‑tall bouquets of flowers before we even see the art? I’m interested in how the museum, as a building, has for so long tried to make the visitor actually feel inadequate. (wheadon, 2022, p. 39) Here, Berke makes the case for decentering institutional authority over arts engagement by scaling down traditional museum structures to make room for more accessible, reciprocal exchanges between arts audiences and arts organizations. She privileges people over design philosophy, exposing tightly held typologies that have simultaneously dictated human re‑ sponses to and expectations of the built environment, and disregarded the community im‑ pacts of physical developments within the sector. This call for a people‑first architectural praxis is then reinforced by Jones, who imagines the future museum as a rich site of collective meaning‑making, stating, I think there’s an insight in identifying the museum as a thing constantly in production. This idea has obvious pathways to the museum becoming a place where we share in the making of meaning, or history, instead of becoming consumers of history as it’s been ‘benevolently’ put together for our consumption. (wheadon, 2022, p. 43) Here, Jones articulates architecture’s potential to platform civic agency and engagement, while also recasting the often‑static museum as a dynamic platform through which to co‑author a more inclusive art history. He also questions architecture’s complicity in am‑ plifying the museum hierarchies that inform whose stories are told and how knowledge is produced, packaged, and consumed. Gooden later builds upon these critiques, arguing that traditional museums were, in fact, never designed with equitable access, civic participation, or inclusive representation in mind, stating, within the history and theory of architecture is embedded not only a European episte‑ mology but also the European white male body as its subject and protagonist. Vitruvius takes this ideal subject and inscribes it within architecture. The museum has somewhat continued that line of thinking and conceptualization. For me, thinking about what a museum is must be evaluated in light of the current social revolution. I think it calls all

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of that into question: How do we begin to think about the relationship between archi‑ tecture and the body in a different way? (wheadon, 2022, p. 37) By positioning social revolution and collective embodiment as catalysts for museum reinven‑ tion, Gooden opens the door for the people to become both architects of future museums and protagonists of the stories they hold. He too builds on Berke’s call to decenter institu‑ tional authority and Jones’ call to build civic participation by shifting the nexus of cultural ownership and social power out of the museum space and back to the people. Together, Berke, Jones, and Gooden proffer that the strategic redesign, recalibration, and reorientation of cultural space can inspire both institutional belonging within museum walls and, perhaps by extension, engaged creative communities far beyond them. They offer blue‑ prints for future museums in which form follows function and function follows the general will, daring museums to place as much stock in building a cultural home for people as they do the objects in their holdings. Additionally, in demonstrating architecture’s potential to either cultivate or hinder collectivism and cultural citizenship, they inspire the sector at large to shed prescriptive, Western ways of engaging arts and culture and embrace the malleability of both physical and social space (wheadon, 2022, XV).

Public Art and the Materialization of Dialogic Space On the heels of strategizing the dematerialization of the traditional museum space, it seemed fitting to then reimagine where certain museum activities might more authentically and dy‑ namically engage arts audiences. In Chapter 3 of Museum Metamorphosis, “Museum as Citizen,” I convene four public art practitioners to, build a pedagogy for public art practice; demystify the policy and procedure surround‑ ing it; name key players in the process, including artists, communities, museums, and government officials; and riff on how museums can better participate in, and learn from, the politics of public space. (wheadon, 2022, p. 55) Featuring Eric Guy Booker of Storm King Art Center, artist and educator Maren Hassinger, Kendal Henry of the NYC Department of Cultural Affairs, and Diya Vij of Creative Time, our roundtable considers the following prompts: As a free entity, where else might the mu‑ seum’s work live and thrive? How do its essential building blocks map onto a more fluid environment? What happens to institutional hierarchies when dispersed into the commons? And how might the museum best embody an engaged fellow citizen and neighbor? (whea‑ don, 2022, p. 53) Hassinger discusses public art as a powerful tool to intentionally disrupt the pervasive inaccessibility that has come to define the museum space, stating, There is a big difference between art inside a museum and art outside on a meadow, or even on a wall that’s outdoors. Certain people don’t have a history of being inside of museums, but they do have a history of being in parks. As an artist, it’s not that you’re trying to appease everybody, but you kinda have to realize that some people are not 350

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going to go into a museum, even on a free day! They’re gonna be uncomfortable inside with all those people pushing and shoving to see some Picasso, because that artwork doesn’t mean anything to them on a personal level. And it’s not to say that doing art outdoors in a park is speaking down to somebody; it’s just an entirely different language. (wheadon, 2022, p. 65) Here, Hassinger endorses the critiques made by the architects in the previous chapter and names additional challenges faced by mainstream art museums that public art is poised to circumvent when approached with intention and care: (1) the potential inaccessibility of not only the physical space of museums but also the conceptual space of the artworks they hold; (2) the historic social exclusion of so‑called underserved groups along racial and socioeco‑ nomic lines; and (3) the persistent lack of broad, nuanced representational diversity within museums at every level. Building on this perspective and contrasting it with the broad accessibility of public art, Booker states, With public art, people meet the art on their own terms as opposed to the terms that are set forth in a museum or a gallery space. When we break down the hierarchy that exists around the production of knowledge, we’re able to connect with people in a very real way. (wheadon, 2022, p. 66) When guided by curiosity, reciprocity, and mutual respect, traditional museums can connect with new arts audiences – and deepen engagement and trust with existing ones – by simply meeting the people where they are. Furthermore, if in this engagement museums can practice active listening and note the demonstrated cultural interests and needs of communities be‑ yond their walls, then they can certainly learn to integrate these lessons into the design and curation of sociocultural space within them. A subtext in both Booker and Hassinger’s statements is that public art is a powerful lan‑ guage with the capacity to speak to and across diverse communities with varying degrees of arts literacy, bridging cultural and socioeconomic differences. Henry builds upon this per‑ spective and nuances a vocabulary for public art, stating, When we talk to artists, we tend to separate the public artwork into two categories… we call one art in public place – art that is just placed there because it needs a home. And there’s nothing wrong with that because, again, most people don’t go to galleries or museums, so just bringing it out into the light is fantastic. And then we have another definition for public art, which is infused with site specificity. It defines works that are created for a particular audience, environment, or space. (wheadon, 2022, p. 61) This distinction is important not only for artists considering making public works but also for communities as they continue to advocate for the cultural assets and resources they want and need, and resist the potential institutional colonization of public space by art in public place that is, ironically, often wholly unvetted by the public. As such, art in public place (at its worst) maps more squarely onto conventional museum practices of curation 351

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and display – where decision‑making processes around the selection, contextualization, and exhibition of the art object are often made in private – and is thus more regularly subsumed by controversy. Public art, however, (at its best) situates artists, arts organizations, and arts audiences in a space of shared meaning‑making and decision‑making power, where hopes for community impact are not only discussed but also designed into the artwork itself. Vij expounds, discussing the potential of public art to drive not only collective mean‑ ing‑making but also collective action given its locus within the politically charged climate of public space today. In recalling her experience of how the Black Lives Matter movement powerfully activated public space in 2020, she states, In these protests are collective gestures that encourage us to imagine differently and reorient space and how we use space, to think about a different kind of environment or set of conditions that are possible for us to live within. Having more public art helps us bring in more ideas of collectivism and allows us to explore how people can have more access to create and participate in a reorientation of our space. (wheadon, 2022, p. 68) Celebrating the role public art plays in fostering collectivity, inspiring creativity, and ex‑ ercising democracy, Vij points to the dynamic ways that public art already meaningfully intersects with our daily lives, informing our everyday experiences of the built environment and each other. Together, Hassinger, Booker, Henry, and Vij remind us of the power of public art to stage important conversations and the vital role that artists play as brave builders of discursive, socio‑political space, both within and beyond museums. Lending their unique powers of observation, interpretation, and critique, artists often steer public attention toward issues of common concern, envisioning bold futures and achieving what many museums still strug‑ gle to manifest independently; robust representation and meaningful exchange across lines of social, political, economic, and cultural difference. While not often celebrated as social innovators or creative problem solvers, artists  –  particularly those working in the public sphere – are exceedingly adept at building cultural equity even when, and perhaps especially when, the sector’s public institutions fail their duties to do so.

Cultural Planning and the Mobilization of Cultural Equity In recent years, cultural equity has come to describe not only the potential community im‑ pacts of artist‑led innovation but also the ultimate diversity, equity, accessibility, and inclu‑ sion (DEAI) goals to which many arts organizations publicly ascribe. One need only look back as far as 2020, and the countless solidarity statements issued by the museum field in support of the Black Lives Matter movement, for ample evidence that cultural equity ranks at the top of many arts organization’s strategic planning priorities. Americans for the Arts, a national arts advocacy organization, defines cultural equity as, the values, policies, and practices that ensure that all people – including but not limited to those who have been historically underrepresented based on race/ethnicity, age, dis‑ ability, sexual orientation, gender, gender identity, socioeconomic status, geography, citizenship status, or religion – are represented in the development of arts policy; the 352

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support of artists; the nurturing of accessible, thriving venues for expression; and the fair distribution of programmatic, financial, and informational resources. (Americans for the Arts) In other words, cultural equity declares access to arts and culture – both in its production and within the sites of its engagement and consumption – a human right. Despite artists’ immense capacities to dismantle inequity and build cultural equity by cul‑ tivating accessible, representational spaces for arts and culture engagement, this is a collec‑ tive responsibility and effort, the success of which will define the long‑term sustainability of the sector. In the affirmations they attach to their definition of cultural equity, Americans for the Arts states, “We must all hold ourselves accountable, because acknowledging and chal‑ lenging our inequities and working in partnership is how we will make change happen”. In considering how to map this shared work across the ecosystem – and ensure that museums and other cultural institutions carry their respective loads – cultural planning emerges as a useful yet underutilized tool. It is defined as, “a place‑based planning process that generates a vision and action plan for strengthening and growing arts and culture assets,” while also, “advanc[ing] arts and culture as both a catalyst for and an essential component of commu‑ nity development” (Arts & Planning Toolkit, Cultural Planning). Importantly, cultural planning is a highly collaborative process that aims to articulate and align visions for the sector’s future, attaching concrete actions to more abstract ideas. Despite being a place‑based process, cultural planning uniquely illuminates challenges and opportunities shared across the entire arts and culture ecosystem. I would argue that main‑ stream museums invested in informedly road mapping their future ought to learn from these findings, either through direct engagement in the cultural planning process, or indirectly through non‑transactional participation in the cultural activity of local artists, communities, and partnering organizations. By reciprocally engaging in culture produced by others – and not merely inviting others to participate in the culture that they themselves produce – said museums can both broaden and deepen the community relationships that will ultimately determine their future sustainability. Today, most cultural capitals in the United States have a cultural plan which, in part, maps the ideal relationships and engagements between a city’s artists, arts organizations, and arts audiences (Borrup, 2018). Often successful at mapping shared opportunities based on exist‑ ing cultural assets and overlapping interests, these plans – which tend to buckle under the economic pressures of an increasingly precarious and competitive nonprofit industrial com‑ plex – falter in addressing the following challenges: (1) that many artists are being priced out of the very cultural capitals they helped to build and devalued by the very arts organizations that profit from their vision and labor; (2) that nonprofit arts organizations are struggling to name and serve concrete arts audiences amidst rapidly shifting institutional values, social de‑ mographics, and philanthropic priorities; and (3) that arts audiences are finding themselves stranded on disjointed islands of cultural activity due to gentrification and gaps in service, communication, and advocacy across the ecosystem. Mainstream museums are certainly complicit in both seeding these untenable conditions and cultivating their proliferation, at times through willful ignorance yet more often through an allegiance to philanthropic priorities over the will of the people. Without first repairing trust with artists and arts audiences – and later building reciprocal channels for meaningful 353

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engagement and exchange with historically “underserved” audiences – museums will con‑ tinue to struggle with relevance, and cultural planning will fail to harness its immense poten‑ tial as a collective impact model for arts‑led change. Considering the breadth and depth of these obstacles to cultivating change, the ques‑ tion emerges, how prepared is the arts and culture sector to embrace cultural planning as a driver of cultural equity? In his 2017 study, “Cultural Planning at 40: A Look at the Practice and Its Progress,” Tom C. Borrup – a field leader in creative community build‑ ing and a fellow contributor to this volume  –  surveys 50 arts agencies of varying sizes across the United States, that completed a cultural plan between 2005 and 2015. He finds that, “among the highest expectations reported were to make greater community impact, to apply cultural assets to civic priorities, and to learn new ways to add value to the community” (Borrup, 2018). In other words, cultural leaders and arts organizations who engaged in a cultural planning process articulated a desire to do so altruistically, in service of the people. Borrup’s findings also revealed that, paradoxically, despite, “wide‑ spread statements by the cultural sector that it strives for greater cultural equity,” the data paints a very different picture, one that suggests, “cultural planning by‑and‑large has not contributed meaningfully to improving the distribution of resources to under‑represented communities.” In fact, “allocating more resources for under‑represented communities,” ranked lowest of all cultural planning outcomes in 2017, and a little over half of those surveyed reported that their plan did not include any, “specific actions to address issues of diversity, equity, and inclusion in the cultural life of the community.” While the study identified important advances in cultural planning since its inception as a professional practice in the late 70s – namely the shift from prioritizing the niche interests of the sector to an expanded focus on broader sociocultural needs and community impacts – it mostly revealed that, “the sector is ill‑equipped to address issues of equity, in spite of stated in‑ tentions, and the sector has not been willing to meaningfully shift resources to this effort” (Borrup, 2018, pp. 18–29). When it comes to mobilizing cultural equity through the cultural planning process, I en‑ dorse Borrup’s claim that the arts and culture sector must learn to better align intentions with actions, and expectations with measurable outcomes. To underscore these important yet disquieting conclusions – and build upon the claim that I made at the top of this chap‑ ter – conceptual frameworks for the sector’s future are meaningless at best, and virtue signal‑ ing at worst, without a true commitment to resourcing and enacting change today, despite the discomforts and risks. A relatively emergent tool, however, perhaps cultural planning simply needs more than half a century to prove its capacity to shift longstanding cultural practices and invert embedded institutional hierarchies and priorities, especially within mu‑ seums which – within the sector – have a reputation for being the slowest to change and the most risk‑averse. Like any tool, cultural planning is only as useful as its wielders are clear in their plans for what they are trying to dismantle, change, or build. As Borrup’s study revealed, within the arts and culture sector there is neither an explicit definition of culture, nor are there measures in place to track accountability and collective impact in relation to equity goals (Borrup, 2018, p. 8). With both culture and equity undefined – and museums only coming to fall under the abstract umbrella of culture at the turn of the century  –  it’s no wonder that cultural equity remains elusive, for the arts and culture sector at large, and museums 354

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specifically. Add to this the fact that, effective the year of this study, relevance remained the leading barrier to entry for arts and culture institutions1 – of which museums rank the most inaccessible – and it becomes clear that, (1) museums have yet to reach the basic milestones of accessibility, diversity, and inclusion, (2) the moral compass guiding their work needs to be recalibrated, (3) cultural equity is not yet in their sights, and (4) they are in no position to be forecasting their own future. I would argue, however, that much like it is not the sole responsibility of artists to lead the sector in enacting cultural equity, it is also not the sole responsibility of museums to lead the sector in envisioning the future of its institutions. In fact, if ever there were a time for the people to rise, mobilize, and claim their rightful role as co‑architects of future museums, it would be now.

Conclusion While this chapter’s many calls to action are written with a sense of urgency, the various forms of growth, change, and evolution advocated for herein will justly transpire over years, if not centuries. Additionally, while the museum field’s recent increase in programmatic multicul‑ turalism, reparative acquisitions, diversity hires, and subsidized BIPOC board seats signals an important shift in the values guiding this transformation, said gestures – which are often tied to surface‑level representation and not systems‑level shifts in structural power – read as both reactive and ephemeral, especially when considered in relation to a long view of time. Meaningful, sustainable change will only come when these gestures are backed by long‑term institutional plans, commitments, and resources. In her Chapter 12 Museum Metamorphosis interview, “On Defining and Building Equity as a Field,” Nicole Ivy  –  a historical thinker and professional futurist who is passionate about the arts and social change – states, The features of a given culture are never sedimented. Even though we might view a cul‑ ture’s artifacts across centuries, we can be sure that those cultures can and do change. People manage loss, growth, and also survival in the face of what futurists typically call ‘wildcard events.’ Even the specifics of culture in what we name as ‘culturally specific’ museums change over time. I think the most savvy leadership in these institutions rec‑ ognize this and build change into their institutional visions. (wheadon, 2022, p. 188) Here, Ivy calls for nimbleness, noting the fluid, ubiquitous nature of change itself and un‑ derscoring the need for arts and culture institutions to plan for it as an eventuality around which to scaffold visions for the future. By engaging a long view of time, Ivy suggests that the enduring plights of society are no different than those faced by society’s institutions today. If people can adapt and evolve to overcome precarity, then institutions, as mere containers for human cultures and relation‑ ships, can certainly learn to do the same. This perspective is a necessary reminder that, in the arts and culture sector’s quest for cultural equity, it is not people vs. institutions, since – in more ways than not – institutions mirror humanity, and both its triumphs and ills. Embracing Ivy’s call to action, with its full spirit of hope and possibility, I part with a few lessons learned and guiding questions for the sector about its future, inspired by key takea‑ ways from the Museum Metamorphosis contributors featured in this chapter. 355

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Lessons Learned • Even systemic transformation happens at the relationship level, and relationships are built at the speed of trust. How will mainstream museums redress historic harms, regain‑ ing the trust of those they have historically marginalized and mobilizing the reciprocal relationships in the present that will ensure they survive the future? • We live in an age where institutional actions must be guided by an underlying value sys‑ tem to sustain said trust. What qualities and values does the future museum industrial complex hold, and how will it redesign physical and social space to better embody these? • Culture that is produced or consumed in a social vacuum and without meaningful con‑ sideration of cultural equity is no longer relevant. What role will the future museum play in ensuring broad access to the production and engagement of arts and culture as a hu‑ man right, and how will cultural planning evolve to do the same? • Culture palaces, despite their outsize footprint within the arts ecosystem, are not where most publics regularly engage art. Will the sector mobilize public art as a tool to challenge outmoded museum practices and infrastructure, and could the unmooring of cultural ac‑ tivity from often inaccessible facilities prompt museums to more urgently reimagine their modus operandi? • The future is unwritten. How would the repatriation of culture to the people shift the dominant narrative? What museum alternatives will artists and communities continue to envision that strategically thicken the plot? And, where might these radical gestures and visions lead us? I park these questions here as an invitation to continue this conversation and as a provoca‑ tion to act.

Note 1 LaPlaca Cohen  –  a New York City‑based arts market research firm  –  reports in their Culture Track ‘17 report, museums only came to be defined under the larger umbrella of culture at the turn of the century.

Bibliography Americans for the Arts, Statement on Cultural Equity, 2016, https://www.americansforthearts.org/ about‑americans‑for‑the‑arts/our‑statement‑on‑cultural‑equity. Arts & Planning Toolkit, Cultural Planning, “A Resource for Massachusetts Cities and Towns,” 2018, https://artsandplanning.mapc.org/cultural‑planning/. Borrup, Tom C., “40 Years Young: The Evolving Practice of Cultural Planning,” Americans for the Arts Blog, 2018, https://blog.americansforthearts.org/2019/05/15/40‑years‑young‑the‑e volving‑practice‑of‑cultural‑planning. D’Souza, Aruna, Whitewalling: Art, Race & Protest in 3 Acts (New York: Badlands Unlimited, 2020). wheadon, nico, Museum Metamorphosis: Cultivating Change through Cultural Citizenship (Lan‑ ham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2022).

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5.2 MUSEUMS Growth, Crises and Prospects Gail Lord

Introduction We humans have collected, valued and revered objects of nature and our own creation for millennia, but the history of museums as we know them can be counted in mere hundreds of years that equate to the modern colonial era. That is why the greatest concentration of mu‑ seums per capita are in the early industrializing countries (Dexter Lord 2024) often referred to metaphorically as the ‘Global North.’ These countries acquired specimens, works of art and monuments through conquest, unequal treaties and war from territories and countries they colonized (Chambers et al. 2016). Museums have been preferred repositories for the display and study of these trophies, leading to museums that were and sometimes continue to be hierarchical and exclusion‑ ary in their organization and understanding of cultures. The horrors of the Holocaust and World War II and the massive theft of art owned by Jewish people and by museums in Nazi‑ occupied countries led to a major movement to restitute stolen and looted works of art, while the victories of the decolonization movements that culminated in the 1970s led to demands from the Global South and indigenous peoples world‑wide for the repatriation of their cultural objects from the museums in the Global North (Warick 2021). More than half of the 100,000 museums in the world have been established since 2000 (Dexter Lord 2024). In the Global North, there is approximately one museum for every 50,000 people; while in China there is one museum for every 250,000 (despite their recent museum building boom); and the distribution declines precipitously throughout the Global South. The largest proportion of museums are located in mid‑to‑large cities, which is per‑ haps not surprising because in the auspicious year 2008, for the first time in human history, half the world’s people live in cities – and this proportion is growing. Museums present many opportunities for city governments, urban planners and develop‑ ers: they are visitor and tourist attractions (Dexter Lord and Blankenberg 2015); anchors for cultural districts that can regenerate neighborhoods and improve the city tax base. Museums create employment; they provide learning opportunities for all ages (King and Lord 2016); 357

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and they are part of the connective tissue that contributes to healthy communities (Museums Association 2017). What role can cultural planning play in realizing these opportunities while containing the neg‑ ative impacts of gentrification? What are the impacts of museums on urban life? What are some of the underlying trends and crises arising from the uneven access to and distribution of museum collections and the demands for decolonization, repatriation and restitution of the evidence and interpretation of the natural world and human development? (Monkman 2020) What role can cultural planning play in addressing these global challenges? Why does it matter to cities?

What Are Museums Let us start with a definition of what a museum actually is. In the current century of rapid if uneven museum growth, there has been a rethinking of the definition of museums reaching a climax at the 2019 Conference of the International Council of Museums (ICOM) in Kyoto. Created in 1946 as part of UNESCO, the cultural agency of the United Nations, today ICOM is the world’s largest museum organization with 49,000 members representing 142 countries and territories around the world. In 2022, after five years of passionate debate, ICOM adopted a new definition of the term ‘museum’: A museum is a not‑for‑profit, permanent institution in the service of society that re‑ searches, collects, conserves, interprets and exhibits tangible and intangible heritage. Open to the public, accessible and inclusive, museums foster diversity and sustainabil‑ ity. They operate and communicate ethically, professionally and with the participation of communities, offering varied experiences for education, enjoyment, reflection and knowledge sharing. (ICOM 2022, 3) This new museum definition is more aspirational than prescriptive. It sets out the basis for international and local acceptance – which means that the application of the definition var‑ ies from country to country and jurisdiction to jurisdiction, sometimes forming the basis for legislation and funding – therefore important for cultural planners to understand. The key points of difference from previous definitions are: community participation and the values of accessibility, inclusivity, diversity and sustainability – all of which are key for cultural planners to understand. Urban planners should avoid branding an attraction, monument or heritage site a museum if it is not one. Cultural planners should also appreciate the position of trust that museums hold in many societies. In the United States, for example, the American Alliance of Museums, which is the non‑profit association that represents 4,000  museums and 25,000 individual profes‑ sional members, has conducted studies that demonstrate that museums are more trusted by the general public than news organizations, government and business. The trust level in museums is second‑only to ‘friends and family.’ The top reasons given are: museums are fact‑based, present real/authentic objects, are research‑oriented, offer independent informa‑ tion and allow people to draw their own conclusions (Merritt 2021). Museums are not always traditional collecting institutions. The new definition encom‑ passes collections of ideas, oral histories, traditions, music and performance – often referred 358

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to as ‘Idea Museums’ – such as Canada’s National Museum for Human Rights in Winnipeg, The Museum of the African Diaspora in San Francisco and the Museum for Peace/Memo‑ riale de Caen in Caen France. Guadeloupe has created a major museum on the history and memory of the slavery from its earliest origins to the present. While it has a special focus on slavery in the Caribbean, the museum is equally dedicated to the global phenomenon of slavery (Berg and Hudson 2023) and the need for intercultural dialogue for healing. This mission is reflected in its name, Memorial ACTe – which translates as the Caribbean Center for the Expression and Memory of Slavery (‘Memorial ACTe’ 2019). Museums are also interactive learning spaces (Lord and Piacente 2014) such as in Chil‑ dren’s Museums, the first being the Brooklyn Children’s Museum founded in 1899, and one of the most famous being San Francisco’s Exploratorium founded by Frank Oppenheimer in 1969. The plaque near the door of the original Exploratorium and which is on its new building today reads ‘Here is Being Created the Exploratorium a Community Museum Dedi‑ cated to Awareness.’ Frank Oppenheimer was an experimental physicist and the brother of J. Robert Oppenheimer. He is portrayed in the award‑winning film ‘Oppenheimer.’ He emerged from blacklisting in the McCarthy era to found and lead the museum until his death in 1985. The Exploratorium, which inspired a huge international movement of hands‑on science centers, incorporated the idea of ‘community’ in its very foundation (Exploratorium 2015). The idea that community is fundamental to museums was not included in the official museum definition until more than half a century later. Portugal has developed Ciência Viva, a network of 22 science centers in communities of all sizes to promote science understanding and a culture of science throughout the country (Ciência Viva 1996).

Museums Are in Dynamic Change Today’s museums are not static: they are continually responding to social change (Small 2022), scientific advances and innovation. Museums are trusted by the public and generally supported by a combination of government, donated and earned revenues. This balance of funding sources makes them ‘pluralist organizations’ (Mintzberg 2015). It is this plural‑ ist approach that leads the museum of today to be more engaged with community, more expansive in the content they represent and more responsive to multiple perspectives when explaining their content to the public. This new approach is a major change not yet fully appreciated by city administrations who may remember the hushed world of museums from their childhood and have not returned except when traveling to world‑famous cities with their iconic museums. Today many (though not all) museums are working to restitute and repatriate collections (Hicks 2020) to the individuals and communities from whom they were stolen. Today’s museums are in dynamic change (Dexter Lord 2024): they are interested in how diverse communities understand and use the objects in their collections and they have started to tell human stories from many perspectives rather than the traditional view that the museum is the font of all knowledge. Curators are analyzing their collections and seeing that much is both missing and misunderstood due to ethnocentrism, racial and class bias. Many museums are trying to diversify their staff to better serve their many communities (Dafoe 2022). On the other hand, there is a deep history of community engagement in museums as can be seen from the example of the Exploratorium and the numerous African American and 359

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culturally specific museums that have been established that seek not only to celebrate the past but also to create change for the future. Organizations like the African American Asso‑ ciation of Museums and the International Coalition of Sites of Conscience are two examples of organizations that foster this new approach. Museums can help people adapt to change through exhibitions, programs and activities. It is well‑known that cities are rapidly expand‑ ing and undergoing massive change because survival requires that cities are for the most part democratically engaged with their residents and businesses and public institutions – and the news media reports on their activities. It is less well‑known that behind their secure walls, carefully maintained public spaces and exhibitions, museums can partner with cities to help residents adapt to change.

Museums in Urban Cultural Plans Despite the dynamism of the museum sector, museums are often overlooked in city cultural plans. Museums should be the community hubs where people meet and cultural plans are developed (Hutton et al. 2021). They are anchors for learning, economic development and innovation. All too often museum management is disengaged from city government un‑ less the museum has a line item in the city budget. It is time for city planners and museum managers to exchange skills. Cities have big data that could be invaluable for museums to better serve their communities. Cities have the power to reduce taxes on museums and to make zoning regulations such as parking, setbacks and allowing new functions that can help museums improve their impact. Many cities manage school districts, social policy, transpor‑ tation and huge infrastructure projects that museums care about. Above all, cities have the capacity to develop policies through open democratic processes that can create conditions for cultural change in return for public benefit – foremost of those being the city cultural plan itself. At Lord, we have worked with 60 cities in North America, Europe, the Middle East and Asia on their cultural plans – from large cities like Chicago, Houston and Dallas to smaller cities like Rockford in New York State. All plans involved extensive collaboration with city planners to achieve effective and extensive community engagement processes lead‑ ing to understanding people’s needs in the cultural realm and how cities can change condi‑ tions to make urban life more creative for all. In the past, city cultural plans focused on consulting the ‘legacy’ institutions such as the ballet, opera, symphony and big museums on the assumption that if they are thriving (or at least surviving) the city will too. However, the reality is very different. There is a myriad of cultural organizations that are foundational to the creativity of city residents. Speaking with individuals and communities about their cultural aspirations through workshops, town hall meetings, online platforms and surveys, we learned what matters to them and how cultural planning can help. Recent cultural plans have identified a need for more opportunities for creativity, espe‑ cially for youth and a desire for belonging in rapidly growing diverse neighborhoods and throughout the entire city. For example, our 22 community workshops in Chicago (City of Chicago 2012) revealed that the top aspiration was art education in the schools. This find‑ ing laid the groundwork for a new way of organizing and delivering art education and new partnerships involving legacy cultural institutions as well. We also learned from the tourism and convention industries that the identity of Chicago was weak in international markets 360

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even though it has great museums and performing arts as do many large cities. Chicago’s uniqueness is its concentration of outstanding modern architecture. This finding led to the Cultural Plan recommendation to establish the Chicago Architecture Biennial (CAB), which was strongly supported by the mayor and implemented by the Chicago Department of Cul‑ tural Affairs and Special Events. In 2023–2024, the CAB is celebrating its fifth successful edition with 88 exhibiting participants from ten countries that explore how contemporary environmental, infrastructure, political and economic issues are shared across national boundaries through art, architecture, infrastructure and civic participation (Biennial 2024). This focus on Chicago architecture helped to stimulate the expansion and relocation of the Chicago Architecture Center which tells the story of Chicago’s contribution to modern ar‑ chitecture through exhibitions and guided tours. During the Rockford, NY cultural plan, completed in 2021, it emerged that people wanted to know more about their collective history (Rockford Area Arts Council 2023). It was subsequently revealed that one of the city’s three founders was Lewis Lemon, a for‑ mer slave who bought his freedom. He and city co‑founders Germanicus Kent and Thatcher Blake had been depicted in a 1976 public monument dragging a supply wagon through a swamp on their way to Rockford in 1824. City Council decided to restore the statue and reinstate it while creating a fund of $200,000 for art projects as recommended in the cultural plan. This city was founded by diverse people working together in a period less divisive than our own: a powerful example of cultural planning as community connection. A temple‑like structure with pillars and ascending stairs is still the most common sym‑ bolic representation for ‘museum.’ Museums are typically legacy institutions with all the challenges described above including lack of diversity in museum staff. After all, in the 19th century museum staff were drawn from those segments of society who could afford to work in museums as volunteers – amateurs, in the best sense of the word. Today, even small museums are too complex for volunteer‑only staff and require staff and volunteers with an aptitude for teamwork (Dexter Lord 2024). In practice, this image is being deconstructed and museums are being re‑imagined and re‑ constructed as institutions that are interconnected with communities in many ways (National Endowment for the Arts 2018). This interconnectedness is often referred to as the museum ecosystem – a more apt image because museum sustainability and perhaps their very survival depends on community support. However, many communities still see the museum as a re‑ mote temple that ‘steals their stuff’ or ignores their heritage. That is why we characterized museums as ‘sleeping giants’ in Cities Museums and Soft Power because despite their size, they ignore many community concerns around them (Dexter Lord and Blankenberg 2015). Museum management and Boards working with cities have the potential to awaken the giant to the people to the thriving ecosystem of people, communities, private and public agencies, health and housing, workplaces, food services communications networks organiza‑ tions – everything altogether at once. The museum‑centered ecosystem – including educational institutions, foundations and philanthropists, government, creative workers, heritage and ar‑ cheological sites, festivals and events performing arts, public spaces and social centers – seem to benefit from the ‘winners’ in the city’s socio‑economic system. What are the roles of mu‑ seums for the marginalized (Gelles 2020)? Do they provide respite for the unhoused on cold days and relief from heat on very warm days? Do they provide students with internet access and places for homework in addition to their prescribed educational programs? Many public 361

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libraries answer ‘yes’ to all the above, and yet few museums do. City staff can be enormously helpful by introducing museums (whether city‑owned or independent) to communities and individuals who would benefit from collaboration as part of the museum ecosystem. Most public libraries are either city agencies or mandated services, while many civic muse‑ ums are often owned and operated by cities, the trend is for museums to become independent not‑for‑profit organizations, even when cities own and maintain the land and buildings they occupy. This hybrid governance system means that museums may have less stable funding than libraries, but they may also have more opportunities to earn revenues and both build and control their own endowment. In the last century, the majority of the world’s museums were government owned and operated. Today, mixed models of museum ownership are becoming more prevalent not only in North America but also world‑wide in part to encour‑ age private investment in public museums (which some see as creeping privatization). Many want to change the passive style of advisory board that tends to accompany government line department museums to a more activist private–public model, such as: museums owned by government or corporations but operated by non‑profit associations that can apply for and receive grants and tax relief; and museums owned by government but operated by Boards with governing authority and full responsibility for the operations. While city, state and na‑ tional government appointed advisory boards can be recruited on the basis of representing the communities, independent self‑perpetuating boards which are challenged to raise large amounts of money to support the museum are often criticized for lack of transparency, con‑ flict of interest and failure to represent the citizens who, after all, own the collections.

Lessons Learned • Approaching the quarter century of this 21st‑century museum era, the crises that are leading to the dynamic change in the museum sector such as the pandemic, war, climate crisis (Brophy and Wylie 2013); uneven and unfair distribution of collections and re‑ sources are being addressed by museum workers and supporters who continue to dem‑ onstrate resilience and courage (Museums Association 2017). • Public trust in museums, the opportunities of digital technology (Hossaini and Blanken‑ berg 2017) and the tangible benefits museums bring to cities and communities speak to the prospects for continued growth of the museum sector, especially in the Global South where most of the largest and fastest growing cities are located. The Global South will doubtless chart new approaches to museums (Mishra 2022), unthought of in the North. Urban cultural plans can contribute greatly to this exciting future. Museums are in the process of dynamic change from their colonial past to a community‑based and accessible future as reflected in the new museum definition adopted in 2022 by the International Council on Museums. • Museums have much to offer as attractions, learning organizations and part of the con‑ nective tissue of healthy cities, yet they are often overlooked in urban cultural plans. • Research indicates that museums are among the most trusted institutions in society be‑ cause they are seen as objective and authentic. • As both museums and cities continue to grow, it is essential that urban planners and city governments collaborate with museum management, staff and Boards in urban cultural planning. 362

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Bibliography Berg, Maxine, and Pat Hudson. 2023. Slavery, Capitalism and the Industrial Revolution. Cam‑ bridge: Polity Press. Biennial, Chicago Architecture. 2024. “CAB 5: This Is a Rehearsal.” Chicago Architecture Biennial, 2024. https://chicagoarchitecturebiennial.org/edition/cab‑5/. Brophy, Sarah S., and Elizabeth Wylie. 2013. The Green Museum: A Primer on Environmental Prac‑ tice. Lanham, MD: Altamira. Chambers, Iain, Alessandra De Angelis, Celeste Ianniciello, and Mariangela Orabona. 2016. The Postcolonial Museum. New York, NY: Routledge. Ciência Viva. 1996. https://www.cienciaviva.pt/en/about/the‑ciencia‑viva. City of Chicago. 2012. “City of Chicago Cultural Plan 2012.” https://www.chicago.gov/content/ dam/city/depts/dca/Cultural%20Plan/ChicagoCulturalPlan2012.pdf. Dafoe, Taylor. “Museum Staffs Are Starting to Diversify, Particularly among Leadership Roles, Ac‑ cording To a New Survey.” Artnet News, November 16, 2022. https://news.artnet.com/art‑world/ museum‑staff‑diversity‑survey‑2022‑2211671. Dexter Lord, Gail. 2024. Manual of Museum Management for Museums in Dynamic Change. Lan‑ ham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Dexter Lord, Gail, and Ngaire Blankenberg. 2015. Cities, Museums and Soft Power. Washington, DC: American Alliance of Museums Press. Exploratorium. 2015. “Exploratorium: The Museum of Science, Art and Human Perception, San Francisco | Exploratorium.” Exploratorium.edu, 2015. https://www.exploratorium.edu/. Gelles, David. 2020. “Smithsonian’s Leader Says ‘Museums Have a Social Justice Role to Play.’” The New York Times, July 2, 2020, sec. Business. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/02/business/ smithsonian‑lonnie‑bunch‑corner‑office.html. Hicks, Dan. 2020. Brutish Museums: The Benin Bronzes, Colonial Violence and Cultural Restitu‑ tion. London: Pluto Press. Hossaini, Ali, and Ngaire Blankenberg. 2017. Manual of Digital Museum Planning. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Ellis, Adrian, Gail Lord, Irene Preißler, Matthias Sauerbruch & Louisa Hutton, Christian Strasser, Erwin Uhrmann, Vitus H. Weh. 2021. World Culture Districts: Spaces of the 21st Century. Vi‑ enna: Verlag Fur Moderne Kunst. ICOM. 2022. “Hybrid Format: In Person at the Prague Congress Centre, Prague (Czech Repub‑ lic) and Online (Agora) CONTENTS.” 2022. https://icom.museum/wp‑content/uploads/2022/07/ EN_EGA2022_MuseumDefinition_WDoc_Final‑2.pdf. King, Brad. 2023. New Directions for University Museums. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. King, Brad, and Barry Lord. 2016. The Manual of Museum Learning. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Lord, Barry, and Maria Piacente. 2014. Manual of Museum Exhibitions. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. “Memorial ACTe.” 2019. Guadeloupe Islands, 2019. https://www.guadeloupe‑islands.com/ memorial‑acte/. Merritt, Elizabeth. 2021. “Exploring Museums and Trust 2021.” American Alliance of Museums, October 5, 2021. https://www.aam‑us.org/2021/10/05/exploring‑museums‑and‑trust‑2021/. Mintzberg, Henry. 2015. Rebalancing Society: Radical Renewal beyond Left, Right, and Center. San Francisco, CA: Berrett‑Koehler Publishers, Inc. Mishra, Arunima. 2022. “Museums in the Middle East Are Thriving. So What’s the Big Picture?” Fast Company Middle East | The Future of Tech, Business and Innovation, November 15, 2022. https://fastcompanyme.com/impact/museums‑in. Monkman, Kent. 2020. Kent Monkman: Shame and Prejudice, a Story of Resilience. London: Black Dog Press. National Endowment for the Arts. 2018. “NEA.” NEA, 2018. https://www.arts.gov/.

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Gail Lord Rockford Area Arts Council. 2023. “Cultural Plan.” Rockford Area Arts Council, 2023. https:// www.artsforeveryone.com/cultural‑plan/. Shellman, Cecile. 2022. Effective Diversity, Equity, Accessibility, Inclusion, and Anti‑Racism Prac‑ tices for Museums: From the Inside Out. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Small, Zachary. 2022. “U.S. Museums See Rise in Unions Even as Labor Movement Slumps.” The New York Times, February 21, 2022, sec. Arts. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/02/21/arts/design/ museums‑unions‑labor.html. “The Impact of Museums.” 2017. Museums Association, March 28, 2017. https://www.museumsas‑ sociation.org/campaigns/museums‑change‑lives/the‑impact‑of‑museums/. United Nations. 2007. “United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples | Divi‑ sion for Inclusive Social Development (DISD).” United Nations, 2007. https://social.desa.un.org/ issues/indigenous‑peoples/united‑nations‑declaration‑on‑the‑rights‑of‑indigenous‑peoples. Warick, Jason. 2021. “Sask. Art Gallery Reviewing 2,000 Pieces Following Return of Sto‑ len Indian Statue.” CBC, December 3, 2021. https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/saskatchewan/ art‑gallery‑reviewing‑pieces‑after‑return‑stolen‑statue‑1.6269603.

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5.3 TRANSFORMATIVE URBAN REGENERATION IN VICTORIA YARDS Brian Green

This chapter is about my experiences building a creative community through the preserva‑ tion, restoration, and repurposing of what once was a large commercial steam laundry in the neighbourhood of Lorentzville, Johannesburg. The approach to 16 Viljoen Street through the suburbs of Judith’s Paarl, Bertram’s, and Lorentzville was indicative of a neighbourhood that had been neglected and abandoned by regular municipality attention for years. Rubbish was tossed out on the pavements and left. Residue from the fires made by cable thieves to extract copper wire marked several corners. Scrap metal dealers were doing swift trade, unregulated! Children with little or nothing to do walked alone in little groups, bored. The jobless and homeless were there too (Figure 5.3.1). The gables running the length of Victoria Road were what I saw first in raw brick, saw‑tooth roofs, and dozens of massive extractors from another era pushing out of those roofs. I crossed the threshold from Viljoen Street into what has now become Victoria Yards and found chaos. Informal panel beaters, spray painters, mechanics, and rubbish piled away in disused roofless buildings, corrugated iron fences crudely buried in the dead earth to de‑ marcate space crammed with buckled cars, dogs chained into their rings of filth. It was a vast space. Twenty thousand square metres of roadways and yards, with vehicles strewn everywhere, waiting for panel beating, hammers, and paint. Seemingly, many of these vehicles would never move again. The soil that broke through the potholed and bro‑ ken roadways, poisoned from the careless lack of control of paint, chemicals, and solvents, couldn’t even produce weeds. Workshop after workshop, businesses were banging, scraping, sanding, and painting, getting on with making the daily wage. Many buildings varied in size from thousands to hundreds of square metres and smaller. The extraordinary potential I saw in the dereliction was very exciting. Even though many of the buildings had suffered from absolute disregard and neglect over the years, the beauty, to me, remained. Repurposing into what I believed this place could become filled my head. I believed that what I was thinking was more than possible (Figure 5.3.2). 365

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Figure 5.3.1  Main building pre renovation. Photo used with permission of Brian Green.

Three seemingly obvious thoughts come to mind. Food security, artisanal opportunity for entrepreneurs, artisans, and learners, and the last but probably the most important was a way of meaningfully integrating with the community, without which I could not see the potential venture getting off the ground or ultimately surviving. These three thoughts have become the pillars of what Victoria Yards (VY) has evolved into over its brief seven years.

Victoria Yards Victoria Yards is nestled between the Observatory and Kensington ridges and divided by the upper reaches of the Jukskei River a few kilometres east of Johannesburg’s city centre. Tracts of the Doornfontein Farm were sold in the late 1800s, and the neighbourhoods surrounding VY formed. Plots of 500 square metres were sectioned off, and small homes rapidly filled the area. Initially, the area attracted the middle class; however, by the 1930s, dust from the mines, stamp mills (for crushing the gold‑bearing rock), and the desire for slightly warmer

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Transformative Urban Regeneration in Victoria Yards

Figure 5.3.2  Main building pre renovation. Photo used with permission of Brian Green.

temperatures precipitated a move to the North by the wealthier inhabitants, ultimately changing the demographic of the area into the working class. Industries and factories were established along the Jukskei River. The New York Laundry was one of those established in the late 1890s. An expansive steam laundry that straddled the Jukskei River was built, using the river’s water for its steam boilers. In 1974, a civil war broke out in Mozambique, driving many white ex‑patriots and Mo‑ zambicans to South Africa, particularly to Johannesburg, the economic hub of South Africa. They sought inexpensive areas to settle in, with Lorentzville being one of them and where VY is now located. Over the next 20 years, they settled, purchased homes, and established businesses (South African History Online 2024). Seventeen years later, in July of 1991, the government abolished the Group Areas Act of South Africa. This law change allowed people of colour to move around the country at will, whereas before, they had to carry a passbook on their person with very restrictive movement controls. There was also a considerable movement of Africans from countries north of South Africa that saw the country as an economic hub offering more prospects than their own countries could. Residents of Lorentzville saw an opportunity in this as they had had nearly 20 years

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of stability and the chance to improve their standing in life. Many moved away from the valley to wealthier suburbs but held their properties as income‑generating assets. Absentee landlords are why neighbourhoods fall into disrepair; Lorentzville was a prime example. Crime and insecurity led to a downward spiral in land value. The inept and corrupt rul‑ ing political party exacerbated this situation with a total lack of efficient service delivery. Lorentzville was on a slippery slope, and by the time I got to see the property for the first time in 2016, the area had been ravaged by years of neglect. With a society so economically depleted, I saw an opportunity for both the residents and the potential new business to be able to depend on each other for our differing needs.

Rebirth I met the owner and, over the next seven months, convinced him that what my business partner and I wanted to do was going to be a far better solution for the neighbourhood, the value of the property, and the city of Johannesburg. He had wanted to convert the buildings to low‑cost housing (Figure 5.3.3).

Figure 5.3.3  Walkway to gardens post renovation. Photo used with permission of Brian Green.

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During the negotiations, a third party had heard of our intentions and wanted to be involved. They comprised two significant South African philanthropic families and a prop‑ erty development company, one of the first in South Africa to provide dignified living for low‑income families in converted buildings in the Johannesburg inner city. The property owner agreed to reduce his shareholding from 100% to 33% and a 3%, making room for my partner and our company, Group  44 Properties (Pty) Ltd, and the third partnership mentioned above. We self‑funded the purchase price and contributed extra funds to begin refurbishment. Due to its condition and lack of a solid tenant base, the property could not raise a bond with any banks, so we had no option but to pay our way. With the trust and blessing of my partners, I took the reins and drove development using small teams of people I had worked with in the past. We used local artisans to set up on‑site workshops, repurposing, refurbish‑ ing, and creating much of what we needed. It was all done in line with the concept of circular economies: upcycling, recycling, and re‑use. We copied the best features of the old buildings, cleaned the clutter, and worked with an incredibly motivated workforce. I got my hands dirty digging holes and demolishing walls, using ideas offered by anyone I believed better than mine; it was very much a bottom‑up approach. We made mistakes, we had surprises, and as a bonus, we found old unused boreholes with huge yields. Very handy for the planned urban farm. We managed to get buildings refurbished and ready for occupation for unrealistically low cost. We improved the buildings to a point where we built up much stronger tenancies on more protracted leases and reached a threshold of development where the banks were pre‑ pared to fund further development. The buildings were also getting much more attractive with all the order, clean up, and our considered approach. The work first started in October of 2016. I identified an area along one of the roadways on the site where we could begin refurbishing the old warehouses into studios for artists and artisans. The area we chose to fix first was with very good reason. The spaces were unoccu‑ pied, therefore not generating a rental income, and there was no need to evict tenants. While this happened, we simultaneously laid new roadways, opening the old tarmac to make way for garden beds and laying new services like sewer, fire, water, and electricity (Figure 5.3.4).

Greening the Site We collected organic material at favourable rates and made piles of composting mulch. We established vermiculture tanks and manufactured biochar furnaces to create high‑quality charcoal for soil development. To get the gardens going, we had to revitalize the soils ex‑ posed under the roadways and areas where the previous tenants had neglected them. We had to undertake much preparatory work before planting the first heirloom seeds in spring 2017, just under a year from when we broke ground. The idea was that everything we grew was edible and grown in a way that was as attractive and pleasing to whomever visited or worked at Victoria Yards (Figure 5.3.5). The gardens were both a display and an opportunity for people to learn about the wonders of soil and gardening with the idea that we could set up training courses, tours, and interest in growing food. We brought in herbs, medicinal herbs, endangered and traditional vegeta‑ bles, and fruit rarely encountered in regular markets. The diversity created more interest and

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Figure 5.3.4  Walkway to gardens post renovation. Photo used with permission of Brian Green.

beauty, and the gardens came into their own. Very fortunately, VY is situated over one of the most extensive aquifers in Johannesburg, and as mentioned we found three very produc‑ tive boreholes that provide more than enough water for the gardens and all the buildings (Figure 5.3.6). We restored an elevated 45,000‑liter tank, which has become an iconic and recognised symbol of the yards. In conjunction with our solar array, this restoration guarantees an uninterrupted water and power supply, which is very important in South Africa, given our ongoing power outages. To stimulate interest in the community, we have raised beds on the pavements and planted them for all who pass by to harvest and learn that growing food is possible in the smallest of spaces.

The Jukskei River A few hundred metres West of the site, a spring called Doornfontein fed the source for the Jukskei River, which watered the horses of the British soldiers during the Boer War and fed the wetlands in the area. The Victoria Yards office has a collection of horseshoes and stirrups found on‑site over the years. 370

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Figure 5.3.5  Stage and gardens pre renovation. Photo used with permission of Brian Green.

The river has suffered terribly from leaching and pollutants flowing into its headwaters from the densely populated areas surrounding it and consequently died as a usable water source over time. When we took on Victoria Yards as a development, the river had to be part of it!

Water for the Future The WFTF (Water For The Future)1 project was established to revitalise the waters and banks of the upper Jukskei River. WFTF has brought together a team of scientists, academ‑ ics, artists, and other interested parties to rehabilitate the upper Jukskei River through com‑ munity participation, green technology, and enterprise.

The Right Tenants Curating the tenancies was a crucial step to implement in the forming of Victoria Yards and one that has helped us build our reputation. The idea was to seek out artists, artisans, mak‑ ers, and creatives in as many disciplines as possible, with the idea being that when anyone visited the yards, they would be exposed to an impressive spectrum of different artisans. 371

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Figure 5.3.6  Stage and gardens post renovation. Photo used with permission of Brian Green.

There would be fine artists, ceramicists, glassblowers, coppersmiths, carpenters, sculptors, clothing designers, knitwear, silk screening, printing studios, and photography studios, to name a few. Over the first few years of trading, we could not refurbish the spaces fast enough to fill them. We had coffee roasters and bakers joining and a dark kitchen, (a kitchen with no restaurant attached), for three Italian chefs making pre‑prepared meals (Figure 5.3.7). There were rules, however. We aimed as high as we could to attract renowned artists. To get a lease at Victoria Yards, one had to have an excellent offering and contribute to the internal and external commu‑ nity. In the case of a carpentry shop, one of the interns would have come from the area with no prior experience, the idea being he would train under a carpenter, earning a stipend and developing a skill. A clothing factory would do the same training in patternmaking as an intern. The photog‑ raphy school would bring somebody in to do a course at no charge. A tenant would volun‑ teer at the home for abused women, Bethany House. The work had to be of an international standard, whether art, clothing, or carpentry. The focus was based on a concept that if we were going to be providing opportunities for the

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Figure 5.3.7 Studio walkway to gardens post renovation. Photo used with permission of Brian Green.

residents in the area to work or create businesses, what they produced needed to be of the standard and quality that residents from the wealthier neighbourhoods of Johannesburg would visit. We attracted well‑known South African artists, including Blessing Ngobeni, Ayanda Ma‑ bulu, Thenjiwe Nkosi, and Hannelie Coetzee. We attracted foreign artists, including the late Benon Lutaya, an outstanding and essential contributor to the arts. Sadly, Benon succumbed to cancer, but in the time he was a member of this community, his contribution to it has had a lasting legacy. We have also had highly skilled carpenters, increasingly well‑known fashion designers, and clothing manufacturers such as Tshepo Jeans and Oscar Chiefs of Angels. All of these mentioned and any new applicants also needed to contribute to improving VY, Bezuidenhout Valley, or Johannesburg. These tenants and businesspeople at VY have been incredible contributors to the community and beyond. They have provided jobs, training, and education. Although these people helped form what VY has become, it wasn’t making any inroads into what I called the third pillar, which was meaningful engagement with the neighbourhood (Figure 5.3.8).

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Figure 5.3.8 Studio walkway to gardens pre renovation. Photo used with permission of Brian Green.

Phase Two By 2017, we had moved along rapidly; our buildings were getting developed, and our gar‑ dens were starting to bear the fruits of the newly nurtured soil, but we had made no impact‑ ful social inroads into the neighbourhood. Enter Simon Mayson. Simon was enrolling at Witwatersrand University in Johannesburg for his Doctoral Thesis on Active Urban Changemaking and the Wellbeing Economy. Simon needed a base to set up an incubator – a place to operate from that was central to the area that he wanted to change. He needed 100 square metres, bandwidth, computers, and desks. My business partners and I were happy to donate the space, and Nando’s, co‑owned by the two families mentioned earlier,our new partners  –  donated computers, a private internet provider, Media Cloud, contributed bandwidth, and the Makers Valley Partnership was born. The Makers Valley Partnership,2 founded by Simon Mayson and now run by Thobile Chittenden, has been the heart of what VY is all about with regards to sustainability, and social engagement with the community and surrounding neighbourhoods. Makers Valley Partnership programmes incorporate projects that reach the neighbourhoods to the East of Johannesburg’s CBD and stretches from New Doornfontein to Bezuidenhout Valley 374

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and includes Bertrams, Judith’s Paarl, Troyeville, and Lorentzville. The name Makers Valley Part‑ nership refers to the growing presence and activities of many forms of creative entrepreneurism in the area. Being embedded in the neighbourhood, Makers Valley Partnership is helping these creatives bring about systemic change, highlighting the importance of a wellbeing economy.

Starting a School We started attracting altruistic individuals into VY, including Victoria Schnieder, who was initially involved with the Makers Valley Partnership and decided that VY needed to get kids off the street and start a school. She was fixing a puncture on her bicycle, and some kids asked her to repair their tyre. She responded by convincing them to fix it together, and so Timbuktu In The Valley was born. The school was to cater to the children of illegal immigrants, sex workers, and very com‑ promised residents from the area. Timbuktu In The Valley3 has battled with securing regular and institutional financing but has become an integral asset to VY and personifies what VY is all about. We are putting a proposal together with plans to include an Early Childhood Development centre that can accommodate 90 children and maintain the school that Victo‑ ria started for older children.

The Pandemic COVID‑19 had a dramatic effect on VY, putting huge pressure on the tenants that filled the spaces. The residents in the area also suffered, and the effects were tangible. Hunger and the inability to buy food were real problems. However, having an urban farm at VY allowed for the beginning of what would become The Peoples Pantry.4 This non‑profit organisation grew during COVID‑19 to provide thousands of people with food, setting up eight soup kitchens in the area and establishing a distribution hub. They raised awareness and managed to get food suppliers to provide stock approaching sell‑by‑date deadlines. As a result of COVID‑19, we had a sharp drop in tenancies and went from having 20‑plus artisanal disciplines to less than ten. The type of tenancy that picked up most dramatically was clothing manufacture, and we had no choice but to take on who we could at the time to keep VY sustainable. Victoria Yards has become a household name in Johannesburg and is getting international recognition with organisations like the Urban Land Institute, universities across the globe, and many visiting foreign governments and dignitaries, Anthony Blinken and Megan Mar‑ kle, to name two. Our belief and unwavering focus on what we aimed to accomplish were essential in achieving what many thought was impossible. The scale of the project and its positioning in a needy area were significant factors in getting the interest and the traction needed to make Victoria Yards work. The tenants and their will to form a cohesive community had very positive and overreaching effects inside and outside the walls of VY, ensuring its ultimate sustainability as a business and as an institution for the people. When you cross the threshold from the street and into Victoria Yards, you can feel the difference; if that feeling could spread back to the neighbourhoods surrounding us, we will ultimately achieve what we set out to do. The lives of the people in the area improve to the point that they are safe and secure and can afford to conduct their livelihoods with dignity. 375

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Lessons Learned 1 A bottom‑up approach is absolutely vital for the best outcome. Working with the neigh‑ bourhood and community your project sits within is essential to be successful. Practice listening skills at all times, and start your project by listening to the community that sur‑ rounds your project. While you work to understand the history of the neighbourhood, also work to understand the underlying environmental conditions of the place, and the environmental history. 2 Empirical knowledge should always be regarded. Listen, listen, listen to the neighbour‑ hood and to the team you are working with on the project – the best ideas can come from anyone. Don’t overthink, listen, collect info from all quarters, act! It’s important to get things done and quickly to show real change can happen to the naysayers in your neighbourhood. Do the best you can to have equitable outcomes through your work. 3 Lead by example to get the best support from your team. As the leader of your develop‑ ment, it’s important to mirror collaborative leadership skills, and promote an equitable practice and to show a clear desire for the right outcomes. Ask questions that drive the project towards a triple bottom line outcome – sustainable, equitable and successful.

Notes 1 www.waterforthefuture.co.za. 2 www.mayson.co.za and www.makersvalley.org. 3 www.timbuktuinthevalley.org. 4 www.thepeoplespantry.org.za.

Bibliography South African History Online (2024). ‘Johannesburg The Segregated City.’ South African History Online website. Available: https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/johannesburg‑segregated‑city [Ac‑ cessed: 14 March 2024].

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5.4 CASE STUDY How We Created the World’s First Publicly Accessible Art Storage Facility Winy Maas, transcribed and edited by Rory Stott

Writing this article in September 2023 makes it almost two years since the opening of the Depot Boijmans Van Beuningen in Rotterdam, and almost exactly ten years since we, my team at the architecture practice MVRDV and I, began designing the building. The depot is the world’s first fully publicly accessible art storage facility, safely storing the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen’s collection, as well as private collections, while giving visitors glimpses behind the scenes of the museum, and access to all 152,000 of the museum’s art‑ works (Figure 5.4.1). The creation of the depot required the hard work and brave risk‑taking of many people. Yet it was also the result of multiple complex histories which converged at one particular lo‑ cation and time. In this essay, I will explain how the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, the Municipality of Rotterdam, and MVRDV as designers took advantage of those converging histories to develop a building type that is the first of its kind, and how others could follow the depot’s example in creating similarly complex cultural projects.

How Rotterdam Built an Architecture Culture A famous photograph of Rotterdam (unknown photographer, 1940) shows a broad pano‑ rama, with the (then almost new) building of the Museum Boijmans on the right‑hand side; in the foreground, on a grassy meadow where Nieuwe Instituut is now located, hundreds of people take refuge. Behind them, almost the entire city is on fire, the sky above filled with smoke. Taken during the 1940 bombing of Rotterdam in the Second World War, it is a heart‑breaking picture for Dutch society, and especially for Rotterdam (Figure 5.4.2). Yet that photo and the event it depicts are also a kind of origin story for Rotterdam’s urban‑ ism. At the time, people escaped to that space next to the museum because it was one of the few large, empty spaces in the city. It was a series of meadows, made up of estates that had always been in this area between two neighborhoods where the center of Rotterdam meets the west of Rotterdam. 377

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-34

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Figure 5.4.1 The Depot Boijmans Van Beuningen in Rotterdam. Image © Ossip van Duivenbode.

The city, especially the city center, was almost completely leveled by the bombing. Sud‑ denly there was space, and lots of it. Just months after the bombing, the decision was already made not to rebuild the city the same as it was, but to build a modern city1: a city with metro 378

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Figure 5.4.2 Rotterdammers sheltering next to the Museum Boijmans during the bombing of Rot‑ terdam, May 14, 1940. Rotterdam City Archives, item NL‑RtSA_4029_PBK‑2005‑80.

lines, with cars rushing people anywhere they needed to go, with modern high rises – every‑ thing that was, at that time, the image of the future city. Since 1945, the ideal of the ‘future city’ has changed multiple times, as architects and ur‑ ban planners have discovered the negative side effects of earlier theories. In response to this evolving understanding, Rotterdam has given space for new ideas and new experiments, and that is expressed in the city’s urbanism. Every ten years, you see another wave going through the city as it continues its long rebuilding process. The first wave was very Corbusian, led by Huig Maaskant, who built dozens of buildings in the International Style all over the city. That was answered by more quaint structuralism, represented most strikingly by Piet Blom’s Cube Houses – a project which, in fact, was designed to form a pedestrian bridge across a busy road, in response to the car dependence that had been encouraged by the earlier mod‑ ernist period. After that point, the city went through postmodernism, and then on to concep‑ tualism, and then even to a kind of populism. Every epoch, every generation of architects, brings in another style and another set of theories. Whether by coincidence or as a result of a deliberate conceptual approach, now the city has a wonderful variety of notable build‑ ings. Yet despite the fact that these buildings are completely different, they often somehow pay their respects to the earlier works, trying to channel this variety into a cohesive urban landscape. I call this the ‘Rotterdam Architecture Collection.’ Some buildings in the collection are more profound than others, some try to hide, some are more eye‑catching, some are more experimental, some are big, others small. This idea was at the forefront of our minds when, as MVRDV, we started adding our own design objects to this Rotterdam collection, first with the Markthal and more recently with the depot. With the Markthal – a large market hall covered by an arch of city apartments – we made two huge windows at each end of the building. One of these windows frames the Cube Houses, so when you are inside the market hall, it encourages you to appreciate this famous piece of Rotterdam’s hyper‑eclecticism like a kind of painting. The strength and the beauty of Rotterdam lies in the idea that it is never finished. New and radically different elements can be added at any time. If there is one place in the world that revels in stylistic diversity for its architecture and its urbanism, more than anywhere else, it is Rotterdam. 379

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A History of a Question: What Is a Museum? The Museum Boijmans was established in the 1840s in Rotterdam following the donation of the art collection of Frans Jacob Otto Boijmans, a lawyer from Utrecht. From the very start, the museum was a fascinating example of collecting. In the 19th century, a relatively small group of elites – now known as the ‘harbor barons’ – made their fortunes through the growing Port of Rotterdam. This group, many of whom owned shipping companies, were given local political positions by Willem I of the Netherlands as the Dutch gained independence from Napoleon’s empire. Using a system of political marriage, these families held onto both political and commercial power well into the 20th century (Callahan, 1981). Like their industrialist counterparts in other parts of the world (think Andrew Carnegie and John Rockefeller) they saw themselves as patriarchs, responsible for the betterment of the citizenry. Hence, they had many positive and negative socio‑political impacts, including that they were often active patrons of cultural and social causes. Over the years they offered the Museum Boijmans a number of significant donations. In its first home, an old house in the city center known as the Schielandshuis, the museum hung all these works, covering all the available wall space like a cabinet of curiosities, or as we say in Dutch a ‘wunderkammer.’ In the early days, visitors therefore had a fantastic op‑ portunity to see an overview of the whole collection at once. By the 1930s, the museum had outgrown its home at the Schielandshuis, and the decision was made to construct a new, purpose‑built museum. Rotterdam’s city architect Ad van der Steur would design the building, and together with the director of the time Dirk Hannema, the goal for the new Museum Boijmans was a different type of experience: in the larger building, visitors would be able to contemplate artworks individually, in much better light, and without the cacophony of the wunderkammer approach. Another aspect of this more contemplative, relaxed experience was to set the museum in a park. Visitors could alternate between viewing art and viewing the surrounding nature, with the building designed to provide many resting areas to prevent art fatigue. In 1935, the Van der Steur building opened on the edge of a meadow, in the area between two neighborhoods where the center of Rotterdam meets the west of Rotterdam, and where just five years later it would become part of that famous photograph. The museum continued to grow. In 1958, Daniël George van Beuningen  –  quite possi‑ bly the most significant of all the harbor barons – donated his collection, and the Museum Boijmans became the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen. They received funding through sponsors and through the city to collect even more. By the 1960–1970s, they had acquired an enormously important collection, with examples covering everything from Hieronymous Bosch to Picasso and many more. It is very well chosen, I would say, and the citizens love it. Suitable for the city of architecture, the most famous work in the museum’s collection is The Tower of Babel by Bruegel. Yet, the consequence of the museum’s design and its ever‑growing collection – as well as the professionalization that accompanied these developments – was a significant change in how the museum is experienced. Even in a much larger building, there quickly came a point when the collection outgrew the available wall space. Therefore, while the 19th‑century museum was a site of collection, to see the richness of the cultural offering bequeathed by so many different actors, in the 20th century the museum became a site primarily of curation, 380

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a place to learn, to appreciate art, but not necessarily to see the full breadth of the cultural offering it houses.

The Museum Park Rotterdam is a place that has what we call in Dutch a ‘Calimero complex,’ named after a cartoon character who always feels that they are small, hurt, and treated unfairly. It is the second city syndrome. Next door is Amsterdam, which by comparison is bathing in wealth, offering its cultural treasures to mass tourism. Rotterdam has always longed for that rel‑ evance (and that income) but instead it is comparatively poor and working class. It is a port and it does not have many cultural offerings. ‘They are big and I is small, and that is not fair,’ as Calimero says. And so, Rotterdam is always eager to do things – or, as the city’s current marketing slogan says, to ‘make it happen.’ Usually, what ‘it’ is that we are making happen is not fully clear until after we are done. In the late 1980s, the city sought to improve its cultural standing by attracting art collec‑ tors and enthusiasts, as well as by encouraging more artists to come to the city by improving the opportunities here. With this ‘I’m small and you’re big’ attitude, they started to make changes. The ‘museum park’ was a type of cultural district that was emerging in other cities at the time, from Frankfurt to Philadelphia. The green meadow that was already home to Rot‑ terdam’s largest museum looked like an ideal opportunity, and so the necessary institutions were quickly arranged. The Museum of Natural History moved into the Villa Dijkzigt, the former home of the owners of the estate, in 1987. Two new pieces of the Rotterdam Collec‑ tion were built as bookends for the space, with the Kunsthal designed by Rem Koolhaas and his firm OMA opening in 1992, and the Netherlands Architecture Institute (NAi) designed by Jo Coenen in 1993. The latter would eventually merge with other design organizations and is now known as the Nieuwe Instituut (the New Institute). Finally, in 1993 the Chabot Museum opened in one of the modernist villas that had long been a part of the area, and after some years of restoration its neighbor, the Huis Sonneveld, eventually opened as a his‑ toric house museum. That moment of cultural investment in the area also called for a redesign of the public spaces. The city had densified around these meadows, and it was time for this in‑between character that the area had to be integrated into the city. At the time, I was working with OMA for Rem Koolhaas – in fact I worked on the landscape around the Kunsthal – and the design of the Museumpark itself also fell to the firm. At the time, I was the only landscape architect working for Rem. Strictly speaking, I was not registered as a landscape architect until 2020, but I trained in landscape before becom‑ ing an architect. So I joined the project team, along with Petra Blaisse, and we joined forces with Yves Brunier, who had previously worked with OMA, and who tragically died not long after I met him. They developed the concept of celebrating the pieces of that area, because it was not after all only a meadow; there was an old Byzantine church, there was the rose garden, a beautiful poplar lane that was part of an estate in the past. So it already had these garden‑esque jux‑ tapositions. It was very Rotterdam‑ish, in a way, with a collection of very different garden spaces just as the city has very different architecture. 381

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Yves, with Rem and Petra, developed this concept of a series of rooms, placed one after the other. Of course, with the position of the Kunsthal, they had to give the context, and that is what the design did, creating a procession of spaces or gardens between the bookends of the Kunsthal and the NAi. I already worked on the first context, the blue plaza around the Kunsthal with recycled cobblestones. Yves made a romantic garden, referring to the work of Mien Ruys – in a sense, his work here is very contemporary, looking into how to make the best melange of species that can live together. The glass bridge over this part was designed by Rem, along with Yves. Then there was the plaza, a sort of unprogrammed asphalt space for any kind of event, which people hated in the beginning because nothing was happening there. A parking garage was installed below it, and years later Rem painted the plaza with his barcode, an alternative design for the flag of Europe, which was a beautiful installation. Finally, by the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen and the NAi, Yves wanted a garden with apple trees. So I helped with the selection of the apple trees. Yves completed the design with white seashells, and painted the trunks white to protect from ants, and the result had an ethereal, poetic quality. I always called it the ‘front garden’ of the park. This part of the park is exactly the point where the depot is now located. The site has some issues: Rotterdam, famously, is below sea level. The soil beneath us is not really soil, it is peat. The groundwater level is extremely high, and water zips through the earth incredibly quickly. Underground water from all the surrounding areas passes below the northern end of the Museumpark on its way to the river, and it clashes against the park‑ ing garage that was installed underneath the plaza. With the soil so waterlogged, the apple trees did not grow. They were eventually replaced with gleditsias – a strange species in this location – and the soil was covered with white pebbles. But the water rose higher and higher. Later, clearing the site for the construction of the depot revealed that the roots couldn’t grow deeper than around 40 centimeters (16 inches). The trees were always doomed to die.

The Museum in the 21st Century The growth of the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen’s collection of course meant that the museum had to find storage space for everything that was not on display. By the early 2000s, the museum had a number of storage units throughout the city, but the largest was beneath the museum itself, in the basement. A basement in Rotterdam is, to put it lightly, a bad place to store a priceless art collec‑ tion. Rotterdam’s already‑challenging problems with groundwater are made worse by sea level rise, more storms, and the melting of snow in the alps, which sends more water down the Rhine. Here, the threat of climate change bubbles up from below our feet. All of these problems come together at the exact location at the center of this story – firstly because the Museumpark is at one of the lowest points of the city, and secondly because of the parking garage and the impact it had on the natural groundwater pathways. It is hardly a surprise, then, that the area flooded. In fact, in less than ten years, there were a to‑ tal of five floods that penetrated the basement of the museum and threatened the collections. The images from some of these floods made the news; a particularly upsetting image was of Sjarel Ex, the director of the museum, standing in bin‑liners as make‑shift boots with expensive art works just above the floodwaters. It was clear that a new storage facility was desperately needed. 382

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At the same time that all of this was taking place, Sjarel Ex was also interested in finding even more art, by acquiring it directly but also by a new approach to additional museum funding: inviting private collectors, from individuals to foundations to corporations that purchase art as an investment, to rent the museum’s storage spaces. There was therefore the threat of a different kind of flood – a flood of art for which they did not have room. By the time I got to know Sjarel – we did design work on the annual design exhibition for the museum – some of the collection had already been moved from the basement to a tem‑ porary facility on the edge of the city. He was already thinking about a permanent facility, one that would finally solve the flooding issue and also provide world‑class (rentable) art storage. At some point he mentioned to me that he needed to come up with a plan to store all his art, somewhere new. I said, ‘well, how much do you have to store?’ ‘Pretty soon 95 per cent of the collection will not be in the building,’ came his response. I thought, how can this be? This is art that, in many cases, was given to the museum for the public benefit. Yet at any given moment, only about 5% of it can actually be viewed by members of the public. I think I knew, from that conversation onwards, that Sjarel was con‑ sidering some kind of public storage facility.

Building Consensus Another factor in the decision for a public depot was the municipality. Sjarel wanted a stor‑ age facility nearby, close to the museum itself. It is one thing to make the collection inac‑ cessible to the public; it is another to make the collection less accessible to the museum staff themselves. A storage facility on the edge of the city results in curators and researchers who are less familiar with the more obscure pieces in the collection, and the quality of their in‑ vestigations suffers as a result. Not to mention, the museum’s staff was used to having easy access to a large portion of the collection in the basement. However, by this point, the meadow in between two neighborhoods was a distant mem‑ ory. The area around the museum was now more or less part of the city center, and we understood that it would not be in the city’s interests to give up space nearby, in the park, without some kind of return. Sjarel asked me to envision what a public depot would look like in different locations around the city, so that the public element was the compensation. He understood that saying it would be public is certainly a good thing, but that an archi‑ tectural and urbanistic approach was required to mediate between the city, the open public space, and the closed character of a storage facility. We developed a number of different thoughts and situations, a kind of sketchbook of ideas. Using old buildings, making new buildings, all while making a rough estimation of the brief in order to understand how big it would be. After showing ideas in both the north and the south of Rotterdam, we started to focus in on spaces around the Museumpark. When Sjarel approached the municipality, he presented them with a basic version of a depot, an anonymous box on the edge of the city which the museum had estimated at a cost of 50 million Euros. He also presented them with our sketchbook of ideas. They were intrigued, but not fully convinced, so they made a deal: they could only offer the 50 million Euros needed for a basic facility, but if the museum could somehow raise the extra money required for a public depot, then they could give it some land in the Museumpark. 383

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So we developed a campaign to get people engaged in the idea, presenting a table‑like design that had emerged as the most popular of the ideas we had developed earlier. We had a 1:10 scale model built, 5 meters (17 feet) high, big enough for people to walk through and gather underneath. It was populated by dozens of puppet figures to show the scale, and it had art coming down from the roof. We took it to various art fairs. The one that really made the biggest impression was the KunstRAI fair in Amsterdam, because it attracted gallerists and foundations who wanted to join the initiative (Figure 5.4.3).

Figure 5.4.3 Sjarel Ex talks to an assembled crowd next to a 1:10 model of the table‑like initial proposal for the depot at the KunstRAI in Amsterdam, 2008. Image © MVRDV.

From that fair, the proposal made the news in the Netherlands. Then, Sjarel Ex received an unannounced visitor at his office. The visitor turned out to be Martijn van der Vorm, who was setting up the De Verre Bergen foundation (he would later also create the Droom en Daad Foundation) with the aim of investing in and strengthening social and cultural causes in Rotterdam. Van der Vorm placed a copy of the NRC (one of the Netherlands’ largest newspapers) on the desk, showing the article about the installation at the KunstRAI fair, and asked how much money the museum needed. From that moment, the De Verre Bergen foundation contributed the vast majority of the additional funding needed.

The Brief As it turns out, 95% is a fairly typical amount of a collection for a museum to have in storage. An astonishing amount of art in museums’ collections remains hidden from the public eye.

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As we began the project there had already been some overtures made toward the idea of ‘open’ or ‘visible’ storage. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City opened some of these kinds of storage spaces in spaces between their main gallery as early as the 1980s. Similarly, in the 1990s, the Victoria & Albert Museum in London created a small open stor‑ age for its ceramics collection, on the floor above the main ceramics galleries. However, both of these are relatively smaller in scope than what the Boijmans was considering, covering only a small section of their (admittedly huge) collections, and being incorporated into the existing museum buildings. The closest thing to the Depot Boijmans Van Beuningen which existed previously was the Schaulager in Basel, Switzerland, which opened in 2003 just a few years before we started investigating the idea. Designed by Herzog and de Meuron, it is a purpose‑built facility that stores the entire collection of the Emanuel Hoffmann Foundation. However, the collection is significantly smaller than that of the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, and its opening times are much more limited. It is targeted primarily at specialists, with just an annual exhi‑ bition event where they invite the public in. The depot was therefore going to be the first purpose‑built facility housing an entire muse‑ um’s collection (and the collections of others), which would be accessible to the general pub‑ lic year‑round. The technical brief, which outlines the requirements for the building’s design, was essentially the first of its kind, and a significant research project into how such a thing could be done. ToornendPartners was brought on board to study different archive buildings around the world. They collected all the technical information needed – the humidity, lumi‑ nosity, temperature, size, and so on for every type of item. That led to space requirements that were applied to the existing collections, and also to the estimated future collections. The resulting program defined how many spaces were required, how big these spaces each needed to be, and what the temperature, light, and humidity requirements were for each one. It also defined how many visitors each space could have per hour, because of course any per‑ son entering the space will breathe, they will sweat, and that can change the humidity. You have to ensure these humidity changes can be equalized in a minimal timeframe. In the end, there were five different climate zones, for metal, plastic, organic/inorganic, black‑and‑white and color photography. Besides the atmospheric conditions, there were many other considerations, such as how to load and unload the artworks, and the security requirements. That applies to protecting the artworks from unruly visitors, but also the security for the building as a whole. As it was in the late 2000s, there were many concerns about terrorism at that time. I think it was possibly the thickest technical brief for a building I have ever dealt with. Also, I would say, it stands as a useful piece of research – it is now essentially the standard if you want to build a public art storage facility. It took two years, I believe, to do all that research, and now all of the requirements are detailed in this brief. The other side of the brief was more familiar, which was the zoning plan. The municipal‑ ity made the decision that it could not go on the plaza, but instead in the ‘front garden.’ They also determined that it should be a separate building, not an extension of the existing museum, which already caused a debate, especially among landscape architects. The idea of removing a part of the park and replacing it with a building of any kind was controversial (Figure 5.4.4).

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Figure 5.4.4 The municipality’s zoning plan placed the depot on the ‘front garden’ of the Muse‑ umPark, not the plaza, as we had anticipated in our early design ideas. Image © Ossip van Duivenbode.

The next stage was the organization of a competition, since any building project involving 50 million Euros of public money has to be selected through an open and fair process. All the study documents were shared with all the participants, ensuring that we did not have any prior knowledge that others did not. By doing so, we were allowed to enter the competition as part of an open procedure.

The Competition Design When it came time to do the competition design, we first tested the table idea which we had exhibited at the KunstRAI on the new site, simply moving it to the adjacent part of the Museumpark. It became obvious quite quickly, though, that it could not work on that spe‑ cific site. The table top part of the design had huge spans, and the table legs needed massive foundations, and to load and unload the art, a large underground space was required. In the end, it was simply too costly. So we had to completely change the concept for the competition. We really went back to the beginning, taking as our new starting point four challenges. Firstly, only a compact building was possible given the budget. Secondly, because of the hydrology of the site, we did not want to design anything that required building underground, and in fact decided that no art should be kept on the ground floor, only above, just in case. Third, because of all 386

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the technical requirements regarding light and humidity, as well as concerns over security, we knew it had to be a closed box, with massive thick walls and almost no windows. And finally, because of the importance of the location and the concerns people had over placing a building there at all, we knew it had to be a generous design: a building that gives back to the park, to the city, and to the people (Figure 5.4.5).

Figure 5.4.5 The depot’s bowl‑like shape and mirrored façade present a reflection of the park, the surrounding museum buildings, and the city. Image © Ossip van Duivenbode.

We agonized over what shape the building could take. We tried dozens of options, from sim‑ ple boxes to buildings that stepped in terraces in all kinds of configurations. At some point, we had a model with a cube to show the mass needed for the required program. I was look‑ ing around for a rounder object, so that the park would flow around the building. Perhaps partly in frustration, I picked up a coffee cup and placed it on the model. Yet it turned out to be just what we needed. Its round shape sits within the park, and draws people around the corner of the museum into the park, rather than creating a boundary at the edge of the park. Since it doesn’t have a front and a back it relates to all the buildings around it. It does not say that the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen is more important than the Kunsthal, or that the 387

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Nieuwe Instituut is better than the hospital – it faces them all. We saw that when the lower floors are narrower, we could keep as much garden as possible, and we would have a mini‑ mal impact on the groundwater, with foundation piles concentrated in one place. And with the wider roof, we could make a larger garden on top, compensating the loss of park space. After that, I looked to other bowl‑shaped objects for inspiration. Looking at the reflec‑ tions of a metal bowl sparked the idea to cover the façade in mirrors. This reflection does a number of things. Firstly, it enlivens a façade which, as mentioned, is mostly closed. Sec‑ ondly, it ‘enlarges’ the park – you can look up and see yourself, see the plaza with all of its activities, and which can now become a canvas for art that you see via reflection, and you see the various ‘rooms’ of the Museumpark quite clearly. Lastly, above that you can see the city, with the whole panorama compressed into one image. The building becomes a kind of center point of Rotterdam’s urbanism. It adds a new piece to the Rotterdam collection, while somehow summarizing and displaying the others (Figure 5.4.6).

Figure 5.4.6 From the atrium at the heart of the depot, visitors are surrounded by artworks. Image © Ossip van Duivenbode.

At the same time as determining the building’s outward appearance, we had to solve the contradiction of an ‘open’ depot. How could we open a building which was required to be essentially impenetrable on the outside? We approached this by turning it inside out; the 388

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building has a spectacular atrium rising up through its center, and the storage spaces open completely to this central space. There are grand, criss‑crossing staircases reminiscent of Escher2 or Piranesi3; on each level, there are wide galleries, like streets, and every storage space has a kind of ‘address’ on this street next to the entrance, as well as windows that give a glimpse of what’s inside. Then we added glass elevators in this atrium, and proposed to display a constantly changing selection of items from the collection at various points around the atrium. Our hope was that when a visitor is in the atrium, no matter where they stand and no matter where they look, they would see artworks – from the front as well as the back, from above and below. I always like to compare the internal concept to the idealized design for a prison, the panopticon,4 but instead of detaining people it secures art. The outside is solid and impassable, but from this special position at the heart of the design, you can get a total overview. Of course, with 152,000 items, nobody could literally take in the whole collection at once, but our idea was to bring back the cacophony, the at‑ mosphere of the wunderkammer, that had characterized the museum in the 19th century (Figure 5.4.7).

Figure 5.4.7 With the top of the building being wider than the base, the roof of the depot more than compensates for the area of the park that the building occupies. Image © Ossip van Duivenbode.

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In addition to the atrium, we also opened the roof, reintegrating it as part of the park by adding a restaurant and planting trees. The garden is planted with birches and pines, mak‑ ing a floating forest on the building and solidifying the building’s nickname: in Dutch, ‘de pot’ can refer to a flower pot, and it did not take Rotterdammers long to think of this pun. The trees were grown for three years in a nursery, where their roots were trained to grow outwards instead of downwards, and they are planted in a layer of soil 1.2 meters (4 feets) thick. Curved glass screens around the edge of the roof protect the forest from the winds, and the pavilion is shaped like a cross to form pockets that are free from wind.

A Collection of Collections With that design, we won the competition. Then as we worked on it further, and as we began to build it, an interesting thing happened: the building became a platform for all sorts of artistic collaborations, showcasing the work of many different artists and designers. In the restaurant on the top floor, there is the interior design of Concrete, an interior de‑ sign firm from Amsterdam, who made an ingenious concept with long wooden tables that fold up to become small partitions at the side of the room, so the space can be a restaurant with tables or a large open space for events. On the levels below, we wanted the depot spaces to be neutral and functional, with a lot of gray and glass, so the warmth of the wood here really stands out. The rooftop forest was developed by MTD Landscape Architects. The lobby was designed by John Körmeling, who even opened up more windows to the fa‑ cility spaces on the ground floor. He added colored fluorescent lights and a mezzanine level with a yellow floor, which again adds another layer of character when compared to the main part of the depot. In the atrium, we joined with the designer Marieke van Diemen to create 13 glass vitrines to display selected items, as we had envisaged. These vitrines really helped to fulfill our vision of being surrounded by art in the atrium, no matter where you look. The most pronounced of these collaborations is probably the canvas outside. This idea is suggested by the architecture to some extent. At a certain point, we started to make images to suggest what could be done with this mirrored building, so for example there is a yearly parade in Rotterdam, and we showed that you could see the whole parade in the mirror. So I said to Sjarel, ‘if you project something on the floor, use it as a canvas, it will be experienced not just as a flat image on the ground – you will experience it three dimensionally.’ Sjarel managed to raise a little extra money so that we could do this near the main en‑ trance, and he suggested the name of Pipilotti Rist to do the first light installation. She was a wonderful choice, because one of the motifs that appear a lot in her work is flowers. She made these changing, abstract, flower‑like projections and with the reflection, the plaza turns into this almost ‘Alice‑in‑Wonderland’ kind of space. It is very popular with children, who love to run and jump from flower to flower as the projection changes. Now, every even‑ ing, this light show gives people a reason to gather even after it gets dark; the life of the park continues (Figure 5.4.8). So, in every possible way now, the building is a celebration of the work of others in the European art and design worlds. It is almost obsessed with the idea of collecting, and of the concept of the collection. Of course, it harbors a collection of 152,000 artworks and pre‑ sents them in a way that you really feel the scale and the breadth of this collection. It creates opportunities for more work to be created, where these new works engage in a dialogue 390

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Figure 5.4.8 The light installation by Pipilotti Rist is experienced three‑dimensionally, thanks to the reflection in the building’s façade. Image © Ossip van Duivenbode.

with the building itself. Last but not least, it celebrates the Rotterdam Architecture Collec‑ tion, giving a way for people to admire the idiosyncratic architecture of this city all in one place – even while it has become a part of that collection.

Regrets, but Just a Few I am proud to say that the Depot Boijmans Van Beuningen is a success.5 That does not mean that it is perfect, or that there are not certain things we learned during the process. The roof‑ top park and restaurant have limited hours, and we envisioned a ground‑floor café which never materialized. When it comes to the experience inside the depot, I was pleased to see that the initial guided tour was quickly increased to three different tours, giving people much more choice over what they see. Yet on these tours, the freedom to explore is lacking a little. The chal‑ lenge is that increasing this freedom would require more security staff, more than was budg‑ eted in the initial brief. One way around these challenges would be to improve the website and the communication around the possibilities of the depot. If people could investigate the full collection online, they can have a much clearer idea of what they want to see. 391

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The Next Depot All this leads to a final question: if I were to design another public art storage facility, would I do it the same? It may surprise some, but the answer to that question is a resounding no. In architecture, we have two closely related terms: type and typology. The word type refers to the function of a building, for example a school, while typology refers to the architectural arrangement, so for example you might arrange a school’s classrooms around a courtyard or on a corridor. The depot is, if you include the Schaulager, only the second building of its type, and it is already the second typology that has been tested. I think there are more typologies in this space, and if more institutions want to make their own open storage, it should be an opportunity to try something new, to see more concepts come up. Even if you go back to our initial depot design, with the table, there you see an‑ other concept, the machine that shows you whatever you want to see, artwork coming to you with the touch of a button. The question that the depot raises will become even more relevant in the coming years, as we become increasingly sensitive about preserving our heritage, and as museum collections grow sometimes into millions of objects. How do we store things? How do we emphasize that storage in a way that nothing gets forgotten? From hyper‑neutral, to super‑scientific, to completely random, to extremely eclectic. There are endless ways we could do it – let us test them all, in every city another way.

Lessons Learned • Commit to good architecture: Designing a building which balances being closed and secure while also being open and welcoming, and which is functional for museum staff while being hospitable to visitors is, by nature, a complex architectural challenge. There is more than one way to do it, and most of those ways are necessarily untested. To make it possible, the architectural ambition has to be high, and the ability of the team – not just the architects, but their collaborating engineers and other consultants – has to be world‑class. • Respect the city and its people: Part of the ‘selling point’ of an open storage building is to give the public access to collections that metaphorically – and in some cases liter‑ ally – ‘belong’ to them. The fact that the trade‑off for this public benefit is typically pub‑ lic money, treasured urban spaces, or both, can cause doubt for some people. In order to convince the public of the project’s benevolent intentions, the design must exhibit a deep respect and admiration for the place it is built. If local residents understand that the building somehow reflects their city’s character, they are more likely to appreciate it as a public good. • Embrace (a little) controversy: The above point notwithstanding, you can never please everyone. A design that does not draw any criticism usually does so by being so bland that it is completely unremarkable. In awarding the Depot Boijmans Van Beuningen, the 2022 Rotterdam Marketing Award, the jury specifically mentioned the architectural de‑ sign as a factor that allowed them to attract visitors. Partly by being bold enough to be the subject of some debate, the depot became a success for the museum. • How you open the archives affects your budget: More than one way exists to provide access to a museum’s archives. The depot combines toured access to get up‑close and 392

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personal with the archives themselves, and a ‘panopticon’ approach to give people a glimpse at the entire collection. The benefit of this combination is it allowed a compact form that was possible within the museum’s budget. Conversely, when we made the ear‑ lier table‑like design, we envisaged a project that could give access to artworks almost like a vending machine. This building would have required a larger, more complex struc‑ ture, and thus a higher budget. Unlike a traditional museum building, not only does the budget affect the project’s size and appearance, but it can also fundamentally affect how people experience and interact with the artworks contained within. • A digital platform is a necessary tool: Even with complete access to a collection, the scale of many museum collections can be paralyzing for many people. How do you go about finding things that capture your interest in a selection of hundreds of thousands of works? One thing that can help, and which the Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen is still improv‑ ing, is a digital platform that can aid with discovery. Once that digital platform is suffi‑ ciently robust, it needs to be effectively communicated so that people can make use of it. Commit to openness in every possible way: As mentioned, the depot could become more successful by increasing the building’s offering as a hang‑out spot, so visitors could enter for reasons other than the artwork, only later to find themselves curious enough to investigate further. Meanwhile, more freedom to explore the collection during the tours could give a greater incentive for repeat visits. Both of these present logistical (and thus also budgetary) challenges, but solving these problems could allow the building to reach its true potential in terms of a public offering.

Notes 1 This was the accumulated result of a number of individual decisions: first, by Gerrit van Poelje, secretary general of the Department of Education, Arts, and Sciences, whose letter to the Mayor on May 21, 1940 condemned 144 damaged but repairable buildings to demolition, and by war‑ time general Henri Winkelman, whose decrees of May 21 and 24 expropriated the private land in the city center. These three documents were intended to clear the path for WG Witteveen, head of the Department of Urban Expansion and Buildings, who on June 21 presented a plan that would widen a number of key traffic routes into broad ‘parkways,’ but which otherwise adhered closely to the city’s pre‑war street layout. The final nail in the coffin of the old city came some five years later: amid ongoing criticism that his plan was not innovative enough, Witteveen resigned in 1945, and his former assistant Cornelis van Traa developed the ‘Basic Plan,’ which discarded most of the city’s historic street layout in favor of a modernist approach to both urbanism and architecture. The Basic Plan remained the city’s main reconstruction document until 1970. 2 Dutch artist M.C. Escher created a number of works based on staircases and perspective illusions, most famously Relativity (1953) and House of Stairs (1951). 3 Giovanni Battista Piranesi’s series of etchings from 1750, Carceri d’invenzione (Imaginary Pris‑ ons), envisioned cavernous spaces criss‑crossed by stairs, walkways, and bridges. 4 In 1791, philosopher and social theorist Jeremy Bentham presented his idea for the Panopticon, a type of prison in which the guards can observe all of the inmates from their position at the center of the prison’s circular plan. 5 Among the markers of success: In its first full year open, the depot was visited by over 250,000 people. It has received ten architectural awards, as well as the 2022 Rotterdam Marketing Award. It has also become a mainstay of Rotterdam’s promotion, appearing regularly in tourism advertise‑ ments. Before the building was even opened, the depot was one of seven buildings highlighted in the promotion of the Eurovision Song Contest when the event was hosted by Rotterdam in 2021.

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Bibliography Unknown photographer, Rotterdammers die gevlucht zijn voor het bombardement op het centrum van Rotterdam, verzamelen zich op het Land van Hoboken bij Museum Boijmans (Rotterdam‑ mers who fled the bombing of the center of Rotterdam gather on the Land van Hoboken at Mu‑ seum Boijmans), 1940. Rotterdam City Archives, item NL‑RtSA_4029_PBK‑2005–80. Callahan, Maureen, The harbor barons: political and commercial elites and the development of the port of Rotterdam, 1824–1892 (Princeton University, 1981).

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5.5 PRACTICING IN PUBLIC1 Jane Golden

Origins Since I started making art as a child, I have held closely to my personal love of creating big images, and my belief in the power of art to explore and visualize our shared histories, val‑ ues, and aspirations for change. I was also particularly taken with the Mexican muralists (José Clemente Orozco, Diego Rivera, and David Alfaro Siqueiros) and the products of the Works Progress Administration.2 Moreover, I had absorbed the notion that murals could contribute to the creation of formal and informal ways to share our experiences and wisdom and, sometimes, even come to a community‑wide process of “truth and reconciliation.” These strongly held beliefs set me on a dual course of ambitions, neither of which I was inclined to abandon despite multiple contraindications. With a major in fine arts and a minor in political science in college, I found my way post‑graduation to Los Angeles (LA) to explore my options. There I found myself in a city landscape illustrated by hundreds of murals. I was eager to paint so I connected with LA’s Social and Public Art Resource Center (SPARC) and was honored to work with activist‑artist Judy Baca who became a forma‑ tive influence in my life. For several years I had a deep dive into LA as a public art labora‑ tory taking part in ideation, negotiation, collaboration, logistics, and large‑scale production. I also had the opportunity to work with brilliant artists whose technical skills, artistic vision, and friendship would prove transformational for me and later for Philadelphia’s reputation as a “city of murals.” My ambitions as both a public artist and public servant were scuttled in 1983 when I had to return to the East Coast for treatment of lupus. Fortunately, despite that challenge, I was not dissuaded for long from painting or working in communities. I was hired in 1984 to run a small summer program, created under Mayor W. Wilson Goode’s Philadelphia Anti‑Graffiti Network (PAGN). Graffiti had been rampant in many American cities since the late 1960s and it was a particularly pervasive feature along highways and transit cor‑ ridors throughout Philadelphia. Mayor Goode identified graffiti as evidence of decay and a major impediment to the city’s economic recovery. I was hired to teach art skills to a group 395

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-35

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of graffiti writers who had agreed to abandon their spray cans in favor of part‑time employ‑ ment, scrubbing out graffiti and personal support in the development of their own graphic design and painting portfolios.

Early Community Encounters My introduction to the Philadelphia Anti‑Graffiti Network (PAGN) was one of the most transformational experiences of my life. Almost everything about those early months and years was visible in the treasured sketchbooks of the young people and in conversations I had with them about the artists they loved (Mark Rothko, Romare Beardon, Picasso). With all of our enthusiasm, the first six‑week summer program for PAGN was extended to a year‑round calendar. The expansion of the program was thrilling to me as my desire to work with young people and to work in communities across the city grew exponentially during the year I had worked part‑time. I was new to Philadelphia in those early years so I relied on a crew of formal and in‑ formal “community organizers” from PAGN who knew first‑hand the city’s history and street culture. They helped to make introductions for us and cautioned us to listen, to be open‑minded, to be curious and, most importantly, to be respectful. This approach proved critical in working with the former writers, but also with community members whom we approached about creating murals in their neighborhoods. After all, they were at the heart of our earliest social contracts with Philadelphians. Those experiences were a crash course in how to: (1) engage city agencies to collaborate with us, (2) negotiate the quid pro quo, helping us to form allegiances and friendships, and (3) to gradually prove the real value of murals in the eyes of citizens. Those early relation‑ ships also proved important to elected city leaders, eventually putting government to work on behalf of community public art. We learned to construct a variety of adaptable three‑ legged stools to support our work over those early years. Our first murals were the fruits of spending time, sharing food, and holding open‑ended conversations in people’s homes, churches, and social organizations. We talked about how city services were being delivered, the effect of empty and decaying row houses on many blocks, the need to improve education for youth, the drug epidemic, and, yes, graffiti. We relied on listening deeply and our collective design skills to deliver art as a city service. In the Latino communities around Norris Square, we built a village of support around the murals and found that beauty had power, especially when the imagery came from the residents. Be‑ tween 1988 and 2002 a number of powerful images honoring Latinx culture and landscapes were painted. Sadly, many are now gone, but landscape remains a leitmotif in Latino and Caribbean neighborhoods, and it has given birth to many murals about nature and other public art projects that survive to this day (Figure 5.5.1). By way of example, after working with the Norris Square communities, we started to connect with more artists and provide them opportunities to merge their ideas and those of the community. A perfect example of this is the work by Ana Uribe. Her exuberant Tropical Landscape with Waterfall burst across North 5th Street to create an enveloping panorama. While not from Puerto Rico, Ana Uribe was a child of the Caribbean, and she empathized with the warmth and color of her own homeland. So much so that she managed to persuade two neighbors to share the mural in a visible gesture of generosity and community. This 396

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Figure 5.5.1  Tropical Landscape with Waterfall © 1999 City of Philadelphia Mural Arts Program/ Ana Uribe. 1920 North 5th Street. Photo by Jack Ramsdale.

mural, that visually crossed North 5th Street in its early years, has since lost its companion image to demolition but it was neither the first nor the only time that a single community conversation around a mural proposal expanded beyond one wall to capture neighbors’ full enthusiasm for, and understanding of, the subject matter.

Making the Case with the City We believed that public art could inspire, challenge, educate, and interpret history, but we also had an obligation to establish trusting relationships. In those early years that meant using and stretching the very modest city funds in the service of the youth with whom we were working, educating city council members about the work, and building a small corps of local artists who shared my belief in the power of public art. Within four years of the creation of the PAGN, we had begun to hit our stride. Suddenly, across the city, more people wanted murals and more young people wanted to sign up for PAGN. We were eager for more challenges, and one came our way (Figure 5.5.2). If there was a transformational moment in those early years of PAGN it was the oppor‑ tunity to paint our “Dr. J” mural in 1990. Our ambitions, both for the quality of the work and its potential to expand our capacity, meant that we wanted to work with an artist with a national reputation in the United States. Our young artists had been studying the work of LA muralist Kent Twitchell, and suddenly, we had an opportunity to apply for our first grant 397

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Figure 5.5.2 Dr. J © 1990 City of Philadelphia Mural Arts Program/Kent Twitchell. 1234 Ridge Avenue. Photo by Jack Ramsdale.

from the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts.3 Twitchell was, and is, a first‑rate painter and technician who could handle heroic scale and contemporary subject matter. Luckily, he was also one of my primary mentors in Los Angeles and was eager to paint a major basketball figure. Philly had just what the artist needed, the most valuable player in both the American Basketball and National Basketball Associations, the 76ers’ Julius Erving, best known as Dr. J For this project, Twitchell proposed a vertical mural at a highly visible site that por‑ trayed Erving not as just the 76ers’ team leader but as a self‑assured symbol of Philadelphia’s potential. Fortunately, once again, I had learned to respect the wisdom of someone who had already “primed” walls and I accepted Twitchell’s generous offer to paint Dr. J for the very modest 398

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honorarium we offered. This mural is iconic. To this day, Dr. J towers over Ridge Avenue, a major thoroughfare that extends from the far northwest of the city across Philadelphia’s grid of north–south, east–west streets to the banks of the Delaware near central Philadel‑ phia. It is still a source of pride for kids and adults – long‑time residents and recent immi‑ grants. That very modest grant we received from the Pennsylvania Council on the Arts for Twitchell’s honorarium returned a bonus many times over, in terms of expanding our reach and proving our value to the city. It reminded us that, as anxious as I was about the reach of that project, we had to take the risk to be able to grow. The 1990s in Philadelphia were a productive decade for us until Anti‑Graffiti closed in 1996. I was going to go to law school but was encouraged by my brother in 1997 to talk to the then Mayor, Ed Rendell. Thankfully the Mayor admired our work and liked the idea we proposed – that Philadelphia could be the potential home of a community‑based pub‑ lic art program. I was thrilled. I did not expect the level of support I received in Rendell’s endorsement. We gradually built new relationships within government and changed our name from the negative “anti‑graffiti” and we became the pro Mural Arts Program. By 1998, we had an organizational home within city government (the Department of Recreation) and modest financial support. We also had a visionary boss, Commissioner Michael DiBerardinis, and we were in a position, for the first time, to plan and not just react. DiBerardinis saw our value in expanding the ambitions of his department and he provided us with invaluable au‑ tonomy and support. He also allowed us to create a discrete not‑for‑profit, the Philadelphia Mural Arts Advocates, that allowed us to raise funds for expansion of our mural mandate. We hired, for the first time in years, two employees to manage our growing youth audiences. As our ambition grew to work with more young people (not just graffiti writers) and more artists, we went on a mission to raise additional funds, using city dollars as leverage. Our third, and, at the time, the most complex area of practice for Mural Arts came in 2000 with an initiative that took us into more city departments and eventually, into state and local prisons. With the beginning of Mayor John Street’s administration in 2000, our lives would change again. Street was a Mayor fiercely devoted to young people and communities and he believed in our work. His Director of Social Services, Estelle Richmond, believed deeply that there should be an integrated model of city government. She thought about all the ways we work as a city, in silos, and she wanted to see change happen. She also believed in the power of art and eventually she made us part of the Division of Social Services. Estelle was visionary and ahead of her time. Today we talk about socially engaged art and art and social practice. Es‑ telle saw how art could be integrated into the ways that big city departments, such as public safety, economic development, sanitation, and transit, carry out their mandate. She opened the door for us to work with every department in the social services division. While it was not a streamlined process, we began to realize the extraordinary variety of sources for ideas, if not the resources, to respond to all departments and their goals and vi‑ sion. We suddenly saw ourselves not just in terms of an arts program, but as an agency that was highly pragmatic, taking on many critical issues that consumed our city’s leaders. At the same time, we began to expand our artist teams with the new skills we needed to be responsive to a diversifying public – city departments, more local artists, funders, and a city administration that increasingly focused on neighborhoods. 399

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As we grew, we had to learn – how to ask questions in ways that would keep us honest, effective, and purposeful. We had started relationships that were important to our growing constituencies, and we could not just finish a project and move on. We had made promises to the young people we served and the artists we had hired. As a public/private entity, we at Mural Arts had to find ways to keep the conversations and relationships going, useful and generative. So, to that end, we began to build out new program areas to support our new communities and their needs: Art Education, and our Porch Light program, a partnership with the Department of Human Services, and Community Murals (Figure 5.5.3).

Figure 5.5.3  Healing Walls, The Inmates’ Journey © 2004 City of Philadelphia Mural Arts Program/ Parris Stancell & Cesar Viveros. 3049 Germantown Avenue. Photo by Jack Ramsdale.

Working in New Communities In 2004, we completed two murals in a partnership among inmate‑artists at the State ­Correctional State Correctional Institution at Graterford, Victims of Crime, and Victim’s Ad‑ vocates, Cesar Viveros and Parris Stancell’s Healing Walls murals depict the struggles of both victims and those imprisoned to change patterns of crime within their communities and them‑ selves. Originally conceived as a single mural created by victims and inmates, the two groups found it impossible to unite over a single, unified design. Ultimately, distinct but related 400

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images were created adjacent to one another, inspiring a two‑part documentary, Concrete, Steel and Paint by filmmakers Tony Heriza and Cindy Burnstein, that followed the conversa‑ tions within and across the groups. The multiple challenges met in this difficult project and our efforts to resolve them proved to be one of the most important milestones in Mural Arts’ history and launched the creation of a third program division: Restorative Justice.

Building Out Organizational Structure and Resources

Figure 5.5.4  Philly Painting © 2012 City of Philadelphia Mural Arts Program/Jeroen Koolhaas & Dre Urhahn. 2500–2800 Germantown Avenue. Photo by Steve Weinik.

Beyond the early fundamental and logistical challenges in Mural Arts work, there is a longer list of tasks that grows less predictable and more complex over time. There came a point, 25 years into our practice, when we could not resist the opportunity to test everything we knew – and more (Figure 5.5.4). As was described in our 2014 book, Mural Arts@30 on Philly Painting, In 2010, the Philadelphia Mural Arts Program launched an experimental process and product of unprecedented scale. Along the commercial corridor where Germantown and Lehigh Avenues meet in North Philadelphia, and over the course of 18 months of planning, preparation and production, with the political leadership of City Council President Darrell Clarke, 51 commercial storefronts along three blocks were visually 401

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unified by a bold and complex design of interwoven colors and patterns… as store own‑ ers collaborated with one another, with Mural Arts staff and with Jeroen Koolhaas & Dre Urhahn, the two Dutch artists took up residence and set up their own storefront studio nearby…The artists spent months getting to know neighbors and photographing colors that appeared in building materials, ornaments, and street furniture to develop their complicated palette. Meanwhile, Mural Arts’ in‑house project team worked tirelessly with business owners to confirm leases and deeds, negotiate authorizations, color selections and coordination and survey buildings for needed repairs. Mural Arts also hired local residents to complete facade repairs and trained a crew of 16 local youth to execute the ambitious design with the artists and muralists, learning how to negotiate the lifts and give tours of the project to visitors. Jeroen Koolhaas & Dre Urhahn also produced ten videos on Vimeo to document the intro‑ ductions, the interactions and the art – a project within the larger effort that had heretofore not been attempted. In the weeks leading up to the project dedication, we also scheduled tours of Ger‑ mantown Avenue, led by a particularly charismatic youth crew member, which included information about the history of the community, its efforts at recovery and the interna‑ tional work of the artists. For virtually everyone who was involved, from politicians to Mural Arts and City Council staff, to local contractors and youth, everyone agreed that it was probably the hardest thing they had ever done – certainly in terms of socially en‑ gaged public art. It clearly stretched organizational capacity, tested the limits of design to compensate for years of disinvestment and social divisions, raised the expectations of the youth who learned a whole new set of team building and technical skills, and left Mural Arts with a lengthy chart of lessons learned, and cautionary tales of what not to try again, such as human resource management, team building and continuity, real es‑ tate issues between owners and tenants, working with the ambitions of internationally known artists, building on the skills of the marketing, curatorial, and technical crews, managing the expectations of funders, politicians, neighbors and, last but not least, the financial challenge of keeping up the appearances of the small, ever changing businesses of Germantown Avenue.4

Growing into New and Complex Communities One of the most enduring relationships Mural Arts has invested in is with the city’s Depart‑ ment of Behavioral Health (DBH) and Intellectual disAbility Services (DBHIDS). We call it our Porch Light program where we work with people struggling with housing insecurity, substance use and abuse, trauma and mental health issues, and the challenges of being refu‑ gees or new immigrants. After previous projects with DBH that sought to work with veterans returning from the United States–Iraq war, reducing tensions between newly arrived Africans and a longstand‑ ing African American communities, we were asked to consider ways in which we could col‑ laborate with Lutheran Children and Family Services and Nationalities Service Center in the department’s efforts to welcome new refugees from Burma and Bhutan into Southeast Phila‑ delphia, a neighborhood that had earlier welcomed Vietnamese, Cambodian and ­Indonesian immigrants and refugees. 402

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Beginning in 2012, Shira Walinsky, muralist and social practice instructor in the Fine Arts Department at the University of Pennsylvania worked with Melissa Fogg, formerly Coordi‑ nator for the Philadelphia Refugee Mental Health Collaborative to provide a range of social services to women and children of the Karen, Chin and Shan tribes. Walinsky created a long‑term residency  –  initially two years  –  in a storefront on South 7th Street, “announc‑ ing” their presence in the community with services that included resettlement activities like after‑school homework help for children and English as a Second Language classes that ul‑ timately served both students and their parents who were also learning to navigate the city’s public transit, public schools and other unfamiliar institutions. Gradually, Walinsky would design modest murals on nearby buildings, consulting with the women in the community on colors and patterns, and adding weaving to the activities in the storefront, along with video production and literacy in several native languages to the informal “curriculum.” They aug‑ mented the interactions among refugees from various tribes by sponsoring activities like a sari giveaway, a Burmese food night, and a “Bollywood vs. Break” dance‑off, and a shared community garden – called Growing Home – that supplied greens and herbs unavailable in nearby supermarkets (Figure 5.5.5).

Figure 5.5.5  From the Mountains to the City © 2012 City of Philadelphia Mural Arts Program/ Shira Walinsky. 2017 South 7th Street. Photo by Steve Weinik.

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After 14 years, several of the murals are still in place and the activities of the storefront are now co‑managed and have moved into the Bok Building – a highly successful repurposing of a former technical high school now successfully accommodating a range of artist studios, restaurants, craft galleries, and boutique bakeries in South Philadelphia. Middle school girls from refugee families are now learning to sew and they are taught both in English and their native languages. The women from Burma, Nepal and Bhutan have been joined recently by a traditional fiber artist/embroiderer, Tania Leon, an immigrant from Mexico. If there is a reminder in this successful and enduring program, it is that respecting the cultures of the people with whom you are working, bodes well for a successful relationship over time, not only for the people being served but also for those looking to help. Working with refugee/immigrant populations is always a new challenge. Language, culture, religion, circumstances of arrival can all slow progress in programming and project development. Time, patience and open communication can yield “useful knowl‑ edge” if approached in good faith. In 2018, Mural Arts did something it hadn’t done be‑ fore. We worked with artist Michael Rakowitz, independent curator Elizabeth Thomas, and Director of Special Projects Judy Hellman on Radio Silence: a soundscape on the Iraqi Diaspora in Philadelphia that Rakowitz called Public Art on the Public Airwaves (Figure 5.5.6).

Figure 5.5.6  Radio Silence, Finale of the July 30th, 2017  live performance at the Independence Mall. Artist Michael Rakowitz and curator Elizabeth Thomas. Photo by Steve Weinik.

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On April 15, 2018, Rakowitz and Mural Arts launched a seven‑episode radio broadcast, the follow‑up to a large‑scale performance on Independence Mall in Historic Philadelphia that was simulcast on PhillyCAM TV. It was conceived specifically for Philadelphia as the birthplace of American democracy, and was inspired by famed Iraqi broadcaster Bahjat Abdulwahed, who lived in the city as a refugee until his death in 2016. The project wove together dreams and memories from Iraq, America, and in‑between into a soundscape of the contemporary refugee experience, the Iraqi diaspora, and the culture of an Iraq, that due to war and political unrest, no longer exists. The radio show, hosted by Rakowitz, included themes such as secrets, shyness, silent let‑ ters, censorship, dead air, and peace. Episodes featured recordings of Abdulwahed, along with interviews with his wife and other Iraqi refugees living in the area. Rakowitz and Thomas also conducted a series of workshops and recordings with Warrior Writers,5 creat‑ ing poetry and songs and capturing stories of American veterans who served in Iraq. Using first‑person narrative, poetry, and music, in English and Arabic, Radio Silence reconstructed a timeline of remembrances spanning the culturally rich Iraq of the 1960s to the decimation of physical and emotional landscapes during and after the war. Weaving these perspectives together, Radio Silence revived ghosts of days gone by and humanized unspoken sides of a new American story. Radio Silence is, in some ways, the most ephemeral project Mural Arts has ever under‑ taken since it now lives only on iTunes. It was complex and difficult, but memorable as an auditory experience – of the sounds of the human voice, birdsong, etc. and the memorable tastes of traditional Iraqi foods. The project lives on via the Radio Silence website that in‑ cludes archival images, research, resources and essays. It became a risk worth taking and a worthy challenge to Mural Arts that had never traveled on this path before. Radio Silence has planted new seeds for what might be possible going forward.

Mining History for Buried Treasure and New Partners Like most other cultural organizations in the wake of the COVID‑19 epidemic, Mural Arts has been challenged organizationally, financially and curatorially. However, we have come out of that experience with real benefits because of the social reckoning that we encountered and embraced. Our work began in an era when we sought to uncover elements of our city’s history and themes of black pride and history in Philadelphia… It became clear, once we were ap‑ proached by a group of black historians representing several local universities and perspec‑ tives, that we had only scratched the surface, particularly on the 19th‑century Philadelphia civil rights activism. We had already learned much about the abolitionists and Mother Bethel AME Church under Pastor Richard Allen in a previous mural project, and about the groundbreaking research undertaken by W.E.B. DuBois, but much less about the Colored Conventions that originated in Philadelphia beginning in 1830 and were convened regu‑ larly for decades thereafter in other cities across the United States. They engaged activists, scholars, and business pioneers from all over the country in Philadelphia around vot‑ ing rights. They also pre‑figured the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s – and

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Figure 5.5.7  The Colored Conventions: A Buried History (West) © 2022 City of Philadelphia Mu‑ ral Arts Program/Ernel Martinez. 349 Washington Avenue. Photo by Steve Weinik.

have also informed much of current urgency and action around human and civil rights (Figure 5.5.7). The continuing collaboration with the Colored Conventions Project, and the Center for Digital Black Research, under the leadership of scholar Gabrielle Foreman, promises to yield new public art projects in neighborhoods across the city that will take a variety of forms. In‑ cluded are walking tours and temporary interventions in the city’s Seventh Ward – the heart of Philadelphia’s black community for much of the 19th century and home to the William Still (archivist and conductor on the Underground Railroad), poet, novelist and suffragist Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, and Octavius V. Catto, teacher, early organizer of the Negro leagues and voting rights martyr, who was murdered outside the polls for the seventh ward on Election Day 1871.6 New projects will also likely be informed by the explorations of artists like Michael Ra‑ kowitz and curator Elizabeth Thomas who now have opened the door for new modalities through their work with Radio Silence. After 40 years, Mural Arts’ canvases have both

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proliferated, and expanded in scale and complexity. Stakeholder groups have grown from clusters of neighbors to entire city departments, transit systems, and citywide dialogues with groups of scholars (like Colored Conventions.org). The scale and visual impact of murals have also grown, the process by which a mural takes shape is increasingly layered, and the Mural Arts organization has expanded its reach into correctional facilities, social service agencies, public transit stations, and Philadelphia public school campuses. Many of the artists with whom we work have become “mural Michelangelos” on their lifts and scaffolds, but they have also become life‑long students of Philadelphia, and now many other cities. Our goals for our partners and patrons, artists and advocates are con‑ stant: to give them voice, to offer our creative and organizational resources in their service, and to transform how they see themselves and their communities. When we inquire of constituents what is important to them and ask them to mine the range of their experience, whether painful, troubled or triumphant, to create images and messages with which we demonstrate our faith in the authenticity of their voices and our belief in their right to be seen and heard. With interest in murals still expanding in Philadelphia, and other public interventions, we often find that our work with stakeholders often spans groups who have vastly differ‑ ent perspectives on truth and history, personal and collective. Brokering such differences is a level of responsibility that continues to challenge us, as well as those who are drawn into the process, like working with inmates and victims together on a single Restorative Justice project that tests the honesty of everyone involved. Furthermore, in our Porchlight Initiative program, when we ask people grappling with addiction to understand – and express – what they are responsible for and what they are not, we often test their long held self‑perceptions and behaviors. Our work sometimes becomes as much about truth and reconciliation as about art, but in the end, the art itself becomes a powerful sign, not only of the artist’s skill but also of the will of the entire community to dig deep and wrestle with its own capacity to grow and change.

Lessons Learned • Respect – Approach every person and group of people you encounter with respect for their culture and lived experience – “writers,” adults, incarcerated individuals, victims, partners, funders, neighbors, and bureaucrats. • Risk and Relationships – Build (and re‑build) relationships, regardless of their finan‑ cial importance or social/political status. You never know when they can be helpful, supportive or informative, and they are critical to the growth and longevity of the enterprise. • Resources – Make sure you have the best folks you can on every program and pro‑ ject – that means working with students, colleagues, community members, inmates, artists, partners and funders  –  you will be surprised at what people will bring to the party. Moreover, make sure you have the resources to support the work finan‑ cially – including support to promote, document, program, physically maintain, re‑ hab, and record each project – including training and resources for artists and staff at all levels.

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• Rediscovery – There are always tales left untold while sharing histories and developing projects; be open to finding the important historical elements and historians (formal or informal) that re‑define and illuminate the past and re‑value the present.

Notes 1 The title of an essay by independent curator Elizabeth Thomas in Mural Arts@30, 2014. 2 A program and policy of the Franklin Roosevelt administration in the 1930s that employed thou‑ sands of artists of all disciplines and created hundreds of works of public art in federal buildings and public spaces all over the United States. 3 The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania’s agency that funds arts and culture projects in a range of disciplines. 4 A thorough case study of the trials and triumphs of Philly Painting was written by Judie Gilmore and produced by Mural Arts in 2013. It is available on‑line at https://muralarts.org. 5 Warrior Writers is a national non‑profit organization whose mission is to create a culture that articulates the experiences of veterans, builds a collaborative community for artistic expression and bears witness to war and the full range of military experiences. 6 More information on background and of this group of black scholars and researchers along with the potential of working with these new community partners, artists, and neighbors is available on https://muralarts.org.

Selected Bibliography With 40 years, more than 4,300 projects, and expansion to five organizational divisions under our belt, we have created a substantial body of documentation, reflection and commentary. The following publications explore in greater depth than possible here, the ambitions, inten‑ tions and methodologies of working with a range of communities, thought partners, patrons, artists and critics. We have created three historical publications that track our progress over the first 30 years of the organization, two of which are available through our website (https:// muralarts.org): • Golden, Jane, Rice, Robin, and Kinney, Monica Yant, Philadelphia Murals and the Stories They Tell, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, PA, 2002 • Mural Arts’ first major publication reviews the individual projects, neighborhood champi‑ ons, and first core of artists that contributed to the growth of the program in light of urban challenges in Philadelphia at the close of the 20th century. Below, the third major publication to examine our practice, contains a wealth of information and reflection on our practice after 30 years: • Golden, Jane and Updike, David, Eds., Mural Arts@30, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, PA, 2014 • Golden, Jane, “Growing Up, Growing Out, Putting Down Roots” • This introductory essay traces, in greater depth the artistic and organizational growth of Mural Art Arts over 30 years. • Nowak, Jeremy, “Murals as Social Contracts” • This essay by the late Executive Director of the William Penn Foundation lays out the shape of “broad authorship” that is the hallmark of Mural Arts Philadelphia’s practice over time, and examines the organization’s approach to “community murals” which em‑ phasizes a responsive posture to project development.

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Practicing in Public • Thomas, Elizabeth, “Practicing in Public” • Contemporary curator Thomas, whose own practice has increasingly embraced public art, looks at the widening bandwidth of public art and artists and its impact on the organiza‑ tion over time. • Weiss, Cynthia, “Stories Taking Shape: Public Art, Project‑based Learning and Transformation” • Weiss, an artist and arts educator, looks at three ambitious projects that developed from Mural Arts’ expansive out‑of‑school programs and the particular role that practicing art‑ ists play, not only in the resulting projects, but also on the longer trajectory of their stu‑ dents’ aspirations and personal growth. • Matlin, Samantha, Evans, Arthur C., Jr, PhD, and Tebes, Jacob Kraemer, “Beauty, Connec‑ tion, Healing, and Behavioral Health,” Mural Arts@30, edited by Jane Golden and David Updike, Temple University Press, Philadelphia, PA, 2014 • This essay examines the impact of Mural Arts Porch Light programs and projects on a range of audiences studied over their first ten years. • Moore, Paulette and Zehr, Howard, “Murals and Meditation: Art that Heals” • Zehr and Moore, who had consulted with Mural Arts Philadelphia over time, are among the first artists and thinkers to develop fully the notion that art, and public art in particu‑ lar, are powerful tools in reconciliation, rehabilitation, and rebuilding communities. Their thinking has influenced the full range pf Mural Arts’ Restorative Justice programs since the launch of the program in 2004. • Goldbard, Arlene, “Stem Cells of the Body Politic: How Beauty and Meaning Heal Social Fabric and Strengthen Community” • Goldbard, writer, speaker, and cultural activist, wraps up reflection on Mural Arts’ goals with the examination of three newer models of process and project ideation. She considers the intent, process and impact of communally considered artmaking on personal growth and learning, and community reconciliation. Mural Arts Philadelphia, over the last ten years, has invested in reflection and learning to support colleagues in the field who are interested in using public art as a vehicle for healing, economic development, community cohesion and more. Below are just a few publications that are available on the Mural Arts website. • Laramee Kidd, Susannah, PhD, Metris Arts Consulting, “Learning from the Process: Promising Practices from Mural Arts’ Work in Communities,” 2020 • Gilmore, Judie, “Philly Painting: A Case Study” The Mural Arts Institute section of our website is rich with case studies, reflections on practice, and tools for aspiring public arts professionals. https://www.muralarts.org/program/mural‑arts‑institute/research‑tools/.

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SECTION 6

How the Past Informs Our Future Heritage Planning

6.1 THE PRESERVATION OF URBAN HERITAGE. A NEW FRONTIER FOR THE GOVERNANCE OF CULTURAL ASSETS. LESSONS FROM LATIN AMERICAN WORLD HERITAGE SITES Eduardo Rojas Social Actors and Socio‑Cultural Values Supporting the Preservation of Urban Heritage The growing awareness of the multiple roles of culture in development—acknowledged in‑ ternationally in the ‘2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development’ adopted by the United Na‑ tions (UN 2015)—concurred with the rising international recognition of the role of urban heritage in the sustainable development of societies (UNESCO 2016) that was instrumental in the formal inclusion of the topic in the ‘New Urban Agenda’ adopted by the Conference on Housing and Sustainable Development (UN‑HABITAT 2016). The acknowledgement of the multiple socio‑cultural and economic values of the tangible and intangible assets inher‑ ited by urban communities from the past is mobilising a larger and more varied set of social actors to act towards its preservation. A major landmark in the evolution of this process was the adoption of the ‘Convention Concerning the Protection of the World Cultural and Natural Heritage’ (World Heritage Convention, WHC) signed in 1972 by the member countries of the United Nations Educa‑ tion, Science and Culture Organisation (UNESCO). The Convention established the World Heritage List (WHL) (UNESCO 2023) acknowledging the ‘universal value’ of selected ex‑ amples of tangible heritage. The most frequently recognised universal values in the Conven‑ tion for the urban heritage were socio‑cultural, historic, aesthetic, and religious, and mostly promoted by the cultural elites. In the initial stages of the nomination of urban sites to the World Heritage List, the social actors mostly involved were scholars and philanthropists, supported by specialised organisations of the civil society. Latterly UNESCO adopted a Convention addressing the values of the intangible heritage that partially apply to urban heritage areas (UNESCO 2003). At that stage—elsewhere labelled as a ‘concern of the elites’ (Rojas 2002)—interested actors usually mobilised public resources and private donations to preserve individual monuments given their cultural contributions to society and their even‑ tual contribution to tourism.

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In the second half of the 20th century, the growing awareness about urban heritage’s con‑ tribution to the transmission of culture and improvement of social cohesion led many com‑ munities to press governments to intervene. Their objective is to secure its transfer to future generations, what Throsby (2012) calls the ‘inheritance’ value of heritage. At this stage, the number and diversity of social actors involved expanded. National, regional, and local gov‑ ernments established preservation institutions that worked with civil society organisations towards this goal. Nevertheless, most preservation activities still focused on monuments, prioritising their basic socio‑cultural values, and promoting the full preservation of the as‑ sets, with interventions financed mostly with public funds. Recognising the limitations of this approach—labelled the ‘concern of governments’ (Rojas 2002)—UNESCO issued the ‘Recommendation on the Historic Urban Landscape’ (2011) advocating for a more inte‑ grated analytical methodology that encompasses the full array of factors—environmental, urban, architectural, social, and economic—affecting the preservation effort. The conceptual and operational proposals of the ‘Recommendation’ (Bandarin and Van Oers 2012) echoed progress in recognising the multiple values of urban heritage beyond its cultural dimensions. Central to this debate are the arguments advanced by Throsby (2012) adding to the traditional cultural (historic, religious, aesthetic) and social (cohesion, sense of place, inheritance) values the economic values of urban heritage, fundamentally the direct use made of heritage buildings, streets, squares, and landscapes to satisfy contemporary needs of society. Heritage buildings can generate rents or provide indirect economic benefits (like adding real estate value to adjacent properties). Streets allow access to properties for their private or public use (thus contributing to the functioning of the city). Monuments, heritage valuable buildings, squares, and parks add to public enjoyment and the well‑being of communities in addition to contributing to retaining their collective memory and further‑ ing their sense of place. This expanded recognition of the values of urban heritage provides foundations for the adaptive rehabilitation of its components as a valid strategy for its preservation (complementing the full preservation approach commonly advocated). Addi‑ tionally, it expands the range of social actors interested in urban heritage. Property owners, entrepreneurs, and households with permanent interests in the heritage area become active participants joining the cultural elite, civil society organisations, and government institu‑ tions in promoting its preservation and development turning it into a ‘concern of all social actors’ (Rojas 2016). Notwithstanding these advances, urban communities still struggle to integrate the preservation, use, and development of urban heritage conceptually and opera‑ tionally into the cities’ governance mechanisms guiding their continuous process of change.

Governance for the Sustainable Preservation of Urban Heritage While the preservation of an individual monument rests on the strength of a limited set of cultural values and the willingness of a limited set of government institutions or philanthro‑ pists to invest, the preservation and development of urban heritage areas require directing the activities and resources of a wide variety of public and private social actors that often hold diverging interests and willingness to contribute towards this objective. Furthermore, change is a permanent feature of urban heritage areas. At any given time, some are thriving, others are in decay, and yet many others are in some transition amongst these stages as the result of the compounded actions of a wide diversity of social actors. The composition and 414

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motivations of these actors vary depending on their interests and the state of development of the heritage area. The analysis of international experiences indicates that governments (national, regional, local) usually play a significant role as they have the power of regulation and resources to invest in public concerns. Together with property owners, residents, and lo‑ cal entrepreneurs (from merchants to craft persons), government institutions hold a perma‑ nent and broad interest in the area in all phases of development (prosperity or decay). Other social actors—real estate investors, tourism entrepreneurs, international organisations, phi‑ lanthropists, and organisations of civil society—hold more specific and time‑restricted inter‑ ests. External private investors flow into heritage areas when they thrive and abandon them when in decay. Culture‑related organisations of civil society or philanthropists may be active while promoting the preservation of monuments but move to other pursuits once their ob‑ jectives are accomplished. Tourists usually have a short and narrow interest and rarely visit decaying heritage areas (paradoxically, they are the most mentioned group when identifying potential beneficiaries). The dissimilarities among social actors are of importance when attempting to manage change in urban heritage areas. Social actors’ attitudes to urban heritage preservation vary depending on what Schmitter (2000) calls the ‘significance’ they assign to their in‑ volvement in a social process. Those who own property in protected heritage areas would be mostly concerned with the economic returns resulting from their use, thus they will favour liberal adaptive rehabilitation approaches. Their priorities and preferences would differ from those of non‑resident scholars concerned with historic or aesthetic values thus favouring more strict preservation regulations. When an urban heritage area is either in decay or becomes the target of new development (capitalising on the area’s tourism attrac‑ tion or central location), long‑term residents and their community organisations worry about the potential loss of a wide array of physical structures supporting their ways of life ranging from corner stores (where daily encounters among neighbours may take place) to public spaces used for community celebrations (religious celebrations, carnivals, or char‑ ity events). The significance of these places leads communities to oppose aggressive real estate investments and seek government regulatory and financial support for conserving their heritage. These facts bring out another dimension of significance in social actors’ attitudes towards preservation, their willingness to cooperate. Confronted with the need to promote the devel‑ opment of a deteriorated urban heritage area or to rebalance overused and poorly regulated areas, actors may be differently inclined to contribute knowledge, financing, and political support to regulations and government interventions. Non‑resident actors who are either unaware of the socio‑cultural values of the heritage area or uninterested in its preservation may be hostile to the allocation of public funds to their management and rehabilitation. Social actors may differ in their willingness to harmonise their activities with other actors, either formally (through institutions) or informally (through voluntary agreements). Resi‑ dents, entrepreneurs, and property owners who are permanently invested in a heritage area are more likely to enter into agreements with government entities than actors with limited or sporadic interests (from philanthropists to tourists). Diverging significance often leads social actors to conflicts. It is not uncommon for property owners and investors to resent preservation regulations imposed by central government institutions in response to pressures by organisations of the civil society and the cultural elite. 415

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Implementing urban heritage preservation actions requires robust agreements among a diversity of social actors. They need to agree not only about ‘what’ to conserve but also ‘the extent’ of the preservation desired for different types of urban heritage sites, either full preservation, or preservation with minor interventions to allow new uses, adaptive rehabili‑ tation with typological preservation, or contextual preservation. Also needed is agreement about the ‘means’ through which preservation is implemented. The resulting social interac‑ tions impact decisions about regulations and the allocation of public funds to preservation and the willingness of social actors to coordinate their activities. These are core functions of good ‘governance’ as defined by Bell (2002:1) ‘…the use of institutions and structures of authority to allocate resources and coordinate or control activities in society, ….’ In many countries, the governance of urban heritage preservation is still in its early stages of develop‑ ment, lacking many of the attributes of consensus and coordination required. The following analysis of five urban heritage preservation experiences in Latin America provides a glimpse of the effects of dissimilar levels of adherence to these principles of good governance.

Governance of Urban Heritage Preservation: Lessons from World Heritage Sites in Latin America The following discussion uses studies of urban heritage preservation programs executed in the late 1990s and early 2000s conducted in five historic centres in Latin America on the World Heritage List (UNESCO 2022). They are Cartagena in Colombia; Oaxaca in Mexico; Quito in Ecuador; Salvador de Bahia in Brazil; and Valparaiso in Chile.1 These urban herit‑ age areas are the foundational cores of middle‑size cities that in the early 1990s were los‑ ing population and social and economic relevance in their cities. The urban development challenges they faced ranged from the abandonment and high deterioration of residential properties in Salvador, to economic decay and rising poverty in Valparaiso and the delayed effects of an earthquake in Quito. Oaxaca and Cartagena were attracting tourism‑related economic activities whose rapid growth displaced traditional residents, producers, and users from the historic centres. Using fieldwork and literature reviews the studies document the institutions, decision‑making processes, and financial mechanisms used in the preservation programs. This information allows an analysis of the main components of governance, the structures of authority and the institutions used.

Urban Heritage Institutions There are significant differences among countries in legal and administrative traditions for managing urban affairs (Newman and Thornley 1996). Latin American countries inherited traditions from Spanish and Portuguese structures of authority based on the Napoleonic code and centralised institutional arrangements and administrative practices. Although with common legal and institutional origins, the countries under analysis exhibit today significant differences in the governance of their urban affairs. Brazil and Mexico (Federal countries) and Colombia and Ecuador (decentralised unitary countries) grant municipalities ample powers and resources to discharge urban management related responsibilities while Chile— a highly centralised country—gives municipalities limited resources and responsibilities with most urban development decisions made by agencies controlled by the central government (OECD 2013). 416

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Concerning culture—including urban heritage—most countries still assign central govern‑ ment entities significant powers to formulate and implement heritage preservation policies and programs, restricting the scope of local government action. In some cases, national cultural institutions take the form of semi‑autonomous institutes like the National Institute of History and Anthropology (Instituto Nacional de Historia y Antropología, INHA) in Mexico and the National Institute of Historic and Artistic Heritage (Instituto de Património Histórico e Artístico Nacional, IPHAN) in Brazil. In other cases, they are agencies of na‑ tional ministries that share responsibilities with municipalities in matters related to urban heritage. In Colombia, the preservation of the urban heritage of national significance rests on the National Ministry of Culture under a National Council of Cultural Heritage (Con‑ sejo Nacional de Patrimonio Cultural, CNPC) that regulates the Assets of Cultural Inter‑ est (Bienes de Interés Cultural, BIC). In Ecuador, the National Cultural Council (Consejo Nacional de Cultura) and National Heritage Institute (Instituto Nacional de Cultura) care for the national heritage but allow major cities some autonomy in urban heritage matters. In Chile, all the public matters related to heritage are managed by the National Council of National Monuments (Consejo de Monumentos Nacionales, CMN)—a technical semi‑­ autonomous body related to the central government through the Ministry of Culture and Arts—that oversees policy and decision‑making although some implementation functions are delegated to sector ministries (Education, Public Works, Housing and Urbanism). A ma‑ jor difference among countries relates to the decentralisation of decision‑making. In federal countries (Brazil and Mexico), these powers are delegated to State level deputations of the central government institutions while they remain mostly centralised in the unitary countries (Chile, Colombia, Ecuador). The central to local government interactions are not always easy. It is observable in the cases mentioned that less‑than‑fluid relations among central and local institutions—usually a combination of deep‑rooted centralism and a narrow acceptance of adaptive rehabilitation as a preservation strategy—impact the government’s capacity to manage the preservation‑ oriented development of urban heritage areas. These traits also limit the involvement of l­ ocal social actors in the design and implementation of the preservation plans and regulations. In many countries—and this is the case in most of Latin America—cultural central govern‑ ment institutions concentrate the management of the monumental components of the urban heritage, paying less attention to the local urban development circumstances affecting this form of heritage. Central agencies tend to favour strict preservation approaches limiting the adaptive rehabilitation of heritage properties, leading to a form of ´regulatory blight´ that often clashes with the preferences of local actors interested in the adaptive rehabilitation of properties for uses with high demand. In Cartagena, the interaction of the National Council of Cultural Heritage with the mu‑ nicipality has been less than fluid and contributed to further delays in the already slow municipal process of formulation of the statutory‑required Special Management Plan (Plan Especial de Manejo, PEM) for the historic centre. A complex situation exists in Valparaiso where neither the municipality nor the Council of National Monuments has prepared a pres‑ ervation plan for the historic centre since its inscription in the World Heritage List in 2003. In some cases, good relations among cultural and urban planning institutions in historic centres do support its sustained preservation. In Oaxaca, the relationship of the Municipal‑ ity with the state branch of the National Institute of History and Anthropology is fluent and 417

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support local preservation decisions. The institutional structures for managing urban devel‑ opment in Ecuador enjoy a greater degree of decentralisation than what is usual in unitary countries. The Municipality of Quito regulates heritage preservation in the city through a special section in the Planning Department (the Historic Centre Office) whose territorial ju‑ risdiction coincides with the Central Administrative District that manages services like street lighting, trash removal, public safety, parks, and street maintenance better coordinating planning decisions and the provision of municipal services.

Structures of Authority to Manage Urban Heritage The foundation of any structure of authority for urban development management is a so‑ cial contract adopted by the citizens concerning the future of their cities identifying public investments needed and defining the rules that guide city development. These agreements usually take the form of a plan that once approved by the democratically elected bodies governing a city acquires the force of a law. In the case of the preservation of urban heritage, these plans—and their corresponding implementation regulations—define what to preserve and how much to preserve, providing the government with the political support and opera‑ tional tools for managing preservation and development. The agreement of the citizens with the plans and regulations is central to ensuring their long‑term willingness to comply and support the allocation of funds for related public investments. The Latin American cases discussed in this chapter vary significantly in the type, extent, opportunity of approval, and degree of enforcement of the plans and regulations, illustrating the difficulties encountered by urban authorities in managing heritage‑oriented urban development processes. As with the case of the institutions already discussed, the quality of the structures of authority has a direct impact on the results obtained by the urban heritage preservation efforts. The Municipality of Quito launched a preservation program for the historic centre in the early 1980s with the City Council’s approval of a plan prepared by the Office of the His‑ toric Centre (Oficina del Centro Histórico). This work is continued today by the Planning Department with the assistance of the Metropolitan Heritage Institute (Instituto Metropoli‑ tano de Patrimonio, IMP). These actions were supported by the central government that established a tax‑funded Heritage Preservation Fund (Fondo de Salvamento del Patrimonio FONSAL). The objectives and proposals of the plan are regularly updated to adjust to new developments (including the construction of a Metro stop in one of the most significant public spaces of the historic centre, the San Francisco Square). Support for the Plan remains strong amongst citizens and politicians, a crucial factor in the continuity of the preservation effort. Similarly, in Oaxaca civil society organisations and private philanthropists promoted the preservation of the historic centre and engaged the interest of the Municipality and the federal National Institute of Anthropology and History (Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, INAH) which collaborated in the adoption of the preservation plan and regula‑ tions. These cases are remarkable for the continuity of the social support for the preserva‑ tion effort. A measure of success is provided by data from the 2010s indicating that in the historic centres of Oaxaca and Quito, 97% and 75% of the buildings respectively were well preserved (Rojas 2012). Also of interest for this analysis are the preservation plan and regulations approved by the Municipality of Cartagena in 1992 (Acuerdo 6) that defines adaptive rehabilitation‑based 418

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rules for heritage buildings in the historic centre. The preservation rules for the vernacular domestic buildings are grounded in a detailed analysis of the existing typologies (one or two‑story houses, with or without courtyards or balconies, and so on). The plan proposes well‑defined rules of transformation for the adaptive rehabilitation of each typology with the view of guiding change while preserving the socio‑cultural (historic, aesthetic) value of each type. The decision‑making process rests on the technical judgement of independent cu‑ rators who veto proposals for adaptation and use from owners and investors before Munici‑ pal approval. The system worked well while adaptive rehabilitation of domestic architecture concentrated on residential and local service uses as dictated in the plan. The rapid growth of tourism and the consequent demand for short‑term accommodations and leisure‑related services in the early 21st century induced the implementing authorities to allow ´second‑ ary uses´ (tourism and entertainment‑related establishments) in residential buildings. This change in criteria has significantly distorted the preservation of the vernacular typologies. Allowed single residential properties to become multiple short‑term accommodations or the over‑development of others into massive recreational locales with roof terraces and other attachments that significantly distort the original building typology. Due to intense devel‑ opment pressures exerted by the rapid expansion of international recreational tourism, by the late 2010s Cartagena was facing a significant deterioration of the physical fabric, the displacement of the original population, and the deterioration of its intangible heritage (Asif et al. 2020). The cases previously discussed had good technical plans and regulations, albeit with vary‑ ing willingness on the part of elected officials to implement them. Salvador de Bahia and Valparaiso followed a different path. In Salvador, the preservation effort benefitted a small area of the historic centre (the Pelouriño) and interventions focused on preventing the loss of the already highly deteriorated physical heritage including significant monuments, and the rehabilitation or reconstruction of residential properties. Interventions in the Pelour‑ iño were decided on a block‑by‑block basis by the technical teams of the State of Bahia’s Cultural Institute (Instituto do Patrimônio Artístico e Cultural, IPAC) to make the historic centre attractive to tourists and with scarce consultation with the residents and users. After almost ten years of work (1992–2000) and spending 55 million dollars of the United States of America (2000 values) the Program rehabilitated 35 of the more than 100 blocks included in the WHL site benefiting less than 45% of the eligible properties and devoting them mostly to activities attractive for foreign visitors (Mendes Sancheti and Gabriel 2011:97). Many residents and practices linked to the intangible heritage of the city were displaced leading to a situation where numerous residents and citizens of Bahia consider that the preservation effort in the Pelouriño led to the ‘loss of the soul of the city’ (Rojas 2016). The preservation program initiated in 2006 by the central government of Chile in the historic centre of Valparaiso (included in the WHL in 2003) provides another example of a top‑down process leading to meagre preservation results. The central government contracted a loan from the Inter‑American Development Bank (IADB) to help guide and partially finance a USD 73 million (2006 values) program for the integrated preservation and development of the World Heritage Site (IADB 2006) including investments in the adaptive rehabilitation of monuments, vernacular buildings, public spaces, traditional transportation systems and the promotion of economic activities. Hustling to get the program started, the implementation institutional structure—an ad‑hoc directorate integrated by representatives of the National 419

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Budget Office, the Sub‑National Secretariat of the Ministry of the Interior (agency in charge of investing in the regions), and the Mayor of Valparaiso—was allowed to make decisions about preservation and investment without a clear and widely agreed plan and regulations. Implementation of the program contemplated the approval of the required plan in the first year but never moved beyond the initial d stage and was never officially adopted by the Mu‑ nicipality. Subsequent investment decisions were dominated by the priorities of the mayors in office and only vaguely followed the draft plan. Furthermore, the limited responsibilities and implementation capacity of the Municipality—added to the heavy presence of central government institutions in urban development in Chilean cities—led the program to rely on central institutions for implementing most of the public works. These factors worsened the originally poor levels of coordination generated by the lack of a widely agreed objectives and plan, resulting in the implementation of piecemeal projects dispersed in and around the heritage area with negligible lasting impact.

Control and Coordination The effective formulation and enforcement of plans and regulations—the focus of the ­development control dimension of the structures of authority and institutional arrangements to guide urban change—is not enough to ensure the sustainable preservation of heritage sites. Managing change, either to rehabilitate or rebalance urban heritage areas requires multi‑year and multisector interventions capable of influencing the results of complex inter‑ actions between urban uses with physical assets, amid residents and external social actors, and among government institutions of different levels of government. In this respect, the experience of the Latin American countries highlights three shortcomings: poorly structured (or non‑­existent) agreements between social actors; the fragmentation of decision‑making and ­regulatory powers between central and local institutions and lack of coordination among public and private social actors. The difficulties experienced by Cartagena in preserving its urban heritage stream from the first and second shortcomings. The Municipal preservation regulations for the historic centre are often subverted because of pressures from tourist‑oriented developments that de‑ mand more built space and new facilities, many incompatible with the building typologies that give the historic centre its socio‑cultural heritage value or with the balanced use of the site, or both. Furthermore, poor coordination between central government entities and the Municipality delayed the completion of the Special Plan for the Management of the Heritage Site (Plan Especial de Manejo PEM) and its full integration into the statutory city develop‑ ment plan, the Territorial Management Plan (Plan de Ordenamiento Territorial POT). These challenges are deepened by the shortfalls of weak consultation mechanisms to gauge and coordinate the interests of the different social actors affected by the plans. In Oaxaca, better preservation outcomes resulted from virtuous interactions among local actors knowledge‑ able of the values of the urban heritage, local foundations, the Municipal Council (with the support of their constituencies), and the central government institution in charge of heritage preservation, the INAH (Quartesan and Romis 2011). The third issue is present in Salvador where the core actor—the State Government of ­Bahia— worked for many years with little coordination with the Municipality or the Federal cultural institutions (Mendes Zancheti and Gabriel 2011). Lack of coordination is also present in the 420

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preservation and development efforts in Valparaiso’s heritage site where the National Govern‑ ment conceived, financed, and implemented the heritage preservation program without the full involvement of the Municipality and little input from the communities (SUBDERE 2009; Trivelli and Nishimura 2011). Both programs had limited success in reaching the scale and continuity required for the sustainable preservation of their valuable heritage.

Funding the Preservation of Urban Heritage It can be safely argued that a strong manifestation of the value placed by a community on its urban heritage—and a concrete demonstration of its commitment to preservation—is the volume and stability of the resources (knowledge and financial) that is willing to devote to this objective. The experiences of Quito and Oaxaca benefitted from the contributions of several sources of funds, public and private, Further, the programs appropriately allocated funds from the different sources to their most effective and equitable uses—federal funds to preserve national monuments, local public funds to preserve public spaces and infrastruc‑ tures, private funds for for‑profit adaptative rehabilitations—all with the sustained support of private philanthropists and the local constituents. The volume and diversity of the invest‑ ments made in the period discussed in this work were significant and managed to revert the worst manifestations of decay in their historic centres. To a lesser extent, the experience of Cartagena followed a similar path benefiting from Central Government financing to preserve national monuments and from private sector funding for the adaptive rehabilitation of private properties. A less active actor is the municipality that only sporadically invests in infrastructure and public space upgrading and maintenance. In Valparaiso, the volume of private investment rose in close associa‑ tion with the public commitment (from the Central Government) to preserve the historic urban area and fell in parallel to the reduction of public support for the effort. The heavy reliance on public funding in Salvador (from the State of Bahia) seems to be at the root of the small scale and patchiness of the preservation effort reported by Mendez Sancheti and Gabriel (2011).

Displacement, an Unresolved Issue An unresolved issue in the rehabilitation of urban heritage areas is the displacement of vulner‑ able groups and activities linked to the immaterial heritage, a complex social and economic issue often compounded by the operations of real estate markets. Solutions involve different forms of wealth distribution in society, expenses that are commonly beyond the financial ca‑ pacity of municipalities thus requiring upper‑tier government support. A positive experience occurred in Quito in the early 2000s when the Historic Centre Corporation (ECH) received contributions from the Ministry of Urban Development and Housing to co‑finance social housing projects promoted by the Municipality. They benefitted low‑income households residing in the historic centre thus managing to retain a fraction of the local population. The rise in property prices brought about by the preservation efforts of the Municipality cut this program short from having a wider impact. The Municipality of Salvador de Bahia is work‑ ing on rehabilitation projects for the Ladeira da Misericórdia in the Pelouriño that includes affordable housing solutions co‑financed by housing programs from the central government (Rojas et al. 2019). 421

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Lessons Learned • Despite a wide agreement about the importance of urban heritage in the socio‑economic development of communities, countries still have a long way to go to attain equitable and sustainable preservation. The findings of this analysis suggest that the preservation of the urban heritage can gain in scope, equity, and sustainability if it attracts the inter‑ est and contributions of a wide variety of social actors concerned with a multiplicity of ­socio‑cultural and economic values of the heritage operating under governance struc‑ tures that encourage cooperation. • Key components of such a model include delegating adequately supervised authority to local governments, establishing inclusive mechanisms of decision‑making, flexible and well‑enforced rules for the adaptive rehabilitation of heritage assets, and effective institu‑ tions to guide social actors to work in concert bringing their knowledge, creativity, and resources to the task. Also, the evidence examined indicates that this process would be better managed if preservation regulations, public and private investments, and imple‑ mentation were closely integrated into the governance of cities and not just the result of ancillary activities controlled by national or regional cultural institutions. • These are complex undertakings requiring significant institutional and operational re‑ forms, including the adoption of widely supported flexible regulations and long‑term investment plans, and the establishment of effective institutional arrangements to coordi‑ nate the actions of public and private actors.

Note 1 The detailed information used about these studies is contained in the following publications: Quartesan and Romis (2011) for Oaxaca; Jaramillo (2011) for Quito; Mendes Zancheti and Ga‑ briel (2011) for Salvador; Trivelli and Nishimura (2011) for Valparaiso. A first reading of these studies is included in Rojas (2012) and expanded in Rojas (2016). Information for Cartagena comes from Rojas (1999) and Asif et al. (2020).

Bibliography Asif, I. et.al 2020 Balancing Growth and Preservation. The Case of Cartagena de Indias Philadel‑ phia, PA. The University of Pennsylvania, Weitzman Schoo of Design, Final Report. Advanced Topics Seminar, Urban Regeneration in the Americas, the Preservation and Development of Ur‑ ban Heritage Areas, Spring 2020. https://www.design.upenn.edu/work/balancing-growth-andconservation-case-cartagena-de-indias. Bandarin, F. and R. Van Oers 2012 The Historic Urban Landscape. Managing Heritage in an Urban Century Chichester, Wiley and Sons. Bell, S. 2002 Economic Governance and Institutional Dynamics: The Market, The State, and Net‑ works Melbourne, Oxford University Press. IADB 2006 Urban Renewal and Development Valparaiso Washington, DC and Santiago, Inter‑American Development Bank and Subsecretaría de Desarrollo Regional SUBDERE. https://www.iadb.org/ en/project/CH‑L1004. Jaramillo, P. 2011 “Quito” in E. Rojas, and F. Lanzafame (eds.) City Development: Experiences in the Preservation of Ten World Heritage Sites Washington, DC, Inter‑American Develop‑ ment Bank, Publication IDB‑MG‑127 (pp.  59–86). https://publications.iadb.org/en/publication/ city‑development‑experiences‑preservation‑ten‑world‑heritage‑sites.

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The Preservation of Urban Heritage Mendes Zancheti, S. and J. Gabriel 2011 “Salvador de Bahia” in E. Rojas, and F. Lanzafame (eds.) City Development: Experiences in the Preservation of Ten World Heritage Sites Washington, DC, Inter‑American Development Bank, Publication IDB‑MG‑127 (pp. 87–132). https://publications. iadb.org/en/publication/city‑development‑experiences‑preservation‑ten‑world‑heritage‑sites. Newman, P. and A. Thornley 1996 Urban Planning in Europe: International Competition, National Systems and Planning Projects London, Routledge. OECD 2013 Urban Policy Review Chile 2013 Paris, OECD Publishing Paris. https://www.oecd.org/en/ publications/oecd-urban-policy-reviews-chile-2013_9789264191808-en.html [Accessed O ­ ctober 23, 2024]. Quartesan, A. and M. Romis 2011 “Oaxaca” in E. Rojas, and F. Lanzafame (eds.) City Development: Experiences in the Preservation of Ten World Heritage Sites Washington, DC, Inter‑American Development Bank, Publication IDB‑MG‑127 (pp.  13–58). https://publications.iadb.org/en/ publication/city‑development‑experiences‑preservation‑ten‑world‑heritage‑sites. Rojas, E. 2016 “The Sustainable Preservation of the Urban Heritage: A Concern of All Social Ac‑ tors” in S. Labadi and W. Logan (eds.) Urban Heritage, Development and Sustainability London, Routledge (pp. 235–255). Rojas, E. 2012 “Governance in Historic City Core Regeneration Projects” in G. Licciardi and R. Amirtahmasebi (eds.) The Economics of Uniqueness: Investing in Historic Cores and Cultural Heritage Assets for Sustainable Development Washington, DC, The World Bank (pp. 143–181). Rojas, E. 2004 Volver al Centro Washington, DC, Banco Interamericano de Desarrollo. https://publica‑ tions.iadb.org/es/publicacion/14158/volver‑al‑centro‑la‑recuperacion‑de‑areas‑urbanas‑centrales. Rojas, E. 2002 Urban Heritage Preservation in Latin America and the Caribbean: A Task for All Social Actors Washington, DC, Inter‑American Development Bank. http://publications.iadb. org/handle/11319/1163?scope=123456789/1&thumbnail=false&order=desc&rpp=5&sort_ by=score&page=4&group_by=none&etal=0&filtertype_0=author&filter_0=Rojas%2C+Eduardo &filter_relational_operator_0=equals. Rojas, E. 1999 Old Cities New Assets, Washington, DC, Interamerican Development Bank. https:// publications.iadb.org/en/old‑cities‑new‑assets‑preserving‑latin‑americas‑urban‑heritage. Rojas, E. et al. 2019 Strengthening the Economic Activities in Salvador’s Old City: An Integrated Ap‑ proach London and Philadelphia, PA, ARUP and Penn Praxis, Salvador de Bahia Project 100RC. https://www.design.upenn.edu/sites/default/files/uploads/Salvador%20Report%20Final%20 4%20Nov%2030%202018%20.pdf. SUBDERE 2009 Informe Final de Evaluación. Programa de Recuperación y Desarrollo Urbano de Valparaíso Santiago, Ministerio del Interior, Subsecretaría de Desarrollo Regional y Adminsitra‑ tivo SUBDERE. http://www.dipres.gob.cl/597/articles‑141122_informe_final.pdf. Schmitter, P. 2000 “Governance” (paper presented at the Democratic and Participatory Govern‑ ance: From Citizens to “Holders” conference, European University Institute, Florence, September 2000), quoted in Erik Swyngedouw, “Governance Innovation and the Citizen: The Janus Face of Governance‑beyond‑the‑State,” Urban Studies 42, 11 (2005): 1995. Throsby, D. 2012 “Heritage Economics: A Conceptual Approach” in G. Licciardi and R. Amirtah‑ masebi (eds.) The Economics of Uniqueness: Investing in Historic Cores and Cultural Heritage Assets for Sustainable Development Washington, DC, The World Bank (pp. 45–73). Trivelli, P. and Y. Nishimura 2011 “Valparaiso” in E. Rojas and F. Lanzafame (eds.) City Develop‑ ment: Experiences in the Preservation of Ten World Heritage Sites Washington, DC, Inter‑­American Development Bank, Publication IDB‑MG‑127 (pp.  134–180). https://publications.iadb.org/ en/publication/city‑development‑experiences‑preservation‑ten‑world‑heritage‑sites. UN 2015 General Assembly, Resolution 70/1, “Transforming Our World: The 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development” A/RES/70/1 (September 25, 2015). UNESCO 2023 The World Heritage Convention Paris, United Nations Education, Science and ­Culture Organisation. https://whc.unesco.org/en/convention/.

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Eduardo Rojas UNESCO 2022 https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/ UNESCO 2016 Culture Urban Future: The Global Report on Culture for Sustainable Urban Devel‑ opment Paris, United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation. http://unesdoc. unesco.org/images/0024/002462/246291E.pdf. UNESCO 2011 General Conference, Recommendation on the Historic Urban Landscape, 36 C/23 Annex (May 27, 2011), Paris, United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation. http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0021/002110/211094e.pdf. UNESCO 2003 Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage Paris, United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation. https://ich.unesco.org/en/convention. UN‑HABITAT 2016 Conference on Housing and Sustainable Development, Resolution 71/256, New Urban Agenda, A/RES/71/256 (October 20, 2016), Quito, Ecuador. https://habitat3.org/ the‑new‑urban‑agenda.

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6.2 SITE‑BASED PEDAGOGIES Connecting Heritage Education and Critical Heritage Practice Jayashree Bardhan

Introduction Walking through the streets of the walled city of Ahmedabad, one discovers a quiet and unassuming historic structure nestled in a corner, within one of the most active commercial hubs of the historic city core. The aesthetics of the structure, its elements, the contrast and layering of materials visible on its weathered external walls suggest that the structure has aged. They suggest that it has been built in a different time period from ours and has perhaps witnessed several events and transformations through its life span that we may or may not know of. This place is the ‘Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid.’ Located in the core zone of the World Heritage Property of the Historic City of Ahmedabad that is attributed with several monu‑ mental Indo‑Islamic mosques built in stone, this building is a rare brick and timber mosque which is currently out of use. The structure makes one wonder, how many such historic as‑ sets quietly rest, in a state of disrepair, in the many lanes and by‑lanes of historic settlements. The risk of abandonment and vacant properties, leading to loss of heritage is a recurring issue of many historic sites. Faced with a similar question, in early 2020, Center for Heritage Conservation (CHC) at CEPT Research and Development Foundation (CRDF), in agreement with the custodian of Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid, undertook shared temporary custodianship of the out‑of‑use struc‑ ture and adopted it as a site for conservation education. With this, CHC introduced ‘CEPT Conservation Site School’ as one of its key initiatives to advocate the discourse of built her‑ itage conservation. Stemming from the premise of a large number of historically valuable sites lying in a state of neglect due to lack of use, funds, or resources, the initiative considers such sites to be cultural resources that can become active zones for conservation education and knowledge sharing. Through formally adopting such sites, CHC organises educational activities for students, experts, administrators, craftspeople and other community groups and in process conserves the sites to be eventually handed over to the owners or custodians. One of the diverse activities of the Site Schools for educational purposes has been their utilisation as an anchor point for selecting sites for the ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio of the 425

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-38

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Master’s Program in Conservation and Regeneration at CEPT University in Ahmedabad, India.1 The studio pedagogy relies on bringing learnings from the site into the studio and applying learnings from the studio to devise strategies for the site. To probe into the inter‑relationship and role of convergence of the site‑based pedagogies of the ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio and the ‘CEPT Conservation Site School’ initiative, the chapter critiques the agencies of these learning models in urban cultural planning. Both models, at their core, are focused towards producing first‑hand research and co‑creating conservation solutions to contribute towards doctrine development of cultural heritage practices and built heritage conservation in India, eventually contributing to the discourse on historic settlements of South Asia and their related concerns. Through an understand‑ ing of this inter‑relationship, the chapter investigates the potential of the pedagogic model of CEPT Conservation Site School to act as a link between critical heritage education and practice. The reflections presented in this chapter are based on my personal experiences of teaching the ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio from 2021 to 2023 (CEPT Portfolio, 2023; CEPT Portfolio, 2022; CEPT Portfolio, 2021a; CEPT Portfolio, 2021b), with a specific focus on the studio of Monsoon 2021, and of leading the initiatives for training and capacity building at CHC.2 This chapter utilises insights from content development, conducting the programs, students’ work and site experiences.

‘Urban Regeneration Studio’ and ‘CEPT Conservation Site School’ The heritage‑led ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio at the Master’s Program equips students with tools and methods for addressing the complex narratives of historic neighbourhoods and the challenges of rapidly transforming historic urban environments. The studio introduces them to the entire process of conservation and regeneration of historic settlements, structured into four important stages: understanding the site through cultural mapping; assessing the sig‑ nificance of the site and its heritage; identifying and analysing issues and future aspirations of stakeholders; and devising heritage‑led regeneration strategies. Students conduct studies through varied literature sources, archival research, site observations and stakeholder en‑ gagements. The studio allows students to immerse themselves in a process that resembles an actual people‑centred regeneration method. However, the studio in isolation does not lend itself to implementation of strategies. Therefore, in all stakeholder engagements conducted by students, participants are priorly informed that consultations are solely for academic purposes. CHC, led by Prof. Jigna Desai, at CRDF which is the research and advisory arm of CEPT University, recognised that formalisation of periodic custodianship of sites allows for a more systematic procedure for actual conservation of the site, an aspect that is not possible through solely educational activities. Through continuous collaboration with the owner or custodian and engagement with diverse other stakeholders, various values of the heritage asset can be understood and utilised towards devising conservation solutions on ground. While ‘site’ here means a building or structure for which owners or custodians can be clearly identified, the Con‑ servation ‘Site’ School is usually located within a historic settlement or ‘site.’ The model of the Conservation Site School utilises the particular building or structure as the generator of a series of cultural processes that is cognisant of the larger settlement and the network of contextual relationships that it is situated within. This model of heritage practice is focused on creating 426

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a conservation discourse, best practice examples and capacities needed for heritage conserva‑ tion through the conservation process. Ashna Patel currently leads the initiative at CHC. The four currently functioning Conservation Site Schools in three historic settlements within the State of Gujarat in India have been utilised for discussions in this chapter (Figure 6.2.1).

Figure 6.2.1 The Conservation Site Schools. Clockwise from top left: Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid situ‑ ated at the far end of a commercial street. Image Credit: Jayashree Bardhan, CHC, CRDF; exterior view of Mukhi Delu. Image Credit: Ashna Patel, CHC, CRDF; exte‑ rior view of Kalidas Jethabhai House. Image Credit: Aaudrey Alvares, CHC, CRDF; Nagarkhana, the fort gate adopted as a Conservation Site School, visible at the far right of the image of Pragmahal, Darbargadh of the city of Bhuj. Image Credit: Mrudula Mane, CHC, CRDF.

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Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid: Site School in a City Recognised by UNESCO as World Heritage Located within the World Heritage Property of the Historic City of Ahmedabad, the archi‑ tectural characteristics of Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid (Site School since September 2020) are closer to the domestic architecture typology, built in wood and brick. This resemblance could be an indication of it being built through patronage of members of an affluent com‑ munity rather than royal patronage or patronage of noblemen as is the case for other monu‑ mental mosques of the city (Desai, Shaikh & Pithawalla, 2021, p. 3). The mosque is situated in Tankshal‑ni‑Pol, a neighbourhood which derives its name from the royal mint (‘Tankshal’ in Gujarati) that existed in the area. CHC has formally collaborated with Ahmedabad Sunni Muslim Waqf Committee (ASMWC) to organise educational activities towards the objective of conserving the site (CEPT Conservation Site School, 2023; CHC, 2023a; CHC, 2022a).3 My experience of this site has been through tutoring the ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio of Monsoon 2021.4

Mukhi Delu and Kalidas Jethabhai House: Site Schools in a Provincial Town Mukhi Delu and Kalidas Jethabhai House (Site Schools since August 2021 and October 2021 respectively), are located in the provincial town of Dharmaj, in the Charotar region of Gujarat.5 Both structures, located within the historic settlement core, are wood and brick residences that are currently not in use. Mukhi Delu, which has exquisitely carved wooden elements, is owned by a former resident who currently lives in the United States while Ka‑ lidas Jethabhai House is owned by the heirs of the original owner (CHC, 2023b, pp. 5, 7). These Site Schools were conceptualised as one of four pilot projects under ‘Dharmaj Herit‑ age Collaborative,’ a joint effort of CHC and Avichal Heritage Foundation to safeguard the heritage of Dharmaj (CHC, 2023b; CHC, 2022b).6 A spectrum of activities have been planned at Dharmaj and the Site Schools. My engagement with this site has been through tutoring the ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio of Monsoon 2021 and co‑curation of the program ‘Non‑Invasive Testing Methods for Historic Buildings’ offered by CHC through CEPT Pro‑ fessional Programs (CPP).7

Nagarkhana of Pragmahal, Darbargadh: Site School in a City Landmark Nagarkhana (Site School since August 2022) is the fort gate of Pragmahal, Darbargadh of the city of Bhuj in Kutch.8 M.M.K.B. Trust is the site custodian with whom CHC has col‑ laborated. The structure, built in yellow sandstone along with the rest of Darbargadh was heavily damaged during the 2001 earthquake in Gujarat (CEPT Conservation Site School, 2023). Several activities have been organised at this Site School. My engagement has been through co‑curation of the program ‘Digital Documentation of Built Heritage’ offered by CHC through CPP.9

Sites, Cultural Meaning and Participatory Processes The site‑based pedagogical models of Urban Regeneration studio and CEPT Conservation Site School operate within the domain of cultural planning and regeneration of historic places through participatory processes. The role of meaningful engagement of communities 428

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and a broad spectrum of stakeholders in the entire process of conservation for sustainabil‑ ity of conservation efforts, heritage stewardship and sustainable development have been well‑articulated within international discourses framed by organisations operating within the cultural heritage sector. Some examples are the discussions on people‑centred approach (ICCROM, 2015), rights‑based approach (UNESCO WHC, 2021; ICOMOS, 2018) and historic urban landscape approach (UNESCO, 2011). Thinking about sustainability of heritage places requires an understanding of the potential social, environmental and economic values of heritage conservation and that heritage places and sites are not inherently valuable. The idea of heritage is a cultural process that derives meaning from the definition, redefinition and negotiation of diverse individual and collec‑ tive identities as well as values (Smith, 2006, pp. 2–7). This dynamic cultural process has the potential to be critically active, through which individuals and communities have agency in the formation of values and meanings that underlie the process (Smith, 2006, p. 7). The process of attributing values thus, holds a pivotal role in the construction of meaning of heritage. It shapes ways in which heritage and its associated meanings are identified, articu‑ lated, interpreted and decided to be conserved. Establishing the significance of sites through value assessment necessitates elicitation of values from the complete range of stakeholders associated with the site (Avrami, Mason, & De la Torre, 2002). This can answer questions such as – Who is the heritage valuable for and why? Who will benefit from conservation of the values? Within the cultural domain, there is increasing recognition that an authentic understand‑ ing of meanings attributed to heritage is culturally rooted (ICOMOS, 1994). Attribution and framing of values therefore, in itself is a cultural process. The following section investigates Conservation Site School as an activator of a cultural process.

Thematic Reflections: Site School as a Cultural Process The positioning of the Conservation Site School as a resource that initiates a cultural pro‑ cess necessitates a discussion on ways in which such a process is enabled. Within the Indian context, legal and regulatory frameworks for protection of non‑monumental heritage and those that fall beyond dominant narratives but are culturally significant for local communi‑ ties are not completely warranted. It is necessary to question, which heritage regeneration projects get recognition within existing regulatory, governance and financial frameworks, which actors are getting involved in heritage conservation and regeneration initiatives, as well as which history and whose heritage is being valorised (Labadi, 2022; Desai, Shaikh & Pithawalla, 2021; Rama, 2012; Hall, 1999). The process of selection of neglected herit‑ age sites as Conservation Site Schools positions the initiative within the interstices of these questions and context, activating a cultural process. The role of the site and the Site School is multi‑faceted, each facet contributing to the process. Through examples of the four cur‑ rent Site Schools, the inter‑relationship and agency of the two pedagogical models being discussed in this chapter are examined through six thematic roles or lenses.

Site as a Place for Research and Innovative Thinking The Urban Regeneration studio is embedded in a deep understanding of the site through fieldwork. It allows for critical cultural mapping, issue examination and creative methods 429

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for programming built environments through a historic landscape approach.10 It also al‑ lows for explorations through analytical lenses such as interlinkages of natural and cultural values, culture for sustainable development and climate action, equity and rights‑based ap‑ proach, risk‑preparedness and resilience, decolonisation of heritage, addressing difficult her‑ itage, etc. To illustrate the diversity in directions of critical enquiry and resulting variations in regen‑ eration strategies, examples from the studio of Monsoon 2021 are cited here. One group of students studied the area of Tankshal, another studied the settlement of Dharmaj. When the studio was being conducted between August to December 2021, Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid was functioning as a Site School, while custodianship of those at Dharmaj were being formalised. The site at Tankshal brought forth discussions regarding its historic transformations and attributes contributing to the Outstanding Universal Value of the World Heritage Property. Simultaneously, there were discussions on hidden narratives of lesser‑known buildings, local memories of the uncomfortable past of communal conflicts and the resulting outmigration of residents. The site has witnessed commercial ingress into characteristically residential ar‑ eas leading to incompatible building uses, replacement of historic fabric and vehicular traffic congestions. One project examined the impact of the existing business model of wholesale markets in the neighbourhood, proposing economic restructuring for a better quality of life. Another student mapped the lesser‑known narratives and proposed regeneration through heritage interpretation, adopting a game‑based approach for youth engagement.11 The study of Dharmaj enabled discussions on the historic significance of the town, ­socio‑economic patterns, relationship to the agricultural landscape as well as impacts of trans‑national and trans‑regional migration. One project investigated the gendered narra‑ tives embedded within the settlement through a public realm analysis. Recognising the pub‑ lic library of Dharmaj as an important heritage asset, the student proposed a decentralised system within the working of the existing library for slow spatial changes towards an equita‑ ble use of public domain. Another project mapped the ambivalent cultural landscape of the tobacco industry in Dharmaj. Through the lens of historic marginalisations and economic flows, the project explored ways to address difficult heritage. Another student identified migration and a large diaspora population being reasons for the massive number of vacant buildings and proposed adaptation solutions for long‑term sustainability. These divergent critical trajectories investigating the larger site within which the Site Schools are located, indicate opportunities for thinking, peer learning and experimentations in devising solutions for complex issues in an academic environment.

Box 6.2.1  Example of an Experimental Academic Project: Systems of Knowledge Transmission12 This academic project identified the lesser‑known local histories and valuable structures, signifi‑ cant community spaces, traces of uncomfortable pasts and information on migration patterns through participatory mapping with the people of the neighbourhood. Stakeholder interactions in the project revealed information on young people in the neighbourhood, such as: 430

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• Young people living in the neighbourhood were not completely aware of the local histories • There was considerable evidence that the youth desired several lifestyle changes • Young people frequent the neighbourhood due to the presence of an educational institution The project created a heritage interpretation strategy for the area through a game‑based ap‑ proach. The game visualised the fabric of the neighbourhood as a game board. Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid was the starting point of the game, with its courtyard displaying curated information panels on the site’s history. The game was to be played based on this information. The prayer space of the mosque was left untouched in the game, respecting its historic use. Equal assets (coin cards) were distributed to the players at the start. Selected valuable buildings, spaces, historic markers and sites of memory were important points within the journey of the game. The route between the different points was to be traversed based on a throw of dice. Points on the route were marked for picking up cards that asked questions regarding the site and its history. Some questions nudged players to make a decision. Based on the decision, the player’s direction of movement would be decided. Correct answers and ethically correct decisions (as per the information panels displayed at the starting point and the game’s ethical code) were rewarded through keeping the players within the dedicated ‘safe zone’ of the game while wrong answers and questionable decisions would take the player away from the safe zone and they would lose their coin cards. The player(s) in the safe zone with the maximum coin cards would win the game. The game was to be organised on pre‑selected days and time, designed to be facilitated by the local youth for increased visitor and youth engagement. Reflection: Though the final game design had some technical and operational gaps and would need iterations for refinement, the project skilfully conceptualised an alternative vision and possibility of a creative method of continuous care for the site.

Site School as a Link between Critical Heritage Studies and Practice The studio provides a conducive environment for innovative thinking while engaging with real sites and scenarios, but academic work does not have direct agency to execute solutions. In context of heritage practice, Buckley (2019, p. 56) mentions that though there has been a recent rise in scholarly work in heritage studies which identify areas of concern in conven‑ tional heritage practices, an exchange of ideas between scholars and practitioners is not yet well‑established. The operational framework of the Site School facilitates a connection be‑ tween the two often divergent worlds of heritage education, critical thinking and research on one end with heritage practice on the other. It links critical examination of heritage places to actual conservation processes. The collaboration with custodians of the Site School provides students with better access to initiate conversations, integrate perspectives into co‑creating so‑ lutions and the possibility of incremental familiarity with other rightsholders and stakeholders. At all the Site Schools, educational activities have been conducted by various experts and scholars. Each activity has probed into an aspect of conservation, the process and solu‑ tion of which has the potential to be utilised towards actual site conservation. An impor‑ tant contribution of studies conducted during the Urban Regeneration studio at the sites in 431

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Ahmedabad and Dharmaj has been the layered mapping of the historic landscapes within which the Site Schools are situated. At Tankshal, the mosque is located in an area that has transformed through significant historic phenomena and events. Some narratives mapped in students’ work include the area being influenced by trade during the Sultanate and Mughal periods of rule in the city, es‑ tablishment of the royal mint in the area during the Mughal period, possible influences of the maritime mosque typology in the architectural language of Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid, in‑ fluence of Jain merchants and communities on the fabric of surrounding neighbourhoods, transformation of the city during Maratha and British periods, influence of communal ten‑ sions, resulting migration patterns and influences of commercial ingress. Kalidas Jethabhai House and Mukhi House are examples of vacant structures in Dharmaj. A deeper understanding of the settlement growth and the phenomena of vacant proper‑ ties emerged through students’ work. Key features mapped were the role of Patidars or the landed class in the Charotar region and Dharmaj, emergence of tobacco cultivation and other agricultural practices in the region, social hierarchies, migration patterns to East Af‑ rican and other countries, transformation during Gaekwad administration and emergence of important public buildings and institutions, influences of the British period such as in‑ troduction of railways and its impact on trade, spread of Art Deco style of buildings in the settlement, and influence of the ‘White Revolution’ and its continuing role in the region.13 These mappings allow for multiple narratives to be considered while articulating the sig‑ nificance of the Site Schools and their context.

Site School as a Medium of Communication and Collaboration with Custodians The Site School was conceptualised to act as an enabler of communication amongst a wide array of people to further the discourse and practice of heritage conservation. The collabo‑ ration with the owner or custodian of the heritage building or structure adopted as the Site School to ensure continuous care of the place is the foremost step for this. With reference to cultural mapping, Pillai (2020, p. 33) mentions that the role of stake‑ holders and their degree of involvement in mapping processes may range from non‑­inclusion, passive role, as informants, participants, collaborators and leaders.14 In the Urban Regen‑ eration studio, while students map, stakeholders are primarily informants or participants. Sometimes they are collaborators. The aim of the Conservation Site School is to be able to complete the entire curve for various stakeholder groups from non‑inclusion right up to being collaborators and leaders. Activities at the Site School are designed for stakeholder groups such as: • custodians, owners and other rightsholders; • professionals, experts and duty‑bearers; and • other stakeholders, including varied interest groups and socio‑economic groups such as people of different age, gender, religion, economic background, etc. To be able to catalyse this, CHC’s foremost accountability is towards the custodian or owner to co‑create solutions for the site. For Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid, ASMWC has continuously 432

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been consulted for possible directions such as for preferred funding methods, future uses, ways in which surrounding spaces may be reorganised, etc. At Dharmaj, demolition of one of the many vacant structures in the settlement occurred while the Urban Regeneration studio was being conducted, indicating the need for urgent on‑ground action. Owners of both the Site Schools, in consultation with CHC, are considering possibilities of sustainable future uses of their properties. Kalidas Jethabhai House has undergone careful dismantling of an unsafe wing, creation of a building material archive and safeguarding of the relatively well‑preserved wing. Mukhi Delu has undergone safeguarding of the unsafe sections of the structure. At Nagarkhana, activities to understand the site’s history, significance and built fabric have been conducted in consultation with the custodians. Each person involved in the Site School, through the educational activities, becomes a con‑ tributor to conversations surrounding the site’s conservation. The Site School enables such conversations through collaboration with the principal custodians.

Site School as a Place for Access to Information and Capacity Building for Professionals The Conservation Site School initiative aims to build and strengthen capacities of profes‑ sionals involved in the entire cycle of conservation, including officials and individuals in‑ volved in governance and management, experts from various disciplines, contractors and craftspeople. It attempts to make the most recent discourses and best practices of conser‑ vation accessible to professionals. The philosophy and discourse of heritage conservation continuously adapt to emerging ideas, opportunities and challenges of a changing world. Techniques, technologies and methodologies constantly develop and it is important for pro‑ fessionals to continuously enhance their capacities. Simultaneously, it is important to learn from knowledge bearers of traditional building craft practices and to build capacities of professionals to promote sustainable continuation of the practices. Two capacity building activities conducted for professionals are illustrated here. One of the first skill‑based capacity building programs for professionals offered at the Site Schools was at Dharmaj. This was a five‑day program on ‘Non‑Invasive Testing Methods for Historic Buildings’ designed for participants to develop the skill of conducting Non‑­ Destructive Tests (NDT) and Minor Destructive Tests (MDT) through hands‑on engage‑ ment. NDT and MDT methods of material investigation are crucial for retaining maximum historic fabric, while providing information regarding the structure and material. The pro‑ gram content developed by CHC and offered through CPP was for conservation architects, architects, structural and civil engineers, archaeologists and heritage management profes‑ sionals. Participants in the program conducted various tests, supervised by conservation engineer Nigar Shaikh, at both Mukhi House and Kalidas Jethabhai House. This was sup‑ plemented with theoretical expert lectures, laboratory testing of materials at CEPT Conser‑ vation Laboratory and case discussions.15 Another example is the five‑day program ‘Digital Documentation of Built Heritage,’ de‑ veloped and offered by CHC through CPP, conducted at Nagarkhana. Digital documenta‑ tion methods are emerging as primary tools for detailed recording of heritage sites in short time spans. The program was curated with the combined aim of documenting the Site School structure, acknowledging its scale and complexity as well as making such methods accessible 433

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to emerging and mid‑career professionals interested in applying such techniques in their practice. The program attracted participants primarily from disciplines of architecture and architectural conservation. It introduced participants to three techniques: GIS Mapping, Architectural Photogrammetry and 3D LiDAR Scanning. Mrudula Mane, the lead tutor pointed out that discussions with the participants indicated that they intended to learn the techniques for varied use contexts. The pedagogic framework of both these learning activities primarily utilised experiential learning of specific skill‑sets required within the heritage conservation profession. Such op‑ portunities of learning through hands‑on engagement at real conservation sites are currently not readily available in India (Figure 6.2.2).

Figure 6.2.2 Left: Participants learning testing methods at Kalidas Jethabhai House, Dharmaj. Im‑ age Credit: Aaudrey Alvares, CHC, CRDF; Right: Participants learning documenta‑ tion technique using 3D LiDAR scanner at Nagarkhana, the fort gate of Pragmahal, Darbargadh, Bhuj. Image Credit: Drashti Nakrani, CHC, CRDF.

Site School as a Tool for Public Imagination and Interpretation Hayden (1995) in her seminal book ‘The Power of Place’ reflects on how the public presen‑ tation of heritage might become more than a sum of its parts. While discussing the role of heritage in the experience of the everyday world, Schofield (2016, p. 2) mentions, The landscape is full of stories, and stories make memories. It is those memories that create our conceptions of heritage, and which make it inevitable that we attach value to the places that matter to us. It is the inevitability and universality of valued places filling our world that give heritage such social significance and purpose. Through this process of becoming a part of the everyday stories and practices of the people of a place, the Site School aspires to demystify processes of conservation. The aim is to make heritage conservation accessible, equitable, sustainable and meaningful to the people and the place, gradually becoming a part of the social memory of the place. 434

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A public discourse to aid public imagination and interpretation of sites of heritage value is important for this. Several activities of the Site School are structured to engage in citizen consultations and encourage civic imagination for continued relevance of the sites in con‑ temporary times. Some outreach examples are illustrated here. The semester‑end jury of the Urban Regeneration studio of Monsoon 2021 was held at Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid.16 After the jury, an open house was organised displaying students’ work along with other educational outcomes of the site, such as digital replicas of the mosque and a short film interpreting the site.17 Visitors included people who live or work in the neighbourhood, experts, students, representatives from Ahmedabad World Heritage City Trust, heritage walk guides and heritage enthusiasts. For a day, the mosque transformed into an active zone of discussions on history, heritage and conservation (Figure 6.2.3). At Dharmaj, Avichal Heritage Foundation, CHC’s partner organisation organised a ‘Heritage Week’ in November 2021. Students of the Urban Regeneration studio presented excerpts of their academic work. One student presented her work on ‘Tobacco and its Ambivalent Evolution as Industrial Heritage,’ another conducted a heritage walk titled, ‘Dharmaj in the presence of absence’ highlighting ruptures in the historic fabric causing erasures of heritage and memory. Local people, the diaspora of Dharmaj and heritage enthusiasts attended the event. At Nagarkhana, during the ‘Digital Documentation of Built Heritage’ program, the Site School in‑charge organised for the program activities to be reported in a local Gujarati newspaper. The story aimed at creating local awareness about conservation through docu‑ mentation of heritage using advanced recording tools and a sense of pride about the heritage amongst locals. The diversity reflects that outreach strategies can be designed to reach varied groups of people.

Site School as a Resource and Enabler for Urban Regeneration A critical values‑based heritage practice goes beyond decision‑making to include discussions about the wider benefits and uses of heritage along with the values created by the heritage institution (Buckley, 2019). The positioning of the Site School, as a link between heritage ed‑ ucation and practice enables critical determination of values and new meanings to be created through its educational use. The process of selection of the Site School addresses questions such as: Which or whose heritage is neglected? Which heritage assets are getting dilapidated due to gaps in existing conservation mechanisms? Combined with these is the larger ques‑ tion, ‘What agency does an educational institution have in addressing these questions on ground?’ The strength of the Site School’s institutional agency is in its positioning to be able to address local specificities, simultaneously having access to international best practices. With this positioning, can the pedagogical model of the Site School act as a resource for regeneration in historic urban environments or other settlements? Examples of experimen‑ tal urban cultures of reuse and experiments indicate that such sites have a life of their own wherein neither the sites nor its users are completely in control of its future trajectories (Göbel, 2015, p. 52). The ethics of the CEPT Conservation Site School is based on shared guardianship for a limited period of time, wherein all users are meant to be temporary and the site eventually has to have its own life. The Site School’s role, through its varied temporal uses and users, is to interrogate and inform conservation practices through co‑production of 435

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Figure 6.2.3 Top and Centre: Semester‑end jury of the ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio at Tankshal‑ni‑ Pol Masjid. Image Credit: Zeus Pithawalla, CHC, CRDF; Bottom: ‘Open House’ at the end of the day. Image Credit: Jayashree Bardhan, CHC, CRDF.

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knowledge. How each Site School may act as a catalyst for settlement regeneration would depend on the nature of the site, resources and network of relationships created and other impact trajectories. The quality of spaces around Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid indicate immense scope for en‑ hancement. Simultaneously, the mosque being a graded structure within a World Herit‑ age Property, the Site School can act as an innovative model of World Heritage education through recognition of local and under‑represented narratives.18 Stakeholder consultations at Dharmaj have revealed varied and sometimes conflicting place attachments and aspira‑ tions of the diaspora and the homeland communities. While for the diaspora, the house is a property with bequest value, which provides a sense of attachment to the homeland, for people who continue to reside in Dharmaj, it is their lived space. Contestations and nego‑ tiations of diaspora and homeland communities have shaped the idea of shared heritage in several historic settlements (Hammami, 2016; Safran, 1991). A challenge of the activities at Dharmaj is to be able to create a public discourse of shared heritage, creating possibili‑ ties of discussions with both the communities towards safeguarding the shared heritage. The Site School at Bhuj is a landmark in the settlement. The centrality of the monument holds immense potential of catalysing good conservation practices in the settlement and the region. The impact of individual Site Schools can only be analysed in retrospect. A summary of activities is recorded in annual reports of individual Site Schools. These, along with other tools for periodic monitoring and reporting can act as an indicator for impact evaluation.

Lessons Learned • Addressing Neglect: The chapter began with the issue of abandoned and vacant heritage places in historic settlements. The quantum of lesser‑known or locally significant historic structures in India, lying in a state of disrepair, indicate that the dominant frameworks of heritage protection may not be sufficient. This condition calls for innovative collabora‑ tive approaches to reimagine frameworks for care along with the social and customary values of neglected heritage sites. • Connecting through Institutions: Educational institutions can play a significant role in creating strong working links between the often‑disparate worlds of heritage studies and practice to facilitate collaborative approaches to conserve neglected or under‑represented heritage sites. • Cultural Resources: Site Schools can initiate a cultural process by connecting heritage studies to practice, as explored through the six themes. In this process, historically valu‑ able sites can become active cultural resources. • Representation and Equity: The thematic explorations indicate that the pedagogic and practice model of Site Schools aims to become a place that listens and gives voice to multiple views on heritage. As Schofield (2016, p. 1) mentions, this process leads one beyond the comfort zone and conventional boundaries of heritage, beyond exceptional places and objects, to the everyday world of people and their heritage. This traversing of boundaries is the strength, simultaneously a challenge for the Conservation Site School. It has to devise ways to mediate power asymmetries for benefits of the practice to perco‑ late to varied stakeholder groups. 437

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• Educational Process: The Site Schools’ activities suggest that implementation of people‑ centred solutions is inherently slow and that value attributions to heritage by different stakeholder groups may not be congruent. The experiences however also suggest that the pace of the Site School’s educational process provides the possibility to create multiple values for multiple people, enabling meaningful negotiation of key values for a shared vision of the site.

Notes 1 The Master’s Program is located within the Faculty of Architecture at CEPT University. 2 The pedagogy of the Urban Regeneration studio of the Master’s Program in Conservation and Regeneration at CEPT University gains from the collective experiences of all the tutors who have taught it in the current or previous formats. The content of the educational initiatives mentioned have gained immensely from the work of students of the Urban Regeneration studio of Monsoon 2021, the course curators, experts and participants of the two CEPT Professional Programs included, the owners and custodians of all the four Site Schools and the various peo‑ ple and communities in Ahmedabad, Dharmaj and Bhuj who have generously participated in and contributed to the activities of the Site Schools. 3 Ahmedabad Sunni Muslim Waqf Committee is the custodian of Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid, wherein the committee manages the property. Management of Waqf properties in India is governed by the Waqf Act of 1995. Waqf is an endowment of property to Allah, under the premise that the dedication will be utilised for religious, pious or other charitable purposes benefiting the community. 4 I tutored the Urban Regeneration Studio of Monsoon 2021 along with Ashna Patel who is also the Program Lead for Conservation Site School at CHC. The studio was assisted by Zeus Pithawalla. 5 The urbanisation of Dharmaj indicates characteristics of a provincial town (of the erstwhile princely State of Baroda) that developed through interlinkages of the centre of power with the rural or agricultural hinterlands. 6 In addition to Conservation Site Schools, the other three pilot projects under the collaborative are: a digital interactive map of heritage assets of Dharmaj; regeneration of the historic public library; and an owner’s guide to conservation. 7 The program ‘Non‑Invasive Testing Methods for Historic Buildings’ was conducted from 26th to 30th July 2022. Nigar Shaikh, Conservation Engineer, Program Lead for Material Charac‑ terisation at CHC was the course coordinator, co‑curator and one of the tutors for the course. Other tutors and guest experts were Ashna Patel, Khushi Shah, Mehul Shah, Prof. Arun Menon and Prof. Aanal Shah. 8 Darbars were the erstwhile rulers in the princely State of Kutch. ‘Darbargadh’ means the citadel or the fortified residential quarters where the Darbars lived. 9 The program ‘Digital Documentation of Built Heritage’ was conducted from 2nd to 6th January 2023. Mrudula Mane, who is the Program Lead for the Digital Documentation Unit at CHC was the co‑ordinator, co‑curator and one of the tutors of the course. Other tutors of the indi‑ vidual documentation techniques taught in the course were Maniyarasan R., Dr. Shaily Gandhi and Zeus Pithawalla. The program was assisted by Drashti Nakrani. Shriraj Gohil, the Site School in‑charge provided an orientation to the site and its history during the program. Within the organisational structure of the Conservation Site School initiative, each Site School has a ‘Site School in‑charge’. 10 The recommendation on the Historic Urban Landscape (HUL) made by UNESCO in 2011 considers that urban heritage is a social, cultural and economic asset that acquires significance through the historic layering of natural and cultural values, over time. It recommends a land‑ scape approach for the entire process of conserving and managing historic areas within their

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Site-based Pedagogies broader urban context and geographical setting such that strategies for urban heritage conserva‑ tion are integrated within overall goals of sustainable development. 11 Refer to the Box. 12 This academic project was of student Rohan Madan, from the Urban Regeneration studio of Monsoon 2021. 13 The White Revolution in India, of the 1970s, was a dairy development initiative that aimed to make India self‑sufficient in dairy production and distribution. 14 Janet Pillai mentions that the status of the stakeholders and their degree of involvement in map‑ ping processes may range from: non‑inclusion (where experts carry out the mapping without involving any other stakeholders); a passive role (where experts inform the stakeholders before and after mapping and planning); as informants (where stakeholders are interviewed, consulted or surveyed for information); as participants (where experts request the stakeholders to partici‑ pate actively in mapping); as collaborators (where knowledge is shared between and amongst the stakeholders in mapping, diagnostics and devising recommendations); as leaders (where the stakeholders or communities initiate and lead the mapping, possibly in consultation with experts). 15 CEPT Conservation Laboratory is located at the CEPT University campus in Ahmedabad. 16 A ‘jury’ or a ‘review’ typically in the educational fields of architecture, design and other allied fields, is an examination method wherein students present their work, research or design to a jury or review panel (consisting of faculty members and experts from the field) for feedback, dis‑ cussion or evaluation of work done. Such juries are most often open juries where other students attend the presentations and discussions. 17 The digital replicas were created through the advanced digital documentation technique of 3D LiDAR Scanning. The 15‑minute film on ‘Counter Spaces’ along with an essay was submitted by Jigna Desai, Nigar Shaikh and Zeus Pithawalla to the call for counter stories on World Heritage Sites for ‘Our World Heritage’ initiative. The entry won an Honourable Mention. 18 Several heritage structures and buildings within the core zone of the World Heritage Property of the Historic City of Ahmedabad are listed and graded as per their degree of significance by the urban local body, Ahmedabad Municipal Corporation (AMC) and have been notified to be of heritage value. The four grades are: Grade I, Grade II/A, Grade II/B and Grade III, with Grade I being the higher end and Grade III being the lower end of significance level. These structures and buildings contribute to the value of the settlement fabric of the World Heritage Property. Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid is a Grade II/A heritage structure.

Bibliography Books, Book Chapters, Research Papers and Reports Avrami, E., Mason, R. & de la Torre, M. (eds.) (2002). Assessing the Values of Cultural Heritage, Research Report. Los Angeles, CA: The Getty Conservation Institute. [Online]. Available from: https://www.getty.edu/conservation/publications_resources/pdf_publications/pdf/assessing.pdf [Accessed: 21st August 2023]. Buckley, K. (2019). Heritage Work: Understanding the Values, Applying the Values. In: Values in Heritage Management: Emerging Approaches and Research Directions. Avrami, E., Macdonald, S., Mason, R. & Myers, D. (eds.). Los Angeles, CA: The Getty Conservation Institute. pp. 50–65. Center for Heritage Conservation (CHC) (2023a). Annual Report 2022–2023 – CEPT Conservation Site School – Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid. [Online]. Available from: https://crdf.org.in/crdf‑resources/ annual‑report‑2022‑2023‑cept‑conservation‑site‑school‑tankshal‑ni‑pol‑masjid [Accessed: 17th October 2023]. Center for Heritage Conservation (CHC) (2023b). Annual Report 2022–2023  –  Dharmaj Herit‑ age Collaborative. [Online]. Available from: https://crdf.org.in/crdf‑resources/annual‑report‑ 2022‑2023‑dharmaj‑heritage‑collaborative [Accessed: 17th October 2023].

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Jayashree Bardhan Center for Heritage Conservation (CHC) (2022a). Annual Report 2021–2022 – CEPT Conservation Site School – Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid. [Online]. Available from: https://crdf.org.in/crdf‑resources/ annual‑report‑cept‑conservation‑site‑school‑tankshal‑ni‑pol‑masjid [Accessed: 17th October 2023]. Center for Heritage Conservation (CHC) (2022b). Annual Report 2021–2022 – Dharmaj Heritage Collaborative. [Online]. Available from: https://crdf.org.in/crdf‑resources/annual‑report‑2021‑ 22‑dharmaj‑heritage‑collaborative [Accessed: 17th October 2023]. Desai, J., Shaikh, N. & Pithawalla, Z. (2021). Counter Stories: A Case of Conservation Site Schools in Ahmedabad. Our World Heritage. [Online]. Available from: https://static1.squarespace.com/ static/6285301200e13121d0b62f93/t/62ce7e248354835d9ac9b7c4/1657699888942/2021debate_ DG_HM_Desai%2C+Shaikh%2C+Pithawalla_Schools+in+Ahmedabad.pdf [Accessed: 10th Sep‑ tember 2023]. Göbel, H. (2015). The ReUse of Urban Ruins: Atmospheric Inquiries of the City. New York: Routledge. Hammami, F. (2016). Issues of Mutuality and Sharing in the Transnational Spaces of Heritage  –  ­ Contesting Diaspora and Homeland Experiences in Palestine. International Journal of Heritage Studies. Volume no. 22 (Issue 6). pp. 446–465. Hall, S. (1999). Whose Heritage? Un‑settling ‘The heritage’, Re‑Imagining the Post‑Nation. Third Text. Volume no. 13 (Issue 49). pp. 3–13. Hayden, D. (1995). The Power of Place. Cambridge and London: The MIT Press. Labadi, S. (2022). Rethinking Heritage for Sustainable Development. London: UCL Press. Pillai, J. (2020). Cultural Mapping: A Guide to Understanding Place, Community and Continuity. Second Edition. Petaling Jaya: Strategic Information and Research Development Centre. Rama, M. (2012). Investing in the Sense of Place: The Economics of Urban Upgrading Projects with a Cultural Dimension. In: The Economics of Uniqueness: Investing in Historic City Cores and Cultural Heritage Assets for Sustainable Development. Guido, L. & Amritahmasebi, R. (eds.). Washington, DC: The World Bank, pp. 15–43. Safran, W. (1991). Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and Return. Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies. Volume no. 1 (Issue 1). pp. 83–99. Schofield, J. (2016). Heritage Expertise and the Everyday: Citizens and Authority in the Twenty‑First Century. In: Who Needs Experts? Counter‑Mapping Cultural Heritage. Schofield, J. (ed.). London and New York: Routledge. pp. 2–11. Smith, L. (2006). Uses of Heritage. London and New York: Routledge.

Guidelines and Recommendations ICOMOS (2018). Buenos Aires Declaration. [Online]. Available from: https://www.icomos.org/ images/DOCUMENTS/Working_Groups/AGA2018_BuenosAiresDeclaration_EN‑FR‑ESP_final. pdf [Accessed: 28th August 2023]. ICCROM (2015). People‑Centred Approaches to the Conservation of Cultural Heritage: Living Heritage. [Online]. Available from: https://www.iccrom.org/sites/default/files/PCA_Annexe‑2.pdf [Accessed: 10th September 2023]. ICOMOS (1994). Nara Document on Authenticity. [Online]. Available from: https://www.icomos.org/ en/charters‑and‑texts/179‑articles‑en‑francais/ressources/charters‑and‑standards/386‑the‑nara‑ document‑on‑authenticity‑1994 [Accessed: 24th October 2023]. UNESCO (2011). Recommendation on the Historic Urban Landscape. [Online]. Available from: https://whc.unesco.org/uploads/activities/documents/activity‑638‑98.pdf [Accessed: 10th Septem‑ ber 2023]. UNESCO WHC (2021). The Operational Guidelines for the Implementation of the World Herit‑ age Convention. [Online]. Available from: https://whc.unesco.org/en/guidelines/ [Accessed: 10th September 2023].

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Official Websites Center for Heritage Conservation (CHC) (2023). Available from: https://crdf.org.in/center/ center‑for‑heritage‑conservation [Accessed: 15th September 2023]. CEPT Conservation Site School (2023). CEPT Conservation Site School: An Initiative by Center for Heritage Conservation (CHC), CEPT Research and Development Foundation (CRDF). Available from: https://www.ceptconservationsiteschool.com/ [Accessed: 15th September 2023]. CEPT Portfolio (2023). Masters in Conservation and Regeneration, Urban Regeneration Studio: CR4001. Monsoon 2023, Tutors: Gurmeet Rai and Jayashree Bardhan. [Online Student Portfolios]. Available from: https://portfolio.cept.ac.in/2023/M/fa/urban‑regeneration‑cr4001‑monsoon‑2023 [Accessed: 04th January 2023]. CEPT Portfolio (2022). Masters in Conservation and Regeneration, Urban Regeneration Studio: CR4001. Monsoon 2022, Tutors: Gurmeet Rai and Jayashree Bardhan. [Online Student P ­ ortfolios]. Available from: https://portfolio.cept.ac.in/2022/M/fa/urban‑regeneration‑cr4001‑monsoon‑2022 [Accessed: 20th September 2023]. CEPT Portfolio (2021a). Masters in Conservation and Regeneration, Urban Regeneration Studio: CR4001. Monsoon 2021, Tutors: Ashna Patel and Jayashree Bardhan. [Online Student Portfolios]. Available from: https://portfolio.cept.ac.in/2021/M/fa/urban‑regeneration‑cr4001‑monsoon‑2021 [Accessed: 20th September 2023]. CEPT Portfolio (2021b). Masters in Conservation and Regeneration, Urban Regeneration Studio: CR4001. Spring 2021, Tutors: Jigna Desai and Jayashree Bardhan. [Online Student Portfolios]. Available from: https://portfolio.cept.ac.in/2021/S/fa/mcr‑urban‑regeneration‑cr4001‑spring‑2021 [Accessed: 20th September 2023]. CEPT Professional Programs (CPP) (2023). Available from: https://cpp.cept.ac.in/ [Accessed: 20th October 2023].

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6.3 HERITAGE AS A WAY TO INTERPRET AND INHABIT THE TERRITORY Catalina Valencia Tobón and Pedro Eliseo Sánchez Baracaldo Translated by María José Gutiérrez

Now that the local administration in Bogotá has come to an end, there is an opportunity to reflect on the core working lines of city government in the past four years and recognize the legacies that are left for the city. One of such lines has been the commitment of the Mayor’s Office in favor of acknowledging and building an integrated city, and becoming a leader and an international example in the fulfillment of global agendas around improving cities. For example, last March, Mayor Claudia López presented the Local Voluntary Report on the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), which stressed the importance of considering more dynamic planning instruments at the territorial level, such as the Land Use and Zoning Plan (POT, in Spanish) for the fulfillment of the SDGs. Therefore, one of the achievements of this Administration has been the development, implementation and inclusion within the POT of a vision based upon ‘Integrated Heritages,’ led from the District Institute for Cul‑ tural Heritage (IDPC, in Spanish), an affiliated entity to the Secretariat of Culture, Leisure and Sports of Bogotá. Attentive to the global call to contribute to the reduction in the consumption of fossil fuels, to diminish extreme weather variations and the public health indicators connected to human congestions – hyperdense cities – the government of the city of Bogotá included in its model the ‘Heritage Integrating Structure’ (EIP, in Spanish),1 which allows for a better understanding of the way in which local and community environments are lived. EIP allows for a deeper understanding into how to read contextual day to day dynamics in order to include them in planning decisions in the city as a means to democratize and build coopera‑ tive and concerted management processes. They also help to create a public policy strategic message that contributes to strengthen social connections, productive life and serves as an opportunity for cultural change. Ultimately, EIP allows for more free time and selfcare from a perspective of valuing proximity. Heritage Integrating Structure (EIP) The EIP is one of four2 structures that support the ‘Occupation Model’ of Bogotá, a multiscale model grounded in two strategic aspects: environmental important areas and cultural heritage.3 By including EIP as a structural component of urban, rural and regional DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-39

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scale planning decisions, the culture/territory linkage becomes evident. The preservation of cultural heritage contributes to the imperative of stopping the deterioration of the global habitat. Below, we will analyze some of the aspects of the conceptual approach and an alternative solution proposed within the Land Use and Zoning Plan of Bogotá (POT_2021) which cent‑ ers on the protection to inhabitants and productive activities at the local and neighborhood scale.4 First, we must assert that the land use, zoning policy and every urban/rural footprint are determined by historical‑cultural dynamics5 that unfold according to cognitive, communica‑ tive and adaptive sources. What people do in their vital, social and productive environment defines the sense of what they own and their relationship with the otherness. Similarly, the values of rootedness and affection for the place are consolidated. Second, Bogota’s model stresses culture as the vector that guides and defines the manage‑ ment and planning criteria to translate and interpret human action into more spaces for the encounter of strangers from parameters of respect and civic responsibility. This includes better places to exercise local democracy and areas of daily social encounters that reveal the uniqueness and character of the city. Aligned with the global HÁBITAT6 agenda and the SDGs, territorial planning decisions made by the city of Bogota in terms of heritage, consider the decisive role of understanding the integration of cultural practices at the neighborhood scale and environmental issues, in the positioning of planning and management models for urban and rural spaces. This vision favors medium and small scale as an alternative for a life of leisure that allows people to spend more time in their immediate surroundings, as what they need can be found closer at hand. The third aspect of Bogota’s conceptual approach operationalized by EIP, was our ef‑ fort to avoid the simplification of heritage in differentiated and fragmented categories. Our conception of cultural heritage is that it is centered on the process, where the construction and recreation of identity are part of constant negotiation dynamics between people and derive from spaces marked by circumstantial interests of the actors who participate in daily relationships.

Cultural Heritage Our view is that cultural heritage is not limited to objects – furniture or buildings – or an event in itself. This categorization inevitably leads to a folklorizing definition of heritage. On the contrary, we believe cultural heritage can also be defined by the subjacent social process behind the construct of an event, and from the strategies that lead to defining the same event as a space susceptible of being negotiated from different perceptions of heritage from the array of interpretation possibilities available for those who actively and directly participate. This expanding of the definition of heritage from the material world to enumerating and honoring the perceptions of the local communities of culture, broadens the definition with new qualities, creates playfulness in the process and renegotiates the contents of what is relevant locally. This process reduces the typical categories of heritage (tangible, intangible, natural) to the starting point and recontextualizes the fabric of the heritage that manifests itself culturally. That new content, when recognized correctly, becomes an essential first input to land‑use planning decisions. In other words, recognizing and documenting the true 443

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cultural heritage of the place – to be discovered by working closely with the local people in the place – provides essential information to land‑use planning processes. How can you make land‑use decisions without truly knowing the place and its culture – you cannot. Any event that may be considered heritage must constitute collective expressions that have acquired a certain consistency and organization, supported by two elements that we consider core to the identification process: one, an objective or imagined territorialization of the cultural fact and two, an interpretation and a social use in the present as an important element in the legitimization of the heritage event. Likewise, heritage emerges in a plural, integrated and vital set of conditions, as a way of understanding that these do not necessarily respond to applications or categories, material or immaterial. Heritage is a social asset that is used with discretion in the present, but that is preceded by recognitions or declarations from historical, social, economic and political traces which imply the convergence of systems of thought, motivations and interests. Hence, heritage narrates a unity of meaning, which is indissoluble as a category of analysis, and it is necessary for interpretative action, intervention and care. Given this repositioning of Bogota’s cultural heritages, we moved from actions solely con‑ nected to the conservation of objects or the promotion of practices to actions focused on the valuation and interpretation of inhabited environments. This change generates two effects: (i) conservation actions start to emphasize more the activation of such heritages as referents of the neighborhood character and value and (ii) heritages go beyond the scope of the cat‑ egories when integrated as historical‑territorial markers to the EIP, overcoming the simple conservation action and thus becoming informed knowledge for concerted decision‑making that contributes to localized self‑management and at the same time, solidary with public intervention. Now, let us look at a proposal that interprets and shares outlets with other global urban models that are returning to the revival of the intermediate city: the valuation and promo‑ tion of neighborhood environments promoted by their inhabitants and the protection of inhabitants and productive activities on a local and neighborhood scale. The concept of acknowledgment7 is the action of revealing and valuing the characteristic contents of representative urban–rural environments for citizens, to the extent in which there exists shared identification of social, cultural and productive practices. These are there‑ fore related to the mobilization of local and neighborhood knowledge, daily dynamics and the nearby natural environment in which they occur. Additionally, such concepts represent the memory and testimony of the roots and belief systems that give a unique character to an inhabited environment that is simultaneously endorsed by neighbors and visitors as a desti‑ nation for the enjoyment of its scenic and landscape values. The action of neighborhood environment reconnaissance is configured when the follow‑ ing criteria of consultation, observation and listening are applied to the process: 1 Rootedness or territorial domain: requires permanence and appreciation by the pop‑ ulation for a given territory (urban–rural), considering that this is an interpretative ­historical‑cultural construct. It relates to the construction of identities, of differences and therefore of relationships of attachment to the inhabited territory. 2 Day to Day life: used as reference to establish patterns or life cycles based on daily prac‑ tices, such as the motivation, the chores, the who, where and when. Particular attention 444

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is paid to residential and productive activities, bonds with the nearby natural environ‑ ment and social dynamics in the public space. 3 Belief systems: knowledge construct, communication processes and interpretations that refer to the historic and testimonial memory. This concept implies complex relational modalities connected to the social bond and productive life, as well as to cosmogonies, lyrical, sonorous, poetic and scenic references, conflicts, pride in what is owned and shared. Such belief systems define adaptive and cooperative strategies and express them‑ selves as cognitive and communicative resources of the inhabitants of a place, specifying, as a whole, a life plan staged in a possible, qualified and prosperous future. The acts of recognition and activation of neighborhood heritages informs us of the desire of their inhabitants to remain in the environment in which they live. The impulse to remain connected to a place of origin involves identity traits, respect and affection for ‘where I live,’ and includes the possibility of social relations in which we feel welcomed. Likewise, an offer of daily and permanent goods and services, public spaces for close and safe itinerancy, places that encourage memory and identity together with confidence in the present and respect for all forms of life create a favorable scenario for public action. It is expected that by the end of 2025, short term for the POT, the area currently declared and/or recognized as cultural heritage of the city (2,200 hectares) will double, reaching at least 4,000 of the 40,000 hectares of Bogota’s urban land. To conclude, it is worth reiterating that the aforementioned approaches bring us closer to the notion of urban ethics stated by Richard Sennett in Building and Dwelling: Ethics for the City, 2019. The city, as Sennet states, is ‘a kind of experience,’ a kind of collective con‑ sciousness, a culture that ‘can also represent how people want to collectively live.’ This in‑ cludes citizenship, a place of local democracy and a place for everyday sociability. He adds, ‘Building to destroy existing spaces of sociability, in the attempt to create a social order from scratch, is not an acceptable path.’ A clear affirmation in the face of planning decisions that interpret inhabited neighborhoods as the settings of a city’s uniqueness and character.

Lessons Learned • This chapter promotes an expanded vision of the heritage concept as a contribution to the habitability, climate and global mental health crisis associated with human congestion –  hyperdense cities. • Places and events recognized and valued as the heritage of a community, historically situ‑ ated, are the manifestation of unique habitats and therefore their preservation are deter‑ minants and structuring of territorial planning. Our view is that cultural heritage is not limited to objects – furniture or buildings – or an event in itself. This categorization in‑ evitably leads to a folklorizing definition of heritage. On the contrary, we believe cultural heritage can also be defined by the subjacent social process behind the construct of an event, and from the strategies that lead to defining the same event as a space susceptible of being negotiated from different perceptions of heritage from the array of interpreta‑ tion possibilities available for those who actively and directly participate. • Heritage, when recognized correctly, becomes an essential first input to land‑use plan‑ ning decisions. In other words, recognizing and documenting the true cultural heritage 445

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of the place – to be discovered by working closely with the local people in the place –  provides essential information to land‑use planning processes. • The acts of recognition and activation of neighborhood heritages informs us of the de‑ sire of their inhabitants to remain in the environment in which they live. The impulse to remain connected to a place of origin involves identity traits, respect and affection for ‘where I live,’ and includes the possibility of social relations in which we feel welcomed. Likewise, an offer of daily and permanent goods and services, public spaces for close and safe itinerancy, places that encourage memory and identity together with confidence in the present and respect for all forms of life create a favorable scenario for public action. • The view of heritage from a plural, integrated lens and as part of its management will guarantee the durability and reliability of territories in which human communities and others that inhabit the same environments minimize the fear of being displaced and in that sense become guarantee of durability and care of all forms of life.

Notes 1 Article 80. Definition of the Heritage Integrating Structure – EIP. The structure that integrates the tangible, intangible and natural cultural heritage in the territory which constitutes the memory and testimony of the historically built city and is manifested as part of the processes of occupa‑ tion, transformation, adaptation and interpretation that express the diversity of the identities of its inhabitants. Such structure fosters the comprehensive management of heritage, by strengthen‑ ing social connections and the productive life of the social and community groups that remain, relate and give meaning to the emblematic urban and rural landscapes of the Capital District (Decree 555 of 2021, POT Bogota). 2 (1) Main Ecologic Structure (2) Heritage Integrating Structure (3) Functional and Caregiving Structure, and (4) Socioeconomic, Creative and Innovation Structure. 3 Article 6. Multiscale Territory Occupation Model – TOM –. Bogotá will become an articulated territory form the regional, district and local scales which is organized through environmental important areas and areas of cultural heritage; that respond to the climate emergency and reduces territorial vulnerability, providing proximity supports by giving a better use to the land to achieve territory balance and that fosters the revitalization on consolidated areas that offer residential properties, job positions, public space and equipment (Consulta el POT, Libro II, Componente General). 4 Article 370. Protection for inhabitants and productive activities. Urbanistic actions and activities developed in urban conservation, consolidation, renewal treatments under the mode of compre‑ hensive revitalization and improvement, must promote the permanence of the inhabitants and of productive activities that were previously located in the area of intervention and allowed in the area of activity in which the action or urban development activity takes place (Decree 555 of 2021, POT Bogota). 5 The model of Bogotá acknowledges that the territory is the result of practices, uses, habits and beliefs that inhabitants have historically built. Therefore, the cultural criteria are included as a condition to manage, plan and organize the territory. 6 Among others, (i) Slum upgrading and access to adequate housing and basic services, (ii) Innova‑ tive small‑scale urban projects (…), y (iii) Safeguarding the world’s cultural and natural heritage. 7 Qualitative observation and investigation methods may be applied. Methods include micro urban ethnography, in particular (…), moving away from discipline and intimist registration tools to transdisciplinary techniques related to the identification and appreciation of contents, stories of rootedness and the ways of thinking and relate locally. In the new model, in order to plan and manage cities, there is a need to deepen a democratic and sustainable culture of habitats which

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Bibliography Decreto 555 de 2021 Alcaldía Mayor de Bogotá, D.C (n.d.). Subcapitulo 2 Estructura Integradora de Patrimonios ‑ EIP ‑ Article 80 and SUBCAPÍTULO 3 PROTECCIÓN A MORADORES Y A ACTIVIDADES PRODUCTIVAS Article 370. Consulta el POT, Libro II Componente General (2021). CONTENIDO ESTRUCTURAL DEL PLAN ‑ MODELO DE OCUPACIÓN TERRITORIAL Y CLASES DE SUELO Artículo 6. Modelo de Ocupación Territorial ‑ MOT ‑ multiescalar.

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6.4 URBAN HERITAGE CONSERVATION AND REVITALIZATION ON JAPAN’S SHRINKING SOCIETY A Challenge to the Picturesque Historic Port City of Onomichi Yushi Utaka In this chapter,1 the author uses the challenges in the historic port city Onomichi as a respec‑ tive recent example of how urban arts, culture, and heritage are being promoted in Japan. The city transformed from a shrinking provincial society to a revitalized picturesque city, which demonstrates the role of culture in good city planning. For people living in the city, picturesque refers to the spirit that anchors their urban legacy and consolidates its cultural development. It is deeply ingrained with daily life in the city and has even evolved the city’s urban development paradigm.

Readdressing Cultural Heritage under Social Shrinkage Japanese society seeks to enhance its cultural heritage to encourage local identity and strengthen its tourism industry. Japan’s society faces social shrinkage due to social aging (2022: 29% of the population over 65 years old), depopulation, and long years of economic recession. Cultural heritage will play a vital role in revitalizing society. Various organizations have established governmental and private initiatives to promote Japan’s cultural heritage related to its Sushi cuisine, Anime, and World Heritage sites. Urban culture and heritage have proved to be essential, effective catalysts to promote Japan’s cul‑ tural and material spaces. Japan’s postwar cultural heritage policy has successfully encouraged the nation’s cultural and art sectors, which have also benefited from robust economic growth from the mid‑1950s to the early 1970s.2 However, favorable economic conditions did not last. Japanese society faced multiple financial crises, including the recession in the early 1990s, the Asian financial crisis in 1997, and the global financial crisis in 2008. These recessions continue to affect the Japanese economy to this day. Under the unfavorable circumstances of social shrinkage, policymakers seek alternatives to encourage Japanese cultural assets, in order to assist in salvaging the economy. Cultural heritage promotion was considered an effective approach to strengthen the tourism industry.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-40

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Policy‑wise, the Creative City concept has been adopted by selected Japanese cities, and local authorities are keen to be included in the UNESCO Creative Cities Network, which has brought more tourist attention and increased consumption of local products. In addition, local authorities and the tourism industry seek to be awarded the prestigious title of World Cultural Heritage for their historic sites. Recently, the government amended the national cultural heritage legislation to encourage more utilization of historic properties, in contrast with the previous policy that prioritized preservation. In addition, various media campaigns and official financial support have been provided to encourage local cultural heritage. In recent years, the nation’s “Cool Japan” campaign has promoted a variety of cultural assets, including animation, cinema, traditional cuisine, and historic buildings. Many successful cultural heritage promotions have ensued; nevertheless, some cases have had unfavorable outcomes. For example, some people in historic cities are distressed over the problem of over‑tourism, or, in contrast, insufficient tourism demand than initially expected. Furthermore, excessive commercialism has degraded the quality of cultural heritage. Ironically, some historic properties are utilized for cultural activities with‑ out genuinely acknowledging their cultural backgrounds.

Onomichi: Readdressing the Urban Landscape and Legacy The arts are deeply ingrained into the life and the streets of Onomichi. The city is the place of a renowned painting arts biennial contest called the “Picturesque Onomichi in the Four Seasons.” The city has also frequently appeared as a set for filming mov‑ ies. Prominent novelists, painters, and directors have resided and appeared in the city. Through this history and stories, the city has become attractive for both domestic and international visitors, receiving approximately seven million visitors immediately before the COVID‑19 outbreak. The urban transformation in favor of promoting the city’s picturesque landscape and heritage are not the result of short‑term efforts; rather, they have been achieved with gener‑ ous financial support from local philanthropists, the involvement of citizen groups, the local authorities meeting challenges, and political leaders. Their efforts appeared piece by piece: ruined historic properties have been converted into museums, visitor facilities, and artist stu‑ dios. Chaotic streetscapes have been improved under pioneering landscape regulations, and improvements to urban infrastructure are being carried out with great commitment. Despite the city’s relatively small population, its municipal university has an art college that is well connected with urban art and citizen’s cultural activities. Nevertheless, the city is considered behind in terms of progress in conventional devel‑ opment, including measures for disaster mitigation, as the city sometimes suffers fire and sediment disasters. Urban infrastructure development is still in process due to spatial and financial constraints. The rest of this chapter will explore how the city of Onomichi became picturesque. In addition, it will outline how the residents developed its spirit and committed to conserve their properties as part of the city’s the cultural heritage rather than sacrificing it through conventional development. Also, it will cover the challenges remaining in the effort to pass the picturesque city to the next generation (Figure 6.4.1).

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Figure 6.4.1  Onomichi city: view from the hill to the downtown and channel. Source: Yushi Utaka.

Transforming Urban Legacy: From Growing Port Towns to Decay Sacred Places and Port Town The renowned port and sacred city of Onomichi is situated on a unique terrain: a narrow plain extending east to west, sandwiched between a channel in the south and steep hills in the north. In recent years, upon being nominated to the Japan Heritage, this landscape set‑ ting was considered a highly picturesque landscape and sometimes described as a miniature garden (Onomichi City Historical Culture City Development Promotion Council 2016).3 The city has a prominent place of worship, Jyodo‑ji Temple, established in 616. People living in the city and travelers arriving from inland sea routes can see the temples on the hillsides. The route to reach the temple extends from the jetties, across the narrow alleys on the plain land, and up steep footpaths. This north–south axis from the harbor to the hill was the prime urban axis when the city was founded. There are alleys in the downtown center are called Shoji (narrow street). Each alley represents the character of enclaves that reflect 450

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origins of community and trade activities. Lately, these jetties have been gradually consoli‑ dated, and the more prosperous ones have expanded their capacity. The city’s maritime trade reaches as far as northern Japan. The town obtained an author‑ ized “port status of call” for Kitamae‑Bune (cargo ships mainly during the Edo period). Furthermore, religious exchange took place with East Asian countries, which can be seen in the Chinese influence in the wall paintings in some places of worship (Mitsuru Suzuki 2006: 1–4). By the land route, old highways connected the city with the hinterland as far as the silver mines of Ohmori on the Sea of Japan. During the Edo period, the central rulers built highways to foster inter‑regional land trans‑ portation and to ensure Sankin‑Koutai (regional rulers’ regular attendance to Edo). The old highway ran along the city’s center in an east–west axis, which continues to be the prime urban axis to this day. The city grew and comprised a wide range of social classes, from business magnates to the lower classes. The business magnates owned villas on the high streets, while the lower classes built tiny houses and some lived on their boats. The city was located on the boundary of the two domains of Aki and Bingo, often the site of clandestine meetings by secret agents or brokers, who were behind the struggles for power and money. The growth in population led to a greater settlement density. The hillsides were not settled due to the limited availability of water sources. They were largely occupied by places of wor‑ ship, cemeteries, and forests. Only part of the plain was suitable for residential use, while the coastal areas experienced continuous land reclamation.

Hill Side and Modern Representation At the beginning of the rise of the modern Meiji period (1868–1912), Onomichi became the region’s industrial and trading center. In 1898, the city was the second locality to gain full city status among the towns in Hiroshima Prefecture. Furthermore, the region’s modern banking institution was established, and a sophisticated central pier was constructed for easy handling of vessels. Many novel structures for maritime and administrative institutions were built along the coast. The first railway link in the region reached the city in 1891 and was constructed as an ad‑ dition to the east–west axis. It changed the urban space, as houses located at the foot of the hill skirts were removed to lay the railway track, and it caused a spatial disconnection in the north–south axis. After being forced from the hill by the railway, households elected to reside at the foot of the hill above the railway track. Until water piping was brought to the hill area in 1925, it was not suitable for residential purposes. Before then, people economized in their water consumption and used a unique Nikai‑Ido (double‑storied well), in which residents living at different terraced levels above and below could draw water from the same well.4 The new‑ comers who lived in hillside houses had sufficient exposure to the sun and impressive views of the scenery of the port and channel. Lately, the local community has embraced the hillside, and maritime engineers, sailors, entrepreneurs, and the cultural community all moved into the neighborhood. The sociocul‑ tural sphere of the city appeared to flourish, as many prominent writers elected to reside in the city, including novelist Naoya Shiga (1883–1971), Fumiko Hayashi (1903–1951), and 451

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poet Kenkichi Nakamura (1889–1934). This trend has continued to the present day; for ex‑ ample, prominent film director Nobuhiko Obayashi (1938–2020) was born there and loved its scenery throughout his life. This new community preferred adopting a novel lifestyle that required the construction of quasi‑western residences, and urban infrastructure was upgraded. Pioneering educational institutions were placed on the hillside to meet the demands of increasing elementary educa‑ tion. For example, the Tsuchido Elementary School was constructed using a reinforced con‑ crete structure with sophisticated architectural design in 1937. These social representations are overlaid with physical urban fabric, diverse architectural styles, and unique enclaves that formed essential elements of the present picturesque Onomichi. This uniqueness was created through the footprints of countless people: large merchants and migrant workers, hillside villas and hovels packed closely together, and the stories of success and despair were all nested within the everyday scenery of Onomichi. Interestingly, the hills are almost physically invisible from downtown streets because the field of vision of the downtown streets is mostly narrow due to the surrounding structures and buildings. The historic north–south axis, an invisible connection between the upper ridge and downtown, could be understood as an invisible memory inherited from the distant past. Historically, people looked up at sacred temples in the hills from downtown and ships arriving on the sea. This memory of the landscape might be understood as an intangible value shared over generations. Inspiration of an imaginary landscape that appears in the narratives of novels or movies over the years.

Postwar Urban Glory and Decline Most of Japan’s major cities, including the prefectural capital City of Hiroshima, were se‑ verely damaged during the Second World War. Fortunately, Onomichi did not suffer US air raids during the war, and much of the urban fabric and old buildings remained as they were when built.5 The city was selected as a prime logistics center during the immediate postwar reconstruction period. Within the postwar period of high economic growth, Onomichi developed its industrial sectors, especially in the maritime trade and shipbuilding industries. The city had the coun‑ try’s leading shipbuilding yards on Mukai‑jima Island, located across the narrow channel. Through ferry services, the city was connected with major ports that extended across the Seto inland sea. When the economy was booming, the city was repeatedly called the “merchants’ city” and committed to representing the people’s enterprising and progressive spirit. Impressive archi‑ tectural structures were built to meet people’s needs. For example, the former city hall and its administrative complex, designed by the architect Tomoya Masuda (1914–1981), were completed in 1958. This novel type of architecture provided greater diversity of building type and blended with the city’s picturesque landscape. However, the prosperous business environment did not last long; companies were unable to maintain their competitiveness against emerging East Asian countries, after the Plaza Accord in 1985. The heavy industry and maritime sectors struggled due to shifts in global markets. The city encouraged new manufacturing sectors although it had insufficient land to incubate emerging industrial sectors. Also, as a historic city, a complicated land ownership 452

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system obstructed urban redevelopment proposals. In addition, disasters occurred  –  the city’s downtown enclaves have occasionally had fires and other natural disasters (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1979).6 Modes of transportation in Japan also shifted from the old maritime transport to new high‑speed rail, aviation, and motorization. Unfortunately, the city center has not been con‑ nected with these new transportation modes, such as bullet railways. A new bridge linking the city to the archipelago provides great convenience to travel to the island; however, it took away passengers from the ferry service and piers in the city.7 The city gradually lost its leading businesses and its commercial vitality as a regional eco‑ nomic center. According to the national census, its population (old city territory) peaked in 1975 (population: 102,951) and has declined continuously to the present (86,234 in 2015). Its loss of population has been considered a serious matter as early as the 1990 (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1990f). Commercial activities have also continued to decline into the present.

Figure 6.4.2 Urban setting of Onomichi: major institutions, former shoreline, current height con‑ trol under the landscape legislation, distribution of historic properties, and unoccu‑ pied properties. Figure and background drawings were prepared by the author, which first appeared in the report (Research Committee on Historic Buildings and Land‑ scape of Onomichi 2006).

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Figure 6.4.3 The “north–south axis” from the pier to the hillside, and built heritages. Figure and background drawings are prepared by the author, which first appeared in the report (Research Committee on Historic Buildings and Landscape of Onomichi 2006).

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Rising Public Concerns about the Historic Landscape since the 1990s Questioning Urban Development in the Picturesque City In 1990, a private development company submitted a 44‑meter tall (13 stories, 47 units) apartment development proposal in the eastern downtown area. The developer received building permission from the authorities. The urban planning legislation designated the area as a commercial zone, and taller building construction was feasible according to develop‑ ment precedents in this area. The response from the public was complicated; groups from the business sectors wel‑ comed the proposal to reboot the declining urban population and economy. A city council member shared his opinion: “The city population has now dropped below 100,000. There is no reason to stop housing development to provide more employment opportunities and place to live” (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1990a). A member from the local commerce body believed that “to revitalize Onomichi, the city should be an international city like Hong Kong; both banks of the channel will be occupied by lines of high‑rise buildings” (Kazuo Mouri 2008: 142–143). However, those concerned about the urban heritage were against the apartment develop‑ ment that would affect the picturesque landscape. A citizens’ group was established and sent in a petition with 9,500 signatures to the city government (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1990b). At that time, the city’s administrative power on development control was limited relative to the present. Large‑scale development applications such as this matter were administered by Hiroshima Prefectural government. In addition, the city has enacted no effective landscape control ordinance to guide architectural design and building height. Of course, for the developer, the rejection of the project was unacceptable; they had al‑ ready received building permission, and spent a substantial amount on preparing for the project. Also, their previous projects sold quickly and received a good response from the local housing market. The real‑estate index was steadily rising during the period. Their pro‑ posed apartment was moderately priced, and fit for young households (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1990c). Facing the project deadlock, the developer compromised a decrease of building height from 44 to 28.5 meters. This height was lower than the tallest existing building in the down‑ town, outdone by a ten‑story hotel with a height of 39 meters (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1990d). In response, a citizens’ group sought a means of withdrawing the development pro‑ posal and discussed the possibility of acquiring the land from the developer.

Irreplaceable the Picturesque Historic Landscape The donations to the citizens’ group halted, especially the substantial amounts contributed by philanthropists. Eventually, the citizens’ group acquired the land from the developer, and the developer and citizen group engaged in a land trade agreement (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1990g). A locally born art dealer proposed building an art museum on the acquired land. He pro‑ posed creating an art venue, the Onomichi Shirakaba Museum, specifically to exhibit the art

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of the Shirakaba school, a modern Japanese literature group from the liberalizing Taisho pe‑ riod (1912–1926).8 The museum was opened in 1999, and the exhibitions have been highly praised by the public.9 Despite citizen concerns, in 1991, another high‑rise apartment development proposal was submitted only 200  meters from the acquired land, and it was eventually constructed as proposed. The citizens’ group was deeply disappointed and acutely aware that establishing a more effective development regulation was necessary to keep their picturesque city. Through the subsequent debate, the city enacted new landscape legislation in which the picturesque view of the city is deemed irreplaceable. The city enacted Onomichi city landscape guidelines in 1993; nevertheless, it was not enough effective to control high‑rise flat developments. These public moves intended to conserve their historic properties; de‑ spite these challenges, innumerable historic buildings have gradually disappeared from the city.

Making the City More Picturesque: Enactment of the New Legislation Urban Redevelopment and Heritage Conservation Upon the 100th anniversary of the municipality in 1998, then Mayor Ryouichi Kemeda re‑ vealed that he wanted to make the city “take good care of old properties and carefully clean them with a cloth,” which became widely accepted as the key concept of the policymaking process (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1998). Mr. Kameda often traveled to historic cities abroad and loved fine art and paintings. He and his colleagues encouraged the city’s arts activities in the form of a well‑regarded art biennial event, the “Picturesque Onomichi in the Four Seasons,” which began in 1983. Along with the mayor, philanthropists and the business community provided substantial support for these programs. Many artistic prize winners found their subjects from unique picturesque aspects of the city’s unique historic scenery. Additionally, considering the size of the population, the city has well‑managed museums and a city university with an art col‑ lege. These assets have encouraged many young artists careers, and also advertise the city’s aesthetic value. In 2002, Mr.  Kemeda revealed his interest in his city achieving status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The mayor repeatedly emphasized that preparing for the future World Heritage nomination could be understood as a part of the city’s comprehensive urban man‑ agement and beautification challenge (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 2005b). However, some citizens were dubious about the possibilities of becoming a prestigious World Heritage city. In fact, a member of the municipal council assembly openly questioned the possibility and the exact benefit of being in the World Heritage listing.10

Prioritizing Historic Landscape In April 2005, another apartment development proposal arose. A developer submitted a 12‑story apartment development proposal on a site adjacent to the city’s main railway sta‑ tion, which had formerly been used as a rail yard and was owned by the railway company.

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Again, this apartment would have blocked the visual connection between the hills and the town, especially the view from the railway station, which functioned as the most important entry point to the city. Immediately after the announcement, the reaction from the business sectors and the mu‑ nicipality showed a thorough opposition to the proposal, which was completely different from the previous cases in the early 1990s. Then Mayor Kameda expressed his strong ob‑ jection to the development and wrote open letters to the developer and landlord, in which he expressed his determination to devote his entire political life to keeping his picturesque city (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 2005a).11 Locals established a concerned group and collected 23,000 signatures for their petition (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 2005c). However, again, this also encountered the limitations of municipal administrative power, particularly in terms of the lack of building height control regulations. The city government offered a deal to have the municipality purchase the land plot, and provided 540  million JPY for the purpose. Yujuro Daikoku (2007: 27) pointed out that “this decision to acquire the land prevented the destruction of the landscape. However, the amount paid by the city was no doubt a heavy burden for the municipal budget and citizens living in this small town.” The acquired land is now a public park called “Shima‑Nami Sakura Park” with rows of cherry blossom trees.

Enactment of New Landscape Legislation Immediately after this development debate, the city government adopt the new national landscape regulation. Concurrently, the national Landscape Act (Act 110, 2004) was en‑ acted. Previously, the legal conditions for landscapes in Japan were largely defined by local ordinances, which were intended to reflect the characteristics of each town’s landscape and social settings. Under the new Landscape Act, the designated local authorities are defined by a landscape administrative body. This body designates the landscape plan area for a larger territory. Within that area, smaller landscape zones are defined, which regulate more specific guidelines to reflect local characteristics such as the design and height of individual buildings. Addition‑ ally, selected buildings and vegetation are designated as important landscape properties. Onomichi prepared to adopt the law by 2005, and this adoption was the first example in the region. Under the Onomichi Landscape Plan, citizens’ concerns regarding keeping the picturesque landscape over the generations were carefully reflected. Since the implementa‑ tion of the two landscape plan areas under the Onomichi Landscape Plan in 2006, the city revised and expanded it to the entire city area in 2010, including 11 landscape zones. For the central district’s “Onomichi and Mukaishima landscape zone,” the zone territory is defined by the City Planning Act, which regulates the details of the design and height of the buildings. Height control was applied to the plain land, which provided a boundary from the coastal lines on the south to the railway tracks on the north. Four different maxi‑ mum building heights were set at 15, 21, 24, and 27 meters (see Figure 6.4.2), which was derived from a careful examination of the landscape to maintain the skyline of the mountain ridge without any interruptions of higher buildings from the viewpoints on the hilltops and the opposite shore of the channel (Figure 6.4.3).12

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Additionally, there were additional municipal subsidies to carry out urban beautification projects. For example, the city government acquired several private buildings that block the views along coastlines from the main streets. Also, the business sectors cooperated with these moves; the most influential financial institutions agreed to remove their large rooftop signboards to improve the view from the hillside. These piece‑by‑piece improvements were carried out with subsidies and tenacious preparation from the city’s administrative officers, especially from the urban design division. Together with the enactment of the landscape legislation, more heritage conservation projects were carried out. In July 2006, researchers in architecture and history sat on the research committee on the city’s heritage and landscape. The author of this chapter led the research project. The research committee identified over 300 historic properties and 15 unique quasi‑western residential buildings that had not been recognized previously. In ad‑ dition, the committee conducted a questionnaire survey among visitors to the city, 55% of whom said that they were interested in living within historic districts in the future (Research Committee on Historic Buildings and Landscape of Onomichi 2006: 5/1–5/11). The research committee initially proposed to apply the nation’s preservation district sys‑ tem to the city.13 The city later sought an alternative, prepared its Model Project for Com‑ prehensive Cultural Heritage Study in 2008–2010 and then enacted Historic Landscape Management and Improvement Plans in 2011. This series of new policies provided more governmental funding to enhance historic landscapes and properties. After this, the city ob‑ tained additional official recognition, which has borne fruit with multiple nominations for the “Japan Heritage” in 2015–2018.

Picturesque Onomichi: Future Challenge The Onomichi City Government has carried out a variety of tourism promotional projects, such as a beautification project on the pedestrian hillside route through old temples and downtown streets to make them more accessible for visitors (Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 1990e).14 Heritage buildings in historic enclaves have been converted to retail stores, art‑ ist studios, or guest houses. In one of the most successful private initiatives, an unoccupied harbor warehouse was stylishly renovated as a cyclist’s hub called the Onomichi U2, which offers cyclists accommodation, retail, and restaurant. Also, the city established a film commission to promote the city as a filming location. As a result, the city was selected as a filming location for over 150 movies by 2020, and many prominent directors praised the city’s scenery.15 In movie scripts, the picturesque landscape always plays an inevitable role. Lately, the city has been regarded as a “holy ground” by cinephiles, and many film devotees frequently visit to see where the famous scenes were filmed. The city’s tourism and industry division observed steadily rising demand, especially in 2015–2018, the years of the promotion of the “Japan Heritage.” Also, the opening of a new cross inland sea bridge link in 1999, and the airing of a TV show about the city in 2010 have led to overwhelming tourism demand (Asahi Shimbun newspaper 2017). The recent move in the city to make it more picturesque and to promote its culture and art, the city received a positive response through high tourism demand. These changes are ac‑ cepted as a prime social revitalizing force. The city is also recognized as a successful example 458

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of portraying a “creating human scale” urban society, generating mutual involvement of the local community and social organizations (Tohru Mochizuki 2018: 69). Various actors in the city have contributed to this move, which has not commonly hap‑ pened in other historic cities. The city officers have bravely applied sophisticated governance to implement pioneering landscape and cultural heritage policy without becoming bureau‑ cratic. The local newspaper has tenaciously expressed its support of the historical landscape since the earliest moves in the city. Yujirou Daikoku (2007: 27) pointed out, “Onomichi’s unique scenery is unexpectedly survived as if the clock stopped” by the city’s long years of social decay. In other words, the historic urban settlements of Onomichi were not intentionally conserved till recently. Notwithstanding the political motivations, economic power, or professional knowledge in‑ volved, there can be no doubt that people living in the city have a strong sense of attachment to the picturesque landscape. People might even feel a kind of aesthetics from the deterio‑ rated buildings, deserted streets, and sleepy everyday lives. The scenery of Onomichi has functioned as a catalyst for films, poems, paintings, lit‑ erature, and narratives over the years. Sometimes, it has been portrayed beyond what the physical substance would support. The question remains: why do people consider the city’s historic landscape to be irreplaceable and picturesque? During the period of high economic growth in Japan in the 1950s to the 1970s, the coasts of the Seto inland sea were turned into massive land refills, factories, and shipyards. From a pragmatic standpoint, Onomichi failed to ride on the waves of the nation’s mainstream development. Arguably, the phenomena in the city could be read as a kind of rebound of the nation’s past torrent of industrialization. Onomichi city is silently expected to be a place that compensate a loss of the irreplaceable historic landscape, heritage, and cultural identity which most of the city’s counterparts had lost and forgotten. These notions are also seen in the profits of tourism development. In fact, the tourism sec‑ tors are steadily increasing and will constitute a major economic force in the city. Visitors are fascinated by the picturesque scenery that brings them high spirits even before their ar‑ rival to the city. Their spirits are uplifted by a variety of media channels including the social networking service, which has appeared virtually many times in sentimental films, pictures of old cafes, aesthetically abandoned houses, and sleeping stray cats. In relation to this, people in Onomichi dispassionately decided and chose, without any sweet illusions, their distinctive long year’s legacy of the shrewd “merchants’ city.” For them, being picturesque certainly has brought them money. Understanding this background of the city without a discussion of people’ perceptions would be incomplete. The landscape is a reflection of social norms over the generations; people have long looked up the hilltop to the places of worship and its skyline from the downtown streets or jetties. This is embodied and commemorated by the people, and there are invisible consequences to conserving the urban landscape and heritage. Cultural heritage has developed through people’s daily lives and is deeply rooted in each particular location. Author has observed that successful cases have extensive connections with local contexts and are rooted in the local cultural capital and spirit. Attentive reflection on these foundations will be determining factors of successful cultural plans and promotion of cultural heritage. Most importantly, local communities should maintain enough spirit to pass their cultural assets to the next generation. 459

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However, Onomichi faces unsolved issues in making the city more sustainable and main‑ taining a picturesque landscape. In particular, the downtown district has an increasing number of unoccupied properties, a decreasing population, and an aging of society (Asahi Shimbun 2015). Especially on the hillside, a not insignificant number of historic buildings and land plots are unable to submit new building applications due to incompatibilities with the Build‑ ing Standards Act (Act 201, 1950). Also, construction costs will be higher for these than for most buildings on plain land. These properties generally have lower real‑estate values, which becomes a prime factor for increasing unoccupied properties. In 2001, the city set up a mediation system between the owners of unoccupied buildings and house seekers. Also, locals established a not‑for‑profit organization that received a subcontract engagement with the city government to promote unoccupied historic buildings. Piece by piece, unoccupied houses have been converted into storefronts, inns, or guesthouses. Most of the historic hillside enclaves have not met the requirements to upgrade infrastruc‑ ture, including four‑wheeled vehicle access or a sewage pipe system. Also, a large portion of the hill slopes are designated sediment disaster hazardous zones. Complicated land owner‑ ship makes it difficult to acquire the land for these upgrading projects. A large portion of hillside land is owned by temples and shrines, and their subtenants and usage have varied, including cemeteries with small land plots. Also, the city government has faced budget defi‑ cits and declining tax revenue; it must be careful in using shrinking financial resources. The officials have recently announced a merger of municipal museums and cultural venues to reduce operational costs (Chugoku Shimbun 2020). Onomichi’s challenge has never ended – to keep the city more picturesque and to hand it down to the next generation.

Lessons Learned • The memory of the landscape might be understood as an intangible value shared over generations. Inspiration of an imaginary landscape that appears in the narratives of nov‑ els or movies over the years. • The recent move in the city to make it more picturesque and to promote its culture and art, the city received a positive response through high tourism demand. These changes are accepted as a prime social revitalizing force. • The urban transformations in favor of promoting the city’s picturesque landscape and heritage are not the result of short‑term efforts; rather, they have been achieved with gen‑ erous financial support from local philanthropists, the involvement of citizen groups, the local authorities meeting challenges, and political leaders. • Notwithstanding the political motivations, economic power, or professional knowledge involved, there can be no doubt that people living in the city have a strong sense of at‑ tachment to the cultural heritage and landscape.

Notes 1 This chapter is based on the author’s research and observations, and it should not be attributed in any manner to any organizations or projects with which the author was previously involved.

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Urban Heritage Conservation and Revitalization 2 Law for the Protection of Cultural Properties (1950) which fall under the Agency for Cultural Affairs, Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology. On the local level, pre‑ fectural and local authorities play a role in cultural heritage matters. Mostly, local educational divisions are allocated a semi‑independent administrative commission, the Board of Education. 3 Onomichi’s listing on the “Japan Heritage” and its subtitle, “A Miniature Garden City from the Middle Ages Built Around the Onomichi Channel.” 4 Selected double‑storied wells were restored in the late 1990s by the city government subsidies. 5 Except for the buildings and land plots along the railway lines, which were removed by Japanese war‑time authorities to prepare a fire belt against air raids. 6 For example, in June 1979, 45 buildings were destroyed by fire in Kubo town. This has been repeated in the downtown up to the present. 7 In 1968, the bridge‑link to the island, the Onomichi Ohashi Bridge was completed, was the long‑ est cable‑stayed bridge at the time. 8 This was a literature and art‑based school of thought that was introduced in the 1910s in Japan, which largely reflected the rising more liberal social climate during the Taisho period. 9 The museum was closed in January 2007, and the site is now occupied by an art gallery operated by the art college of the city university. Asahi Shimbun newspaper, 29 December 2006. 10 The minutes of the budget committee, Onomichi City Assembly, 12 March 2007. 11 The mayor’s open letter was revealed in the Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 8 May 2005. 12 For existing nonconforming properties, such as buildings that were constructed above the regula‑ tion heights prior to the enactment of the new Onomichi Landscape Plan, the original building height and scale volume of these properties are grandfathered in for future rebuilding of the same height and size to ensure property values. 13 Important Preservation Districts for Groups of Traditional Buildings, Law for the Protection of Cultural Properties (1950), which fall under the Agency for Cultural Affairs, Ministry of Educa‑ tion, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology. 14 Along this route, the authorities opened a mini park, and street beatification was carried out. 15 For example, by the prominent director Yasujirou Ozu (1903–1963) in the 1950s and later.

Bibliography (*Titles translated by the author for references published in Japanese.) Asahi Shimbun newspaper, 18 April 2015. Asahi Shimbun newspaper, 25 April 2017. Chugoku Shimbun newspaper, 27 February 2020. Daikoku, Y. (2007) “Enactment of the Landscape Act and Landscape of Onomichi,” in Bulletin of Onomichi City University, Faculty of Artistic Culture (Hiroshima: Editorial Board, Bulletin of Faculty of Artistic Culture, Onomichi City University), 6: 27–30.* Onomichi City Historical Culture City Development Promotion Council (2016) Japan Heritage Onomichi City Official Website (URL: http://nihonisan‑onomichi.jp/en/) site established: 2016, retrieved: 28.3.2023. Mochizuki, T. (2018) “Mechanism of Incoming Young Residents to the Urban Centre of Onomichi: Succeeding 850 Years History, Tradition and Culture of Marchant Town Based on the Human Scale Machizukuri Approach,” in International Tourism Review (Tokyo: Editorial Committee, International Tourism Review, Japan Foundation for International Tourism), 25: 69–83. Mouri, K. (2008) The World Heritage and Regional Revitalization (Tokyo: Shinsensha).* Research Committee on Historic Buildings and Landscape of Onomichi (2006) Townscape of On‑ omichi: Research Report of Historic Building and Townscape of Onomichi City 2006–2008 (Hi‑ roshima: Onomichi City Government).* Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 2 June 1979. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 24 May 1990a.

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Yushi Utaka Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 6 June 1990b. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 14 June 1990c. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 30 June 1990d. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 19 July 1990e. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 4 August 1990f. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 21 October 1990g. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 1 December 1998. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 8 May 2005a. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 29 May 2005b. Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun newspaper, 4 June 2005c. Suzuki, M. (2006) “Townscape in Onomichi and Future of Historic Buildings,” in Townscape of Onomichi: Research Report of Historic Building and Townscape of Onomichi City 2006–2008 (Hiroshima: Research Committee on Historic Buildings and Landscape of Onomichi edited, On‑ omichi City Government): 1–4.*

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SECTION 7

Culture and the Climate Crisis

7.1 SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT IN CULTURAL DISTRICTS, A RESEARCH REPORT EXPLORING PRACTICES OF TEN CITIES AROUND THE WORLD Dr. Helen Kearney Introduction When planning the regeneration of urban districts, arts and culture have been embedded into the work of policy‑makers for decades. It is common practice for real estate develop‑ ment projects to include a cultural ‘anchor tenant’: a concert hall, theatre or maker‑space to encourage tourism and generate a young and fashionable atmosphere. Using this concept as a springboard, in 2022, researchers Helen Kearney and Kat Pegler led a project to under‑ stand whether cultural districts could also be ‘anchors’ in their cities in a different sense: as local leaders in sustainability and climate resilience. The research used ten case studies to understand how cultural districts could harness creativity and innovation in a manner that supports sustainable urban life.1 A ‘cultural district’ within the research was a spatial area within an urban centre which included arts venues such as a theatre, art gallery, music hall, arts‑focused university, along‑ side public open spaces and food and beverage offers. The districts in the research also self‑defined as ‘cultural districts’ through membership of the global professional network, the ‘Global Cultural Districts Network’ (GCDN), from which all the case studies were drawn.2 The research also included a focus on public realm design, a key component to the devel‑ opment of a cultural district. ‘Public realm’ consists of open spaces, streets, and parkland. It is the spaces in‑between the buildings, but also the space where communities can come together, meet, exchange ideas, and experience free outdoor cultural activity. Increasingly cultural district managers are understanding the value of these spaces and are programming within them. Some people and communities may experience the free public realm around the outside of a cultural building much more frequently than the inside. A further aim was that the research findings be of practical use so that staff working in cultural organisations, urban designers, and policy‑makers could understand best practice and learn from the experiences of others. The research originated as part of a public realm design project in central London, and it was crucial that the findings could feed back into that project to assist the team in implementing sustainability measures themselves. 465

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Given the realities of the climate crisis and evidence which states the extent to which governments, corporations and agencies are lagging behind in implementing measures to meet net zero targets, it is clear that significant elements of our urban landscape need to be redesigned to address this challenge. Arts and cultural infrastructure are no different, and projects now must be sustainable and undertaken on circular economy principles.3 However, in creating change that supports environmental conservation and sustainable development, the challenges facing cultural districts are numerous including the inherent issues of (for ex‑ ample) energy use requirements of staging a performance, or the materials used in creating artworks or stage sets. The research used the framework of ‘Sustainable Development’ from the Brundtland Re‑ port to define its approach to sustainability.4 It also conceives of Sustainable Development as having three ‘pillars’: environmental, social, and economic. For a cultural district, its role as an anchor in a city relates explicitly to the economic pillar; whilst the research explored the role of cultural districts in engaging with the remaining two pillars of environmental and social sustainability.

Methodology The methodology focused primarily on case studies with data gathered via semi‑structured interviews. To begin, the initial aims and outcomes for the work were agreed with the project client, the City of London Corporation’s Public Realm team. A field scan was undertaken to become familiar with best practice in the field, reviewing initiatives of different cultural districts around the world. The researchers then worked with a partner, the Global Cultural Districts Network, and an academic advisor, Ripin Kalra of the University of Westminster, to set out the interview prompts. The prompts began with context, enquiring about the governance of each district, including what level of agency the management had and what targets were set, along with geographical context relating to climate‑related risks and previ‑ ous climate change disaster events. The prompts then investigated arts programming; design and construction of public space; sustainability initiatives; and partnerships and community engagement. Ten case study districts were identified, chosen for their geographical spread and differ‑ ent climatic conditions. The semi‑structured interviews took place during lockdown, and so were conducted via zoom. The interviewees were senior members of staff at the cultural districts, usually from the directorate. The districts were: • • • • • • • • • •

Navy Pier, Chicago, USA Quartier des Spectacle, Montreal, Canada Downtown Brooklyn Partnership, New York, USA Better Bankside, London, England Culture Mile, London, England 7 Square Endeavour, Rotterdam, Netherlands Onassis Stegi, Athens, Greece West Kowloon Cultural District, Hong Kong Melbourne Arts Precinct, Melbourne, Australia Home of the Arts (HOTA), Gold Coast, Australia 466

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The majority of the data collected was anecdotal and qualitative. It was then analysed and presented in a research report that summarised the findings. Findings were grouped together as ‘Key Learnings,’ alongside a summary of the main themes drawn from each district.

Case Studies Qualitative findings from a number of the case studies are summarised below.

Montreal: Social Sustainability and Creating Compelling Narratives One of the research aims was related to exploring the unique role that arts and culture can play in the field of sustainable development. In Montreal, this issue was foregrounded, with the cultural district representative highlighting the importance of communications, narrative and storytelling: strengths of the creative sector. The Quartier des Spectacles (QdS) is a centrally lo‑ cated district in the downtown area of the city that houses 80 cultural venues, seven art schools and a university. The district also includes 8 new public spaces which host festivals, from the international Montreal Jazz Festival to smaller, more intimate, community‑led programmes. The organisation is funded by the city administration and has a Board with d ­ ecision‑making authority, including authority over the public spaces in the area. Montreal faces climate change risks including rises in temperature and increasing rainfall, alongside the urban heat island ­effect. It is vulnerable to extreme heat in the summer, and its winters are getting wetter. Communications and narrative about climate change is an important part of the efforts in Montreal. Building new public spaces involves creating places that host outdoor activi‑ ties where cultural programming can engage people on environmental issues. There was a concern cited that behavioural change is needed to combat climate change, and storytelling about transition is crucial. The representative of Montreal stressed that data‑led, transparent information about climate issues can incentivise people to create change, but it should also be amusing and engaging, and discussion can be led by artistic programming. In Montreal, there has also been a clear agenda to combine social and environmental sustainability. Jardins Gamelin is a placemaking initiative on a public space built in an area historically inhabited by marginalised people, including the homeless, and the QdS aim to ensure that the free artistic programming and the greening programme create social cohe‑ sion, through including the inhabitants of the area along with wider audiences. The district has also incorporated research into their sustainability programme, with a partnership with non‑profit Urban Agricultural Lab which investigated the network of green roofs and spaces in the area to monitor live data to discover which plants were best suited to the specific downtown environment. There is a partnership with the Universtié du Québec à Montréal, which is located in the Quartier des Spectacles, to investigate the urban resilience benefits of an initiative that led to potted trees placed around the district. The research team collected data on the impact that trees are having on health and wellbeing as well as pollu‑ tion, sound, and air quality, which can be fed back into planning future initiatives.

Bankside: Showing the Effectiveness of Business Partnerships Another case study was Better Bankside, a Business Improvement District (BID) on the south‑ bank of the river Thames in London which encompasses around 7,000 residents, 70,000 467

Dr. Helen Kearney

workers and 1 million visitors who visit destinations including the Tate Modern. The Better Bankside organisation is a non‑profit comprising businesses within the BID area, who also fund its activity. The Board is made up of business representatives and other local stakehold‑ ers, creating high‑level stakeholder endorsement for its actions and community involvement throughout its programmes of activity. It has a Climate Action Plan in place and a number of the BID members have net zero carbon emissions targets. Being located in central Lon‑ don, Bankside has a challenging dense urban environment that drives a number of sustain‑ ability initiatives, such as: encouraging active travel which creates a shift in transportation choice from motor vehicles towards pedestrianisation and cycling; moving to low emissions waste operations; using local supply chains; and launching a Green Logistics Centre which is a micro consolidation hub servicing local businesses to reduce freight vehicle trips in the neighbourhood. Other notable programmes at Bankside include the ‘Urban Forest’ public realm initia‑ tive which involves tree planting, sustainable urban drainage, and streetscape improve‑ ments. Reflecting its governance, partnerships are key for Bankside. An initiative which engaged a number of them was the Business Climate Challenge. This initiative was a pilot scheme in which Bankside partnered with local businesses for the purpose of each partner achieving 10% energy savings. They worked with consultants to review energy usage of each partner and produce a rating of the energy use of their buildings, and then identi‑ fied retrofitting and behaviour change measures to reduce consumption. Understanding the importance of prestige and validation to the businesses, there was public recognition for the results. The project was also scalable, and was rolled out across London. Follow‑ ing the success of the Business Climate Challenge, Better Bankside secured funding to deliver business decarbonisation support to 160 small‑ to medium‑sized businesses in the Borough of Southwark. Expanding on the energy emissions focus of the Business Climate Challenge, this initiative also aims to reduce carbon emissions from waste, supply chain and freight operations.

Hong Kong: A Major Capital Programme The West Kowloon Cultural District is a 40 hectares development in Hong Kong, which comprises performing arts venues and museums and is surrounded by public open space known as the Art Park. The District is managed by the West Kowloon Cultural District Authority which is a statutory body established by the Hong Kong SAR Government (HK‑ SAR) in 2008 under the West Kowloon Cultural District Authority Ordinance (Cap. 601), responsible for developing the West Kowloon Cultural District (WKCD). The WKCD establishment was facilitated by an upfront endowment of $21.6 billion, pro‑ posed by the HKSAR Government and approved by the Finance Committee of the Legisla‑ tive Council in 2008. This injection of funds was earmarked for the District’s initial capital costs, while the recurrent income necessary to support the arts and cultural programmes is expected to be generated through retail, dining, and entertainment developments in the Dis‑ trict. Within the research project WKCD represents a vastly different context: where Bank‑ side and Montreal both involve a central urban environment that has been inhabited for hundreds of years, with layers of history and established businesses and residents, WKCD is still under construction, with infrastructure such as rail and transport already completed 468

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and ready to accommodate future development. This highly complex capital project is based on a Masterplan developed by Foster+Partners. The climate‑related risks in WKCD relate to its coastal context and include risks of sea level rises, storm surges, and flooding. These risks have been integrated into planning, for example through the building of a seawall. The WKCD case study considers how to incorporate sustainability measures from the very beginning and the design of the site includes solar panels, design of shade, use of rainwater for irrigation, a district cooling system, and inclusion of Building Energy Management System (BEMS) technology.5 The public realm design involves planting schemes and use of the ground for water retention and sustainable drainage. It was noted that some redesign of the landscape was neces‑ sary as some original planting was not successful, and monitoring the success of species types was important. A sector‑specific challenge was also discussed: given the popularity of outdoor cultural events significant attention and care have been given to the landscape and planted areas. The discussion with the WKCDA representatives also involved certification, data, and technical monitoring, with the site receiving awards from the Hong Kong entities such as ‘gold awards’ and ‘BEAM Plus,’ and the district being a pilot project for a new form of certification which measures environmental and energy use data on a neighbourhood‑wide scale. In Hong Kong, sustainability measures are incentivised through the planning system, with gross floor area permissions related to sustainability targets. It was also noted that the organisation was careful to benchmark against other sectors, not just the cultural sector, to understand what ‘best practice’ means for sustainability on a large‑scale urban development more generally.

Home of the Arts (HOTA): Grassroots Approaches at the Start of the Journey Home of the Arts, Gold Coast in Australia, is a 17 hectares area including an arts centre, gallery, and outdoor stage in parkland. HOTA is an organisation owned and funded by the local government of the city, with an autonomous Board as the decision‑making authority. Originally built in the 1970s and 80s, HOTA had a new masterplan in 2012 which led to the building of a new gallery and outdoor stage. The character of Gold Coast is identified closely with its natural environment and a coastal lifestyle, with the economy linked to tourism and natural beauty of the lakes, beaches, and rainforest. HOTA was at a relatively early stage in its journey to sustainability. It saw sustainability as a reputational issue, noting that local people understood it to be a priority. Their method is a combination of a grassroots approach to sustainability – through staff initiatives, com‑ bined with a strategic approach, including sustainability in their Strategic Plan. Conserva‑ tion is particularly important to them and HOTA works with the Traditional Custodians of the land, the Kombumerri families of the Yugambeh Language Region on land conservation approaches and design. One of the five core values of the organisation is ‘citizenship,’ which entails enacting changes that contribute to the life of the community. The conversation with the representative of HOTA included open discussion of limits, constraints, and challenges to implementing sustainability measures, including a lack of re‑ sources, staff, and space, a lack of agency and autonomy in decision‑making, and limits in national legislation over enforcing sustainability planning. 469

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Rotterdam: A Possible Model? The report also set out one case study as a possible guide for the others. Seven Square En‑ deavour in Rotterdam, Netherlands, was further along on the journey to a truly sustainable existence and was held up as having useful guidance for others. It is a partnership organisa‑ tion that brings together a public square that hosts arts programming, alongside the build‑ ings around the square which include a theatre, church, cinema, concert hall, arts school and film festival headquarters. The municipality owns the buildings and the square, and the Steering Group is a ‘coalition of the willing’ drawn from the organisations which had the shared aim of improving the local area. The Steering Group made the commitment to sustainability over 20 years ago and under‑ took a comprehensive planning process. This plan included creating an entire second organi‑ sation whose responsibility is the sustainably of the institution. This body then undertook a year‑long process of planning, from which all principles, strategies and projects flowed. The second year of work involved setting out three strategic documents covering the areas of wa‑ ter, energy, and spatial planning, and which all had specific projects outlined. Early on it was understood that no arts centre buildings could be 100% sustainable without incorporating the outdoor space around the buildings, and so rather than working on a building‑scale, the ambition was to work at a local scale instead, incorporating the buildings and the open spaces in the area holistically. Working in a local and holistic way meant that when design‑ ing improvement projects, the engineering of the site could include elements such as: a cir‑ cular approach to water that reduced use of city drainage; building a series of green roofs to increase biodiversity; and a local‑scale energy plan. The progress made by Seven Square Endeavour is potentially a model for other districts. The cultural district representative set out a series of lessons and advice, such as: • The need to adopt a radical mindset and approach; • An aim to avoid ‘greenwashing’: a state in which an organisation’s claims to be sustain‑ able are largely overstated for publicity purposes; • A desire to act sustainably across the entirety of the operations; • Setting up a governance structure which would enable sustainability to be integrated across all operations; • A comprehensive planning process; • An ability to engage with a variety of partners, and • Reminders of the importance to continually renew the interest of partners over time, as commitment may wane or personalities change. As the years progressed the project was able to demonstrate its success, which drew in more partners.

Key Learnings Over the course of the research certain themes were raised regularly across a number of the interviews. Unsurprisingly all districts’ representatives cited a sense of responsibility to enact measures for climate change mitigation and adaptation. However, each district was

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at a different point along this journey. The journey was characterised in the research report as a linear route that started with enacting ‘quick win’ measures such as banning single‑use plastics, implementing waste recycling, retrofitting buildings to reduce energy consumption. The end point was a much more fundamental shift in all practices across the organisation to embed sustainable working and net zero implementation across the entire picture. Other findings were categorised into four distinct ‘Learnings.’ The framework of ‘Learn‑ ings’ was chosen as the research was intended to be of practical assistance to the reader, who would be largely drawn from the professional fields of cultural administration and govern‑ ance, city management, and urban planning. The first Learning related to ‘Public Realm and Environment.’ The report set out the numbers of districts that highlighted public realm and landscaping improvements, including shifting to more natural and indigenous landscaping appropriate for the particular geogra‑ phy of the site, and those that were advocating for mass transit, with resulting increases in pedestrian access. There was also qualitative data, including the need to increase levels of greening and planting, and to integrate resilience planning in public realm design through (for example) implementing sustainable urban drainage measures and greater shading through tree canopy. A practice of monitoring and data collection for spaces was advocated to understand performance metrics related to water and air quality, biodiversity, and wind movement. The second Learning was ‘Planning and Target Setting.’ The majority of districts had data monitoring in place relating to areas such as building regulations and certification, however a majority also stressed that further work was required. It was agreed that ambitious targets are needed, along with strong leadership and strategic planning. Sustainability should be embedded across all levels of the organisation, with a sustainability strategy in place, and clear targets for reaching net zero and monitoring. An important point was that monitoring of targets must be transparent and accountable, and publicising achievements created added incentives. Sustainable procurement practices are crucial, including in the area of artistic programming, with sustainability considerations needed for touring practices and materials usage and reuse for installations. Thirdly, the report described Learnings from the perspective of grassroots and staff‑led initiatives and practices. Districts variously described initiatives that were spearheaded by staff, initiatives where local suppliers were being used, and a series of ‘quick wins’ that were being implemented due to goodwill and spirit of the staff and local stakeholders. The issue of communication between staff was raised, alongside peer‑to‑peer learning, training, and support for this across the organisation. A forum for staff was recommended, such as sus‑ tainability working groups to implement ideas. Lastly, the fourth Learning was ‘Connecting with Wider Society.’ The majority of district representatives discussed their own situatedness within their wider contexts ranging from the extremely local to national and even international frameworks. They saw a need to be conscious, responsible citizens in the way they operate. They saw that transition towards sustainability involves changes that needed to be grounded in their local community, enacted through a multitude of partnerships. Some districts partnered with local green suppliers and businesses; artists whose work confronts the climate change challenges; and community groups who worked within their immediate geographic context. There was a sense that they

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could act as a facilitator for the community as well, to work as part of a group of other guardians of the natural environment in their local area. Alongside this connection to society through their own operations, the districts also dis‑ cussed their role as an advocating body outside of their own immediate operation. Some‑ times this idea was born from an immediate need, for example when their political context, funding regimes, or bureaucratic structures within their municipality did not allow for timely and effective action on climate change issues. In these cases, cultural districts  –  as prominent local organisations with cultural and social capital – can be powerful voices to advocate for progressive change in policy, and can call for greater support. In other cases, the districts saw their potential for creating change more generally. Arts programming can be a tool through which local communities can create a voice, bringing together ideas and debate about sustainability, and can change hearts and minds, and can even develop collec‑ tive climate change solutions.

Challenges A significant portion of the interviews involved discussion of the challenges that are faced in the transition to a more sustainable existence. In the report, these were categorised into five thematic areas: • Lack of funding was the most commonly cited challenge and ranged from lack of fund‑ ing for climate‑related artistic programming, to the underfunding of major capital pro‑ grammes, resulting in sustainability measures being ‘value engineered’ out of the design.6 • Lack of wider support. This challenge includes a need for significantly greater levels of ambition, stronger targets, and leadership that foregrounds sustainability in deci‑ sion‑making, as well as difficulties when political prioritisation is often short‑termist in outlook. • Lack of agency. The managers of cultural districts often felt that they were not the deci‑ sion‑maker over issues that they felt responsibility over. These included a lack of green suppliers; a national or local policy that did not prioritise decarbonising transport; a lack of green energy infrastructure; and land use policies that do not provide enough space for recycling facilities, freight consolidation, cycling infrastructure and more. • Lack of carbon emission targets. In many cases, national policies are not yet stringent enough about energy use, carbon reduction, and waste, and where there are goals these are often not accompanied by specific compulsory targets. It was also acknowledged that the districts themselves needed to become better at stating their expectations clearly to suppliers, partners and contractors. • Spatial, technical and engineering challenges. Four of the districts described limited space for green infrastructure in their districts, and challenges such as below‑ground utilities that created difficulties for planting, drainage and water management. The structural challenges of ageing buildings were also described. How, then, to look to mitigate these challenges? Despite these undeniable hurdles, the authors of the research believe that sharing information and best practice, and providing a common platform for discussing experiences, can contribute positively. The report also 472

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referenced examples that the representatives of the districts had given as means through which they might start to meet the challenges. These included stronger leadership and vision at the top of the hierarchy; and measures implemented throughout the organisa‑ tions’ systems, from procurement (purchasing) systems to arts programming. Within a framework of knowledge sharing and learning as a method for influencing change, it was also noted that the experience of areas such as 7 Square Endeavour in Rotterdam could be harnessed.

Lessons Learned • Using a series of semi‑structured interviews and grounded in professional experience of the arts and culture sectors, as well as urban design for sustainable development, the research project Sustainable Development in Cultural Districts: A Public Realm Perspec‑ tive provides a snapshot of an industry in a significant moment of transition. • The cultural districts sector is shown to be facing many challenges in the movement to‑ wards a more sustainable practice. There are also many highly exciting and productive conversations that are taking place about how the sector can create its own unique solu‑ tions too. • The research points to programming, the power of narrative, creativity as advocacy, community‑led and inclusive practices as means that the creative industries have at their disposal the means to contribute to the often overwhelming task of working to quell the climate crisis. Cultural districts are also guardians of land, and have the opportunity to harness public space itself as a site for enacting sustainability. The report emphasised the important role that public space itself has to play. • A final aim of the research is also a potential next step: that it becomes a platform for districts around the world to share their experiences, learn from each other, and find common solutions. • The research and the report that summarised the findings were intended to be practi‑ cal guidance that can be informative for those people who operate and govern cultural districts and who are looking to make the transition to a greener, more sustainable exist‑ ence. The authors see the work as part of a long and ongoing practice, and have since publicised the research through a podcast and conference panel, and it is intended that the work is dynamic, and can reach new audiences. • The ‘Key Learnings’ presented in the report therefore can function as crucial lessons learned for readers of this text. The Lessons Learned for this project therefore are: 1 To stress the importance of Public Realm and the environment in the planning, rede‑ signing, and programming of cultural districts 2 To ensure that strong Planning and Target Setting processes are in place that support ambitious sustainability goals, and clear and transparent monitoring of progress to‑ wards them 3 To support staff, communities, and stakeholders in grassroots‑level initiatives for sustainability 4 To connect with wider society beyond the local area through arts and creative pro‑ gramming that builds narratives around climate change and sustainability initiatives

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Notes 1 Our thanks go to the City of London Corporation’s Public Realm team, which commissioned this research, Global Cultural Districts Network (GCDN) who were the project partner on the research, and to Gregorio Scarpella and Stephanie Fortunato of GCDN in particular, Ripin Kalra of the University of Westminster who provided guidance, and the representatives of the ten case study cities who gave their time to this work. 2 The GCDN remit and membership can be found here: https://gcdn.net/ (accessed 04/10/23). The cultural districts featured as case studies in the research did not necessarily need to be formally constituted as ‘Cultural Districts’; the districts were asked to describe their governance and this was included in the report. There were a range of governance models featured, from formal to informal. 3 A ‘circular economy’ is where materials that may otherwise be waste are brought back into an‑ other product’s lifecycle as an input, with the result that the amount of material sent to landfill is reduced. The Ellen MacArthur Foundation defines the circular economy as, ‘a system where materials never become waste and nature is regenerated. In a circular economy, products and materials are kept in circulation through processes like maintenance, reuse, refurbishment, re‑ manufacture, recycling, and composting. The circular economy tackles climate change and other global challenges, like biodiversity loss, waste, and pollution, by decoupling economic activity from the consumption of finite resources’ (see https://www.ellenmacarthurfoundation.org/topics/ circular‑economy‑introduction/overview, accessed 21/10/23). 4 The World Commission for Environment and Development 1987, Brundtland Report, Our Com‑ mon Future, defined Sustainable Development as: ‘Development that meets the needs of the pre‑ sent without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.’ 5 BEMS is a computerised system that controls elements of the building which relate to energy us‑ age such as lighting, heating and air conditioning. It can be used to improve a building’s efficiency in terms of its energy use. 6 ‘Value engineering’ refers to the practice of reviewing a project’s scope and design in order to re‑ duce costs. The aim is for the practice to improve value overall of the final product.

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7.2 INTEGRATING CULTURE AND DISASTER RISK MANAGEMENT IN URBAN PLANNING FOR MORE RESILIENT SOCIETIES Barbara Minguez Garcia The Relevance of Increasing Resilience through Culture The earthquake in Nepal in 2015 affected 2,900 heritage structures, causing damages and losses estimated at US$ 192 million (World Bank, 2015); Hurricane Maria impacted build heritage and intangible culture in the Small Island Developing State (SIDS) of Dominica in 2017, causing damages and losses estimated at US$ 7.98 million (Government of Dominica, 2017); the floods in Pakistan in 2022 caused damages and losses estimated at US$ 12.8 mil‑ lion for the culture sector, affecting 149 heritage sites, including World Heritage sites (Gov‑ ernment of Pakistan et al., 2022). In the uncertain times in which we live, the only certainty is that crises will keep happen‑ ing and affecting our cities and heritage. However, the understanding that hazards are natu‑ ral, but disasters are not (Chmutina et al., 2017; Mena, 2020) helps to realize that there are many opportunities to reduce disaster risks and strengthen resilience. In this regard, culture and heritage are not just vulnerable assets to be protected in the face of disasters, but they play a key role helping people and communities prepare and protect themselves, as well as to recover from the impacts of crises. For example, historic landmarks or religious places can help to engage local communities in preparedness activities and drills; traditional and indigenous knowledge connected to nature observation, such as earth tremors or animal behaviors, which have been passing through generations, are still very relevant in several regions to help local communities quickly react to potential volcanic eruptions or tsunamis. Moreover, in the aftermath of disasters and other crises, such as armed conflicts, culture can be indeed considered the X‑factor for building back better (World Bank, 2018)—as will be presented in Section 2. Since the end of 2019, and mostly during 2020 and 2021, among the several lessons learned from the coronavirus (COVID‑19) pandemic was the relevance of cultural expres‑ sions and culture‑related initiatives to cope with crises. The online space was full of music and dance performances, visual arts, poetry, and so on, exchanged through social media channels and platforms, and broadly shared to help cope with the mandatory lockdowns 475

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-43

Barbara Minguez Garcia

and isolations. Nevertheless, the cultural and creative industries were considered among the sectors most affected by the COVID‑19 crisis, losing 0.8% to 5.5% of employment (OECD, 2020). Indeed, a UNESCO report published in 2022 estimated approximately 10 million of jobs lost during the year 2020, but at the same time it presented the pandemic crisis as an opportunity to redefine the cultural and creative sector and improve its resil‑ ience (UNESCO, 2022). Referring, in particular, to the role of culture in urban contexts, a city cannot be consid‑ ered fully resilient if it does not integrate its cultural and heritage components within its urban and risk management plans. The inclusion of culture‑based initiatives together with nature‑based solutions is key to ensure sustainable and resilient development. As our uncer‑ tain future is threatened by increasing climate change impacts and crises, cities worldwide need to adapt to these challenges by keeping their evolution and development in balance with the natural environment and their culture and heritage. This chapter aims to offer an overview of the relevance and basis of the integration of dis‑ aster risk management (DRM), culture and cultural heritage (CH), within urban planning and development. It includes basic references and presents some tools, methodologies, and examples, to understand and emphasize the importance of considering the integration of re‑ silient culture and heritage while developing urban plans. Furthermore, to widen knowledge in this topic, a handbook dedicated entirely to Cultural Heritage and DRM was recently published by Routledge (Chmutina and Jigyasu, 2023).

Disaster Risk Management of Cultural Heritage (DRM‑CH) in a Nutshell The concept of Disaster Risk Management (DRM) and its establishment as a sustainable development sector has been evolving since the last decades of the 20th century, starting its consolidation with the United Nations World Conference on Disaster Risk Reduction in 1994, followed by the adoption of the Hyogo Framework for Action 2005–2015 and the current Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015–2030 (UNDRR, 2015). What had started as just crisis response and relief actions became a whole process—from the un‑ derstanding of disaster risk as the interaction of natural hazards, exposure, vulnerability, and capacities, to the development of the concepts of disaster risk reduction, emergency preparedness and response, and resilient recovery, which includes recent new concepts such as building back better (Hallegatte et al., 2018; UNDRR, 2022). The DRM phases are, therefore, classified according to three moments around a hazard‑ ous event: before, during, and after it happens. These moments include risk identification and reduction, emergency preparedness and response, and recovery. Other classifications may refer to prospective, corrective, and reactive or compensatory/residual management. Table 7.2.1 summarizes all these concepts. The integration of culture and cultural heritage (CH) into the DRM process presents its own challenges. Starting from the process of risk identification, the culture sector con‑ siderably differs from others in terms of exposure and vulnerabilities. For example, in other sectors it is possible to reduce the exposure (e.g., by demolishing a construction at risk and rebuilding it in a more resilient way), which usually is not feasible in the case of heritage. Likewise, intangible culture is more difficult to understand and integrate in risk assessments. Figure 7.2.1 shows some of the peculiarities of culture while developing risk calculations. 476

Integrating Culture and Disaster Risk Management Table 7.2.1 DRM Phases (Author’s Elaboration) Before

During

Phase

Example of Actions

After

Phase

Example of Actions

Phase

Example of Actions

Risk Study/analysis of Emergency identification/ potential risks in response assessment an area Risk reduction Preparedness enhancement

Stabilization Resilient Implementation of structures recovery of long‑term at risk of recovery plan collapsing Improvement Risk reduction Measures to Early First‑aid recovery measures to of previous measures from reduce exposure repair assets conditions lessons learned and vulnerability Development of + Risk + Risk evacuation route assessment assessment

DRM Actionsa Prospective DRM

Corrective DRM

Compensatory or residual DRM

Avoid creating new or increasing existing risks

Reduce current identified risks

Strengthen social and economic resilience

E.g., Better land‑use planning

E.g., Relocation of exposed assets

E.g., National contingency funds

  Source: https://preventionweb.net/terminology/disaster‑risk‑management.

a

HAZARD

EXPOSURE

VULNERABILITY

IMPACT AND RISK

Example class of relevant hazards

Example classes of relevant exposures

Example classes of relevant vulnerabilities

Earthquakes

Tangible and intangible cultural heritage

Design, age, state of a site's structures

Impact What might happen to people and assets from a given event

Communities connected to cultural heritage

(e.g., effects of previous restorations)

Tsunamis Flooding Lightning Fires Human activities

x

Visitors to sites

x

Environmental factors at the site (e.g., soil conditions)

Examples

Social vulnerabilities of surrounding communities

Expected damages, losses, and related costs in given return period

Related economic activity

(e.g., poorly managed tourism or other use of a site, vandalism)

(e.g., poverty)

Social vulnerabilities of visitors

EARTHQUAKE/ FIRE

=

Risk Expected probability of impacts in a given period of time

(e.g., lack of awareness of the site)

Expected number of people affected at or around a site from different hazard events

AGING AND WEAK STRUCTURE

EXPECTED DAMAGES TO A CH SITE

CULTURAL HERITAGE SITE

Figure 7.2.1  Disaster Risk Assessment for Cultural Heritage. Source: Newman et al. (2020). This illustration is used under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribu‑ tion 3.0 IGO License (CC BY 3.0 IGO).

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The integration of culture in DRM processes requires the consideration of all relevant as‑ pects for the specific site and related community—tangible and intangible heritage, movable and immovable, underwater and landscape, etc.—which complicates the process. However, some basic principles may help to connect both sectors and develop integrated strategies, as presented in the Table 7.2.2 below. Table 7.2.2  DRM of CH Principles Overall Approach for URBAN DRM of CH • Establish multidisciplinary and multi‑institutional teams, including DRM and CH specialists, together with urban planners, to foster collaboration and institutional capacity building. • Consider all kinds of heritage in the city, including tangible (movable and immovable) and intangible, as well as their relevance and importance for the different stakeholders at the local, national, and international levels. Risk Identification • Ensure setting a multi‑hazard approach, including main and secondary hazards, which may cause more damage to heritage (e.g., fires outbreaks after earthquakes, or floods following hurricanes). • Develop specific vulnerability assessments for heritage assets, considering their associated values (such as religious places in use for worship) and including evaluations of any previous restoration work, since that might have caused unintentional additional vulnerabilities. • Identify the social groups, including inhabitants, visitors, tourists, business owners, etc., related to the site. Risk Reduction • Verify that any risk reduction and mitigation measures do not adversely affect the cultural values (such as aesthetic, archaeological, historical, religious, architectural, etc.), including the integrity and authenticity of the heritage assets and the appearance of sites and cultural landscapes—e.g., avoiding creating a negative visual impact in a cultural or natural heritage area by hiding or designing measures according to the area, such as slope stabilization with vegetation instead of concrete; avoiding affecting potential archaeological discoveries, etc. Preparedness and Response • Make clear security information, rules, and recommendations available in different languages and use graphic representations to facilitate risk communication, understanding, awareness, and safety. • Prepare evacuation routes and protocols for both people (local community and visitors) and the movable heritage. • Ensure the site is accessible to emergency rescue teams and their equipment, without affecting the heritage assets. • Include heritage experts in the first‑response teams to support the initial assessment and interventions, according to the needs of the site, culture, and values. • Involve the local community within the heritage area and prepare community members through training and drills to help protect their heritage and assist visitors during emergencies. (Continued)

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Integrating Culture and Disaster Risk Management Table 7.2.2 (Continued) Recovery • Ensure the post‑disaster recovery plan improves the resilience of the site without affecting its cultural values, keeping the integrity and authenticity of the structures, and respecting local practices and traditions during any reconstruction process. • Place people at the center of the recovery strategy by involving the local community and prioritizing their own needs to protect their cultural identity, including identifying landmarks and fostering cultural expressions. • Link built structures and open spaces to the social fabric, ensuring a balance between people’s needs and the recovery of their city’s historic character. • Prioritize culture early in the planning process, starting with needs assessments and the implementation of emergency interventions that reflect the priorities of the local community. • Establish a financial strategy for recovery, including and balancing immediate and short‑term needs with the medium‑ and long‑term development reconstruction plan. Source: Adapted from Minguez García and Newman (2020).

The role of Resilient Culture and Heritage in Urban Contexts/Historic Cities Culture is about people, it means identity and shared values; it enhances social cohesion and integrity. Culture has a particular relevance in disaster situations and crises in general. Despite being still often seen as a luxury in some contexts, the recognition of culture and heritage as an engine for post‑crisis recovery—both to support people and enhance the re‑ generation of vibrant cities—has been increasing during the last decade. A key milestone in this journey was the agreement in 2017 between the World Bank and the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), to posi‑ tion culture as a key factor for urban regeneration. This agreement was consolidated in the joint development of the Culture in City Reconstruction and Recovery (CURE) Framework (UNESCO and World Bank, 2018), which drew from previous reconstruction and recovery frameworks and tools. The CURE Framework (Figure 7.2.2) was developed to help practi‑ tioners integrate culture and heritage by bringing together people‑centered and place‑based approaches to produce integrated policies in historic urban contexts. Initially conceived for post‑crisis scenarios, it proved to be very useful to support the integration of culture in sus‑ tainable urban development projects to strengthen resilience in cities and citizens. Crises—either caused by disasters due to natural hazards, conflict situations, or disease outbreaks—disrupt people’s lives by affecting livelihoods, economies, and social and personal welfare. However, they might also be seen as opportunities to improve previous conditions. These factors align with the concept of building back better, defined as the use of the recovery, rehabilitation and reconstruction phases after a disaster to increase the resilience of nations and communities through integrating disaster risk re‑ duction measures into the restoration of physical infrastructure and societal systems, and into the revitalization of livelihoods, economies and the environment by the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA, 2016).

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PEOPLE-CENTERED POLICIES Community consultation and meaningful participation

SOCIO-ECONOMIC RECOVERY Livelihoods, creativity and social and economic structures

Integrating cultural and creative industries and intangible heritage

CULTURE Considering norms and traditions and community perception of tangible heritage

Allows to understand a society's culture, values, norms, traditions, and priorities, which are critical to acquire a cultural identity and a sense of place

Allows for strong community ownership, to reflect societal priorities and operate sustainably to develop infrastructure, housing and facilities that are linked to people's culture and identity

PHYSICAL RECONSTRUCTION Infrastructure, housing and tangible cultural heritage

PLACE-BASED POLICIES Recovering infrastructure, housing and facilities

Figure 7.2.2  The CURE Framework. Source: UNESCO and World Bank (2018). Image available under the Attribution‑ShareAlike 3.0 IGO (CC‑BY‑SA 3.0 IGO) license.

Indeed, the previously mentioned Sendai Framework1 in its Priority 4 highlights that re‑ covery processes offer opportunities to build more resilient societies, e.g., by developing faster and more inclusive strategies to ensure that everyone, particularly the most vulner‑ able ­population, restore income early and access support to recover. As presented by Hal‑ legatte et al. (2018) build back better would mean build back stronger, faster, and more inclusively. Using culture and cultural initiatives around heritage sites—in other words, connecting intangible and tangible cultural heritage (CH)—either in post‑crises situations or urban re‑ generation projects, helps build social cohesion by increasing opportunities for better social engagement, including enjoyment and learning, as well as behavior change. Intangible CH 480

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such as traditions and celebrations, or the development of artistic and cultural expressions, help communities to cope with the psychological distress caused by crises and to deal with post‑crises traumas, at the same time that might help reconciling affected groups and, over‑ all, serve as a resource for social resilience. Likewise, tangible CH, in the form of structures, sites, or collections, brings power to their communities, giving a sense of identity and belonging. Recovering heritage assets from disasters and protecting them for the future generations also helps communities with their own social and economic recovery. For example, after the magnitude 7.1 earthquake that hit Mexico in September 2017, the city of Puebla, UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987, ensured that CH was integrated into the planning to promote economic recovery. In the aftermath of the disaster, which severely affected Puebla, the city activated its emergency response fund to rescue and aid city residents, as well as protect its heritage. This included the mobilization of numerous volunteers to remove debris from the affected areas, gather emergency supplies, and provide support during the restoration phase. As part of the efforts, a map to identify additional risks to CH was developed, based on the damages to buildings during the earthquake, which was later used to prioritize interventions and promote the economic recovery (GFDRR, 2018).

Tools and Methodologies to Integrate DRM‑CH in Urban Planning Despite increasing awareness on the necessity of integrating culture and heritage within DRM and urban management plans, the process to achieve it might still present some dif‑ ficulties for practitioners in the field. This section offers an overview of three international tools and methodologies developed in recent years. The United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction (UNDRR) launched a campaign in 2010 to strengthen urban resilience, which evolved into the initiative Making Cities Resilient (MCR2030). In this context, and conceived as a toolkit, the Disaster Resilience Scorecard for Cities was launched in 2017 (UNDRR, 2017a), aiming to provide a set of assessments for local governments to evaluate the level of disaster resilience in their cities. Further, these initiatives help monitor and review the progress and challenges in the implementation of the Sendai Framework and support the baseline analysis to develop disaster risk reduction strategies. The Scorecard is structured around the so‑called Ten Essentials for Making Cities Resilient,2 developed against the Sendai priorities of action and its monitoring indicators. In this context, the Cultural Heritage Addendum (UNDRR, 2017b) was published in Novem‑ ber 2022, to adapt this tool and support the development of culture‑based and people‑cen‑ tered disaster risk reduction and resilience strategies, integrated with cultural heritage (CH) and development policies. The Addendum is aligned with the Ten Essentials, summarized as follows (source: https://mcr2030.undrr.org/cultural‑heritage‑scorecard): 1 Organize for disaster resilience: establishing organizational structures to act on reducing disaster risks with a focus on CH management. 2 Identify, understand, and use current and future risk scenarios: considering all possible hazards and creating a complete database on exposure and vulnerability of the built environment as well as CH, including possible changes over time (e.g., urbanization, climate, tourism, etc.). 481

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3 Strengthen financial capability for resilience: understanding the economic impact of disasters and the need to invest in resilience, identifying sources of investment and de‑ veloping financial mechanisms (e.g., incentives and insurance coverage to support CH protection). 4 Pursue resilient urban development and design: assessing and making the built environ‑ ment resilient through zoning and management of urban growth, risk‑aware planning, development, and implementation of appropriate building codes to address existing structures with retrofitting interventions and/or to build new construction, neighbor‑ hoods, and infrastructure, using traditional techniques when applicable. 5 Safeguard natural buffers to enhance the protective functions offered by natural capital: recognizing the value and benefits from ecosystem services, identifying, protecting, and monitoring them as part of the risk reduction strategies for cities. 6 Strengthen institutional capacity for resilience: ensuring that all formal and informal institutions relevant for city’s resilience have the capabilities to lead and participate in DRM‑CH. 7 Understand and strengthen societal capacity for resilience: cultivating an environment for social connectedness, supporting the recognition of the role of CH in disaster risk reduction through training programs and support to community groups, particularly to the most vulnerable populations. 8 Increase infrastructure resilience: assessing the capacity and adequacy of critical infra‑ structure systems to retrofit, adapt or replace unsafe infrastructure, to reduce mortality, loss of service for cultural facilities, and recovery time in risk scenarios. 9 Ensure effective disaster response: installing detection and monitoring equipment and early warning systems, developing community mobile apps, and guaranteeing a coordi‑ nation among all organizations involved in emergency response, verifying that staffing capacity and emergency response preparedness are sufficient. 10 Expedite recovery and build back better: ensuring the adoption of post‑event recovery plans including restoration of cultural heritage, economic sectors, climate change, and reconstruction processes, and incorporating where possible traditional materials and techniques. Each essential is composed of some specific questions, for a total of 44, which score from 0 to 3, covering the main issues that cities need to address to become more disaster resilient. This tool is designed to help city authorities together with relevant stakeholders on assessing and understanding the city state in terms of resilient CH, while identifying opportunities to improve. Another useful methodology was developed in the framework of the International Train‑ ing Course (ITC) on DRM of CH provided by the Institute of Disaster Mitigation for Urban Cultural Heritage at Ritsumeikan University (R‑DMUCH) in Kyoto, Japan. The DRM of CH in Urban Areas – Training Guide (Jigyasu and Arora, 2013) was designed to support the development of capacity building exercises by institutions, governments, and non‐gov‑ ernmental organizations, and it is intended also for professionals, administrators, and policy makers engaged in the fields of CH and DRM. This Training Guide for DRM of CH is ac‑ companied also by an interactive online version [available at: https://r‑dmuch.jp/eng/project/ itc/training_guide/index.html]. This tool is composed of two sections, which respectively 482

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provide: (A) overall information and strategies to prepare and deliver training, and (B) tech‑ nical content presented in modules structured following the DRM planning process and linked to each other (including case studies and site visits descriptions, as well as materials such as worksheets, from actual training courses). Each section and modules are supported with literary resources and indicative bibliography. Table 7.2.3 provides a summary about how the guide can be applied to urban planning to integrate DRM‑CH. The potential training that this guide proposes to develop can be tailored to address dif‑ ferent scales and types of disasters, as well as to relate to different types of CH sites and their environment. Used in urban planning contexts, this guide could facilitate the integration of comprehensive risk management plans for the culture and heritage properties in a specific city. Finally, the City Strengthen Diagnostic (World Bank, 2017a) offers a sectoral module dedicated to cultural heritage (World Bank, 2017b), which states that a resilient city should have its tangible and intangible cultural heritage assets integrated into the city DRM mecha‑ nism. Further, it recommends to leverage culture and traditions as anchors for identity and to foster creativity for building community resilience and sustainable development. This module is articulated into 18 questions arranged around 15 topics: institutional ar‑ rangements and capacity; international recognition (referring to UNESCO World Heritage Sites); regulatory framework; planning; finance; asset management; risk identification; DRM measures; preparedness; capacity building; community awareness and participation; Indig‑ enous People and traditional knowledge; recovery; communication; and tourism. This rapid diagnostic tool was developed with the support of the Global Facility for Disas‑ ter Reduction and Recovery (GFDRR) to help facilitate dialogue among urban stakeholders Table 7.2.3  DRM of CH Training Guide Applied to Urban Planning Section A: Planning and Implementation

Objectives → establish key targets for the specific urban area and CH Design → identify specific lacks and needs for urban planners Participants → include relevant professionals other than urban planners to complement (DRM, CH) Framework for content → define it according to urban planning context Pedagogical strategies → adapt them for urban planners Resource material → select it to complement/increase knowledge

Section B: Content and Teaching Strategies Module 1: Introduction/background of the field, approaches and principles Orientation sessions on the fundamentals of DRM‑CH for urban contexts Module 2: Risk assessment Approaches and methods for assessing risks as part of urban planning Module 3: Prevention and mitigation Strategic actions to address/reduce the risks previously identified, integrated as part of the urban planning strategy Module 4: Emergency preparedness and response Preparation of actions/protocols for the period during an event happens Module 5: Recovery and rehabilitation Plan to address the event impacts including long term planning initiatives Module 6: Integrating disaster risk management Overall conclusion to finalize the integration of DRM‑CH into urban plans

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(governments, civil society, residents, private sector) focusing on the performance of urban systems, to identify and prioritize actions and investments with the objective of enhancing the resilience of the city. Its holistic and integrated approach was designed to encourage cross‑sectoral collaborations, by first evaluating resilience by sector, and then bringing to‑ gether the findings and identifying interlinkages, resulting in the design of a prioritized list of structural and non‑structural actions. These City Strengthen Diagnostic modules, which are available online, may help with connecting urban cultural heritage with other sectors in the city, bringing ideas for integrated approaches to increase urban resilience. To highlight some of the aspects emphasized in this tool, it recommends that traditional building systems should be documented and used to strengthen local disaster mitigation and adaptation techniques by drawing on the resilient materials and architecture. At the same time, it remarks that there is also the opportunity to draw on creativity and the compatible use of new technologies. Traditional knowledge and practices should be harnessed and inte‑ grated in DRM strategies, particularly in relation to alternative warning systems, emergency evacuation routes, and shelters, while also fostering the implementation of culture‑based programs for post‑disaster recovery.

Examples of Good Practices and Significance of Investing in DRM‑CH Integrated DRM‑CH guides, plans or policies at national level are not common, although there are some examples across the world. For instance, in September 2017 the National Disaster Management Authority of the Government of India issued the official Guidelines for Cultural Heritage Sites and Precincts (NDMA, 2017). This document is intended for governmental agencies, ministries, departments, and other relevant organizations and actors working on CH sites, in the development of DRM strategies, aiming to integrate the specific needs of CH within the framework of disaster risk reduction. The structure of the document follows the DRM phases, including indicative checklists to develop and prioritize some basic actions to be undertaken at each stage, such as establishing risk assessments, risk reduction measures, preparedness and emergency response protocols, and post‑disaster recovery plans. The objective of these guidelines is to ensure that Indian CH sites, as well as places of cul‑ tural significance, are both safe and secure for the local communities and visitors, while their heritage values are preserved for the future generations. In Spain, the National Plan on Emergencies and Risk Management for Cultural Heritage,3 a multidisciplinary instrument for comprehensive management, integrates the participation of national, regional, and local governments, together with other relevant entities, both public and private, for the promotion of knowledge, the development of preventive actions, the training of technical staff, and the dissemination of CH. The Plan stipulates that any ac‑ tions on CH must be designed under sustainability criteria and foster a proactive approach to heritage conservation and protection, based on prevention and mitigation actions, rather than being limited to response after damage was suffered. It provides resources for train‑ ing, planning, references, and several kinds of support to regions/cities to develop their own strategies, plans, and risk maps for CH in each territory or area. Another good example of DRM‑CH integration at policy level, built over lessons learned and experiences from several disasters affecting the heritage, came from Japan. The country, through its Agency for Cultural Affairs (ACA), has established a system for Designation/ 484

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Selection/Registration of Cultural Properties, connected to DRM. It states that the preserva‑ tion and utilization of cultural properties must include environmental protection and DRM, in addition to measures for conservation and management. It implies that DRM is integrated into each step of cultural properties protection and management at national, prefectural, and municipal levels. Risk prevention is integral to the protection and management of CH, and DRM measures for each type of cultural properties are mandatory. This includes also the people who are involved in the operations of protection and management, as well as in the organization of regular drills involving several relevant stakeholders, including rep‑ resentatives from national and local governments, site managers, and local communities (Newman et al., 2020). To finish with an example at regional level, the European Union offers several instru‑ ments and programs for prevention and emergency response, under its section on Risk Management for Cultural Heritage, with different Directorates‑General of the European Commission involved in the management of those mechanisms. Among others, the EU Civil Protection Mechanism (EUCPM) has deployed CH experts to disaster scenarios, such as in Mexico in 2017; and the Copernicus Services provide satellite data and geo‑ graphical information for emergencies, with the possibility to focus on CH sites and struc‑ tures (source: https://culture.ec.europa.eu/cultural‑heritage/cultural‑heritage‑in‑eu‑policies/ risk‑management‑for‑cultural‑heritage).

Lessons Learned • Nowadays, with all the increasing risks faced by cities across the world, any plan for sustainable urban development is not considered completed if it does not integrate DRM and cultural considerations. From the establishment of overall scope and specific objec‑ tives, and the design of policies, strategies, and planning process, to the financing options and implementation phases, the integration of DRM and CH is fundamental to ensure the development or improvement of resilient and vibrant cities. • Some ideas to be taken into account to strengthen the resilience of people and places may be summarized into five simple principles, to be adapted and developed according to each urban cultural heritage reality: 1 Identification of the key factors for resilience through heritage in the city: this prin‑ ciple should include the potential natural and man‑made hazards, including in the urban area but also in its immediate surroundings, as well as all the cultural and heritage assets, tangible and intangible, and the people related to them, such as local communities, social groups, visitors, authorities, emergency responders, etc. 2 Assessment of the current conditions of those assets and the general situation: any urban plan needs to assess, understand, and integrate the risks that are threatening the people and their heritage, in particular when envisioning future development or regeneration projects. Only by being aware and prepared with solid data, is it pos‑ sible to address the challenges, identify efficient solutions, and protect people and heritage, ensuring the cities are safe, resilient, inclusive, and sustainable. 3 Design and Implementation of actions to reduce risk and strengthen resilience through CH: proactive measures and actions to increase resilience can use culture and herit‑ age as a source to engage communities, foster social cohesion and inclusion, protect 485

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valuable assets to be passed through generations, and ensure the cities keep in balance their traditions with innovation and technology. 4 Monitoring and evaluation of the actions and measures put in place: in order to en‑ sure sustainability, it is necessary to keep track of actions and constantly check and review the current situation, including periodic assessments and evaluation of the impact of the measures. It is fundamental to keep in mind that there is never zero risk, and that some actions over time might create secondary risks or vulnerabilities that, therefore, need to be monitored and periodically assessed. 5 Adaptation to ensure effectiveness and sustainability: as our cities are constantly evolving, and new challenges and risks appear, creating new threats, and/or reactivat‑ ing some already addressed, it is fundamental to always keep a sense of adaptation. • Expecting an uncertain future of increasing risks should make us more aware of the need of strengthening resilience in cities, people, and heritage, to prepare and help the future generations with the current and new challenges they will have to+ face. It is undeniable that the urbanization rate is growing fast across the world, with more than half of the population living in cities and projecting a notable increment by 2050—of 68% accord‑ ing to UN. And those physically bigger and more populated urban areas need to add to the equation the climate change predictions that generally announce more extreme weather and natural hazards. In this context, to ensure resilient and sustainable urban environments that place people at the center, urban planning cannot be separated from disaster risk management while culture and heritage need to be integrated at the core of every urban and DRM plan and process.

Notes 1 The Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015–2030 is an international agreement adopted by the United Nations member states to encourage and support actions to reduce disaster risks for the period 2015–2030. It is the main international reference for risk reduction. Available at: https://www.undrr.org/publication/sendai‑framework‑disaster‑risk‑reduction‑2015‑2030. 2 This operational tool for the Sendai Framework is presented as a checklist format and intended to be used at local level. Available at: https://mcr2030.undrr.org/ten‑essentials‑making‑cities‑resilient. 3 Plan Nacional de Emergencias y Gestión de Riesgos en Patrimonio Cultural. Available in Span‑ ish at: culturaydeporte.gob.es/planes‑nacionales/planes‑nacionales/emergencias‑y‑gestion‑riesgos. html.

Bibliography Chmutina, K., J. Von Meding, J.C. Gaillard, and L. Bosher (2017) Why Natural Disasters Aren’t All that Natural. OpenDemocracy. Available at: https://opendemocracy.net/en/why‑natural‑disas‑ ters‑arent‑all‑that‑natural/ [Accessed 20 July 2023]. Chmutina, K., and R. Jigyasu (2023) Routledge Handbook on Cultural Heritage and Disaster Risk Management. Routledge. ISBN: 9781003815518. https://doi.org/10.4324/9781003293019 [Ac‑ cessed 19 January 2024]. GFDRR (2018) Assessing and Communicating Risk to Cultural Heritage: The Future of Preserving the Past in Understanding Risk. Disrupt. Communicate. Influence. Proceedings from the 2018 UR Forum (pp.  14–19). Available at: https://understandrisk.org/wp‑content/uploads/UR2018_ Proceedings_Publication.pdf [Accessed 20 July 2023].

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Integrating Culture and Disaster Risk Management Government of Pakistan, Asian Development Bank, European Union, United Nations Development Programme, World Bank (2022) Pakistan Floods 2022 Post‑Disaster Needs Assessment. UNDP. Available at: https://undp.org/pakistan/publications/pakistan‑floods‑2022‑post‑disaster‑needs‑as‑ sessment‑pdna [Accessed 19 January 2024]. Government of the Commonwealth of Dominica (2017) Post‑Disaster Needs Assessment Domi‑ nica Hurricane Maria 2017. GFDRR. Available at: https://gfdrr.org/en/publication/post‑disas‑ ter‑needs‑assessment‑dominica [Accessed 19 January 2024]. Hallegatte, S., J. Rentschler, and B. Walsh (2018) Building Back Better: Achieving Resilience through Stronger, Faster, and More Inclusive Post‑Disaster Reconstruction. World Bank. Available at: https://gfdrr.org/sites/default/files/publication/Building%20Back%20Better.pdf [Accessed 20 July 2023]. Jigyasu, R., and V. Arora (2013) Disaster Risk Management of Cultural Heritage in Urban Ar‑ eas: A Training Guide. Ritsumeikan University. Available at: https://rdmuch‑itc.com/wp‑content/ uploads/A‑Training‑Guide‑2012.pdf [Accessed 20 July 2023]. Mena, C. (2020) There Are No Natural Disasters. Available at: https://apolitical.co/solution‑articles/ en/there‑are‑no‑natural‑disasters [Accessed 20 July 2023]. Mínguez García, B., and J. Newman (2020) Disaster Risk Management in the Culture in City Re‑ construction and Recovery (CURE) Framework: Technical Note. World Bank Group. Available at: https://documents.worldbank.org/curated/en/108261583387634581/Disaster‑Risk‑Manage‑ ment‑in‑the‑Culture‑in‑City‑Reconstruction‑and‑Recovery‑CURE‑Framework‑Technical‑Note [Accessed 20 July 2023]. NDMA (2017) National Disaster Management Guidelines for Cultural Heritage Sites and Precincts. Government of India. Available at: https://preventionweb.net/files/55231_guidelinesculturalherit‑ age.pdf [Accessed 20 July 2023]. Newman, J., B. Minguez Garcia, K. Kawakami, and Y. Naito Akieda (2020) Resilient Cultural Heritage: Learning from the Japanese Experience. World Bank Group. Available at: https:// documents.worldbank.org/curated/en/131211602613832310/Resilient‑Cultural‑Heritage‑Learn‑ ing‑from‑the‑Japanese‑Experience [Accessed 20 July 2023]. Organisation for Economic Co‑operation and Development  –  OECD (2020) Culture Shock: COVID‑19 and the Cultural and Creative Sectors. Available at: https://www.oecd.org/en/publica‑ tions/2020/09/culture‑shock‑covid‑19‑and‑the‑cultural‑and‑creative‑sectors_c38ec708.html [Ac‑ cessed 13 August 2024]. UNDRR (2015) Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction 2015–2030. Available at: https:// www.undrr.org/publication/sendai‑framework‑disaster‑risk‑reduction‑2015‑2030 [Accessed 13 August 2024]. UNDRR (2017a) Disaster Resilience Scorecard for Cities. Available at: https://mcr2030.undrr.org/ disaster‑resilience‑scorecard‑cities [Accessed 20 July 2023]. UNDRR (2017b) Disaster Resilience Scorecard for Cities: Cultural Heritage Addendum. Available at: https://mcr2030.undrr.org/cultural‑heritage‑scorecard [Accessed 20 July 2023]. UNDRR (2022) Build Back Better. Available at: https://undrr.org/terminology/build‑back‑better [Accessed 20 July 2023]. UNESCO (2022) Culture in Times of COVID‑19: Resilience, Recovery and Revival. Available at: https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000381524 [Accessed 20 July 2023]. UNESCO and World Bank (2018) Culture in City Reconstruction and Recovery. UNESCO and World Bank. Available at: https://openknowledge.worldbank.org/handle/10986/30733 [Accessed 20 July 2023]. UNGA (2016) Report of the Open‑Ended Intergovernmental Expert 2 Working Group on Indi‑ cators and Terminology Relating to Disaster Risk Reduction, Seventy‑First Session, Item 19(c). A/71/644. Available at: https://preventionweb.net/files/50683_oiewgreportenglish.pdf [Accessed 20 July 2023]. World Bank (2015) Nepal Earthquake Post Disaster Needs Assessment: Sector Reports. © World Bank. https://hdl.handle.net/10986/22096 License: CC BY 3.0 IGO [Accessed 19 January 2024].

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Barbara Minguez Garcia World Bank (2017a) The CityStrength Diagnostic: Promoting Urban Resilience. Available at: https:// worldbank.org/en/topic/urbandevelopment/brief/citystrength [Accessed 20 July 2023]. World Bank (2017b) CityStrength Diagnostic. Optional Sectoral Module: Cultural Heritage. Avail‑ able at: https://documents1.worldbank.org/curated/en/531801525758790702/pdf/125997‑WP‑ P150083‑PUBLIC‑culturalheritage.pdf [Accessed 20 July 2023]. World Bank (2018) Culture – The “X Factor” for Building Back Better after Conflict and Disasters. Available at: https://worldbank.org/en/news/feature/2018/11/16/culture‑the‑x‑factor‑for‑building‑ back‑better‑after‑conflict‑and‑disasters [Accessed 20 July 2023].

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7.3 THE CULTURAL DIMENSIONS OF CLIMATE CHANGE An African‑Indigenous Framework Denise G. Fairchild

A Cultural Framework: Looking Back to Go Forward Devaluing nature‑based belief systems and the extraction and degradation of earth’s natural resources now poses an existential threat to our environment, communities, and life as we know it. The impacts range from extreme weather events, loss of biodiversity and natural resources, unprecedented loss of life and property to climate gentrification, global migra‑ tions, and climate wars. Fortunately, solutions to our climate challenges are hidden in plain sight. It simply requires restoring traditional earth‑based values and practices into our daily lives, policies and plans. Sankofa, a principle of the Akan people of Ghana to look back to go forward, provides a portal for climate change solutions. Ancient wisdoms offer insights to re‑imagine and re‑engineer different climate futures. In essence, Sankofa invites the reclamation of African, indigenous, and other earth‑based worldviews of interspecies harmony, oneness, and inter‑ dependence from the hegemony of Cartesian western values of rationalism, individualism and materialism. More importantly, Sankofa is an invitation to embrace the drums, singing, rhythm and dance, story‑telling, rituals, and ceremonies as animated expressions of our in‑ terconnectedness with each other, mother earth, and the known and unknown world. The shift from an ego to an eco‑centered culture requires the full suite of cultural re‑ sources, artifacts, and expressions to advance: 1 Climate Mitigation – ‘Changing Heads’ by re‑valuing what really matters and re‑igniting the traditions of eco‑centered cultures that respect and protect nature as foundational to mitigating climate change; 2 Climate Resilience – ‘Changing Hearts’ by reconnecting people and planet to inspire joy and trust, the foundation of social capital, as the essential pre‑conditions of climate resil‑ ience; and 3 Climate Adaptation  –  ‘Changing Hands’ by transforming how we work and use land and other natural resources to effectively adapt to the long‑term disruptions to our earth systems. 489

DOI: 10.4324/9781003400592-44

Denise G. Fairchild

The Climate Crisis Climate change is not new. According to a NASA’s report on Global Climate Change, eight cycles of ice age and warmer periods occurred in the last 800,000 years. The life systems that sustain modern civilization have been steady for more than 10,000 years. The unprec‑ edented scale and pace of changes to our air, water and terrestrial systems now pose an ex‑ istential threat to life as we know it. What is new is the anthropogenic and cultural origins of our current climate crises. It is a by‑product of our way of life and culture. In essence, climate change is not an environmental or carbon problem; it is a cultural problem that cannot be fixed without radically changing our relationship with nature. Since the start of the industrial revolution we have increasingly relied on the combustion of fossil fuels – coal, gas, oil – as the sources of energy to power our homes, cars, businesses, our way of life. Industrial smokestacks, air conditioners, combustion engines, computers, dish washers and dryers and other appliances, computers are just some of the conveniences of modern culture that are damaging our ecosystem. Unsustainable economic development goals, an insatiable consumer culture, and the absence of responsible societal stewardship of the land are the byproducts of this historic era of modernity. The environmental impacts are palpable. The destructive trends include: (1) the excessive emission of carbon dioxide,1 (2) 40% of the world’s lands classified by the United Nations as degraded as reported in a 2022 Guardian article by Fiona Harvey, and (3) the loss of biodi‑ versity (69% average loss in wildlife, and 83% loss in freshwater species (Living Planet Re‑ port, 2022).2 Besides extreme weather events these trends threaten major long‑term changes to our life‑supporting energy, water, food, and land systems. The global solutions to date are primarily technological in nature. Government and cor‑ porate commitments to become carbon neutral or even carbon negative include actions such as greening our fuel sources with renewable energy and hydrogen fuel cells; decarboniz‑ ing our buildings and appliances with energy efficient devices and materials; electrifying our transport systems with electric vehicles; direct air carbon capture from the atmosphere; among other technological and even nature‑based solutions. In essence, the global response focuses on greening our economy to continue a lifestyle and culture of mass production, consumption, and massive waste. These decarbonization solutions are necessary, but insufficient. Global warming, accord‑ ing to the 2023 Intergovernmental Panel Reports on Climate Change report that tempera‑ tures are expected to rise well above the 1.5°C (2.7°F) limits required for a stable ecosystem, and may be as disastrous as 3.3 degree to 5.7 degree Celsius (5.9°F–10.3°F) by 2100 without major changes. In fact, the report indicates that without a major reduction in greenhouse gas emissions in ten years, we will be unable to reverse the worsening climate trends. It is increasingly clear that we are losing the climate war. Once in a life‑time and 100‑year extreme weather events – floods, rains, heat waves, climate fires, drought – are now common occurrences. Billion‑dollar damages from weather events are no longer a rarity. Data from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) documented 23 such dis‑ asters in the U.S. within the first ten months of 2023 with property damages totaling $92.9 billion (Climate.gov, 2023). According to Craig Fugate, former United States Federal Emer‑ gency Management Agency (FEMA) director, ‘The climate has already changed, and neither the built environment nor the response systems are keeping up with the change’. 490

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Reversing these disturbing trends must include changing the cultural underpinnings that prop up the carbon economy. Culture is both the alpha and the omega of climate change and requires cultural interventions to effectively mitigate, respond and adapt to it. Nothing less than a large‑scale cultural response is needed to change individual, societal and institutional values, and practices to dislodge us from consumer values, beliefs and practices that are driv‑ ing our climate crises. A cultural movement requires changing heads, hearts, and hands to prevent, prepare and adapt to climate change.

A Cultural Pathway to Climate Mitigation: Changing Heads Even if we believe the science, it is hard to sell ‘the climate apocalypse’. Such fear‑based mes‑ saging breeds paralysis and a nihilism that anything can be done. Messaging personal sacri‑ fices also fails to induce large‑scale environmental stewardship as a climate solution. Clearly the push to recycle has taken hold to minimize consumer waste. It falls short, however, of the core problem: reducing mass production and conspicuous consumption altogether. The fact is the largest amount of energy consumption and carbon emissions are now de‑ scribed as ‘discretionary energy’. This is the energy we use for things we want (leisure, travel, shopping, golf, etc.), as opposed to the energy we need for such basics as food (cooking), lighting, heating, and transportation. Addressing such fundamental changes to our daily lives and culture can only come from a place of joy and intrinsic values and beliefs to replace our addictions to consumer pleasures and conveniences. The cultural work in creating this mind shift entails remembering our heritage, reclaiming and adapting world views and traditions that honor and respect mother earth, and engaging our cultural institutions and creatives in uplifting an eco‑centered culture. Fossil fuels as an energy source fueled an economic growth paradigm that fundamentally changed our culture. The dominant, modernistic world view devalues nature and sees it as a commodity to be extracted and exploited for convenience, pleasure, progress, and wealth creation. The philosophical basis of this worldview can be traced to the Age of Reason, with Rene Descartes its greatest champion. His Cartesian philosophy of ‘I think therefore I am’ is the basis of modern philosophical thought that exalts scientism, rationalism, reductionism as the pillars of reality. You know only what can be proven or what can be seen, or what is rational. This belief system resulted in the objectification of nature; valuing human over other animate species; the animate over the inanimate; as well as the seen over the unseen. Ultimately, this world view changed our culture, beliefs and behaviors regarding what we value, and degraded our life‑supporting ecosystem in just a few centuries. The Cartesian world view and ways of being radically differ from traditional earth‑based cultures that have sustained human civilization over the millennia. The concept of Ubuntu, the traditional African/Bantu humanistic philosophy and communitarian lifeways of ‘I am, because you/we are’, for example, stands in stark contrast to western belief and practices. The UBUNTU ethic affirms our oneness and interdependence with each other. Moreover, it is part of larger nature‑based beliefs and cultural practices that affirm interspecies harmony and belonging to a cosmic whole, and a more fluid and integrated way of knowing the world. Specifically, in these cultural systems, the Earth is respected as living, feminine, and di‑ vine. As such the sacredness of nature must be protected and honored. Ba‑Kongo people, for example, believed in FUTU, a concept of earth as being a container of great value. Futu 491

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contains everything that life needs – medicine, food, water, etc. Relatedly, it is believed that the living has a moral responsibility to maintain the earth for unborn generations; to take care of what takes care of life, and that there are limits to what human species can use. Ac‑ cordingly, in various African societies there are taboos against overuse of natural resources. Ghanaian fisherman, for example, to this day are not permitted to fish on Tuesdays. This generative practice is tied to a belief in the sacredness of the sea. These traditional beliefs and practices are not limited to African cultures. Decision‑mak‑ ing in some Native American cultures, for example, consider seven generations, including past, present, and future. Indigenous world views and lifeways of Oneness, Interdependence, and Interspecies harmony are expressed in other cultures as: ‘Mitakuye Oyasin’ in Lakota culture; ‘Kapwa’ among Filipinos; ‘In Lak’Ech’ in Mayan Indigenous traditions, ‘Buen Vivir’ or ‘Sumak Kawsay’ within Indigenous cultures in the Andean and Amazon forests. These nature‑based beliefs and practices are also found in Euro‑Indigenous and Jewish cultures. The cultural practice of ‘Shmita’, for example, is a Jewish farming practice from biblical time that is still practiced today that both honors and regenerates the land. Farmers let the soil rest for one year after every six years of farming. It is an expression of gratitude for abundance, reciprocity in which they share one’s fruits of labor with the less fortunate; and a regenerative practice to restore soil health. This practice is a stark contrast with west‑ ern conventional farming that focuses on crop yield to the detriment of soil, human and community health. Cultural artists are core to changing minds about the value of relational as opposed to material wealth needed to stem resource extraction and climate change. One of the most profound aspects of traditional eco‑based culture is the ceremonial and celebratory aspects of their beliefs and practices. Griots, drummers, dancers, singers, as well as food, ceremonial dress and other artifacts are all instrumental in honoring the things that matter – the seasons, cycles of life (births, deaths, marriage), harvests, hunts, earth’s elements of fire, water, air and land – and to uplift, solidify and to stay in relationship with one another, mother earth and the ancestors.

A Cultural Pathway to Climate Resilience: Changing Hearts Urban cultural planning can help create the social, psychological, and physical infrastruc‑ ture for climate resilience. Cultural interventions can not only prevent climate change but also prepare for climate disruptions. Social and cultural capital – the heart and soul of every community – are the most important assets for the rescue and recovery phase of a climate crisis. Climate resilience is the popular term for responding to and preparing for anticipated cli‑ mate impacts. A range of strategies and tools are being pursued, but the cultural arts are not fully incorporated in the solutions. The ‘readiness’ of communities to respond to a disaster is typically limited to government efforts to fortify their infrastructure – sea walls, energy and water systems, eco‑systems, and disaster and response systems – as the first line of defense. Resilience centers are being developed as safe havens during a disaster to provide respite for families to gather, find shelter, power, food, and other resources during an emergency. Clearly, community art centers should be a resource partner in this regard. All post‑disaster research, however, finds that it is the strength of a community’s social capital – its civic in‑ frastructure – that matters most when disaster strikes. 492

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A climate resilient community requires a culture of acceptance, generosity, sharing and cooperation. How communities come together during black outs, under extreme heat, when centralized food systems collapse, when housing is destroyed are among the most important infrastructure required to withstand and overcome a climate event. To be prepared, commu‑ nity residents need to: know climate vulnerable households and places; organize and be ready to deploy their assets; have effective communication and mobility strategies; establish norms and protocols to deal with change, uncertainty, and unpredictability from major disruptions. Cultural artists and institutions can make important contributions to building the social capital for climate resilient communities in especially ethnically diverse communities, as well as low‑income, rural, and communities of color that suffer first and worst from climate change, and are not readily able to escape its effects. The creative sector is known for its ability to unite communities together in shared spaces for a shared purpose, building the empathy and social capital to work on the harder things in life.

A cultural Pathway to Climate Adaptation: Changing Hands Cultural planning must be integrated into land‑use and economic policies and plans to re‑ alize meaningful sustainable development goals. A ‘commons’ versus a ‘competition’ mar‑ ket‑based culture is essential to effectively adapt to existing and growing natural resource constraints. Climate adaptation entails a new way of living to adjust to changing environmental, cli‑ mate and economic realities. The ‘growth at all costs’ global economic policy is no longer tenable. The holding capacity of mother earth cannot sustain current development trends, much less the projected growth in global population and standards of living. Definitions of ‘well‑being’ defined in monetary terms such as gross domestic product (GDP), wealth, progress, material acquisitions must change to better adapt to the limits of growth and to revalue healthy, nature‑based standards of living. Moreover, the continued glorification, commodification and privatization of land and wa‑ ter resources will only increase inequality, injustices, migrations, and wars without forging a sharing/caring culture. Collective, communal, and cooperative cultures as opposed to cul‑ tures grounded in individualism and competition are best able to adapt to growing food, water, and land scarcity. Our new climate realities require repurposing land for its ‘use’ as opposed to its ‘exchange’ value, replacing stewardship over ownership as the norm such as in the case of land trusts. Cooperative economies, including producer and worker coopera‑ tives, mutual aid, and other communal economic practices are also essential elements of a commons culture. David Bollier’s book, Think Like a Commoner (Bollier, 2014) describes ‘Commoning’ as an alternative, non‑market economy and form of production, provisioning, exchange, and governance. Commoning is said to have the capacity to support, protect and energize people when nature’s resources are used as a public and social good. The stated benefits include: a joy in sharing and reciprocity; direct responsibility for the environment; limits to over pro‑ duction; and consumption found in market economies; a ‘model of communal and relational lifestyles’ and nurturing the ethic of sufficiency. A commons culture is rooted in centuries old African, Native American, Euro‑indigenous, and rural cultures that revolve around communal land tenure and work practices. In her 493

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book Collective Courage Jessica Gordon Nembhard (Nembhard, 2014) documents the power of the commons and cooperatives in meeting the social, economic and education challenges and needs of the formerly enslaved after emancipation. Louis Nyahunda and Happy Mathew Tirivangasi researched the value of social capital and communal prac‑ tices in Mazungunye Communal lands in Bikita Zimbabwe to adapt to climate change including, village savings clubs (fushai), chief’s granary (Zunde raMambo), collective field work (nhimbe), and destocking of livestock (kuronzera) strategies (Scientifica, April 2021). Commoning remains prevalent in many cultures and communities and is a growing movement throughout the western societies. Its growth, however, depends on institutionalizing and supporting it within government policies. Cultural planners stand at the nexus of culture, community and climate change and require a seat at the ‘table’ of economic and land‑use planners to forge ‘commoning strategies’ to cata‑ lyze collective land‑use and economic policies and practices. While cultural beliefs, values and behaviors are manifested within individuals, families, and communities, they are initi‑ ated/embedded/sustained by societal institutions. As such, these planning and economic in‑ stitutions are major cultural actors whose role in mitigating and adapting to climate change can only be understood through cross‑sector collaborations with the cultural arts sector that can effectuate creative, futuristic scenario and planning processes.

Lessons Learned • We must employ all the cultural treasures at our disposal to address climate change – the existential threat of our time. We cannot engineer our way out of today’s climate challenges. • The solutions are embedded in transforming the cultural conditions that breed unsus‑ tainable growth and the degradation of our ecosystem. The uncertain climate future, however, must be faced not with a sense of loss or fear, but of joy and possibility. Cul‑ tural planners are critical for the work of remembering, visioning, relationship building to restore and regenerate a world worth living in. Four key lessons and roles for cultural planners include: 1 Invest in Eco‑Centered Cultural Narratives We need investments in remembering, memorializing, building awareness and appreciation of these humanistic and eco‑cen‑ tered cultural beliefs and practices for current and future generations. We need new narratives, cultural memes, visuals, rituals, and costumes that redefine work, pro‑ gress, wealth, well‑being, and to restore the joy of purposeful and healthy living. We need to invest in and deploy an army of culture workers and artists – musicians, writers, sculptors, painters/muralists – to animate and saturate the country with a re‑ newed sensibility of our relationship with nature and the joy of life buried in ancient knowledge and wisdoms. We especially need modern day griots – spoken word art‑ ists, storytellers – to preserve and imagine and transmit cultural beliefs and lifeways related to interspecies harmony and oneness. 2 Unite People and Planet Celebrations and ceremonies are essential ingredients for uniting diverse communities and reconnecting people to nature in the spirit of joy and 494

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oneness. River festivals, solstice ceremonies, harvest and other nature‑based celebra‑ tions, as well as local and traditional rituals are methods of finding kinship with each other and mother earth, share in the diversity and bounty of the locality, return to the land, and redeem the lost soul of our different cultures. It is, at its minimum, an opportunity to see and know each other, build community trust, and recognize our interdependence and oneness with nature. 3 Strengthen Community Climate Resilience Cultural arts spaces play important functions for community climate resilience  –  before, during and after a disaster. First, as creative and joyful spaces they can be the foci of learning and exchange to help redefine what matters and to envision alternative ways of knowing and being that pay tribute to mother earth. They can be planning places where communities work together to develop resilience plans that will be resilient against all forms of disruptions, and to formulate rebuilding plans after a disaster. Climate arts centers are also essential for managing trauma‑inducing events, such as climate disasters. Finally community arts centers can be retrofitted to help restore the core functions of a community during an extreme weather event. 4 Catalyze a Commons Culture The cultural arts sector not only can create the venues and an appreciation for living in the ‘Commons’ but can also redefine land‑use and economic policies that foster ‘Commoning’. In the case of the former, cultural arts institutions can facilitate what is defined as ‘vernacular spaces’ – informal cultural zones/spaces where people naturally come together and connect civic assets with eco‑ logical and economic needs. Secondly, cultural arts planners are critical for advanc‑ ing non‑GDP measures of well‑being in which an eco‑centered culture is a key metric of well‑being and progress. Cultural planners can help communities remember and re‑imagine what matters most to them and using these metrics to hold elected officials accountable for how policies are responsible for the use of resources. money and re‑ sources used.

Notes 1 A new record reported by NOAA Climate.gov of 424 part per million in 2023 vs. the 350 parts per million needed to support our the life systems of our current environment. 2 Wildlife includes mammals, reptiles, birds, and fish.

Bibliography Bollier, David. (2014). Think Like a Commoner. A Short Introduction to the Life of the Commons. Gabriola Island BC, Canada. New Society Publishers. Harvey, Fiona. (2022). ‘UN Says up to 40% of World’s Land Now Degraded’. The Guardian [online], April 27, 2022. Available: https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2022/apr/27/united‑nations‑40‑ per‑cent‑planet‑land‑degraded [Accessed on 2/26/24]. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. (2023). ‘Climate Change 2023 Synthesis Report. Summary for Policymakers’. A Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. 6th Assessment Report. Available: https://www.ipcc.ch/report/ar6/syr/downloads/report/IPCC_AR6_ SYR_SPM.pdf [Accessed on 2/26/24]. NASA. (2024). ‘How Do We Know Climate Is Real’. NASA Global Climate Change. Vital Signs of the Planet. Available: https://climate.nasa.gov/evidence [Accessed on 2/26/24].

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Denise G. Fairchild National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. (2023). ‘Broken Record. Atmospheric Carbon Dioxide Levels Jump Again’. Updated June 5, 2023. NOAA Department of Commerce News Re‑ lease. Available: https://www.noaa.gov/news‑release/broken‑record‑atmospheric‑carbon‑dioxide‑ levels‑jump‑again [Accessed on 2/26/24]. Nembhard, Jessica Gordon. (2014). Collective Courage. A History of African American Coopera‑ tive Economic Thought and Practice. University Park, PA. Penn State University Press. Nyahunda, Louis and Tirivangasi, H.M. (2021). ‘Harnessing of Social Capital as a Determinant for Climate Change Adaptation in Mazungunye Communal Lands in Bikita, Zimbabwe’. Scientifica Volume 2021, Article ID 8416410. April 21, 2021. Available: https://www.hindawi.com/journals/ scientifica/2021/8416410/ [Accessed on 2/26/24]. Pucher, Martin. (2023). The Story of Us. From Cave Art to K‑Pop. New York, NY. W.W. Norton & Company. Smith, Adam B. (2024). ‘2023: A Historic Year of U.S. Billion‑dollar Weather and Climate Disasters’. NOAA Centers for Environmental Disaster Information 2023 Billion Dollar Disaster Report. Jan‑ uary 8, 2024. Available: https://www.climate.gov/news‑features/blogs/beyond‑data/2023‑historic‑ year‑us‑billion‑dollar‑weather‑and‑climate‑disasters [Accessed on 2/27/24]. United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs. (2022) World Population Prospects 2022. UN Population Division. Available: https://www.un.org/en/global‑issues/population [Ac‑ cessed on 2/26/24]. Whiting, Kate. (2022). ‘Six Charts that Show the State of Biodiversity and Nature Loss and How We Can Go Nature‑Positive’. World Economic Forum. October 27, 2022. Available: https://www. weforum.org/agenda/2022/10/nature‑loss‑biodiversity‑wwf/ [Accessed on 2/26/2024]. WWF (2022) Living Planet Report 2022  –  Building a nature‑ positive society. Almond, R.E.A., Grooten, M., Juffe Bignoli, D. & Petersen, T. (Eds). WWF, Gland, Switzerland.

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7.4 A FERAL COMMONS Methodologies for Commissioning Sustainable Public Art Tairone Bastien

Introduction A Feral Commons is a transnational, multi‑site public art exhibition organized by three cultural districts—Alserkal Avenue in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, Kingston Creative in Kingston, Jamaica, and Victoria Yards in Johannesburg, South Africa. The organizations came together in the Fall of 2021, supported by The Global Cultural District’s Network— a federation of cultural centers from around the world focused on enhancing life in cities through the arts (Global Cultural District’s Network, 2024)—to coordinate efforts and share knowledge and resources. They were each looking to commission a public artwork that could address climate change in their community. So, unlike a typical co‑commission‑ ing model wherein multiple organizations co‑produce one work that then goes on tour to the different sites, these partners wanted to curate individual works in dialogue with each other and under a common theme. They formed a uniquely decentralized commons—with each organization working locally but sharing their knowledge and their human and eco‑ nomic resources, globally. I was enlisted to curate all three commissions, working remotely from my home in To‑ ronto, Canada. I began by proposing a method of working—all three cultural districts would work with a local artist who could respond quickly and decisively to a curatorial prompt; would be sensitive to or already making art about humans’ relationship with nature; would be adaptive and open to developing a project in dialogue with distant collaborators; and would have the willingness and capacity to handle an ambitious project. To keep the three projects together, I also defined a unified theme and a series of prompts that would trigger the artists and inform their work on the ground. It was a compelling challenge to adapt curatorial methodologies—which are often applied to singular exhibitions or projects that happen in one place at one time—to a decentralized network of artists and organizations. Leaning into the unpredictable and rhizomatic char‑ acteristics of the project, I found myself thinking about ‘feral beings,’ which may conjure images of wild animals and unruly weeds, yet they also invoke concepts of independence, 497

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resistance, adaptability, persistence, and survival. Feral creatures can pose a problem to hu‑ mans who seek to control or corral them, but they can also challenge us to think differently and more radically about sustainability in the face of climate change. This chapter aims to explore the concept of ‘feral’ and the processes derived from it to propose a potential model for curating sustainable public art.

Climate Change Cities are major contributors to climate change and are particularly vulnerable to its ef‑ fects due to the combination of increasing temperatures, air pollution, and high population density. The three cultural districts that commissioned A Feral Commons are based in cities that are prime examples of this situation. In recent years, the people of Kingston have faced extended periods of drought, and intensifying cyclones and flooding that is stressing the built environment and negatively impacting food security (Rouleau, Stuart, and Yozell, 2020; World Bank, 2021). Meanwhile, people in Johannesburg are experiencing more rainfall vari‑ ability and intensity (City of Johannesburg, 2021), whilst also facing extreme water short‑ ages due to deteriorating infrastructure and a rapidly growing population (du Plessis, 2023). There has also been a massive decline in flora and fauna biodiversity along Johannesburg’s few precious waterways, due to expanding urban development and pollution (City of Johan‑ nesburg, 2009). Water scarcity is also a critical issue for people who live in Dubai, which receives as little as 10 inches of rainfall a year, a quantity that has dropped 20% in the last three decades (Iqbal, 2022). A desert city, Dubai gets most of its water through the desalina‑ tion of seawater, which is energy‑intensive and relies on fossil fuels, increasing greenhouse gas emissions and further exacerbating climate change (Paul, 2023). It is a vicious cycle.

Art and Climate Many artists are involved in environmental activism, applying their talents to ringing the alarm on the climate emergency and drawing focus to issues that need attention with the hopes of driving action. Canadian artist Edward Burtynsky’s large‑scale photographs have shed light on major infrastructural projects around the world and their devastating environ‑ mental impact (Burtynsky, 2024). Icelandic‑Danish artist Olafur Eliasson’s immersive in‑ stallations have transformed difficult, abstract concepts about global warming into visceral experiences (Jiang, 2023). One hopes that such artworks are enough to wake people up to the issues and provoke them to action. Indeed, there is recent scientific evidence that art may be helpful to scientists in translating data in compelling ways that change people’s minds (Li, Villanueva, Jilk, Matre, and Brossard, 2023). Is it enough given the scale of the problem? Temperatures continue to rise and powerful governments and industries who are the most culpable, continue to drag their feet on the issue (Woodside, 2023). In the face of such a monumental and complex problem, it is unsurprising that some people remain skeptical of art’s ability to have a substantive impact.

Ecological Art Unlike art in which nature or climate change is the subject or theme, ecological art is a form of contemporary art that also seeks to create more sustainable systems or realize solutions 498

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for pressing ecological conditions (Kagan, 2014). Alan Sonfist, one of the first artists in the United States to adopt ecological processes in his art, helped establish some of the terms and ideas within the field when he wrote in his 1978 manifesto: Public monuments traditionally have celebrated events in human history—acts of hero‑ ism important to the human community. Increasingly, as we come to understand our dependence on nature, the concept of community expands to include non‑human ele‑ ments. Civic monuments, then, should honor and celebrate the life and acts of the total community, the human ecosystem, including natural phenomena. Especially within the city, public monuments should recapture and revitalize the history of the natural envi‑ ronment at that location. (Sonfist, 1978) Sonfist adapted these ideas to ecological public artworks such as Time Landscape (1965–78, Ongoing) in which he replanted precolonial indigenous plants on a plot of land in down‑ town Manhattan and committed city officials to preserving it, as a ‘memorial’ to lost na‑ ture (Meier, 2016). Other historical examples in North America and Europe include Hans Haacke’s 1965 manifesto for time‑based, natural, dynamic, and indeterminate art (Alberro, 2016); Helen and Newton Harrison’s Art Park: Spoils’ Pile Reclamation (1976–78) (The Harrison Studio, 2024); and Anges Denes’ Tree Mountain‑A Living Time Capsule‑11,000 Trees, 11,000 People, 400 Years (1992–96) (Denes, 2024). The concepts of ecological art are not only found within Euro‑American circles of art. Indeed, some of the most radical efforts in building sustainable ecosystems around art to‑ day are either being instigated by non‑Western artists or taking place in the Global South. For instance, when the Indonesian art collective Ruangrupa was appointed to curate the 15th edition of Documenta—the quinquennial exhibition of contemporary art in Kassel Germany—they applied the concept of ‘lumbung,’ an Indonesia term for a rice barn that exemplifies an ‘alternative economy of collectivity, shared resource building, and equitable distribution…anchored in the local and based on values such as humor, generosity, inde‑ pendence, transparency, sufficiency, and regeneration’ (Documenta, 2021). Ruangrupa, who were the first Asian artists and the first collective to curate the event, refashioned the Ger‑ man institution into a non‑hierarchical collective that centered sustainable practices within all its exhibition and programs. Another important example of radical ecological thinking is found in Hong Kong, where a growing number of artists like Lin On Yeong, live on the outskirts of the city and have become farmers as part of their ecological and artistic practice (Thorson, 2019).

Theoretical Grounds The curatorial prompt of A Feral Commons was to imagine public art that caters to humans in the context of a ‘more‑than‑human’ world, which is a term that signals an embodied relationship with nature, one in which humans are deeply interconnected and interdependent with all other forms of life on the planet (Abram, 1997). A more‑than‑hu‑ man world is one in which plants, animals, and entire ecosystems like waterways and forests, are believed to possess inherent value and agency. Viewed through this ideological framework, the public for public art can be radically inclusionary. The more‑than‑human 499

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world must be recognized and considered within the development, reception, and social function of public art. Motivations for producing public art are no longer just considerations of aesthetics and creating something meaningful for human and non‑human publics alike. Producing public art for non‑humans requires adapting the approach to site specificity. Rather than creating public artworks that just respond to a site and its histories through metaphor, narrative, or representation—which are illegible to non‑humans—the objective is to also make a tangi‑ ble addition to the existing ecology. An artwork is thus integrated into an environment in a way that may help facilitate interspecies encounters or otherwise provide something for non‑human audiences to respond to. The theoretical ground for A Feral Commons is nurtured by the writing of Anna Lowen‑ haupt Tsing, an American anthropologist who has extensively studied and written about the interdependencies and collaborations between humans and non‑humans in the wake of anthropogenic climate change. In a recent collaborative project lead by Tsing titled ‘A Feral Atlas,’ she and her co‑authors—Jennifer Deger, Alder Keleman Saxena, and Feifei Zhou—describe feral as ‘a situation in which an entity, nurtured and transformed by a hu‑ man‑made infrastructure project, assumes a trajectory beyond human control’ (Tsing, Deger, Saxena, Zhou, 2021). Their study highlights emergent ecologies of human and non‑human collaboration in which non‑humans have adapted and mutated in response to human‑led development. A Feral Commons proposes public art that is site‑specific in a way that does more than just respond to a site’s histories, design, geography, and socio‑political resonances and instead, also seeks to ‘collaborate’ with a site and its feral inhabitants. I am influenced here by Tsing’s notion of collaboration as a means of ‘working across difference.’ In her book Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ru‑ ins, she emphasizes the importance of ‘livable collaborations’ for the survival of every species, noting that ‘collaboration means working across differences, which leads to contamination. Without collaborations, we all die’ (Tsing, 2015, p. 23). Collaborating across differences, as Tsing describes it, requires adaptive, precarious, and polyphonic operations. Another significant influence on A Feral Commons is Ursula K. Le Guin’s persuasive text ‘The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction’ in which the American author argues that the earliest cultural narratives were likely not about heroes and their conquests—dominating nature with spears—but rather about the collective and mundane experiences of gathering and sharing resources for survival, symbolized by the carrier bag (Le Guin, 2019). This theory challenges the dominant, often masculine, narrative of the hero’s journey, suggesting that storytelling should encompass the quiet, cooperative, and everyday aspects of human exist‑ ence, much like a container holding diverse items together. Such stories are more complex, and messier even, because rather than a central story, multiple protagonists and storylines intersect. This concept can be applied to how we approach public art as a collective enterprise, where the artist works in relation with others to develop and produce the work, whether it is folks in the community sharing their stories and offering feedback and guidance through‑ out the process; or fabricators and engineers with valuable knowledge of materials and

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construction; or gardeners, naturalists, and environmental activists helping to predict, en‑ courage, and nurture more‑than‑human responses to the work.

Central Questions A central question posed by A Feral Commons is, ‘What role can art and artists play within these ecologies?’ Public art is a form of human‑made infrastructure and is part of the land‑ scape of cities. It is therefore a potent form around which to consider this question. To do so, we must first disabuse ourselves of the notion that public artworks are inert material structures. Instead, they can have a profound impact on the human and more‑than‑human ecologies they are placed within. The materials used in public art, for instance, if sourced unsustainably, can contribute to resource depletion and habitat destruction. During their production and transportation, they might generate greenhouse gasses and pollution. Ad‑ ditionally, if a public artwork is temporary, the durability and disposal of its materials can lead to long‑term environmental effects; non‑biodegradable materials may contribute to waste, while toxic substances can leach into soil and waterways, harming ecosystems. Therefore, the choice of materials for public art is critical in minimizing ecological footprints and promoting environmental sustainability. Moreover, public artwork is the culmination of a human‑led process that involves high‑carbon‑emitting equipment, shipping, air travel, and more, which also contributes to environmental degradation. Finally, the installation of a public artwork on a site, alters the human and non‑human ecologies of a place. The site may draw more people and different people than those who used or frequented the site before, who may move differently around and through the area. The artwork is also a new element in the landscape for plants, animals, and other natural phenomena in the area to respond to.

A Feral Commons Artworks Camille Chedda, Io Makandal, and Muhannad Shono were asked to create site‑specific projects that are inspired by feral beings in the landscape, and which can integrate with and contribute positively to the local ecology.

Io Makandal Io Makandal, a Johannesburg‑based artist, employs a multidisciplinary approach that in‑ cludes drawing, photography, organic matter, and installation art. Her work examines the feminist and ecological implications of processes, entropy, urban ecology, and the forma‑ tion of hybrid spaces amid a period of significant environmental transition. Since  2021, she has been collaborating with Water for the Future, a non‑governmental organization dedicated to rehabilitating the Jukskei River—an ancient and essential waterway in Johan‑ nesburg—through community participation, enterprise, and green technologies. In concert with N.G.O.’s efforts, Makandal has installed several ecological artworks along the river’s banks, including ‘Extant Rewilding’ (2021), a living sculpture of concrete debris, sand, clay, and soil that will slowly break down over time, and plant endangered Sowheto Highlight Grassland seeds that are gestating within the mound, returning an Indigenous species to the riverbank’s ecosystem.

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Figure 7.4.1 Photo of the Jukskei River beside Victoria Yards in Johannesburg, South Africa. Photo by Io Makandal. Image courtesy of Io Makandal.

River systems are multi‑species ecosystems. The moving water exists in a symbiotic rela‑ tionship with diverse flora and fauna that thrive along its banks, an area referred to as a ri‑ parian zone, which plays a crucial role in filtering toxins out of the water, controlling erosion, managing floods, and protecting a biodiverse habitat (Crous, Jacobs, Esler, 2011). Caring for this zone is essential for maintaining the health of rivers and the various plants and animals that rely on it for survival. And yet, the Jukskei River courses through the heart of Johan‑ nesburg where it has been heavily polluted with domestic sewage, debris, and wastewater (­Figure  7.4.1). Historically, animals would have followed the meandering river, migrating 502

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along its route toward the Indian Ocean. However, the modern‑day Jukskei is tightly confined by the built environment and natural pathways have been either decimated or interrupted.

Figure 7.4.2 Photo of ‘Be the River’ written with moss on a wall next to the Jukskei River. Next to Victoria Yards in Johannesburg, South Africa. Photo by Brett Rubin. Image courtesy of Io Makandal.

For A Feral Commons, Makandal will build a ‘green bridge’ across the Jukskei River just outside the walls of Victoria Yards (Figure 7.4.3). ‘Green bridges’ are common in other countries like Canada and the Netherlands, where they’ve been effective at enabling wildlife to cross highways and other human infrastructure projects that bisect their natural habitat (Greenfield, 2021). Constructed using bricks recycled from an old brick factory that had been torn down nearby, the bridge will be filled with soil and seeded with Indigenous grasses and plants to grow wild along its spine. Makandal’s green bridge will connect the ecosys‑ tems on the two sides of the culvert, which Makandal and Water for the Future have helped to revive, enabling the feral migration of flora and fauna across the expanse generating more diverse more‑than‑human encounters. Makandal’s bridge is intended to become a permanent fixture, a support structure and connection point for the river’s complex ecosystem and the confluence of diverse entities that make up its riparian zone. Her project seeks to foster a symbiosis of life forms—water, plants, and animals—emphasizing the river’s multifaceted nature and its myriad interdependencies 503

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Figure 7.4.3 Render of Ophidian’s Promise (working title), 2024. Render by Io Makandal. Photo by Melanie van Zyl. Image courtesy of Io Makandal.

(Figure 7.4.2). Through this work, Makandal not only proposes a structural intervention but also a conceptual one, inviting a re‑engagement with the river as a living, breathing ser‑ pentine entity that sustains a multitude of lives—human and non‑human.

Muhannad Shono Muhannad Shono’s interdisciplinary body of work is deeply rooted in story, drawing from personal, collective, and historical narratives. Prompted by the theme of A Feral Commons, Shono has created a public artwork for Alserkal Avenue, a cultural district of converted warehouses located in Al Quoz, an industrial area of Dubai. The work, titled ‘A Forgotten Place,’ is inspired by feral plants that grow in tiny unruly patches on the sides of warehouses, nurtured by water condensate that drips from air conditioning (AC) units (Figure  7.4.4). Despite the harsh desert elements and lack of rain, these feral plants have found a way to thrive without human aid or interest. The artwork consists of a large open‑air, steel structure installed on the pedestrian walk‑ way between two warehouses (Figure 7.4.5). The metal frame supports approximately 600 clear plastic tubes that collect water from AC units inside the warehouses and draw them down to the ground, terminating at various heights over a garden of plants. The garden beds on either side of the path are filled with feral plants the artist transplanted from beneath AC 504

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Figure 7.4.4 Research photo of an air conditioning unit in Al Quoz, Dubai, UAE, with a feral fern growing beneath it. Photo by Muhannad Shono. Image courtesy of Muhannad Shono and Alserkal Advisory.

units around Al Quoz (Figure 7.4.6). People are invited to walk through the structure, along a path between the gardens and under the hanging tubes, which drip water indiscriminately onto people and plants.

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Figure 7.4.5 Muhannad Shono, A Forgotten Place, 2024, in Dubai, UAE. Photo by Hyku Desesto. Image courtesy of Muhannad Shono and Alserkal Advisory.

‘A Forgotten Place’ draws attention to nature and machine interdependencies—or AC ecologies—and shares their secrets to survival. Water from AC units may not be potable, but it is a viable source of gray water that could be used for agricultural purposes. As it turns out, most of the feral plants that were found by the artist under AC units and brought into 506

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Figure 7.4.6 Muhannad Shono, A Forgotten Place (detail), 2024, in Dubai, UAE. Photo by Hyku Desesto. Image courtesy of Muhannad Shono and Alserkal Advisory.

the installation are either medicinal or edible, including watermelon, basil, and squash. Some plants are also prickly and poisonous if ingested, having developed defenses for survival. Shono’s exploration of AC ecologies serves as a metaphorical laboratory that one hopes could ignite scientific advancement in water conservation. In a region where water scarcity is a critical issue, such investigations could lead to significant breakthroughs in water capture and reuse, demonstrating the potential for public art to contribute positively to ecologies and economies.

Camille Chedda Camille Chedda is a visual artist who insightfully engages with themes of race and post‑ colonial identity; she employs a diverse array of media in her practice, including drawing, painting, collage, and installation. Chedda often uses everyday materials such as plastic bags, cement, and concrete blocks, which she views as artifacts imbued with meaning and cultural resonance. She is also often interested in the historical use of land compared with its current state. For A Feral Commons Chedda is making a work for Lower South Camp Park in down‑ town Kingston, Jamaica, a once‑vibrant space that, for various socio‑political reasons, has been neglected, closed to the public, and is now overrun with wild plants. With the help of 507

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Figure 7.4.7 Lower South Camp Park in Kingston, Jamaica, covered in Antigonon leptopus (the Rice and Peas bush). Image courtesy of Kingston Creative and Camille Chedda.

Kingston Creative, the plan is to revitalize the park and bring people from the surrounding neighborhood back to the park. On her first site visit, Chedda noticed lots of bees and a green leafy vine with delicate pink flowers that had overtaken the park, growing everywhere, and obscuring the ground. The plant’s scientific name is Antigonon leptopus, but it is more commonly known as the Rice and Peas bush (Figure 7.4.7). Originating from the Atlantic coastal plains of Mexico, the vine is a rapid grower and hardy survivor, found growing on the sides of roads in Jamaica and across the Caribbean. It is also a pollinator plant, and its leaves can be brewed as a tea that folks use for treating the flu or colds. Finally, the Rice and Peas Bush gets its popular name because it is commonly used in Rice and Peas, a staple dish in Jamaican cuisine. Chedda’s artwork will be a large, open‑air pavilion in the center of the park that will serve as a support structure for the rice and peas bush to grow and a space for the community to rest and gather in its shade (Figure 7.4.9). The two main walls of the pavilion will be made of concrete blocks, turned on their side so the twin cavities are visible. Photographs of the bush, bees, and people in the community will be printed on clear acetate and installed within the open cavities, so daylight can shine through and illuminate them (Figure 7.4.8). Between 508

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Figure 4.7.8 Camille Chedda installing her public artwork Chain of Love (working title), 2024, in Lower South Camp Park, Kingston, Jamaica. Image courtesy of Kingston Creative and Camille Chedda.

Figure 4.7.9 Camille Chedda, painted render of Chain of Love (working title), 2024. Image cour‑ tesy of Kingston Creative and Camille Chedda.

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the two walls, a large metal archway will be installed, which will serve as a trellis to guide the growth of the vine. Nearby, on walls at the park’s entrance and near the pavilion will be a series of murals that pay homage to key figures in the community and communicate the key principles of the work. The murals will illustrate the ecological significance of the Rice and Peas bush, the bees, and their connection with the community and wider environment. In essence, Chedda’s work is in dialogue with the more‑than‑human world, fostering a habitat beneficial for both human and ecological communities. It is a space for shade and gathering, and an educational site to engage with a plant that sustains and heals. This pro‑ ject is not just an artistic expression but a socio‑ecological intervention, seeking to reconnect the community with their environment and their history.

Feral Advice for Curating Sustainable Public Art Collaborating and learning with the feral beings at the heart of the three commissions for A Feral Commons, I have arrived at a set of criteria that can help curators prepare and ap‑ proach ecological public artworks. 1 The first criterion is collaboration across differences. Public art requires the support of many private and public organizations, businesses, community members, funders, fabri‑ cators, governing bodies, and teams on the ground to realize. The collaborative network expands further with ecological public art, as it requires dealing with environmental agencies, biologists, horticulturalists, and other specialists in fields who often have little to no experience with contemporary art or artists. They can be easily turned on by the ecological aims of the work, but they may need more coaxing to grasp the more con‑ ceptual aspects of the project. It is, however, impossible to do without the expertise of the environmental community so more time and effort are needed to build a common language, familiarity with work processes, and ultimately trust and stronger relations. Ecological public artworks also require the collaboration of plants, animals, and other natural phenomena. When approaching a site where the idea for an artwork is starting to take shape, it is critical to consider the a priori interdependencies between humans and non‑humans that live in or move through the area. If the project is open‑ended and open to the collaboration of flora and fauna, feral creatures can make great collaborators. Feral creatures and phenomena survive despite human efforts to control them, which can make them ideal collaborators, in the sense that their actions in response to the art‑ ist’s proposed structure or intervention will be decisive. Feral collaborators will spread quickly, so their adaptations to your efforts can be easier to anticipate, measure, and respond to, in turn. The result, in the long run, will be a more sustainable work, as your resilient collaborators weave the artwork deeper into the landscape. 2 The second criterion is adaptability. Since collaboration is essential to ecological public art, the development process can be very unpredictable. Working with collaborators un‑ like yourself, whether human or non‑human, whose actions may be driven by needs and pressures different from your own, requires patience, fortitude, and the willingness to change directions. Have certain aims in mind but be open‑minded. Particularly toward non‑human collaborators, who are sensitive to environmental conditions, which are ex‑ pected to change dramatically in the coming years. To persist in such conditions, we need 510

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to listen to the science historian Donna Haraway who asks us to ‘stay with the trouble’ (Haraway, 2016). In other words, we need to commit to a more‑than‑human world of deep interspecies entanglements that are difficult and messy yet necessary for mutual survival. It is essential to think that one does not have much control over the outcomes of work because your non‑human collaborators may have radical ideas of their own. Giving up some control is a humbling act for a curator or commissioner working with sovereign beings who are free to act as they wish. Adaptability also means incorporating within your work, time, and resources to study and gain knowledge about the non‑humans you engage with. The three A Feral Commons commissions are either the starting point or part of continuing research into the feral ecosystems that they have become a part of. Understanding the motivations of your collaborators and processes is important to decide a way forward. Stay vigilant though because unanticipated outside collaborators may interfere or interject. 3 The third criterion is time. Public artworks are usually ends in and of themselves, the cul‑ mination of human labor and a symbol of human genius. In contrast, ecological public artworks are often the starting point of an engagement with the more‑than‑human world that will unfold over time. Ecological public artworks can also be woven into the cycles of nature, existing on a continuum. We will not know what the outcomes are of these projects until years from now. We are working with an international company called Urban Art Projects (UAP) to track the three commissioned artworks’ social and environmental impacts in their respective neighborhoods over the next year. UAP are measuring the overall carbon footprint of the project including travel, shipping, materials, and fabrication, from the ideation and research phase through fabrication and installation, as well as, if applica‑ ble, the disposal of the work or its constituent materials at the end. Chedda’s artwork for Kingston Creative and Makandal’s project for Victoria Yards will be permanent public artworks. Shono’s work will remain up for a year, at which point Alserkal will assess the feasibility of making it permanent depending on how the materials withstand the intense heat of summer. UAP are also circulating questionnaires among key stakeholders before and after the artworks are installed to measure their impact on local audiences. They are tracking data points such as the community members’ sense of well‑being related to the potential social and emotional benefits of the work. UAP are also probing the audi‑ ence’s awareness and sense of accountability toward ‘sustainability’ for the benefits of the planet and future generations, resulting from their encounter with a work and its unique proposition about climate change. Although it is too early to tell, we know from UAP, who have studied the environmental impact of other public art projects before this, that working with non‑human collaborators can lead to more sustainable, even carbon‑negative projects over time.

Lessons Learned • In this chapter, I examine the insights gained from my role as a public art curator work‑ ing in collaboration with the more‑than‑human world. This partnership has led to the development of methodologies aimed at creating public art that aspires to be sustainable. 511

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•

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The concept of ‘feral’ is integral to our methodologies, enhancing the ethos of multi‑spe‑ cies collaboration that is central to our approach. However, it is important to clarify that I am not proposing definitive solutions. This caution stems from the recognition that solutions often lead to additional problems. It is especially relevant in the context of public artworks, which are human‑made infrastruc‑ tures that we introduce into natural environments. Such interventions exist regardless of their ecological connectivity, sustainability, or sensitivity. Curating sustainable public artworks requires collaboration across various fields and disciplines, engaging not only with a wide array of human participants such as artists, community members, and specialists in environmental sciences but also considering the non‑human elements like local flora and fauna as integral parts of the project. The col‑ laboration extends beyond just the creation of art, involving an engagement with and understanding of the ecological and social systems in which art exists. When curating sustainable public art, one’s processes must be flexible to accommodate the unpredictable nature of working with living systems and non‑human actors. The projects described are living systems themselves, subject to change and evolution, which requires an ongoing commitment to adapt and respond to these changes. Curating sustainable artworks requires a long‑term perspective, including plans to meas‑ ure social and environmental impacts over time. The engagement doesn’t end with the installation of an artwork but is considered a starting point for an ongoing interaction with the environment. This suggests a shift from viewing public artworks as static monu‑ ments to considering them as dynamic participants in the local ecology.

Applying the notion of ‘feral’ to curatorial practice introduces a different paradigm in the curation of public art—one that values independence, adaptability, and a symbiotic relation‑ ship with the environment. This approach pushes curators and artists to think about how art interacts with and affects its surrounding ecosystem over time, promoting a model for curat‑ ing sustainable public art that integrates with and contributes positively to local ecologies.

Bibliography Abram, David. (1997). The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More‑Than‑Human World. New York: Vintage. Alberro, Alexander, ed. (2016). Working Conditions: The Writings of Hans Haacke. Cambridge: The MIT Press. Burtynsky, Edward. (2024). ‘Tailings.’ Edward Burtynsky [online]. Available: https://www.edward‑ burtynsky.com/home [Accessed 1 March 2024]. City of Johannesburg. (2009). ‘City of Joburg Biodiversity Strategy and Action Plan. City of Joburg: Department of Environmental Management.’ Department of Environmental Management, City of Joburg [online], August 2009. Available: https://www.cbd.int/doc/nbsap/sbsap/za‑sbsap‑johan‑ nesburg‑en.pdf [Accessed 1 March 2024]. City of Johannesburg. (2021). ‘Climate Action Plan. EISD, City of Johannesburg. March 2021.’ City of Johannesburg Environment and Infrastructure Services Department (EISD) [online], March 2021. Available: https://joburg.org.za/departments_/Documents/EISD/City%20of%20Johannes‑ burg%20‑%20Climate%20Action%20Plan%20(CAP).pdf [Accessed 1 March 2024]. Crous, Casparus J., Shayne M. Jacobs, and Karen J. Esler. (2011). ‘Conserving Our Rivers: A Me‑ ander.’ Sabinet African Journals [online]. Available: https://www.fabinet.up.ac.za/people/1124/ Quest_Crous%20et%20al%202011.pdf [Accessed October 23, 2024].

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A Feral Commons Denes, Agnes. (2024). ‘Tree Mountain – A Living Time Capsule‑11,000 Trees, 11,000 People, 400 Years, 1992–96, (420 x 270 x 28 meters) Ylojarvi, Finland.’ Agnes Denes Studio [online]. Avail‑ able: http://www.agnesdenesstudio.com/works4.html [Accessed 7 March 2024]. Documenta Fifteen. (2021). ‘Lumbung.’ Documenta Fifteen [online], March 25, 2021. Last modi‑ fied September 29, 2022. Available: https://documenta‑fifteen.de/en/lumbung/. du Plessis, Anja. (2023). ‘Johannesburg Has Been Hit by Severe Water Shortages: New Plan to Man‑ age the Crisis Isn’t the Answer.’ The Conversation [online], October 5, 2023. Available: https:// theconversation.com/johannesburg‑has‑been‑hit‑by‑severe‑water‑shortages‑new‑plan‑to‑man‑ age‑the‑crisis‑isnt‑the‑answer‑214975 [Accessed 1 March 2024]. Global Cultural Districts Network. (2024). ‘About Us.’ Global Cultural Districts Network [online]. Available: https://gcdn.net/ [Accessed 1 March 2024]. Greenfield, Patrick. (2021). ‘Animal Crossings: The Ecoducts Helping Wildlife Navigate Busy Roads across the World.’ The Guardian [online], December 29, 2021. Available: https://www.theguard‑ ian.com/environment/2021/dec/29/wildlife‑bridges‑saving‑creatures‑big‑and‑small‑aoe [Accessed 1 March 2024]. Haraway, Donna J. (2016). Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. Durham: Duke University Press. Iqbal, Eza. (2022). ‘Solving Water Scarcity Amid Drought in the UAE.’ Medium [online], Septem‑ ber 28, 2022. Available: https://medium.com/@waterinequitynetwork/the‑core‑of‑solving‑scar‑ city‑of‑water‑in‑the‑uae‑bf5ae2f60ea0 [Accessed 29 February 2024]. Jiang, Coco. (2023). “Olafur Eliasson’s ‘The Weather Project’.” New York University [online], April 13, 2023. Available: https://confluence.gallatin.nyu.edu/context/interdisciplinary‑seminar/ olafur‑eliassons‑the‑weather‑project. Kagan, Sacha Jérôme. (2014). ‘The Practice of Ecological Art.’ Plastik, 4 [online], February 15, 2014. Available: https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Sacha‑Kagan/publication/274719395_The_ practice_of_ecological_art/links/5528114c0cf29b22c9baa473/The‑practice‑of‑ecological‑art.pdf [Accessed 1 March 2024]. Le Guin, Ursula K. (2019). The Carrier Bag Theory of Fiction. London, England: Ignota. Li, Nan, Isabel I. Villanueva, Thomas Jilk, Brianna Rae Van Matre, and Dominique Brossard. (2023). ‘Artistic Representations of Data Can Help Bridge the Political Divide over Climate Change.’ Communications Earth & Environment 4, Article 195. https://www.nature.com/articles/s43247023-00856-9 [Accessed October 23, 2024]. Meier, Allison. (2016). ‘The Origins of Manhattan’s Tiny Plot of Precolonial Terrain.’ Hyperallergic [online], November 14, 2016. Available: https://hyperallergic.com/337906/time‑landscape‑alan‑ sonfist/ [Accessed 6 March 2024]. Paul, Arielle. (2023). ‘Dubai’s Costly Water World.’ The New York Times [online], November 18, 2023. Available: https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/18/business/dubai‑water‑desalination.html [Accessed 29 February 2024]. Rouleau, Tracey, Jack Stuart, and Sally Yozell. (2020). ‘CORVI Risk Assessment: Kingston, Ja‑ maica.’ Stimson [online], June 1, 2020. Available: https://www.stimson.org/2020/corvi‑risk‑pro‑ file‑kingston‑jamaica/ [Accessed 29 February 2024]. Sonfist, Alan. (1978). Alan Sonfist, Natural Phenomena as Public Monuments. Purchase, NY: Neu‑ berger Museum. The Harrison Studio. (2024). ‘Art Park: Spoils’ Pile Reclamation, 1976–1978: Ongoing.’ The Har‑ rison Studio [online]. Available: https://www.theharrisonstudio.net/art‑park‑spoils‑pile‑reclama‑ tion‑1976‑1978‑ongoing [Accessed 7 March 2024]. Thorson, Line Marie. (2019). ‘On the Margins of Eco‑Art: Aesthetics, Plants, and Environ‑ mental Imaginations in East Asia.’ PhD diss. Aarhaus University, Department of Culture and Communications. Tsing, Anna L. (2015). The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capital‑ ist Ruins. Princeton, NJ and Oxford: Princeton University Press.

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7.5 CONSERVATION REGULATIONS AND URBAN PLANNING IN CLIMATE CHANGE ERA Poonam Verma Mascarenhas

Preamble The earliest presence of humans on the Indian subcontinent dates back one lakh1 years, beginning at the now World Heritage Site of the Bhimbetka – caves dwellings whose real significance was discovered only in the 1970s. Medieval India saw subsequent centuries of demolition and material reuse for new construction. Additionally, Mascarenhas (2019a) espouses that pattern of assimilation, appropriation, adaptation, adoption, and fusion has continued to shape the built environment through the subsequent Mughal and Portuguese, Danish, French, and the British – Colonial periods; imprinting this subcontinent for more than five centuries. India, blessed with unparalleled natural heritage, is also a treasure‑trove of shared built heritage.

Heritage Conservation in Sovereign India India is a federal fusion composed of 28 States and eight Union Territories with a total of 36 entities. The management of its heritage is constituted federally – sites are under the designa‑ tion of ‘Nationally Important,’ and then they are also managed at the state level followed by being territorially managed. At present, more than 3,696 ancient monuments and archaeo‑ logical sites and remains are designated as of Nationally Important, protected and managed by Archaeological Survey of India (ASI), a colonial legacy organisation, established in 1861 by Alexander Cunningham, who also became its first Director‑General. After independence, through the Parliamentary Act called the Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Sites and Remains Act (AMSAR‑1958), the ASI became a statutory body, administered in turn – by the Ministry of Culture India, and is headed by a Director‑General and is headquartered in New Delhi. India now protects and maintains the Nationally Important monuments and sites and India’s World Heritage Sites. Forty‑two World Heritage Properties are in India, out of which 34 are Cultural, seven Natural, and one Mixed site. These sites and all the nation‑ ally notified sites are managed by ASI, through the clauses of the AMSAR‑1958. This act was enhanced and revised in 2010 and is now referred as AMSAR‑2010, which also stipulated 515

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creation of a National Monuments Authority (NMA) as an advisory body, attached to the Ministry of Culture. The mandate of NMA includes the protection and preservation of cen‑ trally protected monuments and sites through management of the prohibited and regulated areas around them, often called the buffer zones. Primary functions of NMA is to oversee the working of 24 Competent Authorities located in different parts of the country and to ad‑ vise in management of the buffer zones – of all the nationally notified sites and monuments, along with the World Heritage Sites. Around 5,000 state‑protected monuments exist declared as State Monuments under the relevant clauses of their respective State acts. Also there are large numbers of living monu‑ ments, which are under the control of Hindu Religious Charitable and Endowment Boards/ Waqf2 Boards, which are regulated by the respective acts connected to these boards. A large number of built heritage sites are under the ownership of private institutions and individu‑ als. The NITI Ayog3 published a report in 2023, Improving Heritage Management in India, and mentions in its executive summary: an initial survey indicates the total quantum of India’s built heritage and archaeo‑ logical remains may roughly amount to a total of 400,000 plus heritage structures across the country including the centrally protected monuments, state protected monuments, heritage buildings under various religious trusts, historic cities and ar‑ chaeological sites. This study tells us that the majority of the heritage sites of India are unprotected. After the first decade of tumultuous independence came the government’s drive to urban‑ ise with a sentiment to break away from the colonial/subjected past that led to active der‑ eliction and demolitions, particularly in the business and administrative cities like Bombay, (now Mumbai), Madras (now Chennai) and Delhi. This threat to the civic heritage led to the forming of several citizens’ groups for heritage protection, registered as non‑government organisations. Shyam Chainani (1943–2010) was among the first activists who initiated the heritage conservation of the unprotected as a movement in India in 1977. Thereafter a few like‑minded people founded The Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage (IN‑ TACH) in 1984 in New Delhi with the vision to spearhead heritage awareness and conser‑ vation throughout India, by establishing its regional chapters.4 In 1988, INTACH published a booklet titled, Historic Towns & Heritage Zones, authored by Professors A.G.K. Menon and B.K. Thapar. It put forward, perhaps for the first time, the Heritage Zone concept in urban planning in India. These two stalwarts posited that urban planning must recognise the need for an ‘evolutionary process of development through the series of negotiated decisions between the planners and planned.’ Meanwhile Shyam had been active in getting the Mahabaleshwar – Panchgani belt5 de‑ clared as an eco‑sensitive zone – also a first. He was at the heart of the Bombay Environmen‑ tal Action Group (BEAG). Perhaps, being a lawyer gave him the insight that legislation is the key to long term protection and thus the very first Heritage Regulations for Greater Bom‑ bay came into force on June 1, 1995. Shyam realised that the BEAG’s success in Mumbai could be emulated elsewhere in India, leading to legislative initiatives in Poona (now Pune), Mahabaleswar, Goa, Hyderabad, Ahmedabad, and elsewhere. Prof. Menon furthered this dialogue of unprotected heritage and helped create the INTACH Charter in 2004, through 516

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a participatory process involving many practising conservation professionals, activists and planners. The Charter, among other things, stipulates that, …urban conservation plans must be incorporated into the statutory Master Plan of cit‑ ies. Conservation architects also have an important advocacy role to play in promoting the conservation of unprotected architectural heritage and sites. They need to catalyse awareness both among administrators and beneficiaries to achieve the objectives of conservation enunciated in this Charter. However, the Charter remains largely unknown and ignored. In 21st‑century India, heritage is widely regarded as a knowledge domain encompass‑ ing various fields such as politics, administration, archaeology, conservation, architecture, environment, planning, anthropology, ethnography, sociology, economy, law, and the per‑ spectives of the ‘common man.’ Defining heritage poses a significant challenge due to the divergence of opinions on the matter. For example, ASI on its website6 defines ancient monu‑ ments, to be considered for protection, and stipulates that the entity must be a minimum 100 years of age; while the International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) has been championing the preservation of 20th Century architectural marvels for decades now. Conservation professionals engage and profess the understanding of the definition of herit‑ age and the tools for its protection through the legal frameworks established by UNESCO’s World Heritage Centre. UNESCO and ICOMOS have produced numerous charters refin‑ ing conservation philosophy, expected to modernise conservation practices. These charters aim to maintain World Heritage Sites at uniform standards, requiring adherence to specific criteria for recognition on the World Heritage List. Charters serve as sources of guidance for State Parties and professionals, ensuring that protected heritage authentically reflects the cultural identity of the location and its inhabitants. Ratifying countries, including India under the World Heritage Convention, are obligated to apply these charters within their national context. Despite India’s status as a signatory, the incorporation of various charters, agendas, and declarations into Indian legal instruments remains a subject requiring further probe. Recent times have seen heightened awareness and support from UNESCO and its arms, such as ICOMOS and International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property (ICCROM), urging signatory nations like India to take overdue and corrective actions on globally recognised issues. Instead, the historic battles are now being re‑fought with bulldozers. The Indian political manifestos and sponsored projects continue to fan and feed the emotive yearnings of the masses, particularly the religion based majority section of the population, to claim a mythical past, the ‘Ram Rajya’ – the era of the God‑King Ram – as a corrective collective stance against the ‘invaders’ from the 16th Cen‑ tury onwards and is actively promoting it as a path towards a ‘Viksit’ (advanced) Bharat.

The Goa Context Goa is culturally, ecologically and architecturally rich. Nestled between the Arabian Sea on the West and the Western Ghats in the East, Goa is endowed with nature’s bounty with 160 kilometres of coastline, seven major rivers (three of which are navigable), several is‑ lands, back‑waters, and one of the best natural harbours in whole of South Asia. The white beaches and the blue calm Arabian Sea along with Baroque, Mannerist‑Neo Roman styles 517

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from Europe adorn the three or more storied white lime washed churches in every village. Classical orders, primarily  –  Tuscan and Corinthian  –  have been used in facades and the Portuguese variant of the Gothic, the Manueline, for altars and chapels in the interiors, along with Gothic‑Rococo crosses that are peppered all across this tiny state. City centres with brightly coloured administrative and residential buildings – nearly Mediterranean in style – and massive temple complexes in Indo‑European styles in many of the villages have made Goa a popular tourist destination. Unlike the rest of the country, Goan villages too are different as they are not rural but closer to ‘rururban’ as per current lexicons. Sakhardande (2019) chronicles history of Goa back to the late upper Palaeolithic period and it also has Mesolithic engravings, the petroglyphs, found on the river Kushavati said to be 10,000 years old, which is now on UNESCO World Heritage List as a serial site along with the many similar sites found in the neighbouring states of Maharashtra and Karnataka. The documented history of Goa can be dated to the 10th century when Goa was ruled by the kings of the Kadamba Dynasty. Goa was consequently under Vijaynagar kings and Islamic rulers from the Deccan, and the Portuguese rulers from overseas that colonised the Old Goa city in 1510 and subsequently added village by village to its empire in next two centuries. While India became independent in 1947, Goa was liberated from the Portuguese in 1961. Goa is perhaps the only state that had an opinion poll (in 1967) on its status and escaped merging with Maharashtra by 54%. It then was made a union territory administered by a Governor along with Daman and Diu and on May 30, 1987 Goa attained statehood while Daman and Diu remained as union territory. Goa was then reorganised into two districts, North Goa and South Goa. Goa is the smallest State in India with land area: 3,702 square kilometres; popu‑ lation: 1.817 million (2012) residents, while 7.8 million Indians and 0.93 million foreigners visited the State in 2023. Panaji is the capital of the state while the executive branch for leg‑ islature is Porvorim and ‘The High Court of Bombay in Goa’ is the judiciary. In the sixties, Goa was first ‘discovered’ by the hippies for its pristine beaches and sublime setting and since then has been widely promoted as a tourist destination, both nationally and internationally.

Administration in Planning Context Government of Goa website7 cites: (and I quote) The role of Town & Country Planning Department is statutory8 under the Town & Country Planning Act 1974 and advisory in nature for all the developmental activities under the other relevant Acts, Regulations/Bylaws/Rules framed under them applicable in the state of Goa. It is a physical planning and development control department for the State of Goa, with an objective to implement various plans as given below: • Regional Plan – For the entire State of Goa. • Outline Development Plans/Zoning plans  –  For all the Notified Planning areas, Non‑PDA Towns and Villages for which plans are prepared. • Traffic & Transportation Plans. • Conservation Area Plans. • Development Plans for areas around Railway stations. • Consultancy & Technical services for Government/Semi‑Government agencies‑­ Rehabilitation/Layout plans for Residential/Industrial developments (Quote ends). 518

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In 1991, the Government of India issued a notification under the Environment Protection Act, 1986  administered by the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF) to protect and conserve the environment and ecosystem on the coastline of the country. Thus, being a coastal state, ‘Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) and Regulating Activities in the CRZ’ be‑ came relevant. Thereafter, an important tool came in the form of The Constitutional 73rd Amendment Act, passed in 1992, that came into force on April 24, 1993. It was meant to provide constitutional sanction to establish ‘democracy at the grassroots level as it is at the state level or national level.’ Mascarenhas and Bharne (2023) espouse that amongst other key objectives, one is: to promote bottom‑up‑planning for which the District Planning Com‑ mittee (DPC) in every district has been accorded to constitutional status, with clear man‑ date on inclusive, integrated and participatory planning for both managing resources and spatial development. The 74th amendment made similar provisions related to Urban Local ­Governance – the Nagarpalikas.

Citizens’ Initiatives In 2000, architect Raya Shankwalkar, author and heritage activist Heta Pandit who was also part of BEAG and I – gathered like‑minded people and established the Goa Heritage Action Group (GHAG) to counter the culture of appropriation and urge the Government of Goa to extend protection to the unprotected built and natural heritage. Mapping is a crucial aspect of planning, providing a tool to comprehend the spatial reality of our cit‑ ies. While listing is qualitative, mapping adds a quantitative dimension. In 2015, when I revisited the heritage of Panaji after a decade from the initial effort of 2005, published as Walking in and around Panaji (Goa Heritage Action Group and Corporation of the City of Panaji, 2005); Archinova_Environs team, my design firm undertook comprehensive mapping and listing. The findings were then published as Mapped Heritage of Panaji, Goa (Mascarenhas, 2018), making the research publicly available for awareness and participa‑ tory caretaking. Our efforts revealed that from 2005 to 2017, Panaji lost 124 heritage buildings. How‑ ever, it also showcased 907 surviving structures, with many being refurbished and sustain‑ ing livelihoods through adapted reuse, all without legal protection. Although the ‘Goa Building Bylaws of 2010’ include stipulations for interventions in a listed building and mentions as per Grades 1, 2A, and 2B. Grading is a system of identifying notable buildings which are deemed to be of architectural, historical, archaeological, social and or aesthetic importance; with Grade 1 as more significant and so on and so forth, while a collection of the notable buildings in a precinct is designated as a conservation zone. However, the bylaws carry an incomplete list and also lack the ‘Grade’ information. The TCP has not made any attempts to notify this information, though the latest Outline Development Plan of Panaji has an expanded Conservation Zone, possibly influenced by our published research. Thus, the survival of heritage in Goa’s cities and villages can be attributed to awareness efforts by NGOs, which conduct research, heritage walks and festivals. These initiatives have enabled residents, owners, and visitors to recognise the value and appreci‑ ate the resilient ensemble.

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Case Study 1: The Goa Regional Plan 2011 – A Debacle In 1998, a citizens’ movement led by INTACH Pondicherry and Auroville, succeeded in thwart‑ ing the destruction of valuable ecological landscape when a six lane highway was proposed, by widening of the coastal village roads, linking Madras (now Chennai) passing through Pondi‑ cherry to Cuddalore, in the State of Tamil Nadu. This campaign garnered extensive media coverage, being a first campaign of its kind, post the 73rd and 74th amendments to the consti‑ tution, as mentioned above – against a mega infrastructure project of the Federal Government under the aegis of National Highway Authority of India. The campaigners not only protested but thereafter also collaborated, in the spirit enshrined in the constitution  –  for the coastal road  –  named East Coast Road, and succeeded in influencing the federal agency to limit its destructive capacity to a four lane highway – realigned to save several centuries old trees and was designated only for public transportation and not for heavy vehicles carrying goods. An‑ other existing highway was instead widened to eight lanes to cater to the growing needs. This stewardship of INTACH and Auroville made an impact on the citizens’ as participants in the governance and shaping of the living environment for a sustainable future, perhaps, for the first time and Auroville soon became a knowledge dissemination centre for many and particularly the architects, such as I. The interrelationship of various sectors that together impact our living environment fuelled my interest in the Regional Plan (RP) for Goa. Mascarenhas (2019b) records that the regional plan 2011 was delayed and got notified only in August 2006 – instead of 2001. It was in an ar‑ chitect’s office that the decoding of the land use as stipulated in the document began. It was an exercise in colour‑coding and mapping the survey numbers as per land use: Settlement, Orchard, Commercial 1, Commercial 2, and so on. The resultant map when overlaid on Google earth map and a few were verified on sites – was a shock, to say the least! The marshes, forests (notified and private), mangroves, Khazans and even the coastal lands which would be governed by CRZ had been given settlement status in large chunks. With no substantial demographic shift in the state then, one had to wonder at the logic of such a major alteration. Soon – the concern spread like a wildfire. Many of my generation of architects, planners, designers, writers, artists, accountants, farmers, teachers, and musicians, were shaken out of our stupor and became very concerned at the lack of stewardship from the Government. Our exposure to the movement that commenced in 1992, known as the Rio‑Earth Summit, and its subsequent impact played a crucial role. Goa is facing significant climate risks.9 Thus in 2006, numerous Public meetings were held and information on the implications of the proposed (and delayed) RP 2011 were shared widely and culminated in a massive rally in December 2006. The awareness campaign resulted in par‑ ticipation of children and parents who came wearing posters calling out on the tragic fate of all living beings and not just humans; graphic artists handed out booklets to graphically explain the concept of floor area ratio (FAR) and building heights and implication of the proposed changes on select areas to empower citizens’ understanding of the building bylaws; and 3D vis‑ ualisation posters depicting implications on selected areas in tandem with the proposed changes in land – use in two‑dimensional plans; were all displayed at the designated public meeting area. All this effort led to inculcating an understanding of the process and implication of ‘planning’

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Conservation Regulations and Urban Planning on every life, which until then was resituated with a sentiment of ‘trust’ in the professionals serving in the government departments. The trust in the system became a casualty. The opposition by the people forced the Government of Goa to revoke the notified Regional Plan 2011 for Goa in February 2007. A Task force was then set up and the draft RP‑2021 was published in 2008 with many new heading: Eco‑sensitive Zones 1 and 2, being of great interest; because it acknowledges nature and built environment collectively as heritage resources. From a personal perspective, during the review of the draft plan with Parra village residents, I had a profound experience observing the empowering impact of mapping on citizens. The motivated residents actively sought technical advice and guidance for the mapping process, and they promptly contributed missing information to their village plan. They proceeded to mark projected land‑use changes, engage in discussions about aspirations, and achieved consensus on various aspects such as FAR, road widths, commercial and institutional areas, protected zones, no‑development areas, and more. Notably, in terms of heritage for preservation and conserva‑ tion, they identified and marked century‑old Banyan trees, ponds, animal crossings, springs and seasonal streams amidst historic houses, churches, crosses and more – a detail that professionals like us might easily overlook!For the citizens of Parra, the mapping exercise facilitated a sense of ownership in the development process. The crucial element here is ownership, translating into collective responsibility and fostering a shift from a focus on ‘my plot’ to the well‑being of ‘my village.’ It was a heartening experience! This collective ownership is pivotal for our shared future intact with all the layers of cultural evolution through the centuries. Building resilience against climate risks requires collaborative efforts. In the current era of climate crisis, public participation in the planning process stands as a major cornerstone. It is imperative that human behaviour transitions from exploitative living to caring and nurturing, and this shift is vital for our collective well‑being and must extend not only to include the tangible vestiges from the past but also inclusive of biodiversity. However, despite the well‑intentioned efforts of participatory planning, they did not culmi‑ nate in the establishment of a notified Regional Plan (RP). Other agendas prevailed, and pro‑ fessionals in Town and Country planning (TCP) relinquished their responsibilities, yet again, under the coercive directives of elected officials. Those in influential positions have consistently undermined the confidence of the State’s residents, favouring unchecked urbanisation under the guise of development. The fraudulent Regional Plan of 2011 was deemed the operational plan, while incremental alterations to land use have facilitated haphazard and intensive construction, primarily featuring upscale bungalows, hotels, and housing – predominantly owned by indi‑ viduals from outside the state as holiday homes and utilised for vacation rentals. In the last decade alone, Goa has witnessed its cities and also the coastal villages that had a rich repertoire of historic houses being cherry picked by builders. Armed with the increased FAR, the houses are demolished and faceless multi‑dwelling and mixed used blocks replace them – altering cityscapes forever. The owners of these houses, often extended families with several members liv‑ ing outside the country, are favouring to receive cash or gifted apartments. With no financial in‑ centives or schemes offered by the Government and decreasing emotional connect in the younger generations with joint family properties, this trend is likely to become a norm. Citizens’ groups continue to be in a fire‑fighting mode. New amendments to the planning acts are perpetually

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Poonam Verma Mascarenhas announced through the gazette notifications and the follow‑up on the implications have continued to result in several public interest litigations (PIL) – judiciary being the last resort for the citizens. A dream of a sustainable future for Goa became a nightmare in the post Pandemic era. Dur‑ ing the initial phase of the pandemic lockdown, Goa became the preferred place of residence as it was declared a zero cases zone. Subsequently, those who could afford to do so arrived in Goa, often greasing the palms of officials at the borders. While hotels remained closed, there was a sig‑ nificant increase in demand and rental rates for holiday homes and apartments. The second wave of COVID‑19 hit the state severely, with the highest national average of cases and deaths per population. However, this did not dissuade the upwardly mobile population from neighbouring states and the growing work‑from‑home community in the Information Technology sector. Con‑ sequently, Goa is now on a rapid path towards the complete disruption of its natural balance between biodiversity and urban development. While, the demand for apartments has shown a decline, with young IT professionals returning to offices; the demand and value of existing old Goan houses has seen a surge; leading to not so preferred gentrification of hinterland villages. The real‑estate market has become volatile and this demand‑based planning, with no concern for the impending climate change‑induced crisis, has taken firm roots. The disproportion between resident population and floating population is now visible in the prolific built‑up that on an average is 45% vacant – at least nine months in a year and are partially occupied only as short term rentals in the tourist season. Still, the supply line continues fuelled by the projection of ‘suc‑ cess’ by owning an ‘old’ house in Goa in tandem with the ‘developers’ driven dream investment to make a killing in re‑sales and holiday rentals. Only commerce is being worshipped. Noth‑ ing else is sacred anymore – be it the mangroves, the forests, the fields or the remaining unique bio‑diversity of this one of the seven hotspots of the World. Socially, the resident Goans are being increasingly alienated in their own home state. However, not yet all have given up hope!

Case Study 2: Artists Assist in a Protest of Infrastructure Projects in Protected Area As was witnessed in various parts of the country and the world, the COVID‑19 era saw gov‑ ernments initiating extensive infrastructure projects in environmentally sensitive zones. The approach seemed to be keeping the public confined at home, fearful, and restricted during the pandemic while expediting clearances for projects that could potentially face challenges from an informed citizenry; thereby denying constitutional rights to a participatory process, as instituted by the 73rd and 74th amendments (as mentioned elsewhere) that made citizens participation mandatory, for any and all public projects. In December 2020, three projects were initiated in Goa, cutting through protected areas in the Western Ghats, recognised as one of the world’s seven ecological hotspots. These linear infrastructure projects included double track‑ ing of railway lines (for transportation), widening of the NH4A highway, and laying a 400‑kV power transmission line – all intended to traverse the Bhagwan Mahaveer Wildlife Sanctuary and the Mollem National Park. Each was primarily to link the Marmugao port to the industries in Karnataka and for making the port of Goa – a coal hub!

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Conservation Regulations and Urban Planning The internet and other effective communication means quickly galvanised Goans to launch the ‘Save Mollem’ campaign. Dedicated eco‑activists shared project details publicly, reveal‑ ing that these initiatives would result in the felling of over 59,000 trees around the sanctuary and the national park, home to Goa’s state tree, bird, and animal – asan, flame‑throated bulbul, and gaur respectively. Additionally, it would divert 170 hectares of land in the protected area. The campaign, driven vociferously by emotive art as a medium, raised awareness about the im‑ plications of these projects on the state amid the climate crisis. Menezes (December 13, 2020) cap‑ tured the essence in his article; ‘…this entirely millennial‑driven movement has positioned art and culture right alongside its scientific and legal strategies. In the process, it is dramatically reinvent‑ ing environmental activism for our multimedia‑saturated 21st century.’ An eloquent, impassioned group letter was e‑circulated for signatures and sent to Prakash Javadekar, the environment min‑ ister, and to the all‑important Central Empowered Committee, wherein 249 signatories agreed, …it is our role as the artists, painters, illustrators, architects, writers, poets, photogra‑ phers, filmmakers, dancers and sculptors of Goa to uphold, support, and protect our cul‑ ture and we wish to impress on you how deeply embedded it is in the natural landscape of our state – urging us to speak strongly against the irreversible removal of any part of Goa’s natural beauty, and ensure the holistic protection of Bhagwan Mahaveer Wildlife Sanctu‑ ary and Mollem National Park. While many environmentalists brought out the statistics, one statement that resonated with each resident came from 28‑year‑old artist Nishant Saldanha: What scientists call biophilia  –  the hormonal release and feeling of relaxation obtained from the joy of being in nature, that influences our mental health, our productivity and our ­economy – we call inspiration…to strike a blow to our natural heritage is to attack the wellspring of our creativity. Nandini Velho, a 34‑year‑old – Panjim‑born‑and‑raised X‑factor, who is one of the most ac‑ claimed young wildlife biologists in the world, with extensive experience overseeing Eaglenest Wildlife Sanctuary and Pakke Tiger Reserve in the eastern Himalayas of Arunachal Pradesh, was the lead force behind the decision to foreground art for the #MyMollem campaign. She sums up her leitmotif from her experience at the Eaglenest Memory Project as ‘art includes, art emotes and art represents.’ Velho initiated the Mollem movement alongside 28‑year‑old Gabri‑ ella D’Cruz (who studied biodiversity conservation and management at Oxford) and 30‑year‑old artists Trisha Dias Sabir and Svabu Kohli. As Menezes recounts: they worked with conviction: the business and politics of nature conservation should no longer just be in courts, and conducted by environmental groups and scientists. These art‑science or nature‑­culture di‑ chotomies belong to a different era. Art creates a bridge that is understandable, relatable and has longer staying power. It conveys stillness and sense of place. In the last one year alone, the art for forests under threat including Mollem, Dehing‑Patkai in Assam, Etalin in Arunachal Pradesh, and Vedanthangal in Tamil Nadu are some of the best forms of activ‑ ism I have seen, and it makes me super hopeful.

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Poonam Verma Mascarenhas The campaign garnered widespread support across society  –  residents, teachers, architects, students, lawyers, scientists, artists, and voices from major political parties. Over 250 artists played a central role in a successful visual campaign, utilising storytelling through movies and artwork. This youth‑led initiative eventually saw more than 5,000 residents come together for a candle march, defying pandemic fears. A petition by the Goa Foundation, an NGO, to the Cen‑ tral Empowered Committee (CEC) of the Supreme Court further advanced the cause. In April 2021, the CEC recommended the cancellation of the South Western Railway doubling project, the relocation of the Tanmar power line, and the requirement of an Environment Clearance for the national highway expansion project, which lacked one. Empowered and vigilant youth continue to monitor and engage through social media plat‑ forms like Instagram, using the handle ‘My Mollem.’ It now stands as a significant milestone in Goa’s public participation in safeguarding its vulnerability. The ‘Act for Goa’ website (https:// actforgoa.org), records the movement and features high‑quality artworks as an effective tool giving voice for protection to the invaluable but voiceless flora and fauna of the region.

Case Study 3: Bungalow in an ASI‑Protected Site The citizens of Goa had to initiate another campaign in the pandemic year of 2021. The State of Goa is home to 21 centrally protected monuments under the jurisdiction of ASI, with 14 lo‑ cated in village Ella – popular as Old Goa, of which seven are part of the World Heritage List titled ‘The churches and convents of Goa’ (234), inscribed in 1986. The village also includes nine state‑protected monuments, and our field survey further identified 17 unprotected herit‑ age sites. Literary research added another 30 archaeological sites or locations of monuments that no longer exist, providing insight into their potential settings for future excavations. My studio, Archinova_Environs team, undertook mapping of all these findings and created a tourist map for the extended area to raise awareness about the significance of village Ella, going be‑ yond its designated World Heritage Status. With Goa Heritage Action Group (GHAG), we also worked on the village Plan, incorporating the amended legislations of AMSAR‑2010 (minimum of 100 metres as no‑development buffer under jurisdiction of ASI and further 200 metres as regulated by NMA buffer) and the CRZ, along with all crucial water bodies and streams that require protection. The plan was submitted to TCP for incorporation, but remains ignored. In 2021, it came to light that flouting all laws, a politically connected individual from the ruling National Party was granted permissions to construct a holiday home in an ASI‑protected site. The citizens’ group ‘Save Old Goa’ from village Ella vehemently opposed this construc‑ tion, engaging with society at large. When GHAG was approached for help, our first task was to investigate. The process involved filing ‘Right to Information’ forms and letters to various departments, compiling the entire saga into a timeline, that eventually revealed TCP’s failure to stand up against political figures that led to abdication of law and duty. Our investigation

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Conservation Regulations and Urban Planning also unravelled that ASI Goa Circle was the lone agency that diligently informed the TCP of the construction’s illegality through its paper trail. However, due to the application process passing through ASI headquarters in Delhi, the applicant secured permission under the false premise of ‘repair’ to an existing structure, exposing gaps in management within ASI. Intriguingly, the State‑level Heritage Committee granted approval without on‑ground verification, seemingly re‑ lying on deceitfully obtained permissions from ASI Delhi. Also, noteworthy insight is the lack of heritage management understanding among architects, planners, and the public. While even the protest was initially centred on the buffer zone violation of the World Heritage Site (WHS), each agency was unaware that the site was a protected archaeological area sans historic building or ruin. Even the Goa State Heritage Committee granted consent based on the AMSAR 2010 stipulation of a 100m non‑development zone, claiming the site was beyond it. The National Monuments Authority was not involved, as permissions were granted by Delhi ASI. As a pro‑ tected site it was within its jurisdiction to give permissions to repair. Albeit, it did so apparently without verifying with its subsidiary, the ASI Goa Circle, who had records asserting that, apart from a coconut storage hut, nothing existed on the site. One must contemplate whether the village plan for Ella, notified by TCP and informed by ASI records, could have prevented such egregious illegality and corruption. Unfortunately, this trend is prevalent across India, revealing ethical lapses and deficiencies in planning and management processes. On‑going development plans, confined to two‑dimensional, colour‑coded land‑use schemes, overlook ecological, geo‑ graphical, and other departmental jurisdiction aspects. The centrally administered agency, ASI, too, continues to operate with a closed‑door, sovereign approach – a colonial‑era legacy. Citizens mobilised and protested throughout the year, while also filing a PIL in the courts and culminating in the cancellation of all fraudulent permissions. However, the awaited demolition order, the citizens’ ultimate demand, is still pending as the Supreme Court directed the High Court to conclude the matter, which had granted a stay on the demolition in response to the appellant’s request. The Supreme Court in its order criticised the High Court for staying the demolition, as it was a matter for the responsible agency, the ASI, to decide and take action, as it is a protected site and thus under its jurisdiction. Beyond the blatant violations of laws, and recognising that protected sites can be easily de‑notified by governments, the most significant concern in the case of Old Goa is the imminent threat posed to the delicate ecology. The project site, situated in the lowest lying area of the village and merely 50 metres from the tidal river Mandovi, serves as the primary sponge for the entire village. This concretisation poses a substantial risk to the fragile ecosystem. The site is in close proximity to the Church of St. Cajetan, a 17th‑century structure designated as a World Heritage Site. Constructed with laterite stone (naturally stabilised earth blocks), a traditional local building material, the structure’s porosity is well‑known. With the rise in annual rainfall attributed to the era of climate change, this becomes a genuine cause for concern. Ensuring ef‑ fective drainage of rainfall away from the building footprints is a crucial precautionary measure for preserving the longevity of the shared heritage ensemble in Old Goa, dating back to the early 16th century. Recognising the power of precedence, where the disappearance of entire lakes has occurred one building at a time in many cities, underscores the importance of this campaign.

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Protection vs. Development in India – A Quandary The situation of constant competition for land is critical for most of our cities with historic cores. Furthermore, I would contend that responsible stewardship of our built environment seems to be entirely absent, as evidenced by the on‑going imposition of 21st‑century build‑ ing techniques and materials. There appears to be a compulsion to construct at the fastest pace with minimal creative input, aiming for maximum gain using non‑recyclable materials laden with chemicals. This trend is resulting in the massive demolition of traditionally built structures, which not only are carbon‑neutral but also serve as repositories of well‑resolved technical solutions from an era of low‑energy living. Up to 60% of carbon emissions are at‑ tributed to the built environment, and with us being the largest population in the world, our carbon emissions rank as the third‑largest globally. The NITI Ayog (2023) report estimates the number of unprotected heritage buildings to be around 400,000. The actual count of existing traditionally built structures is likely to be even more, considering that not all tradi‑ tional buildings are officially designated as heritage. In this era of climate risks, each tradi‑ tionally built and many 20th century buildings represent a valuable opportunity as they are inherently carbon‑neutral. If existing buildings could undergo repair, retrofitting, conserva‑ tion to arrest decay, and be adapted to new uses, we have the potential to significantly reduce new carbon in our footprint. Many of these buildings were designed for a non‑electricity lifestyle, using renewable materials in consideration of the climatic context – precisely what our planet currently demands: low‑energy consumption. Despite the abundance of informa‑ tion and access to, published ‘White‑Paper‑II ICSM‑CHC’ – from forums such as ICOMOS and IPCC joint Heritage and Climate Meeting (2023), our decision‑making process remains un‑informed, indifferent, and in denial of an impending tragedy.

Planning in India in Retrospect The knowledge and management gaps experienced over the past two decades served as the central theme to assemble 27 prominent professionals from India and abroad to delve into these issues. The ensuing discussions and insights have been compiled and published in a compendium titled ‘Conservation and the Indian City: Bridging the Gap’, which includes a dedicated section focused on reconciling conservation with urban planning. Krishnankutty (2023), who was also a member of the Goa Regional Plan 2021 – Task Force (in 2007), espoused: Urban planning in India has its roots in modernist planning which was introduced in colonial times. Naturally, planning practice is intensively structured by its colonial past, with institutions as well as legislation following British models. Early planners were trained in the West, either in the UK or in the USA, and there were also planners who practiced in India in colonial times, resulting in the fashioning of an Indian urban planning practice that is largely an eclectic borrowing from varying Western planning traditions and tools. While planning in those Nations has evolved, in India, it has not kept up pace with those. (Conservation and the Indian City, 2023, p. 159)

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She emphasised that the British neither comprehended the structure of Indian cities nor val‑ ued traditional buildings, except for monuments. They largely regarded the ‘native town’ as a health hazard and proceeded to clear these areas, imposing their own concept of tree‑lined wide avenues and bungalows with lawns as the preferred form of ‘civilised’ living environ‑ ment. This trend persists, with planning professionals rarely delving into or appreciating the climate‑responsive architecture of the past. Instead, there is often a dismissal of older tradi‑ tional systems as not modern enough. Unsurprisingly, urban planning practice in India tends to overlook the value of older historic city centres and urban villages engulfed by expanding cities, leading to a lack of formulated strategies to address them. Many others have echoed these sentiments as factual reality, emphasising the necessity of participatory planning as a preferred approach to rethinking the processes shaping Indian cities today. The power of people to influence the city should never be underestimated, especially in India, the world’s largest democracy, where participatory partnerships between administrative structures and the citizenry deserve greater faith and action.

Traditional Knowledge Systems, Urbanisation, and Resource Management at Goa The advent of agriculture and potter’s wheel are the crucibles of human settlements through‑ out the world. Goa too owes its settlement story to the advent of the traditional system of land reclamation of the fertile estuarine lands employing a network of dykes, canals, self‑operational sluice gates that closed and opened with the tides; that then facilitated crea‑ tion of stepped rice fields, salt pans and fishing ponds; and this interconnected ecosystems are called Khazans and are unique to Goa. The study of Khazans provide us valuable in‑ sights into ‘designing with nature’ and community participation through the communidade10 system of resource management. Kamat (2004) informs us that Khazans represent an excep‑ tional transformation of low‑lying marshlands, often situated below sea level, shaped by the dedicated efforts, ingenious craftsmanship, and unwavering innovation of early settlers date back to 1500 BCE. Over millennia, Khazans have played multifaceted roles, providing social and economic support to communities while shaping the region’s cultural and environmen‑ tal fabric. Land was once considered a precious resource of the collective, and life was lived in harmony with nature, following its rhythms and laws. Today, Khazans have emerged as crucial guardians in the face of climate change‑induced crises. They can play a pivotal role in ensuring access to essential resources like breathable air, fresh‑water and food, and a continuum of way‑of life. However, in the current wave of urban development, Khazans too are facing escalating threats reported widely by GT Digital & GT Digital (2023). The relentless pursuit of profit has transformed all lands into commodities, and jeopardising the very existence of these interconnected ecosystems. It is imperative that we recognise the significance of such traditional infrastructure present in the seven talukas out of nine that comprise Goa’s midlands, and harness their potential to achieve sustainable development goals related to food and water security, socio‑cultural continuity, and inclusive liveability. Urgent measures are needed to safeguard Khazans and associated estuarine ecosystems as socio‑ecological heritage and enhance their role as vital

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mitigating agents against the changing coastal climate as has been highlighted repeatedly by many environmentalists and farmers – repeatedly reported by The Herald (2022–2023) and Times of India (2023).

Concluding Remarks The decline of a circular economy generative system that ensured the creation of tenable land, food, and livelihood while safeguarding the population against nature’s vagaries has been intentional since the liberation of Goa in 1961. The destruction of mangrove forests, in‑ undation of Khazan fields, and filling of low‑lying lands – all to build second or third homes for the super‑rich – symbolise the egocentric, self‑centred, consumptive trend that seems to have pervaded all sections of society in the last two decades, particularly in post‑economic reforms era since the nineteen nineties. This trend must change if we are to have hope for the coming generations. In conclusion, I believe that ‘Planning with Nature’ and ‘Designing within the climatic context’ using indigenous materials represent the two most invaluable – Traditional Knowl‑ edge Systems (TKS) of our multi‑climatic zone country – India. Urgently, we need a revision in our planning and development model, calling for ‘Regenerative Development’ as ‘Climate Action Pathway’ in the anthropogenic climate crisis era. This entails adopting a conserva‑ tion attitude that, as expressed by Prof. Neelkanth Chhaya (former Dean of the Faculty of Architecture, CEPT University) at the online ICOMOS India roundtable in December 2021, …allows for the creative rebirth of good‑old‑known practices to deal with continuous transformations which are ever dynamic in nature. This means we fundamentally require a resurgence of ‘values’ – of being responsible stewards of all resources. To facilitate the collective stewardship, there is an urgent need for empirical recording, analysis and creation of allied monitoring tools related to ecological vulnerability in climate change era. This matrix of cause and effect must become the primary framework for planning at all scales in Goa. Even before doing a Regional Plan, Goa needs a robust and serious mapping of its natural assets and the climate change‑induced vulnerability indices; and this must be made accessible to the public for better comprehension of the present and immediate future realities. Planning in climate change era will need an informed citizenry to make the shift from prevalent perpetual ‘growth’ to a collective circular economy – for survival. Transparency at all levels will garner such a stance. The architects and planners will need assistance from other creative field professionals like the building crafts‑persons, the artists, the poets, the theatre artists and thought leaders to re‑think the parameters of place‑making that supports and purports a humane existence. A creative rebirth of a city requires inclusivity of all ‘living’, the flora and fauna, while inter‑ vening in a habitat. The market forces wielders too live in the same environment and per‑ haps need to be reminded that economic status of a State can no longer be evaluated based on ‘gross domestic product’ (GDP) alone, which tends to be only extractive; but requires now to be defined on basis of low vulnerability to the climatic exigencies and high liveability indices.

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Lessons Learned • We need a development model that is ecologically responsible, treating land, rivers, fields, groundwater, and forests as valuable resources rather than commodities. • Sustainability must become the foundation, not an alternative. • Our goal should be for human sustenance to align with the natural laws of cyclic and closed‑loop evolution. • Recognising each of the states of India and their settlements as repositories of knowledge systems for respective climates, cultures, and resources, with their continuum as a pri‑ mary shared responsibility, should guide the regional development. • The on‑going climate emergency era necessitates a larger planning table with collabora‑ tive participation from ecologists, economists, environmentalists, sociologists, climate change scientists, agriculturists, hydrologists, ocean scientists, culture studies profession‑ als and GIS professionals working alongside planners and architects. • The first step is to determine the carrying capacity of a region and then plan for it, foster‑ ing an equitable sustainable and liveable environment, for all living beings.

Notes 1 100,000 years in the western calendar. 2 The word waqf has its origin in the Arabic word “Waqufa” meaning “to detain or to hold or tie up”. Waqf means the permanent dedication by a person of any property for any purpose rec‑ ognized by the Muslim law as religious, pious or charitable. Source: Punjab Waqf Board. (n.d.). Home. https://waqf.punjab.gov.in/users/waqf (Retrieved April 30, 2024). 3 NITI Aayog was established on January 1, 2015. It comes under the Ministry of Commerce and Industry. Its full‑form is National Institution for Transforming India. It was a replacement of the Planning Commission of India. 4 Today it has chapters in 215 Indian cities, as well as chapters in Belgium and the United Kingdom. 5 Panchgani and Mahabaleshwar are twin hill stations, 35 km apart, in proximity of Bombay (now Mumbai) and Pune. Panchgani was established by the British as a summer resort under the su‑ pervision of Lord John Chesson in the 1860s and was developed as a convalescence place for the soldiers, retirement place and as an education hub with residential facilities because it remained pleasant throughout the year. Mahabaleshwar was a village developed along with Panchgani and is in the Indian state of Maharashtra. 6 Archaeological Survey of India. (n.d.). Monuments. https://asi.nic.in/monuments/ (Retrieved April 30, 2024). 7 Town and Country Planning Department, Government of Goa. (n.d.). Home. https://tcp.goa. gov.in/ (Retrieved April 30, 2024). 8 One has to wonder – if it is ‘statutory’ – as all plans are the legal instruments – then why call the role of TCP as ‘advisory’? Is it not an abdication of responsibility? Consequently, we then need to know – whose mandate it is – to ensure a sustainable future? 9 The projection of a 1 meter sea level rise, initially an abstract concept derived from climate mod‑ eling and related to melting glaciers, takes on a chillingly concrete reality when overlaid on Goa’s map. This concern is compounded by the anticipated increase in annual rainfall, currently aver‑ aging 3 meters over the four months of summer monsoons (June to September). Furthermore, the emergence of cyclones, which became a tangible threat for the first time in 2021 and have since become a regular occurrence in 2022 and 2023, underscores the validity of our collective distress rooted in climate change science. 10 The Comunidades of Goa are a form of land association developed in Goa, India, where land‑­ ownership is collectively held, but controlled by the male descendants of those who claimed to be the founders of the village.

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Bibliography Archaeological Survey of India. (n.d.). World heritage sites. https://asi.nic.in/world‑heritage‑sites/ (Retrieved January 3 and 13, 2024) GT Digital & GT Digital. (2023, September 29). “Khazans”, a unique but crumbling heritage ecosystem. Gomantak Times. https://www.gomantaktimes.com/news/goa/khazans‑a‑unique‑but‑ crumbling‑heritage‑ecosystem. Herald, T. (2022, March 13). Inundated khazan lands threat to Goa’s staple food. oHeraldo. https://www.heraldgoa.in/Review/Innundated‑khazan‑lands‑threat‑to‑Goa%E2%80%99s‑ staple‑food/187623. India, T. O. (2023, September 16). Khazans unique combination of different ecosystems. The Times of India. https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/goa/khazans‑unique‑combination‑of‑­ different‑ecosystems/articleshow/103721434.cms. INTACH. (2004). Charter for the Conservation of Unprotected Architectural Heritage and Sites. INTACH, Delhi. Kamat, N. (2004). History of Khazan land management in Goa: Ecological, economic and political perspective. Research Gate. http://irgu.unigoa.ac.in/drs/bitstream/unigoa/3292/1/Seminar_Hist_ Agricult_Goa_Dept_History_Goa_Univ_2004.pdf. Krishnankutty M. (2023). Urban planning practice and heritage conservation in India: Challenges and way forward. In P. V. Mascarenhas & V. Bharne (Eds.), Conservation & the Indian City: Bridging the Gap (pp. 158–163). INHAF & My Liveable, Ahmedabad, India. Mangroves and Khazan agriculture: Sustaining Goa’s promise for fish, curry and rice. (n.d.). https:// www.downtoearth.org.in/blog/wildlife‑biodiversity/mangroves‑and‑khazan‑agriculture‑­sustainin g‑goa‑s‑promise‑for‑fish‑curry‑and‑rice‑72460 (Retrieved January 7, 2024). Mascarenhas, P. V. (2018). Mapped Heritage of Panaji Goa 2017. GHAG, India. Mascarenhas, P. V. (2019a). Vernacular building tradition of India. In C. Schittich (Ed.), Vernacular Architecture: Atlas for Living throughout the World (pp. 208–216). Birkhauser, Basel, Switzerland. Mascarenhas, P. V. (2019b, October 12). Mind the gap; hold onto that hat; retrospectives: Amber, Shimla, Coorg & Goa. Seminar on Conservation and Local Development, Ahmedabad. Retrieved from https://crdf.org.in/crdf‑resources/seminar‑proceedings‑conservation‑and‑development. Mascarenhas, P. V., & Bharne, V. (Eds.). (2023). Conservation & the Indian City: Bridging the Gap. INHAF & My Liveable City, Ahmedabad, India. Menezes, V. (2020, December 13). #SaveMollem: In Goa, young artists are trying to re‑­ imagine green activism for a media‑saturated age. Scroll.in. https://scroll.in/article/981021/ as‑goa‑resists‑three‑environmentally‑destructive‑projects‑artists‑create‑images‑to‑savemollem#. Menon, A. G. K., & Thapar, B. K. (1988). Historic Cities & Heritage Zones. INTACH, Delhi. NITI Aayog. (2023). Improving heritage management in India. https://www.niti.gov.in/sites/default/ files/2023‑03/ImprovingHeritageManagement‑in‑India.pdf. Punjab Waqf Board. (n.d.). Home. https://waqf.punjab.gov.in/users/waqf (Retrieved April 30, 2024). Ploteau, A. (n.d.). IPCC Culture, Heritage and Climate Meeting breaks new ground in efforts to un‑ derstand the cultural dimensions of the climate emergency. International Council on Monuments and Sites. https://www.icomos.org/en/focus/climate‑change/101397‑ipcc‑culture‑heritage‑and‑­ climate‑meeting‑breaks‑new‑ground‑in‑efforts‑to‑understand‑the‑cultural‑dimensions‑of‑the‑ climate‑emergency (Retrieved January 29, 2024). Sakhardande, P. (2019). Goa Gold Goa Silver Her History Her Heritage from Earliest Time to 2019. Broadway, Panjim, Goa, India. UNESCO. (n.d.). World heritage list from https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/234 (Retrieved January 13, 2024). White‑Paper‑II ICSM‑CHC. (n.d.). Impacts, vulnerability, and understanding risks of climate change for culture and heritage. https://www.heritageresearch‑hub.eu/app/uploads/2022/10/ ICSM‑CHC‑White‑­Paper‑II‑Impacts‑vulnerability‑and‑understanding‑risks‑of‑climate‑change‑for‑c ulture‑and‑heritage.pdf (Retrieved January 3, 2024).

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In Closing

8.1 COMMUNITIES DESERVE CREATIVE OUTLETS A Conversation between Chair Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson and Senior Advisor Jen Hughes of the National Endowment for the Arts on Artful Lives and Equitable Community Development Maria Rosario Jackson and Jen Hughes Jen Hughes (JH):

Dr. Maria Rosario Jackson (MRJ):

How should planners be thinking about artists and cultural institutions in their work? Why should plan‑ ners consider the community dimensions of arts and culture in the same way they consider housing, trans‑ portation, and economic development? As someone trained in urban planning, early in my ca‑ reer, when I showed strong interest in centering or fo‑ cusing on arts and culture as a dimension of healthy, equitable communities; I often received immediate push back. There were people who thought that it was too off or removed from what planners have typically been concerned about. My response has been that if we understand history around the world, you can see that in strategies to diminish, dehumanize, and exert control, the first thing that one goes after is people’s ability to make meaning, to ask questions, to make sense of the world, to express aesthetically, to con‑ nect to each other, and to connect to the divine. These are all things that we do through the arts. If it is so important that it has to be tampered with, in order to weaken or destroy or control, then how can we not recognize the arts as a critically important building block in communities? That is certainly a part of why we should care about and consider the arts as a key dimension of planning.

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JH:

That is an excellent and compelling point. Can you speak more specifically to the role of artists in planning processes? MRJ: In planning, we should be looking to artists and creative workers as key team mem‑ bers and as part of the necessary set of perspectives that we should rely on. Artists are uniquely positioned to frame essential questions and find creative solutions to better support communities. That approach should be something that is central to our practice as planners. I would argue that now more than ever, we need people who can help us think outside of the box. People who can help us get unstuck. Peo‑ ple who can encourage us to use our imagination. Without that, we are significantly limiting ourselves and not doing our best work. What are we depriving ourselves and the public of in terms of progress and potential solutions, when we don’t inten‑ tionally include provisions for creativity and the people who devote themselves to creativity? JH: You allude that we need artists more than ever. I have also heard you say that this is a key moment in our nation’s history, as the United States makes historic federal investments in infrastructure thanks to the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law1 and Infla‑ tion Reduction Act.2 What do you see as the key opportunities for arts and culture both in this moment and in the years ahead? MRJ: This is such an important time in our country for so many reasons, and one of them has to do with the attention to our physical infrastructure. I would posit that our physical infrastructure has so much to do with our social and civic infrastructure, and how we behave and connect, or do not connect, as humans. As we think about rebuilding the physical infrastructure, neglecting that link between physical infra‑ structure and our civic or social infrastructure is a huge gap and missed opportunity. When I talk about civic infrastructure, I am talking about the systems by which we care for and connect with one another. That can include official structures and policies, but it can also include community rituals, shared experiences, places for connection like libraries or cultural institutions, and so much more. If we do not make that association between physical and civic infrastructures, we are missing the moment. One of the things that federal investments in infrastructure is focused on is addressing the impacts of bad planning decisions from decades in the past – planning decisions that have had devastating socio‑economic and cultural impacts that have reverberated for generations. We can avoid repeating the past, by drawing on lessons learned and building and modifying our physical infrastructure while also tending to the civic infrastructure. Given that, there are so many points of intersection for artists, designers, and culture bearers to help shape what our physical and social environment can be – what they look and feel like, and who they reflect. Artists are essential to driving inclusive community planning processes that inform the physical expression of those investments. They are essential to helping us imagine what is possible and to ensure that the physical environment reflects the values of the community. Artist perspectives and arts‑based ways of working should be in the mix as this work hap‑ pens. At the same time, we also must make sure we are investing in the institutions and people who help bind the community, sometimes in spite of physical and other realities that 534

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tend to divide people. We are at a really interesting point in history where we have the op‑ portunity to do right, and actually learn from the past. Shame on us if we do not, because we will be living with those decisions and investments in physical infrastructure for generations to come. JH:

Speaking of interesting and notable points in history, we are also living through something we have not experienced in over a century  –  recovering from a global pandemic. Is there anything about that shared experience that enables us to think more purposefully about the cultural dimensions of planning? MRJ: Absolutely. The pandemic turned our worlds upside down. The pandemic caused us all to stop in our tracks and evaluate so many different aspects of how we carry out our lives and how we care for each other, or don’t care for each other. The experi‑ ence of the pandemic still looms, not in the way that it did a few years ago, but we are still working through the impacts and seismic shifts that the pandemic caused. It led us to question our orthodoxies, in ways that we imagine spaces and our physical environment, and how we deal with basic needs. The arts were key to helping us collectively get through that dark period. Artists and design‑ ers and people who were willing to use their imagination and creativity really showed up. There was a lot of innovation, modification of practices, adaptation to continual experi‑ menting with digital and virtual worlds, and extension of practices as well as development of new modalities, as a result of creativity, ingenuity, and innovation. Artists showed up over and over again, to help us process loss and the unknown, to help spark joy and to help us understand what was possible in very difficult circumstances. From early in the pandemic, artists from diverse artistic disciplines experimented with virtual platforms to create extraordinary experiences that we could access in our homes. Organizations like Springboard for the Arts in Minnesota launched new programs such as Artists Respond: Combatting Social Isolation (Springboard for the Arts 2020), in an ef‑ fort to care for vulnerable populations and offer meaningful shared arts experiences at a time when we were unable to gather in person. At the same time, other sectors, including transportation, turned to artists for creative responses to transit issues that arose during the pandemic. Smart Growth America piloted the Arts and Transportation Rapid Response ini‑ tiative (Smart Growth America 2022); hiring artists to work with transit agencies on a range of issues, from encouraging social distancing, to designing open streets, to communicating messages that kept both passengers and transit operators safe. JH:

Those are some fantastic examples of how artists can bring creative approaches to combatting the issues we faced during the pandemic, as well as societal challenges that continue to be resonant in this moment. In May 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy issued an advisory on the epidemic of social isolation and loneliness (HHS 2023), demonstrating its profound health impacts on individuals. At the fed‑ eral level, there has been significant attention to this issue, along with a focus on ad‑ dressing youth mental health. I am curious to hear your thoughts on how the federal government and cultural agencies, such as the National Endowment for the Arts, are intersecting with these significant public health issues? 535

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MRJ: There is a convergence of a few things that are worth paying attention to. One is our evolution in thinking about what constitutes wellness and what is within the param‑ eters of the public health sector. How do we think about health outcomes from not just a clinical perspective, but also in considering the social and environmental deter‑ minants of health? In January 2024, I was able to sit down with the Surgeon General for a conversation about the intersection of arts and public health, during an event co‑hosted by the White House and National Endowment for the Arts called Healing, Bridging, Thriving: A Summit on Arts in Our Communities.3 In our conversation, the Surgeon General talked about the importance of not only dealing with isolation and the lack of human connection as a result of the pandemic, but for other reasons too. He connected the dots to arts participation as a way to combat that. JH: That is quite powerful and frankly remarkable to hear the U.S. Surgeon General publicly addressing the importance of the arts in contributing to health in such sig‑ nificant ways. What can planners at the local level take away from those remarks and translate to the local level? MRJ: As planners, we should be thinking more holistically about how we create environ‑ ments. As people who are focused on helping to design communities and shape how they work; it is essential that we recognize that the arts are an asset to advance well‑ ness. That means not only calling on the arts during moments of crisis, or during a global pandemic or an epidemic of loneliness, but also how do we as planners draw on the power of the arts to help us get ahead of some of the things that become acute issues? How do we address terrible moments in our history? Are there ways to a brighter future? Are there ways to get ahead of significant problems by heeding things that we are beginning to understand better and even scientifically compre‑ hend – like it is healthy to do something that brings you joy, it is healthy to connect with other people and make things, and it is healthy to experience something that moves us emotionally, intellectually, physically and spiritually, as a community, or as individuals. These opportunities for creativity and connection are actually part of what it means to live in wellness. If we know that, can we design with that in mind? Can we be more intentional and think more expansively about how we build good places that include these kinds of provisions? That connects to something I have heard you talk a lot about, which is this goal of JH: advancing artful lives in our nation. Can you talk about how that notion connects to planning practice? MRJ: If having an artful life is part of being well, it must be part of what is available to us in just and equitable communities. Planners need to be concerned with making sure that the assets, conditions, and amenities that allow for that to happen are available in all communities. What does that mean? That means that we are asking questions about access to cultural experiences and places to exercise our creativity, and to use our imagination and experience things that are awe inspiring and sublime, and cre‑ ate opportunities for human connection and exchange. We have to embrace those kinds of considerations as a critical part of what it means to do good planning and build healthy communities. As planners we need to be accountable for that. It’s not just about having a grocery store and being in close proximity to where you work, or all the things that we are taught to pay attention to. In addition to that, we also 536

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have to pay attention to our creative lives, and the conditions that enable creativity. We have to be concerned about whether or not a place offers what people need to have creative, generative, fulfilling lives that allow us to be fully human. JH: What do you wish you had known when you were undergoing academic training that you know now? Is there anything that comes to mind that you would encourage planners to think about today? MRJ: I would say attention to our creative wellness as part of how we understand good quality of life. I wish that anyone who has been trained in planning has that as a sensibility and as an expectation. I also think it is really important to value and be able to hold multiple world views. That sensibility will create places that are more resonant and interesting and cultivate the curiosity that has to precede empathy and all the things that are preconditions for a caring, equitable, and just community. If part of what we are trained to do as planners is to create opportunities for curiosity, empathy, and inspiration – we are going to build a better world. We cannot do it without that sensibility. It is our responsibility to make sure that as the profession and field evolve, that this sensibility is at its core. So if you were to look out 20 years in the future, 40 years in the future, or even a JH: century? What do you aspire to see, as it relates to this topic of cultural planning? MRJ: For one, I think that our industry standards about the qualities of the places we as‑ pire to build would be quite different. I think that there would be sensibilities around all the things I said earlier – this idea that you have opportunities for awe and in‑ spiration and curiosity and expression, and that we actually have ways of being ac‑ countable for building that into communities, and for supporting artists and people who are pursuing creativity as their life’s work. That artists and culture bearers have many, many ports to deliver what they have to offer, and in ways and in places that we may not even imagine right now. What if we had artful grocery stores? What if we had artists and musicians available to us when we were in health clinics? What if there were ways of covering involvement in art making as part of our health care? I can go on and on with the ‘what ifs,’ but those are some of the immediate things that come to mind. JH: That is an amazing vision. In addition to shifting industry standards and the things, we are held accountable for, what else needs to change or happen to make a future where cultural planning, and arts and culture is really central to the way we conceive of community? MRJ: We have to take a stand and be firm about what is acceptable and what is not ac‑ ceptable. It is not acceptable to build communities that do not have creative outlets. Not just for kids, but for everybody. There should be an outcry that that part of our human existence is being neglected. That is a stance that has to be taken. Also, our institutions need to shift and support people and places more holistically. We are actually witnessing this in federal government right now. Under the Biden‑Harris Adminis‑ tration, the president issued an executive order on promoting the arts, the humanities, and the museums and library services, calling on all government agencies to collaborate with the cultural agencies; including the National Endowment for the Arts, National Endowment for the Humanities, and the Institute for Museum and Library Services (WH 2022). Recognizing 537

Maria Rosario Jackson and Jen Hughes

that the arts ‘are essential to the well‑being, health, vitality, and democracy of our Nation,’ the executive order effectively calls on the federal government to integrate arts and culture into their work, recognizing its impact on making the country a better place. Setting the expectation that arts and culture should always be at the table to inspire us, to offer creative approaches to wicked problems. Setting that kind of expectation from the head of our na‑ tion is meaningful and important to enable shifts. JH:

You have held multiple roles over the course of your career, including leadership in federal government, academia, a research institution, and philanthropy; offering you multiple vantage points and a unique perspective on the fields of urban planning and the arts. What do you think it will take for the planning profession to take up and fully integrate arts and culture into the way we conceive of and plan for places? MRJ: It is going to take work from all of these perches and then some for the vision that we are talking about to become a reality – for the full‑on integration of arts and culture into how we think of healthy places. Work from different perches allows for para‑ digm shift and corresponding evolutions in our practices on many fronts. So for ex‑ ample, when I was in higher education, the work was focused on working with other faculty and training students. It was about helping to educate the next generation of people in not only the field of planning, but also public administration, the arts, so‑ cial work, public policy, public safety, community development, all of these areas of policy and practice that converge in a neighborhood and impact quality of life there and quality of opportunity there. It was about helping to create a network of faculty and to facilitate and help to support the work of faculty that have a long view and commitment to modifying planning education and education in related fields. When I was working in philanthropy, what was available from that perch had to do with creating opportunities for people to take some risks and work differently – do the promising thing that was at the edges. The contribution from that perch was about advancing the ways of working and thinking that could get us unstuck. Philanthropy, at its best, can create the space that allows for work to evolve in real time in com‑ munities, and often in communities that have been historically disinvested and need more than what conventional practice has to offer. In government, at its best, there is great opportunity to make some things lasting through policy or through embedded practice in structures that are enduring. There is a platform that has heft because it is government and it is national or it exists at other meaningful scales – state, county, local. Anyway, it is going to take work from all of those perches, and then some, for this different vision of what planning encompasses to take hold. The last thing I would add is that we really have to broaden our understanding of what is included when we say the arts. We have to make sure that our interpretation of the arts is not so narrow that it precludes things that are meaningful parts of our everyday lived expe‑ rience. Our notion of the arts cannot be only about arts consumption. It also has to include other parts of our creative lives. It has to account for how we rely on creative expression in how we nourish ourselves, how we dress and create shelter, how we celebrate or mourn. These are all opportunities for creative expression for an assertion of aesthetics for the crea‑ tion of meaningful and inspiring times in our lives. 538

Communities Deserve Creative Outlets

Notes 1 White House summary of the Bipartisan Infrastructure Bill can be found here: https://www.whitehouse. gov/briefing‑room/statements‑releases/2021/11/06/fact‑sheet‑the‑bipartisan‑infrastructure‑deal/. 2 White House summary of the Inflation Reduction Act can be found here: https://www.white‑ house.gov/cleanenergy/inflation‑reduction‑act‑guidebook/. 3 Summary and archive of National Endowment for the Arts Summit can be found here: https:// www.arts.gov/impact/convenings/healing‑bridging‑thriving‑summit.

Bibliography Springboard for the Arts. (2020) ‘Artists Respond: Combating Social Isolation.’ Springboard for the Arts website [online] Available: https://springboardforthearts.org/artists‑respond/#:~:text= Recognizing%20the%20need%20for%20these,for%20those%20who%20are%20feeling [Ac‑ cessed: 23 March 2024]. Transportation for America. (2022) ‘Arts and Transportation Rapid Response 2.0.’ Transportation for America website [online] Available: https://smartgrowthamerica.org/resources/arts‑and‑trans‑ portation‑rapid‑response‑2‑0/ [Accessed: 23 March 2024]. United States Department of Health and Human Services (HHS). (2023) ‘New Surgeon General Advisory Raises Alarm about the Devastating Impact of the Epidemic of Loneliness and Isola‑ tion in the United States.’ HHS website [online] 3 May 2023 Available: https://www.hhs.gov/ about/news/2023/05/03/new‑surgeon‑general‑advisory‑raises‑alarm‑about‑devastating‑impact‑ epidemic‑loneliness‑isolation‑united‑states.html [Accessed: 23 March 2024]. United States The White House (WH). (2022) ‘Executive Order on Promoting the Arts, the Humanities, and Museum and Library Services.’ WH website [online] 30 September 2022 Available: https://www. whitehouse.gov/briefing‑room/presidential‑actions/2022/09/30/executive‑order‑on‑promoting‑ the‑arts‑the‑humanities‑and‑museum‑and‑library‑services/ [Accessed: 23 March 2024].

539

INDEX

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables; italic page numbers refer to figures and page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. Aboutorabi, M. 141, 146 academic project 430–431, 439n12 ‘Act for Goa’ website 524 Adams, E. 99 adverse scenario 201–203 AEA Consulting 115, 118, 120 Agency for Cultural Affairs (ACA) 461n2, 461n13, 484 Agenda for Sustainable Development (2030) 225, 333, 413 ‘Agent of Change’ principle 208–210, 212, 214, 228, 231n2 agglomeration effects 114, 122 Ahmedabad Sunni Muslim Waqf Committee (ASMWC) 428, 432, 438n3 air conditioning (AC) 474n5, 504–507, 505 Al‑Assad, K. 6 Aldir Blanc Act (2020) 201, 203–204 Alice Billings House, London 324 Allen, P.R. 405 “AmBUSsador” program 177 American Alliance of Museums 348, 358 American Planning Association 34 Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Sites and Remains Act (AMSAR): 1958 515; 2010 515, 524, 525 Anderson, T. 29 Anti‑Displacement Lab (ADL) 162

Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) 515, 517, 524–525, 529n6 Art At Work 37, 37–38 artificial intelligence (AI) 190, 191, 194–196 artist 1–12, 20, 21, 24–26, 28–31, 35, 36, 38, 50, 56–59, 69–71, 73–74, 78, 87, 91, 100, 101–105, 108–110, 116, 119, 126, 128, 129, 132, 133, 136, 140, 148, 149, 151–153, 158–164, 169–177, 189–192, 194, 202, 203, 223, 226, 239, 249, 250, 253, 259–261, 263, 264, 266, 268–275, 277n9, 282–287, 292, 295, 301, 303–307, 310, 311, 313n4, 317– 319, 321–327, 332, 335, 337, 339, 340, 348, 350–353, 355, 356, 369, 371–373, 383, 390, 395–409, 417, 449, 456, 458, 471, 492–494, 497–501, 504, 506, 507, 510, 512, 520, 522– 524, 528, 533–535, 537; working with 69–70 Artist’s Laboratory Theatre (ALT) 176–178 artist space 322 Artist Space Trust (AST) 321–322, 326 Artists Respond: Combatting Social Isolation 535 ArtPlace America 5, 24–25, 27, 29–33, 33, 35, 38, 39, 131, 272, 282 arts: civic sphere 1; community 2–4, 17, 59; creative placemaking 271–273; cultural asset mapping 125; cultural district 465; cultural equity 352–355; cultural organizing 156; and culture‑based strategies 35–36,

541

Index 39; and cultural initiatives 26; definitions 258; and diversity, equity, and inclusion 270–271; economic development 28, 273– 275; education 268–270; festivals 267–268; finance 9–10; forward planning 170; funding 25–26, 261–265; government‑owned cultural facilities 268; grantmaking in 262–266, 311; integration in community development 30; nonprofit sector 25, 26; Onomichi 449; and planning for equity/social development 7–8; public art 266–267; in social development, social cohesion, and resilience 2; space crisis 318–319; state and local cultural policy in 57–58; in transportation planning 171, 178; Ujima Project 304; in urban development 2; US cultural policy 25 Arts and Economic Prosperity report (1994) 26 arts‑based community development 3 arts‑based strategies 25, 26, 35, 36, 38, 39, 174 Arts for a Multicultural Australia (AMA) policy 1989 59 Asif, I. 422n1 asset‑based development 7 asset mapping 9, 125, 127–129, 132, 134 Associação Paulista Amigos da Arte 205n2 augmented reality (AR) 191, 194 Australia 3, 8, 55–56, 63, 64n1, 64n3, 227, 239–242, 469; cultural diversity 61–62; cultural planning 58–59; cultural policies 57–58; immigration 59–61 Baca, J. 395 Ballico, C. 9, 227 Bangkok, Thailand 149–150 Bardham, J. 11 Baumol, W. 263 Baynes, G. 161 Bedoya, R. 143, 155, 157, 166, 336 Belanche, D. 141 Belgium 303, 529n4 Bell, S. 416 belonging 1, 2, 7–8, 18, 20–22, 58, 60, 90–91, 142–144, 157, 169, 178, 258, 272, 297, 301–313, 333, 336, 360 Bennet, J. 29 Bennett, T. 223 Bentham, J. 393n4 Berke, D. 349, 350 Bernardo, F. 143 Better Bankside organisation 467–468 Bharne, V. 519

Biden (President) 261, 270 Biden‑Harris Administration 537 bi‑nationalism 250–251 Bipartisan Infrastructure Law 534 Black Arts/West 260 Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) 21, 109, 135, 152, 271, 273, 282, 284, 301, 302, 311, 322, 340, 355 Black Lives Matter movement (2020) 352 Black Panther Party (1966) 292–293 Blake, T. 361 Blokland, T. 143–144 Boer, R. 81 Bogotá administration 151–152, 442–445, 446n1, 446n3, 446n5; Care Blocks Project 82, 83 Bollier, D. 493 Bombay Environmental Action Group (BEAG) 516, 519 Booker, E.G. 350–352 Borrup, T.C. 9, 354 Bosnia, post‑war 6 Boston Housing Support Station Coalition (BHSSC) 163–164; language justice 165; research justice 165; temporal justice 165 Boston Ujima Project 301–304 bottom up districts 118, 120, 121 Bowen, W.G. 263 Bradley, T. 148 Brag, C. 9 Brazil, creative economy policies 199–201 Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE) 200, 203, 205n4 British Columbia (BC) 322–323 Bronfenbrenner, U. 45, 51 Brooks, A. 277n11 Brown, M. 29 Brown, W. 80, 81 Buchler, G. 174 Buckley, K. 431 building back better 475, 476, 479 Building Energy Management System (BEMS) 469, 474n5 Building Standards Act (1950) 460 Bureau of Land Management 337 Burma 402, 404 Burnham Center for Community Advancement 248 Burnstein, C. 401 Burtynsky, E. 498 Business Improvement District (BID) 467–468

542

Index Cabaret Law (1926) 102, 262 Calloway, C. 148 Calvino, I. 77 Cameron, J. 241, 243, 244 Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) 211, 212, 219n4 Campion, J. 236, 241, 243, 244 Canada 2, 61, 265, 317, 319, 320, 322–323, 497, 503 Care Blocks Project 82, 83 Carter, D. 227 Casals, G. 99 Catto, O.V. 406 Center for Community Progress 337 Center for Heritage Conservation (CHC) 425–428, 432, 433, 435, 438n4, 438n7 CEPT Conservation Site School 425, 426–428, 435 CEPT Professional Programs (CPP) 428, 433 CEPT Research and Development Foundation (CRDF) 425 Charles, R. 148 Chedda, C. 507–510, 508–509, 511 Chesterton, G.K. 77 Chhaya, N. 528 Chile 302, 416, 417, 419, 420 China 118, 120, 357 Choi, E. 264 Churchill, W. 145 circle‑keeping process 166 circular economy 466, 474n3, 528 City of New York see New York City (NYC) City University of New York (CUNY) 103, 106, 110 civic imagination 69–71, 73, 74; co‑design 71; collaboration and partnership 71–72; discovery 70–71; values statement 72–73; working with artist 69–70 civic life 17–20, 348 Clarke, D. 401 Clark, H. 242 Clement, G. 241, 244n6 Cleveland, W. 3 climate change 489–491; adaptation 493– 494; crisis 6, 11, 34–35, 34–36, 490–491; mitigation 593–594; resilience 2–4, 47–49, 51, 82, 105, 156, 166, 193, 194, 196, 302, 362, 430, 465, 467, 471, 475, 476, 479, 481–486, 489, 492–493, 495, 521 climate resilience 489, 492–493, 495 Clinton (President) 117

closed‑ended questions 134 clustering 113–118, 121 Coastal Regulation Zone (CRZ) 519, 520, 524 co‑design frameworks 71, 157, 164, 165–167 Coetzee, H. 373 Cole, H. 116 Cole, J. 10 Coletta, C. 27 collaborative process 71, 125, 192, 353 Collins, B. 147 Colombia 90, 90, 151–152, 416, 417 Colored Conventions 405–407, 406 Communities in Conversation 131–132 Community and Cultural Spaces Trust (CCST) 323–324 Community Arts Stabilization Trust (CAST) 321 Community Asset Transfer (CAT) programs 326 community‑based arts programs 3 Community‑Based Participatory Action Research (CBPR) 165–166; circle‑keeping process 166; community legal empowerment 166; values alignment process 166–167 community benefits agreement (CBA) 338, 341n1 community‑centric urban planning 155–156; Boston Housing Support Station Coalition see Boston Housing Support Station Coalition (BHSSC); Community‑Based Participatory Action Research see Community‑Based Participatory Action Research (CBPR); legal advocacy 156–157; legal empowerment 157– 159; Stable Ground 159–162 community cultural development 56, 58, 59, 63 community development 2–3, 5, 6, 8, 11, 29– 32, 39; arts‑based strategies for 26 community engagement 1, 4, 49, 71, 90, 100, 101, 117, 128, 130, 134, 136, 159, 162, 164, 166, 169, 170, 172, 173, 176, 177, 228, 326, 359, 360, 466 Community Land Trusts (CLTs) 317–318; Artist Space Trust 321–322; case studies 321; Community and Cultural Spaces Trust 323–324; Creative Land Trust 324–325; roots 319–320; space‑related expenses 318– 319; 221A 322–323 community planning 143, 159, 171, 334, 534 Comprehensive Employment and Training Act (CETA) 1970 261, 269, 275 comprehensive general plans 334–335 Connect Northwest Arkansas 176

543

Index The Constitutional 73rd Amendment Act (1992) 519 convergence 192, 426 Coogler, R. 292 Cook, I. 126, 130 Cool Japan campaign 449 cooperative 86, 95, 290, 291, 293–298, 301, 302, 305–308, 313n3, 317, 319, 322, 333–338, 442, 445, 493, 494, 500 Cooper Square Community Land Trust 304 copyright law 189 Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security (CARES) Act 2020 261 counter‑mapping 126, 130 COVID‑19 pandemic 4, 6, 9, 18, 24, 31, 36, 158, 161, 163–165, 189, 193–195, 261, 262, 265, 275, 283, 285, 304, 307, 318, 336, 340, 405, 475, 476, 522; Brazil 199–201; post‑COVID‑19 pandemic 18; Victoria Yards (VY) 375 Cox, S. 259 CreateNYC Action Plan 99 creative city concept 5, 56, 185, 187, 193, 229, 233, 234, 238, 240, 321, 330, 334, 336, 340 creative economy (CE): artificial intelligence 191, 194, 195; collaboration and convergence 192; cultural diversity and inclusion 191; digitalization 189; digital transformation 191–192; economic dimension 188–189; evolution 183–186; policy 273–275; social impact 192–193; sustainability 192; 2020s 189–190; United Nations (UN) 186–187; urban policy 193; well‑being 193 Creative Economy Secretariat 205n1 Creative Enterprise Zone (CEZ) 150, 151 creative land trusts 317, 318, 321, 322, 324–326 creative placemaking 5, 6, 8, 24–39, 126, 257, 258, 262, 263, 271–273; climate crisis 34, 34–36; NEA and ArtPlace’s frameworks 31–33; pain of the Great Recession 29–31; repairing democracy 36–38; unprecedented cultural policy 25–29 creative+urban practices 80–95 Cross Border Express (CBX) 250 #CulturaemCasa platform 201–205 Cultural Access legislation 266 Cultural Affairs Division 17–19, 21 Cultural Arts Division 131 cultural asset mapping 125–126; Communities in Conversation 131–132; conduct mapping

128; data collection 129–130; data‑gathering process 128–129; datasets 127; ethics 127; examples 130; generous invitation 128; PA Humanities Discovery Project 134–135; power dynamics 127; recommendations 135– 137; West Philadelphia Community Center 132–134 Cultural Asset Mapping Project (CAMP) report 2018 125, 130–131; West Philadelphia Community Center 132–134 cultural consumption 114–116, 118, 119, 123 cultural districts 113, 330–331; comprehensive general plans 334–335; concern 118–121; heterogenous concept 121–122; history 114–116; housing trust funds 335; implications 332–334; land use designations 331; in lieu fee structures 335; public policy 116–117; regenerative practices 336–340; tax incentives 331–332; top‑down 118; Transient Occupancy axes (TOT) 339–340 cultural diversity 142, 164, 185, 187, 191, 332, 340; Australia 55, 56, 59–63 cultural economy 56 Cultural Engagement Framework (CEF) 59 cultural equity 21, 302, 340, 347, 348, 352–356 cultural facility 9, 10, 58, 90, 210, 257, 264, 268, 319, 335, 338, 482 cultural heritage (CH) 1, 4–6, 11, 443–445, 476, 480–485 Cultural Heritage Addendum 481–482 cultural inclusion 3, 191 cultural industries 9, 56, 125, 183, 184, 190, 276n3 Cultural Institutions Group (CIG) 102–105, 108, 111n2 cultural land trusts 10, 317–327, 337 Culturally Responsive Evaluation (CRE) 165 cultural mapping 125, 126, 130, 131 cultural organizing method 155–161 cultural planning see urban cultural planning cultural policy 4–5, 7, 8, 10, 11, 17, 18, 20, 24, 30, 31, 36, 38, 55–60, 62, 63, 81, 107, 113–123, 126, 131, 136, 150, 155, 199, 243, 244, 257–277, 330, 332–334, 336–340; Australia 55–60, 62, 63; unprecedented emergence 25–29 cultural policymaking 20 cultural production 114–116, 122, 123 Cultural Space Agency (CSA) 273 Cultural Strategists in Government (CSIG) program 20, 21

544

Index culture: Basque identity and 291–292; Capitals of 251; civic sphere 1; and climate crisis 11; creative placemaking 29–31; and creativity 149, 158, 186, 188, 199; disaster risk management of cultural heritage 476–479; dominant‑Eurocentric amenities 331; financing 9–10, 260–275; health and community well‑being 3–4; “high culture” 57; music‑making 226; Oakland’s cultural plan and the planning 19; operationalizing belonging 20–21; pluripotent nature of 81; resilience 475–476; role in economic development 56; storytelling 45–46; in transportation planning 171; in urban development 2, 8–9, 91; urban heritage 413–422, 448; vibrant café 239; well‑being, leisure and 193; white supremacy 108 culture‑based strategies 25, 31, 35, 39 culture‑bearers 301–305, 310, 311 Culture in City Reconstruction and Recovery (CURE) Framework 479, 480 Cumbo, L. 99, 107 Curtin, M. 233

digital transformation 191–192 DiGuisto, A. 107 Di Maggio, P. 62 direct democracy 20 direct effect, of e‑clustering 116 Direct Public Offering (DPO) 295, 296 Dirga, K. 9 disaster risk management (DRM) 478, 482–486; phases 476, 477 Disaster Risk Management of Cultural Heritage (DRM‑CH) 476–479, 477, 477, 478–479; investments 484–485; tools and methodologies 481–484 District Planning Committee (DPC) 519 diversity, equity, accessibility, and inclusion (DEAI) 352 diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) 270–271 Doornfontein 366, 370 Dr. J towers 397–399, 398 DuBois, W.E.B. 291, 405 Dunham, K. 259 Duxbury, N. 126 Dye, T.R. 262

Daikoku, Y. 457, 459 Dawes, A. 176 de Blasio, B. 98 DeCaigny, T. 276n4 decision‑making 20, 73, 121, 126, 155, 191, 271, 294, 297, 352, 416, 417, 419, 472 deep culture 80, 95 Deger, J. 500 deliberative democracy 18, 20 Department of Behavioral Health (DBH) 402 Department of Cultural Affairs (DCLA) 98, 100, 102, 103, 106, 107, 109 Department of Transportation 26, 174–175 Desai, J. 426, 439n17 Descartes, R. 491 design 4, 9, 19, 28, 35, 49, 58, 71, 73, 80, 81, 93, 114, 134, 144–147, 151, 157–158, 174, 185, 248–249, 251–253, 282–284, 297, 379– 390, 392, 393, 396, 402, 403, 431, 455, 457, 465, 469, 472, 473, 484, 519 Design Forward Alliance (DFA) 248 De Verre Bergen foundation 384 Devine‑Wright, P. 142 Dharmaj heritage 428, 430, 432, 433, 434, 435, 436, 438n2, 438n5, 438n6 DiBerardinis, M. 399 Dickens, L. 318 digitalization 183, 187, 189, 195

East Bay Permanent Real Estate Cooperative (EB PREC) 292–297, 301, 302, 305 e‑clustering 115, 116 ecological systems theory 45 Economic Innovation Group 285 economic justice 113, 247, 282, 284, 286 Economics and Statistics Research Institute (IPEA) 203 Economic Security Project 283 effective planning processes 1 Eliasson, O. 498 Elokdah, N. 100, 101 Elshin, J. 260 Emergency Relief Appropriations Act (1935) 259 Emery, M. 138n1 Engstrom, R. 10, 257 Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) 26, 35, 36 Environment Protection Act (1986) 519 equality 60, 252, 306 equitable development 1–3, 8, 335 equity 5, 7–8, 10, 18–22, 29, 70, 103, 107, 108, 110, 113, 116, 118–119, 155, 178, 193, 242, 270, 271, 282, 294–296, 298, 301, 311, 320, 322, 352, 354, 430 Erving, J. 398 Escher, M.C. 389, 393n2

545

Index Esther’s Orbit Room 295–296 ethnocentrism 359 EU Civil Protection Mechanism (EUCPM) 485 European Capital of Culture 251 Evaluation Capacity Building (ECB) 165 Existential Determinants of Health (E.D.O.H.) Initiative 45, 46–48; cohort members 50–51; framework 49, 49; methodology 48–50 Exit to Community (E2C) 310 Fairchild, D.G. 11 Fakunle, D.O. 8 Falconeer, A. 237 Fanon, F. 155, 156 Farago, J. 261–262 Fariña, C. 106 Federação das Indústrias do Rio de Janeiro (FIRJAN) 200 Federal Project Number One 259 Federal Theatre Project (FTP) 259, 260 A Feral Commons 497–498; artworks 501–510; central question 501; climate change 498; ecological art 498–499; public artworks 510– 511; theoretical ground 499–501 Festival #CulturaEmCasa 202 festivals, cultural policy 267–268 FICA 87, 87–88 financing 6, 9–10, 187, 192, 200, 201, 240, 296–299, 308, 320, 326, 375, 415, 421, 485 Finkelpearl, T. 8, 98–109 Finley, K. 261 Finnestead, E. 177 Fitzgerald, E. 148 Fleck, J. 261 floor area ratio (FAR) 520, 521 Flora, C. 138n1 Florida, R. 233, 274, 276 Floyd, G. 103, 119, 149, 285, 348 Ford, E. 276n4 Ford Foundation 25, 260, 276n6 ‘A Forgotten Place’ 504, 506, 506, 507 France 2, 302 Franco, D.R. 82 free time leisure 193 Friendship Park 249 Fugate, C. 490 Fullilove, M.T. 145 Gabriel, J. 422n1 Garcia, B.M. 11 Gardner, J. 177 Garreau, J. 247

Gasch, L. 9 Geographic Information Systems (GIS) 94, 94, 129 Ghana 489 Gieryn, T. 146 Gieseking, J.J. 143 Gifford, R. 143 Gil, G. 200 Gilmore, J. 408n4 Global Cultural Districts Network (GCDN) 114, 120, 465–466, 474n1, 474n2, 497 Global Facility for Disaster Reduction and Recovery (GFDRR) 481, 483 Global Hollywood 240 global screen production 233–235, 237, 238, 241, 243, 244, 244n3, 244n7 global warming 490, 498 Glus, J. 9 Goa 516, 517–518, 537n9, 537n10; Goa Heritage Action Group 519; Goa Regional Plan 2011 520–522, 526; Government of Goa 518–519; projects 522–524; resource management 527–528 Goa Regional Plan 2011 520–522, 526 Golden, J. 10 Gomez‑Mont, G. 8 Gonzales, S. 264 Gooden, M. 349, 350 Goode, W.W. 395 Goodman, J. 8 Government of Goa 518–519, 521 government‑owned cultural facilities 268 Grand‑Slam, M. 174 grantmaking 262–266 Gray, F. 29 Great Depression 259, 260 Greater London Authority (GLA) 207, 212, 213, 215, 216, 324 Great Recession 24, 28–31 Green Line Project 175–176 Grodach, C. 8 Grogan, D. 62 Growing Home 403 Guaranteed Income (GI) 283–287 Guatemex 91, 92 Guattari, F. 91 HÁBITAT 443 Halady, M. 266 Hall, E. 143 Hallegatte, S. 480 Hall, M. 29

546

Index Harper, E.W. 406 Harvey, D. 84, 95, 332 Harvey, F. 490 Hassinger, M. 350–352 Hawaii 333 Hayashi, F. 451 Hayden, D. 145, 434 Healing Walls 400, 400 Heat Response case study 34, 34–35, 39 Hedberg, E.C. 268, 269 Hellman, J. 404 Henderson, J. 240 Henry, K. 350–352 heritage: conservation 515–517; cultural 1, 4–6, 11, 443–445, 476, 480–485; Dharmaj 428, 430, 432, 433, 434, 435, 436, 438n2, 438n5, 438n6; disaster risk management of 476–479; music 222, 225, 226–227, 230; urban 413–422, 448, 455 Heritage Integrating Structure 442–444, 446n1 Heritage Regulations for Greater Bombay 516 Heriza, T. 401 Hester Street Collaborative 98–101, 109 heterogenous concept, cultural districts as 121–122 Hill, G. 266 Hill, S.J. 121 historic preservation 140, 415–419 Historic Urban Landscape (HUL) 438n10 Hobbit labour dispute (2010) 242–244 Hoffmann, E. 385 Holmes, C. 237 Homas, S.N. 175 HOME 248 Home of the Arts (HOTA) 466, 469 Hong Kong SAR (HKSAR) Government 468 Hopkins, K.B. 100 Housing and Urban Development 26, 27 housing trust funds 335 Howkins, J. 233 Hubbard, P. 318 Hughes, H. 261 Hughes, J. 11–12; conversation with Maria Rosario Jackson and 533–538 human‑centered design (HCD) 249, 251, 252, 254n2 Hurston, Z.H. 259 Hyogo Framework for Action (2005–2015) 476 identity mapping 127 Immigration Restriction Act (1901) 59–60

India 517, 518, 525, 528–529; heritage conservation 515–517; protection vs. development in 526; retrospectives 526–527 Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage (INTACH) 516, 520 Indonesia 188, 499 Inflation Reduction Act (2022) 28, 34, 534 Infrastructure Investment and Jobs Act (2021) 28 in lieu fee structures 335 Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA) 162 Intellectual Property Rights (IPR) 188–189, 195 Intensivão #CulturaEmCasa 202 Inter‑American Development Bank (IADB) 419 Inter‑Departmental Business Register (IDBR) 219n4 Intergovernmental Panel Reports on Climate Change 490 International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of Cultural Property (ICCROM) 517 International Council of Museums (ICOM) 358 International Council on Monuments and Sites (ICOMOS) 517, 526, 528 International Panel of Climate Change (IPCC) 34 International Training Course (ITC) 482 Iraq 405 Irrigate the Arts 175–176 Italy 60, 117, 292 Ivy, N. 355 Jackson, A. 262 Jackson, M.R. 6, 7, 11, 28, 105, 121n1, 263; conversation with Jen Hughes and 533–538 Jackson, P. 237–244, 244n4 Jamaica 227, 497, 507, 508, 509 Japan 11, 448, 451–453, 459, 482, 484 Japanese society 448, 449, 451–453, 456, 457, 459 Jaramillo, P. 422n1 Jeannotte, M. 130 Johansson, O. 225, 226 John Michael Kohler Arts Center 131 Johnson, B. 219n3 Johnson, E. 264 Johnson, L.B. 260 Jones, M. 349, 350 Jukskei River 370–371, 501–503, 502, 503 Jumpstart Our Business Startups (JOBS) Act 2012 294–296 justice 86, 103, 119, 157, 158, 164, 165, 287, 290, 292, 301, 311, 336

547

Index Kahle, B. 304 Kalidas Jethabhai House 427, 428, 432, 433, 434 Kamat, N. 527 Kameda, R. 456, 457 Karl, A. 266 Kearney, H. 11, 465 Kent, G. 361 Khan, S. 215 Khazans 520, 527, 528 Kim, A. 10 Kim, M. 9 Koolhaas, J. 402 Körmeling, J. 390 Krätke, S. 233 Kreidler, J. 39n2 Kresge Foundation 159, 161, 167n1 KunstRAI 384, 384, 386 Laboratorio para la Ciudad 78–79, 79, 87, 87–88 Landesman, R. 26–28 Landscape Act (2004) 457 land trusts: Community Land Trusts see Community Land Trusts; creative 317, 318, 321, 322, 324–326; cultural land trusts 10, 317–327, 337; land use designations 331 Land Use and Zoning Plan of Bogotá (POT) 442, 443, 445, 446n1, 446n3, 446n4 LANGSTON 268 language justice 164, 165, 167 Latin America 36, 188, 302, 416, 417; World Heritage Sites 416–421 Learnings framework 471–472 Lefebvre, H. 95, 332 legal advocacy 156–157, 162 Le Guin, Ursula K. 500 Leimert Park 148 LeNoire, R. 259 Leotta, A. 9 Levin, S. 99 LGBTQIA+ venues 207, 210–211, 215 lighting strategies, London 218 Linares, N. 10 Lincoln Center 114, 118, 121 Lipsitz, G. 156 L’Merchie Fraser 160, 161 local arts agencies (LAA) 260, 262–264, 266 Local Initiatives Support Corporation (LISC) 175, 178n2 Lo, L. 61

London, Night‑Time Economy Plan see Night‑Time Economy Plan, London London Plan 207, 210–212, 212, 214, 218 López, C. 442 Lopez, M.C. 82 The Lord of the Rings (LOTR) 233, 235, 236, 238–242, 244n4 Los Angeles Department of Transportation’s (LADOT) 174–175 Lower South Camp Park 507–508, 508 Lowi, T. 262 Mabulu, A. 373 Mackenzie, B. 241, 244n6 Mahmoud, J. 10, 257 Main, K. 141, 142, 146 Makandal, I. 501–504, 502–504, 511 Maksymowicz, V. 261 maladaptive behaviors 46, 48 Malaysia 3 Mancera, M.A. 77 Mangold, W. 143 Manshel, A. 277n9 Manzo, L.C. 142 mapping 116, 123 Maree‑Brown, A. 86 Markusen, A. 26–27, 271 Marshall, A. 114, 115 Marshallian externalities 114 Martin, T. 29 Mascarenhas, P.V. 11, 515, 519, 520 Maslow, A. 45 Maverick Landing Community Services (MLCS) 162, 163, 166 Mayor’s Office of Arts and Culture (MOCA) 260 Mayson, S. 374 McCarthy, K. 107, 277n11, 359 Meerkat Media 307 Mendes Zancheti, S. 422n1 Menon, A.G.K. 516 Mexico 247, 249–251 Meyer, A. 160 Milan, M. 215 Miller, A. 259 Miller, T. 239, 261 Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF) 519 Ministry of Sound nightclub 208–211, 218 Minor Destructive Tests (MDT) 433 Mirams, R. 237 Model Cities program 260

548

Index Mollem National Park 522, 523 Morales, S. 18 Mukhi Delu 427, 428, 433 Mulcahy, K. 258, 276n3 Mullaney‑Loss, P. 261 multiculturalism 3, 55, 59–62, 355 Municipal–Artist Partnerships Guide 171–173 Mural Arts Program 397, 398, 399, 400, 401, 403, 406 Murthy, V. 44, 535 Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen 391–392; competition design 386–390; KunstRAI 384, 384, 386; Museum 380–381; Museum Park 381–382; Sjarel Ex 384, 384; 21st century 382–383 Museum Metamorphosis 347, 348, 350, 355 museums 357–359; dynamic change 359–360; urban cultural planning 360–362 Museumsinsel, B. 118 music city frameworks 222–223, 226–227, 230; benefits and challenges 228–230; government role 228; strategies 225; structure and evolution 223–228 music heritage 222, 225, 226–227, 230 music tourism 223, 225, 226–227 Music Venue Trust 231n2 MVRDV 377, 379 Nagarkhana Site School 427, 428 Nakagawa, A. 174–175 Nakamura, K. 452 NASA 490 National Assembly for State Arts Agencies (NASAA) 260, 264, 265, 267 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) 291 National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) 4, 7, 11, 24–29, 31–33, 32, 35, 38, 39, 130–132, 134, 260–263, 266–272, 275, 535–537; Our Town grant program 24, 27–29, 31, 32, 35, 38, 271, 275 National Film Unit (NFU) 237 National Monuments Authority (NMA) 516, 524, 525 National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) 490, 495n1 Neighborhood Voices grant program 20 Neill, S. 237 Nelson, W. 227 Nembhard, J.G. 291, 494 neoliberalism 310

Nepal 404, 475 Netherlands, the 380, 381, 384, 470, 503 Newton, H.P. 292 New York City (NYC) 98; cultural planning 98–99; Finkelpearl, T. 98–109; planning processes 99–100; Torres, E. 98–110 New York City Department of Cultural Affairs 98 New York City Housing Authority (NYCHA) 109 New Zealand 227, 234–244 New Zealand Film Commission (NZFC) 235–237 New Zealand Film Industry 234–236; Wellington 236–239 Ngobeni, B. 373 Ngoc‑Tran Vu 160, 161 Nicodemus, A.G. 8, 271 Night Czar 214–215 nightlife 207, 210, 217 night mayor 213–215, 217, 218, 223–225, 228, 230 Night Time Commission 214–215, 216 Night‑Time Economy Plan, London 207–208; global movement 217; global parliament 218; jobs 217; LGBTQIA+ venues 207, 210–211, 215; lighting strategies 218; Ministry of Sound nightclub 208–211, 218; Night Time Commission 214–215, 216; night time facts 215, 216; pubs in London 211–214; Royal Vauxhall Tavern (RVT) 210–211; venues 218 Nishimura, Y. 422n1 NITI Ayog 516, 526 Nkosi, T. 373 Non‑Destructive Tests (NDT) 433 non‑extractive loans 304–305 North American Free Trade Agreement 117 Northern California Community Land Trust (NCLT) 321 NuLawLab 9, 156, 158–164; Stable Ground project 164 Nyahunda, L. 494 NZSPG 236, 238, 244n3 Oakland Cultural Plan 18, 19, 21, 22 Obama Administration 24 Obama, B. 26, 294 Obayashi, N. 452 Office of Management Budget (OMB) 100, 105 okoro, n.w. 10 Ondaatje, E.H. 277n11 Ong, A. 155, 156

549

Index Onomichi city 448, 453, 454; hillsides 451– 452; picturesque landscape 449–451, 450, 455–460; postwar period 452–453; urban development 455 Onomichi U2 458 Oodi library 81, 82, 83 Open Collective 307–310 open‑ended questions 134 Open Source Collective (OSC) 309 Oppenheimer, F. 359 Oppenheimer, J.R. 359 Orlove, M. 276n8 Ortiz‑Pagan, J. 35 O’Shea, J. 237 Ozark Regional Transit (ORT) 176–178 PA Humanities Discovery Project 134–135 Pakistan 475 Palma‑Oliveira, J.‑M. 143 PALMA Studio 84, 85 Papp, J. 268 Park Road Post 237, 239, 240, 243, 244n5 Parque Biblioteca Espana (Spain Library Park) 89–90, 90 participatory planning 519, 521, 527 participatory process 126; cultural asset mapping 136 Partnership Agreement Grants 263 partnership process 71–72 Paulo Gustavo Law (2022) 204 Peatoniños 84, 86 Pegler, K. 465 Phelan, P. 263 Philadelphia Anti‑Graffiti Network (PAGN) 395–397 Philly Painting 401, 401, 408n4 Pillai, J. 432, 439n14 Piranesi, G.B. 389, 393n3 place attachment 140, 141–143, 145, 146, 148–151 place identity 140, 141–143, 145, 147–151, 153 pluripotency 80–84 Poland 117, 239 Porch Light program 400, 402 Porter, M. 115 Portland Works workshop participants 37, 37–38 Portugal 359 post–Great Recession 28 Pottenger, M. 37, 37 power dynamics 127, 128, 136, 137 Pratt, A.C. 318

Prendergast, K. 241 Proshansky, H. 146 Prospect New Orleans (Prospect) 253 public art 5, 10, 11, 18, 28, 33, 52, 91, 95, 101, 116, 125, 172, 193, 215, 257, 258, 262, 264, 266–267, 272, 273, 286, 310, 336, 348, 350–352, 356, 385, 392, 395–397, 399, 402, 404, 406, 408n2, 409, 497–512; project 266–267 Public Development Authority (PDA) 338 Public Funding for Arts and Culture in 2020 261 publicness 21–22 public policy 116–117 public realm 10, 84, 273, 430, 465, 466, 468, 469, 471, 473, 474n1 pubs, in London 211–214 Quartesan, A. 422n1 Quartier des Spectacles (QdS) 467 Quasi‑public redevelopment 338 Rabkin, N. 268, 269 racial capitalism 310 Racial Discrimination Act (1975) 60 racial equity 7–8 Radio Silence 404, 404, 405 Rakowitz, M. 404–406, 404 Raquib, H. 161 Rawles, E. 6 Reagan, R. 269, 277n11 Reaves, J. 34 red‑lining 208 Reed, P. 22 regional migration program 61, 64n3 Regional Plan (RP) 2011 518, 520, 521, 528 regional visa schemes 61 Relation planning process 21–22 Rendell, Ed 399 repairing democracy 36–38 representative democracy 20 research justice 164, 165 resilience 2–4, 47–49, 51, 82, 105, 156, 166, 193, 194, 196, 302, 362, 430, 465, 467, 471, 475, 476, 479, 481–486, 489, 492–493, 495, 521 Restorative Justice 401, 407 Rice, T. 29 Richmond, E. 399 Rio‑Earth Summit (1992) 520 ripple effect 50 Robb, J. 35 The Rockefeller Foundation 98, 105 Rojas, E. 11, 422n1

550

Index Romero, A. 162–164 Romis, M. 422n1 Romo, C. 78 Roosevelt, F.D. 259, 408n2 Rosenstein, C. 12n1 Ross, S. 318, 337 Rotterdam 379, 470; Depot Boijmans Van Beuningen 377, 378, 379; KunstRAI 384, 384, 386; municipality’s zoning plan 385, 386; Museum 380–381; Museum Park 381–382; NRC 384; Sjarel Ex 384, 384 Rotterdam Architecture Collection 379, 391 Roy, A. 165 Royal Vauxhall Tavern (RVT) 210–211 Russia 117, 119 St. Paul 150–151 Sakhardande, P. 518 Sakoda, K. 99 Saldanha, N. 523 Sandercock, L. 142, 143 San Diego 247–253 Sandoval, G.F. 141, 142, 146 San Juan County Commission 337 Santos, B. de S. 155, 156 Santos‑Duisenberg, E.D. 9 Sanyo Nichi‑nichi Sinbun 453, 455–458, 461n11 Saudi Arabia 118, 120 Savage, A. 259 Saxena, A.K. 500 Scannell, L. 143 Schaff, L. 19 Schippers, H. 226 Schmitter, P. 415 Schnieder, V. 375 Schofield, J. 434, 437 Scientific and Cultural Facilities District (SCFD) 266 Scott, R. 318 Scott, W. 29 Seale, B. 292 Seamon, D. 141 Sebastien, L. 141 Secretariat of Culture and Creative Economy of the State of São Paulo (SECEC SP) 202, 203 “SEEDLINGS” coloring book 35 Seifert, S. 104, 105 Selkirk, J. 237 Sen, A. 155 Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction (2015–2030) 476

Sennett, R. 445 Seven Square Endeavour 470 Shankwalkar, R. 519 Sherman, D. 160, 163 Shiga, N. 451 Shigekawa, J. 26 Shono, M. 504–507, 505–507, 511 Shorris, T. 104 Sievert, J.R. 9 Silber, B. 12n1 Silver, M. 106, 107 Silwal, D. 8 Sistema Nacional de Cultura 204 site‑based pedagogies 425–426; cultural process 429–437; ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio 426–429 Sjarel Ex 382–384, 384 Slaughter, M.L. 266 Small Island Developing State (SIDS) 475 Smart Border Coalition 250 social actors 413–417, 420, 422 Social and Public Art Resource Center (SPARC) 395 Social and Solidarity Economy (SSE) 301, 302, 306, 313n2 social cohesion 1–3, 5, 9 social development 2, 5; arts and planning 7–8 Social Impact of the Arts Project (SIAP) 104, 105 socio‑cultural values 413–415 SODO Track 266 Soja, E.W. 94 Solidarity Economy 301–303, 305, 306, 309–311, 312–313 Somasundram, S. 141 Sonfist, A. 499 South Africa 2, 10, 367, 369, 370, 373, 497 Spain 141, 291, 484 spatial injustice 155–159, 167 spatial justice 92–94 Spielberg, S. 241 Springboard for the Arts 284–286, 287n1 Stable Ground Boston 159–163 Stancell, P. 400, 400 state arts agencies (SAA) 259–261, 263–265, 274 Steering Group 470 Stern, M. 104, 105 Stevenson, D. 144 story‑listening 46 storytelling: benefits 45–47; implications 51–53 Street, J. 399 strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and treats (SWOT) analysis 19 Strong, P. 260

551

Index structural racism 311 Stubbs, R. 261 substance use disorder (SUD) 46, 47 Sustainable Development framework 465–466; challenges 472–473; methodology 466–472 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) 442, 443 Sustainable Economies Law Center (SELC) 295 Sutton, W. 26 Switzerland 385 systems‑change 301, 310 Tankshal‑ni‑Pol Masjid 425, 427, 428, 430–432, 435, 437, 438n3, 439n18 Tarlow, M. 105 tax incentives 331–332 Taylor, A. 290 Taylor, J. 6 Taylor, K. 126, 130 Taylor, P. 233 Taylor, R. 237 temporal justice 164, 165, 167 Ten Essentials for Making Cities Resilient 481 Terrill, A. 225 Territory Occupation Model (TOM) 446n3 Thailand 149–150 Thapar, B.K. 516 Theory of Clusters 115 Thomas, E. 404–406, 408n1 Throsby, D. 414 Tijuana 247–253 Tirivangasi, H.M. 494 Tobia, B. 261 Tobon, C.V. 11 Torres, E. 8, 98–110 Town and Country planning (TCP) 519, 521, 524, 525 Town & Country Planning Act (1974) 518 Traditional Knowledge Systems (TKS) 527–528 Transient Occupancy axes (TOT) 339–340 transportation projects 169–170; description 173–174; Green Line Project 175–176; Los Angeles Department of Transportation 174–175; Municipal–Artist Partnerships Guide 171–173; Ozark Regional Transit 176–178; seven challenges 171 Treasury Relief Art Project (TRAP) 260 Trivelli, P. 422n1 Trust for Public Land (TPL) 33, 34, 35 Tsing, A.L. 500 Tuck, E. 165 Twitchell, K. 397–399, 398 221A/Cultural Land Trust 322–323

UK music industry 213, 219n5 Ukraine 36, 119 UN Creative Economy Report (2008) 184–187 unidirectional approach 81 United Cities and Local Governments (UCLG) 333 United Kingdom (UK) 7, 122, 183, 187, 188, 211, 225, 227, 229, 242, 251, 317, 324–325, 526 United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) 184–188, 184, 200; XI Ministerial Conference 186 United Nations Education, Science and Culture Organisation (UNESCO) 184, 186–188, 282, 333, 358, 413, 414, 416, 428, 476, 479, 481, 483, 517; City of Music Designations 223, 224, 225, 227, 229; Creative Cities Network 449; World Heritage Site 456 United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) 187, 480 United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction (UNDRR) 476, 481 United Nations World Conference on Disaster Risk Reduction (1994) 476 United States Arts Federation 22n2 United States (US) cultural policy 3, 8, 10, 11, 247, 249–252, 257–258; arts 258; eight pillars of 262–275; public policy 262; timeline 259–262; urban cultural planning 5–7, 258–259 United States Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) 490 University College London (UCL) 211 Urban Art Projects (UAP) 511 urban+creative practices 80–95 urban cultural planning 1–2, 4, 5–9, 11, 12, 17–18, 29, 53, 55–64, 74, 80, 100, 109, 110, 140–153, 170, 257, 276, 301–303, 336, 340, 348, 352–356, 358, 360–362, 426, 428, 492, 493, 537; Australia see Australia; authenticity 147–148; case studies 303–310; climate crisis 11; creative and cultural industries 9; cultural heritage 11; cultural institutions 10; Disaster Risk Management of Cultural Heritage see Disaster Risk Management of Cultural Heritage (DRM‑CH); eight provocation 80–95; equitable communities 2; financing 9–10; five cases 148–152; health and community well‑being 3–4; operation 20–21; place, identity, and attachment 141–143; placemakers 146–147; planning 8–9; power hierarchies 145–146; preparation 7; process 18–20; relation and publicness 21–22; resilience 2–4, 47–49, 51, 82, 105, 156, 166,

552

Index 193, 194, 196, 302, 362, 430, 465, 467, 471, 475, 476, 479, 481–486, 489, 492–493, 495, 521; role 144–145; self‑identity 143–144; social development 2, 7–8; see also social development; United States 5–7; US cultural policy see United States (US) cultural policy urban development management 418–420 urban heritage preservation 413–414; control dimension 420–421; funding 421; governance 414–416; Latin America see Latin America; unresolved issue 421 urban imaginaries 89–91 urban pedagogies 92–94 ‘Urban Regeneration’ studio 425–429, 431–433, 435, 436, 438n2, 439n12 Urhahn, D. 401, 402 U.S. capitalist system 289 U.S. Census Bureau reports 301 U.S. federal cultural policy 259 U.S. Federation of Worker Cooperatives (USFWC) 303, 305, 307–308 US local Arts Agencies (LAA) 22n2 U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) 294 US Water Alliance 6, 30, 30–31 Utaka, Y. 11 value engineering 474n6 van Bramer, J. 99 Van der Vorm, M. 384 van Diemen, M. 390 van Poelje, G. 393n1 Vaughn, S.R. 227 Velho, N. 523 Victoria Yards (VY) 365–368; building post renovation 365, 367; building pre renovation 365, 366; COVID‑19 pandemic 375; gardens post renovation 369, 370, 370, 372, 373, 374; gardens pre renovation 368, 368, 369, 371, 372, 373; Jukskei River 370–371; phases 374–375; school 375; tenancies 371–373; Water For The Future 371 Vij, D. 350, 352 virtual reality (VR) 191, 192, 194 Virtues Matter 46–48 Virtues Project, five strategies 48, 49 Vision Zero 174 Viveros, C. 400, 400 Waititi, T. 236, 241, 243, 244 Walinsky, S. 403, 403 Walsh, F. 237

Wang, S. 61 Washington, G. 259 Washington, J. Jr. 259 Washington State Arts Commission (ArtsWA) 263, 264, 269, 272 Washington State Department of Commerce 273 Waterfall in the Landscape 396, 397 Water For The Future (WFTF) 371 WDC2024 249, 252–254 wedges 91–92, 92 “We Light the Fire” project 2 Welles, O. 259 Wellington 233–244, 244n7; transformation in Wellywood 239–243 Wellington city council (WCC) 234, 238, 239 Wellywood 234, 239–243 Western States Arts Federation (WESTAF) 277n14 West Kowloon Cultural District (WKCD) 468–469 West Philadelphia Community Center 132–134 White Australia policy 60, 64n1 White House 536, 539n1, 539n2 White House Domestic Policy Council 28 Wilde, O. 107 Williamson, J.L. 174 Winkelman, H. 393n1 Wollard, C. 10 Wood, A. 264 worker cooperatives 305–308 Worker Ownership Loan Fund (WOLF) 308 Works Progress Administration (WPA) 259– 262, 266, 275, 395 World Bank 187, 195, 479 World Cities Culture Forum 215, 217, 218 World Design Capital (WDC) 247–249; bi‑nationalism 250–251; European Capital of Culture 251; San Diego‑Tijuana 249–253; US–Mexico 249–250 World Design Organization (WDO) 248 World Heritage List (WHL) 18, 413, 417 World Heritage Sites (WHS) 448, 456, 475, 481, 483, 515–517, 525; Latin America 416–421 Yang, K.W. 165 Yencken, D. 233 Zabel, L. 10 Zakaras, L. 277n11 Zhou, F. 500 Zitcer, A. 6, 8–9

553