Читать книгу Common Ground in a Liquid City - Matt Hern - Страница 7

EAST VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA PHOTO BY DIANA HART

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East Vancouver, British Columbia

It’s funny how people tend to describe Canada: fish, timber, prairies, empty beaches, crashing waves, lonely farmers, isolated small towns. That picture is a romantically attractive one but distorting. The reality is that Canada is an urban country. More than eighty percent of Canada’s population lives in urban centers, half the country lives in Vancouver, Montreal, or Southern Ontario, and virtually all the population is crowded tightly along the border.

That’s a good thing. With a world population closing in on seven billion and not expected to stabilize until nine or ten billion, people are increasingly concentrating in cities all over the world. And thank goodness for that.

The only chance the world has for an ecological future is for the vast bulk of us to live in cities. If we want to preserve what’s still left of the natural world, we need to stop using so much of it. We need to start sharing the resources and land bases we do have, to stop spreading out so much, and focus our transportation and energy resources carefully. It may sound counter-intuitive, but there can be no doubt that an ecological future has to be organized around cities—which kind of ironically is also our only route to protecting our non-urban areas. If we love and want to protect our small towns, rural, and farming areas then we had better start living compactly, stop sprawling all over them, and turning all of it into one faceless, concrete mess. That’s the first core contention of this book.

The second is that cities have to be made solid. In a liquid era when people, goods, and capital are sloshing all over the globe we have to turn cities into comprehensible places that everyday people can actively inhabit. Vancouver has a particularly liquid quality and not just because I’m being metaphorically cute, but because so many people and so much capital wants to flow through the city. I’m fully in favor of migration and mobility but I’m searching for the kinds of attachments that turn “urban areas” into cities and “urban space” into common places.

I’m not interested in turning cities into villages or collections of villages—I think that’s exactly the wrong way to imagine a city—but cities need to be full of solid, distinct, and comprehensible places. You can have the magic and possibilities of a city while building it around local vitality, self-governance, and neighborhoods. Those things are not antagonistic.

The third core contention this book is that city-building leadership cannot fall to experts, bureaucrats, or planners. People have to make cities by accretion: bit-by-bit, rejecting master plans, and letting the place unfold. Whether it’s our safety, governance, or urban planning, it’s everyday people who can make the best decisions. But for this to be possible, cities need engaged citizens: people who are willing and able to participate in common life—and governance structures that actively encourage them.

In lots of ways what I am calling for has to be an unambiguous leap: a straight-up call for a city organized for a very different kind of social milieu, rooted in an alternative vision of ethics and economic life. It is a vision that will require a certain amount of work, creativity, and antagonism, one that just won’t accept neo-liberalism or global capitalism as de facto arbiters of who gets access to the good life. But it’s up to us to contest and offer alternatives to the market as the allocator of land, housing, and resources in our society. I think there are clear routes to a better future, lots of them existing, some latent, and parts we are just going to have to make up.

When urbanists all over the world talk about what a good city should look like an increasing number of them want to talk about Vancouver. This place routinely tops “most liveable city” lists and is widely admired all over the globe but, as my friend Marcus once said after reading the Economist’s “Liveable Cities” list, “Vancouver? Geneva? Vienna? Why are world’s ‘most liveable’ cities the world’s most boring cities? It’s like a list of the dullest cities in the world.” And he’s right. Those lists are inevitably put together by businesses like Mercer or MasterCard, whose ideological agendas, aesthetic sensibilities and cultural predilections are decidedly suspect.

I live here for lots of good reasons, and there are many things about Vancouver, especially East Vancouver, that I really admire but there is a whole lot to critique too. This is no urban utopia and being smug about our successes doesn’t help. But I do think that Vancouver has a chance—because of its locale, its wealth, its climate, and its youth—to transform itself into the kind of city that supports, not plunders, the social and natural worlds.

There is surprisingly little written about Vancouver beyond guidebooks and some very good historical writing, which is part of my motivation here. I’m hoping to contribute to the literature about a city that is very dear to my heart, and one that is increasingly important to global conversations about what a good city could and should look like. Even more than that, I am writing about Vancouver because we have to think imaginatively about how to live together in cities. Mostly though, I want to talk about Vancouver because it’s my home.

East Vancouver flavors all of these stories for sure. I don’t have an East Van cross¹ tattooed on me, but I might as well have one, and I might still get it done. I am all bound up with my neighborhood, and I am occasionally ambivalent or straight up antagonistic (and sometimes kind of embarrassingly xenophobic, actually) about other parts of the city. But that’s not all of it and at least partially affectation. There is plenty about Vancouver that genuinely pisses me off, but I love it here.

So, that’s this book: considering and evaluating contemporary urbanism using Vancouver as a kind of Petri dish, as a place full of possibility, to think radically and realistically about what a viable and libratory city might look like. Following are nine separate chapters, each written from another part of the world that considers a particular aspect of cities and Vancouver specifically. The chapters bleed into one another significantly, but each stands on its own and it should work to read individual essays out of order. At the same time, there is a flow, so the book (with any luck) is a coherent argument for a new kind of urbanism and better city.

I have traveled quite a bit over the past couple of decades and I have noticed that I always tend to think more clearly about cities in general and Vancouver specifically when I’m somewhere else. I’d guess that it is a fairly common experience. You know the feeling: walking around another city and wondering how it has developed, admiring a street, comparing neighborhoods, trying to make sense of certain designs, and thinking about back home.

These essays are drawn together by East Van, but also by my politics and by my visceral understanding of what a good city feels like. I spent one of the great years of my life, just before I moved here, in New York City living on the Lower Eastside, and when I think of what a city should look like my mind often turns to NYC first. But I also think of Istanbul, Montreal, Miami, and parts of many more. Generally speaking, I am in favor of unpredictability, serendipity, messiness, and walkable, dense cities with their histories visible. I am in favor of vernacular and organic planning, an absolute minimum of car traffic, small neighborhoods, street life, street vendors, street music, and street food. I want a self-governed city that can rise beyond disciplinary institutions and governmentality—a city run by citizens, not experts.

It’s more than that, though, and let’s not be too polite about it: the vast bulk of contemporary cities are built primarily by and for greed. When I think of a great city, it definitely doesn’t include huge numbers of very poor, disenfranchised and/or homeless folks. But what city can you think of that doesn’t include a grotesquerie of poverty? Havana maybe? I’ve never been there, and I’ve never been in a city that doesn’t have way, way too many really poor folks.

When I am dreaming of an egalitarian city, I’m not imagining a place where everyone has exactly the same amount of money or privilege. But I’m definitely dreaming of a city that actively undermines inequity, one that doesn’t reify massive capital accumulation, doesn’t allow some people to get fantastically rich on the backs of others. We have to believe in the possibility of a city where the wealthiest only earn and control a small amount more than what the poorest citizens do—not scores and hundreds of times like they do now. The gap between rich and poor has to be kept as absolutely minimal as possible or the fabric of citizenship that binds a city together becomes a facade that can only be maintained with police control.

Right now the wealth gap in Canada generally² and Vancouver specifically is enormous. In this city “the bottom 10 percent had an average income of $8,700 and the top 10 percent had $205,200 on average. The lowest 10 percent therefore had one dollar to every $23.50 the highest ten percent had”³ and, in 2006, 19 percent of the city was living in poverty.⁴ The most obvious place to witness this is on Hastings Street, maybe at the corner of Cambie. Look east and you can see the poorest urban area in Canada, the Downtown Eastside: people all over the streets, shooting up openly, huge lines in front of soup kitchens, lots of people running very low on hope. Turn 180 degrees and look west up Hastings and you see gleaming towers, parking lots full of expensive cars, million-dollar, one-bedroom apartments, streets full of hedge-funders, and lots of people running very low on ethics.

This kind of incredible disparity is one of the features of what Manual Castells, Saskia Sassen, and others have called the new “Dual City,” an urban formation precipitated by the new, globalized information economies. Cities have always had different classes living in relative proximity, but in neo-liberal informational economies something more akin to two entirely separate categories emerge. One is composed of people who are hooked into what Castells calls the “space of flows,” new digitally-based ways of living and generating employment and capital, free-flowing around local constraints and able to move with the same liquidity as their investment portfolios.

At the same time, there is another economic category of people who are stuck in a Castellsian “space of places,” who do not have the knowledge or skills to profit from digital economies, and these folks are increasingly shut out of the opportunities that neo-liberalism provides. Traditional class formulations have always assumed a certain amount of mobility, that is there is always an opportunity (however slim) for people to move up (or down) the class ladder. In the dual city however, there are separate worlds living right beside each other, occupying the same space but living in isolated realities.

Right now, Vancouver exhibits all the classic signs of developing into a dual city—a housing affordability crisis festering beside endless condos that no one we know can reasonably afford, people carrying huge amounts of debt, highways packed with people driving because they have to travel an hour from where they work, developers propelling city policy. We need to actively resist this kind of city: we need new strategies and the political will to alter the trajectory that is creating one city for the very liquid rich and another for everyone else. But poverty is not an accident: The very rich and the poor have a contingent relationship. Our way of life demands serious inequality.

Talking about resisting inequality often makes people think of a very tightly controlled, uptight city, a city where overbearing governments restrict and tax people aggressively in the name of providing services and amenities. I think it is a mythology that a city striving toward egalitarianism must be an excessively regulated, boring city. It’s just not true that a vibrant, living city is necessarily one where the market is god and capital accumulation is what drives innovation and culture. Why can’t cities restrict unfettered greed in favor of local culture? Why can’t we have a funky city without rolling over and showing our soft bellies to the market?

I think the real issue is how to create an organic, unfolding city—what Christopher Alexander calls a living city; one that isn’t run by bureaucratic planning or rampaging developers but is allowed to unfold, driven by a million decisions made by people on the ground. A city should be the best of humanity: an ethical union of citizens drawn together by mutual aid and shared resources. I know that sounds a little flaky but think of libraries, parks, public transit, movie theaters, patios, coffees shops, bars, beaches, plazas, festivals—everything that makes a city great. All of that is about sharing resources so we don’t have to be walled off by ourselves buying and hoarding our own books and DVDs, hiking on our own property, drinking by ourselves, driving our own cars, isolated, and atomized.

And that sharing means public space or, better yet, common space. And that’s my definition of urban vitality: constantly running into people who aren’t like you, who don’t think, look, or act like you, people who have fundamentally different values and backgrounds. And in that mix there is always the possibility to re-imagine and remake yourself—a world of possibility that is driven by public life and space, that at its best turns into common places and neighborhoods. That’s what makes a great city, not the shopping opportunities.

It’s more than that too. Cities are the key to any ecologically sustainable future, a reality that most environmentalists are just coming around to. There’s just no way seven billion people can spread out across the globe. Living densely, shortening the distances we have to travel, reducing our physical footprint, sharing resources, sharing energy is the only way that this thing is possibly going to work ecologically. To make that happen this city—and cities in general—have to become more urban, not less.

Looking at cities all over the world today though, it’s pretty fucking hard to imagine them as radical generators of sustainability, diversity, and vitality. Globalization, colonialism, and corporate expansionism have rendered the cores of most cities virtually indistinguishable from one another. Downtowns everywhere have the same Mickey Ds and Burger Kings, the same Gap, Prada, Benetton, and Zaras, the same gleaming towers, the same parking lots, the same rhythms.

And it’s not just downtowns. The Western world’s rush for the suburbs is being replicated all over the globe as urban regions are reconfigured for massive private-car use. Cities are being replaced by massive, megalopolitan stretches of faceless urbanization where it’s impossible to tell where one place ends and the next starts and traditional cities are surrounded by endless expanses of freeways, movie multiplexes, Wal-Marts, industrial parks, gated communities, malls, mini-malls, and mega-malls.

But you know all this.

The point of these essays is to give Vancouver and our conceptions of the urban future a hard shot in another direction. Even in the face of the Olympics, the Gateway Project, and an increasingly brazen corporate governance structure—I think we have still have a real chance to remake this city using some compelling, radical urban traditions and examples.

But that remaking is going to require commitment and discipline. Right now Vancouver, like so many other cities, has imagined itself almost entirely as a vehicle for capital accumulation. The city continues to pour its resources and energy into attracting investment, courting high-end tourists, building infrastructure for developers and international trade and doing anything and everything to pimp ourselves out to the highest bidders. But that strategy is unsustainable by definition.

I’m not much for futurism and Nostradamus, the Aztecs and Tupac notwithstanding; almost all predictions for the future tend to look pretty foolish. That said, I feel very confident suggesting that an economy based on massive and constant supplies of fossil fuels, huge infusions of capital, and a world-view based on the perpetual growth of consumerism is a losing proposition. We have to reject that juvenile economic and cultural logic and build meaningful ways to live on this land without destroying it. That has to mean reimagining this city as self-reliant and constructing a thoughtful re-localization of pretty much everything. That’s not to confuse re-localizing with parochialism, but it is true that it will mean a constriction of the economy. To my mind, that offers up huge possibilities for alleviating inequity: The logic of neo-liberal growth is what has got us into this spot, and it’s not getting us out. It’s high time to act on the old “another world is possible” line.

Every city always has the opportunity to re-imagine itself, and these essays are reflections on what a good city could look like, what this city might look like: trying to articulate what an emerging, democratic, and living city might look and feel like.

An ecological and an ethical city is one and the same thing—we can’t have a “green” city without reimagining our social institutions. And that can’t be made to happen by relying on politicians or planners or developers. They can’t lead, they have to get out of the way and allow the neighborhoods, communities, public spaces, and common spaces that make a great city to become the ongoing expression of a constant series of choices made by everyday citizens.

That’s what holds these essays together. They are written from disparate places, thinking about Vancouver as an exploration of how to make this place more alive, more democratic, more participatory, and more egalitarian. These cities are enigmatically chosen and are hardly representative of global urbanism—there is nothing from Africa, Latin America, South or East Asia, for example: they are just places I happened to be for a variety of reasons. I am not trying to say much about these other cities—I don’t know enough about any of these places—but I am using them as a route to talk about Vancouver and our collective urban future.

Lots of the book is critical of Vancouver while much is laudatory and supportive. Some chapters have very clear and specific policy suggestions; other areas are a little more theoretical. I spent almost three years meeting with most anyone who would sit down and talk with me about the future of this city. Most are people I really admire, many I consider friends, others are probably less than fond of me, others are people I had never met before, some are people who have an important role in shaping the city but whom I may not agree with on all that much.

All of it adds up to an investigation into how Vancouver—and cities in general—can imagine themselves beyond greed, shopping, capital accumulation, and vulgar self-interest. This city has every opportunity to re-imagine itself as an ethical, ecological place that nurtures a generous and vibrant citizenry that can afford to live here. We have every capacity to start building that city right now.

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