Authors: Chauncie Bigler, Yuka Aota, Debayan Chatterjee, Corin Menuge (Graduates of MSc Urban Development Planning, Bartlett DPU, UCL)

Introduction

In the Autumn of 2019, a group of MSc Urban Development Planning students partnered with community groups in London’s Old Kent Road (/OKR) Neighbourhood to explore the potential of social audits as a tool for just urban transformation in the city. As part of the multi-year teaching partnership, our group had a specific objective of collaboratively designing a social audit tool with local community groups in OKR area. The purpose of this exercise was to both test the concept of social audits in London planning whilst also supporting community groups in the gathering of data on neighbourhood assets that held significant value for locals. At that time, interrupting the speculative real estate development planned for what had become a London ‘Opportunity Area’ (See Figure 1) was a key priority for the long-term residents, businesses and other groups in the area.

In July of 2021, almost two years later, we reached out to a highly-engaged community resident who had been involved in the 2019 engagement. Our intention was to ascertain whether the social auditing toolkit we had designed was still in use and, if possible, to compare its application in both a pre-pandemic and mid-pandemic context. This resident explained that the pandemic had sharpened the priorities of community organisers and those demanding more participatory development across London: “What we want is a plan B, in light of these huge changes in the last 18 months. We want a realistic appraisal of where things are at for the people who live here” (Community resident, 21 Aug 2021).

This experience of revisiting our research partnership after two years–and a global pandemic–later caused our group to reflect further on both our positionality as researchers and practitioners, and the role that academic partnerships such as ours may have in relation to the underlying goal to leave lasting and positive community impacts. Mere months after coproducing research with community activists – the COVID-19 pandemic shifted the ground upon which priorities and strategies would be developed.  As is common with planning praxis, all parties active in fighting for just planning in London, or globally, needed to reflect and react in order to move forward in highly changeable circumstances. Learning alliances such as the one we were engaged in must adapt, even in a global pandemic.

Revisiting Prior Engagement

Revisiting our study, the local groups see the multidimensional barriers of realising meaningful participation in planning. Many scholars (Fainstein, 2010; Healey, 2005) have tried to improve the UK’s institutionalised public participation system by highlighting the potential of a collaborative approach in planning and local governance. However, communities have continued to face difficulties in reflecting their insights on the OKR regeneration plan, such as when they could not attend in-person consultations due to COVID-19 pandemic impacts. Thus, this situation can lead to dominant decision-making over a particular plan (Arnstein, 1969). Community participation requires both Invited and Invented spaces (Miraftab, 2004). Invited spaces involve local authorities engaging with and integrating diverse perspectives during the initial phases of planning, acknowledging the value of individuals’ insights and experiences as future end-users (Ball, 2004). However, effective community participation also demands autonomous, Invented spaces for community knowledge development and counter-planning. Indeed the two should work iteratively.

Just Space, an informal alliance comprising approximately 80 community groups, is dedicated to amplifying local voices and perspectives from grassroots levels up to London’s major planning strategies. In their “Community-Led Plan for London” (Just Space, 2013), the alliance proposed to metropolitan planning authorities the adoption of Social Impact Assessments (SIAs) as a fundamental basis for making planning decisions. SIAs are essential in evaluating the potential impact of development proposals on existing residents and businesses within a neighbourhood. Recognizing the historical shortfall in communication and genuine participation, the Just Space network has been advocating for the incorporation of these impact assessments within borough and metropolitan planning frameworks to secure a more community-led planning process.

Later on, Just Space collaborated with faculty at the DPU to initiate a multi-year project, which our group joined in 2019. During our cohort’s involvement, we were briefed on the displacement pressures arising from the Old Kent Road’s designation as an Opportunity Area. Our primary task was to engage in propositional work: co-creating a “social audit” tool in collaboration with local communities. Social audits serve as a means to establish an evidence base that reflects the neighbourhood assets as perceived by community members. These audits are a part of the broader concept of Social Impact Assessments (SIAs), a tool which seeks to materialise a more ‘just city’ (Fanstein in Yiftachel and Mandelbaum, 2017). The overarching objective of SIAs is to empower community members to visualize and address spatial inequalities in their surroundings.

Drawing on interviews with community members and field research, the social audit handbook (See Figure 2) was designed to be a pre-emptive, modular, adaptable and reflexive toolkit for communities. The handbook visually shows the process for identifying local assets, collecting data, and seeking further support to protect what is valued by the community in the face of development. The handbook starts with contextual data on Old Kent Road and provides guidance on community goal-setting using existing data and the voices least likely to breach traditional planning approaches. Four types of community assets (green infrastructure, housing, social/community spaces and economic infrastructure) were showcased as data collection categories based on field research and interviews with Just Space (See Figure 3). The final section emphasises the significance of visualising local data and seeking options to deliver community needs (See Figure 4).

 

At the time of this action-research collaboration in 2019, the social audit handbook received positive feedback from the Old Kent Road activists and groups engaged in its coproduction. The exercise was also good practice for the budding urban development planners in our group. As students, we developed collaborative listening skills through rounds of interviews with residents, local business owners, and non-profit workers, as well as countless learning site walks. The research that underpinned the design of the tool involved an examination of best practices from social audit initiatives in different locations such as South Africa, Israel, and London. This exploration deepened our understanding of social practices within diverse contexts. The benefits to us as researchers were clear and immediate – but what about longer-term outcomes for the community groups and individuals who gave their time and insights to the work?

All components of the social audit handbook were designed according to the interpreted needs of communities at the time, yet since its original production so much has changed. Begging the question, how relevant does the tool remain in a post-COVID moment?

As one community resident noted in 2021, the city’s priorities shifted due to COVID related financial constraints. The Bakerloo line extension, upon which the original plan rested, has been effectively stopped ‘indefinitely’. What does this mean for the OKR? Perhaps counter intuitively, this withdrawal of committed public investment, combined with new local leadership within the Borough’s controlling Labour Party, could open an opportunity to achieve a more just development trajectory for OKR.

However, if this opportunity is to be realised and a Plan B is to emerge, then tools such as the social audit tested in pre-pandemic conditions may gain renewed relevance. Indeed, given that our 2019 research demonstrated how the aspiration to protect local assets is most impactful in the earliest stages of planning process, a social audit tool feels particularly salient. Rather than attempting to influence plans at a planning application stage when many decisions have already been locked in, a social audit would reflect community priorities and identify valued networks, local heritage, businesses, and public spaces as plans are being made and well before applications and capital investment arrive at the community’s door.

 

Principles for Strengthened Academic Partnerships

 

 

Through this retrospective re-examination of a project, the group synthesised three key themes which can prompt further examination by parties hoping to engage in academic-civil society co-productions and learning alliances:

(a) Barriers to collecting local information

Residents often face barriers when trying to access planning-related data and information about ongoing urban development in their neighbourhoods. While the toolkit outlines steps for data collection and visualization of community assets and needs to present to the government, updating it for longevity should include a clearer roadmap to overcome technical skill barriers. This might involve providing support for accessing and interpreting open-source community data for those with minimal formal training, suggesting low-cost programs for basic mapping and document creation, and offering straightforward project management and budgeting templates. Encouraging community members to assess their key skills related to social audits and formulating partnerships with students or business owners to address gaps could be a preliminary step. Nurturing interactions for creating living documents by connecting relevant information with residents requires time and planning. Despite community members’ superior knowledge of their needs, neighbourhood histories, and dynamics compared to decision-makers, capacity-building and skill-sharing are essential steps for promoting effective social audits or community-led plans.

(b) Ensuring Continuity of Moment-Driven Work within a Context of Rapid Change

The government can change urban development plans suddenly, making it difficult for communities to formulate interventions aligned with the government’s timeline and request them to amend formal plans. Thus, communities learn to respond rapidly to changes in local dynamics and political  priorities, and learning alliances must also face this reality.  Some of the ways that the DPU-Just Space learning alliance (See Figure 5) ensures continuity while continually adapting are by building multi-year partnerships, retaining faculty engagements around them, and designing new projects each year based on priorities from partners. The UDP cohort that followed ours (2020-21) first contributed to Just Space’s Community-led Recovery Plan for London and later shifted their attention to Southwark, where they examined the utilization, challenges, and potential of public land. This latter project connected with some of the community groups and ideas that emerged from the social audit work conducted previously. As seen in this example, COVID-19 revealed amplified inequalities of the people’s lives and has mobilised or reanimated a number of initiatives targeting alternative development visions for London. This project demonstrates a strong example of building on previous efforts while coping with changing circumstances, such as those presented by COVID-19. Under the guidance and direction of UDP faculty and with continual input from the learning alliance’s partners, later cohorts continue to support long-term attempts to promote community-led planning in the city.

(c) Structuring the Engagement for Mutually-Beneficial Outcomes

A key organising skill employed by the most successful  activist groups is never-ending creativity in the face of changing circumstances. Activists must adjust their strategies and efforts in order to seize opportunities as they come. This hard-earned skill-set can be even less straightforward to apply to an academic setting. Academia, even when a strong ethos of practice in community engagement is present, must balance adaptability with the structure needed for executing a project within a fixed academic term in a classroom setting.

The task of structuring academic co-production processes is not straightforward, and creative ways to extend the work could be explored to maximize what both the community and the students take forward from the engagement. For example, rather than attempt to theoretically frame, develop and part pilot a tool all in one term, the learning alliance could be split into curricula and extra-curricular components with students given the opportunity to continue their engagement with the project’s community partners after the completion of the assessed project. In the case of our project, such an approach could have allowed time for a more in-depth piloting and testing phase. Through that further coproduction moment, additional findings would surely surface from the community on its design, such as local capacity to collect and take forward the fact-based data, which would provide even more support towards sustainable realisation of the community’s needs. That said, given such an approach relies on voluntary capacity and will, there is a small risk that momentum wains without the incentive of assessment.

Conclusion

During the autumn academic term of 2019, our cohort of 11 UDP students actively immersed themselves in the Old Kent Road project, forging connections between academic theory and practical application. Through engaging with community leaders and collaborating closely with community groups and Just Space members, the cohort shaped the framework and toolkit. Student groups navigated the intricate local political landscape, stakeholder dynamics, Social Impact Assessments (SIAs), planning procedures, and inclusive engagement approaches. UCL, as a global university, sends its Master’s graduates into diverse sectors worldwide. Our cohort’s immersive experience enriched subsequent chapters of our journeys: from supporting grassroots initiatives at the Japanese Embassy in New Delhi, to a role as an Urban Designer in Dubai and Germany, Green Infrastructure Planner in the U.S., and a contributor to London’s social housing sector. While challenging to quantify, the impacts of such alliances extend beyond classroom walls and the Old Kent Road. Academic research underscores the notion of ‘seeding’ hope for communities grappling with injustices by both recognising and amplifying their campaigns and also nurturing a new generation of planning practitioners attuned to the diverse needs and aspirations of cities worldwide.

The multiyear learning collaborations between UCL and community groups emphasize the pivotal role of community planning and the potential to transmit the principles of socially just planning to the succeeding cohort. By introducing the social audit handbook to communities, we supported Just Space in  testing a responsive tool aligned with the community’s strategies within specific times and conditions as well as amplifying an idea whose time may yet come. This endeavour aimed to integrate a degree of procedural justice into practice by transforming environmental governance through inclusive engagement that values diverse voices and perspectives (York and Yazar, 2022). It’s crucial to acknowledge that existing communities are integral participants in regeneration, capable of enhancing their neighbourhoods, and the outcomes of their collective efforts can ripple throughout the entire city (Ball, 2004). Tools like the social audits we examined can serve as valuable documentation of neighbourhood changes and shared lessons, facilitating action planning for like-minded communities and organizations. Nevertheless, as exemplified by disruptions caused by the COVID-19 pandemic, what holds greater resilience than specific tools are the skills cultivated in response to the inherent complexities of multi-stakeholder engagement in development planning. Primarily, this involves the ability to be adaptable and strategic in action planning, consistently reassessing the scope for manoeuvring (Safier, 2002) toward community objectives.

OKR Team (2020). “Our Neighbourhood – a guide to giving power to the voices of a neighbourhood’s people to shape its future”.

 

Reference

Arnstein, S.R. (1969). ‘A ladder of citizen participation’, Journal of the American Institute of planners, 35(4), pp.216-224.

Ball, M. (2004). ‘Co-operation with the community in property-led urban regeneration’, Journal of Property Research, 21:2, pp.119-142, DOI: 10.1080/0959991042000328810.

Fainstein, S. (2010). The Just City, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

Healey, P. (2005). Collaborative Planning (2nd ed.), Basingstoke, Macmmillan.

Just Space (2013). Towards a Community-Led Plan for London Policy directions and proposals. [online]. Available at: https://justspacelondon.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/just-space-a4-community-led-london-plan.pdf.

Langlois, A. (2023). ‘TfL Bakerloo line extension, Southwark to Lewisham: Part of tunnel design work restarted’. LondonWorld. National World Publishing Ltd, 1st June 2023. [online]. Available at: https://www.londonworld.com/news/traffic-and-travel/tfl-to-restart-part-of-tunnel-design-work-for-bakerloo-line-extension-4077412.

Safier, M. (2002). ‘On Estimating Room for Manoeuvre’, City, 6(1). pp.117-132.

Yiftachel, O. and Mandelbaum, R. (2017). ‘Doing the Just City: Social Impact Assessment and the Planning of Beersheba, Israel’, Planning Theory & Practice, 18 (4). pp.525-548.

York, A. and Yazar, M. (2022).’Leveraging shadow networks for procedural justice’, Current Opinion in Environmental Sustainability, Vol.57. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cosust.2022.101190.

 

Bio Statement:

This group reflection comes from four DPU alumni from the 2019-2020 Urban Development Planning cohort, on the work Social Impact Assessment as a tool for Just Planning in  Southwark, London. Yuka, Chauncie, Debayan, and Corin are now in four different parts of the world (India, USA, Germany, and the UK, respectively) working within differing sectors, all engaging with the core themes from this community-led planning practice module in some capacity. The group thanks the module leaders, Tim Wickson and Barbara Lipietz, and countless community organizers past and present for the ability to participate in this work.

This housing story follows my Mum’s journey. It provides valuable insight into the history of housing policies in Mauritius and how they have evolved. Given Mauritius’ location, it is prone to cyclones that cause devastation to homes, which made it critical for the government to prioritise better structures to address inadequate dwellings. However, as my Mum’s story will illustrate, government schemes were not always accessible, resulting in more informal community financing schemes. Incremental approaches to housing development were widespread in Mauritius alongside gradually diminishing access to public spaces due to government policies prioritising real estate development. I will explore these wider factors throughout her story.

 

Growing up in Triolet 

The story is set mostly in Triolet, a small town in post-independence Mauritius, beginning in 1972 and ending with her leaving Mauritius in 2002. Mum was the eldest of five, living with her parents and grandmother on inherited land. Mum’s grandfather adopted her father after he lost his parents as a child, and the land was divided between Mum’s father and his step-sister. This was unusual, as land and property were commonly inherited and split between male family members only, whilst women tended to marry and move in with their husband’s parents. This exception may have occurred because Mum’s aunt was a young widow with children to care for. Furthermore, Mum recalls that “people often lived close to relatives and it was common to extend the homes when the families grew, if there was space.” Although the Mauritius Town and Country Planning Act (1954) outlines that permits are needed for housing construction, it was not strictly enforced. Mum recalls that planning permission for home extensions or improvements was informal and usually involved seeking permission from relatives who lived in the surrounding area.

Mum’s earliest memories were of her home consisting of “two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a toilet.” They stood as three separate structures built with corrugated iron roofs and wood. Mum remembers several cyclones that particularly affected Triolet and nearby areas, some leaving a trail of housing destruction in their wake. However, Mum’s experience was again uncommon, as homes built with corrugated iron sheets and timber frames had decreased significantly during the 1970s (Chagny, 2013, p.6). Destructive cyclones in the 1960s led to workers being offered interest-free loans to build concrete houses for “personal occupation” (Ministry of economic planning and Development, 1986). As a result, housing structures improved drastically. For example, in 1960, 60% of housing in Mauritius was substandard, with only 4% considered durable; by 1972, only 7% were considered substandard, with around 40% considered durable (ibid). Mum’s experience may have been the exception because she lived in a rural area which may have been overlooked because it was not a highly commercial area and so was deprioritised for funding.

It is worth mentioning that there is a limitation in obtaining region-specific data, as Mauritius is a small country, and figures for smaller rural areas away from economic centres are not readily available. Hence, country-wide data has been used instead of data specific to Triolet.

Building a stronger home 

In 1980, Cyclone Hyacinthe severely damaged Mum’s home. During this time, Mum’s family decided to rebuild with cement and bricks to withstand severe weather conditions better. Unfortunately, the family didn’t qualify for the government scheme providing interest-free loans to workers for constructing concrete houses for personal use (Chagny, 2013, p.7; Ministry of Economic Planning and Development, 1986) because my Mum’s dad, an informal sugarcane worker, did not have the relevant documentation.

Therefore, to finance the repairs and future improvements, they relied on an informal community financing practice known in Creole as a “sit.” A “sit” involved pooling money from numerous people (relatives and friends) in a neighbourhood into a general fund. This fund could be used for household expenses, but many used it to improve or repair homes. Every month, each household would pay the same amount into the pool, and a designated collector would distribute the pool to one household randomly until all households had received the pool at least once and then the cycle would start again.

In contrast to bank loans, the “sit” was an attractive alternative since it was interest-free. This arrangement was helpful for Mum’s family, who couldn’t provide an acceptable form of collateral to banks, lacked a credit history, and had limited awareness of how formal credit systems worked. Unlike formal bank loans, “sits” didn’t require collateral or have transaction costs (Karaivanov & Kessler, 2017). However, these practices had downsides. For example, if a ‘sit’ participant can’t pay into the fund for one month, it could impact their relationship with everyone in the community, having a high social cost (ibid). Mum recalls that contributors could swap with the weekly recipient if they required the fund earlier for an emergency, and if someone couldn’t pay for a particular month, they could work out an arrangement with the collector and contributors. It was a system built on trust; in Mum’s experience, “there were never any major issues, and it was essential in difficult times.”

The prevalence of informal community financing practices highlights the failure of government schemes to trickle down to low-income people in rural areas who may have owned land but required financing for materials to build adequate and sustainable homes. So, although private ownership was high, for example, in 1972, 94.6% of all housing units were privately owned (Ministry of Planning and Development, 1986), Mum’s experience illustrates that people that needed suitable and adequate housing were effectively left unsupported by the government.

 

Continuing home improvements 

In 1981, Mauritius was challenged by a sugar crop failure coinciding with a global price drop (Gupte, 1981). Mum’s dad owned a piece of inherited land where he cultivated sugar cane, and the family heavily depended on this for their household income. The poor harvest and lower market prices, left the family significantly impacted; finding themselves relying on Mum’s grandmother’s pension. This also halted their much-needed home improvements and repairs. The country’s economy, which was still heavily reliant on sugar exports, also suffered detrimentally, with nearly 60,000 out of 960,000 people unemployed (ibid).

In late 1981, Mum’s dad secured a job working for the government as an irrigator, qualifying him for an interest-free government scheme to help workers improve their housing structures, with 3,000 rupees a month offered towards sturdy building materials. Mum told me “It was not much, but it was something. We would use this to buy some materials and build slowly.”

For Mum’s family, constructing their home was a slow and steady operation. Even with the government loan, building materials had to be accumulated over a considerable period before construction could start. The family continued participating in the ‘sit’, hoping it would come in handy in speeding up construction work.

In late 1982, they started rebuilding the two bedrooms using bricks and cement, but since they couldn’t afford to hire ‘masons’ (Creole for builders), they employed a ‘maneve’ (builder’s apprentice) who required a smaller fee. It was customary for unpaid male household members and relatives to help with construction, some even travelling from far-away areas to help. To show appreciation for their hard work, they’d be offered a nice meal at the end of the day in lieu of payment. This approach was present in many other households; Mum recalls her dad and brothers helping build and improve relatives’ homes too.

The improvements were focused on the house structure whilst the kitchen and toilet remained outside, still made of corrugated iron and wood. Mum recalls the unpleasantness of bathing in winter and the frequent water shortages; using a ‘dron’ (large plastic barrel) to collect rainwater for showering. Eventually, the kitchen was added as an extension to the concrete home. Mum says the kitchen and bathroom were not prioritised because of a lack of infrastructure for sewage or freshwater, and she says “improving the bedrooms first made sense as it benefitted everyone in the house.”

This incremental approach to housing allowed Mum’s family to improve their homes based on their needs and resources. It also made high building costs more affordable. However, these small loans also meant slow progress. Hence, combining the government loans with the informal community financing was crucial to making this approach possible at all and was ultimately borne out of necessity.

 

Scarce land and the rise of real estate development projects

The declining price of sugar and the phasing out of preferential trade agreements for sugar exports to the EU led the government to seek alternative sources of economic revenue (Gooding, 2016). Hence, in 1985, the government initiated various real estate development projects to attract foreign investment (ibid). These legislative changes would accelerate into the 2000s with the Integrated Resource Scheme (IRS) in 2002, increasing the purchase of villas and hotels, particularly by white Europeans and South African investors (ibid) and the amended Immigration Act in 2002, allowing non-citizens to become residents if they invested a minimum of 500,000 dollars in a set of “identified business activities” (ibid).

These schemes resulted in properties that were commonly located along the coast, providing direct beach access and amenities such as wellness centres and golf courses, and so accordingly requiring vast amounts of land. While many resorts were erected around rural towns, little development or investment occurred nearby in Triolet itself. Indeed, these schemes led to unequal distribution of economic benefits. For example, tourists visiting Mauritius spent money on foreign-owned resorts and hotel restaurants. They were unlikely to venture further and spend on local businesses; thus, the local communities did not feel the economic benefits. (Ramtohul, 2016). Moreover, opening the real estate sector to foreigners caused discontent among the local population, given the sensitivity of land ownership in Mauritius due to land scarcity (Tijo, 2013; Gooding, 2016).

These coastal development initiatives also impacted local communities’ ability to access beaches. Despite it being enshrined in law that all beaches in Mauritius are public up to the high tide mark (Pas Geometriques Act, 1895), hotels and resorts built barriers that made it challenging for people to access the whole beach area. Wealthy investors and private owners who had bought homes with easy beach access followed the hotels barrier-building example and with little intervention by the government, were tacitly allowed to continue this exclusionary practice.

Going to the beach is a celebrated space, important to many Mauritians of different backgrounds who would head there on weekends. Indeed, it was one of the few public spaces available for leisure activities. For Mum, there were no gardens or play areas where she lived. Only a small plot of land behind Mum’s house was shared with her aunt to cultivate papaya trees and aubergines, and the family collectively shared the crops. Like many Mauritian families, they would walk to the beach on weekends. She recalls as she grew older, access to these spaces became more difficult due to the increasing number of resorts, hotels and holiday homes. Accessibility to these public spaces became a huge social issue. Mum recounts her and her family being “told to move from the beach near the hotels. We were made to feel really uncomfortable for sitting on the sand.”

The need to diversify its economic portfolio meant Mauritius focused on expanding the real estate industry as an alternative source of revenue. Unfortunately, the development of coastal areas led to unequal distribution and access to land and limited benefits for working-class communities. The government did not properly consider how these policies would negatively affect the livelihoods of local communities, instead choosing to prioritise scarce public spaces such as beaches for tourists and hotels only (Naidoo & Sharpley, 2015).

 

Moving to Vacoas

In 1994, Mum married and relocated to Vacoas, a town in the western part of Mauritius. Vacoas was a middle-income residential area closer to economic centres than Triolet. There were more amenities, and the area was generally more developed.

She shared a home with her in-laws, my dad’s brother, his wife, and their children. Similar to Triolet, the house was surrounded by the homes of my dad’s relatives, as my grandfather’s brothers owned properties on either side and in front of the house. Similarly, the male siblings all inherited the land from their father. From 1995 onward, their properties would also expand to include their sons once they married.

In 1999, Mauritius was faced with a drought, leading to a limit in water usage for most people in the country (The New Humanitarian, 1999). People had access to water for only one hour a day (ibid). Mum recalls this and says that “during that hour, each household would collect water and fill as many containers as possible.” Despite an improvement in Mauritius’ economy during this period, infrastructural issues still affected people’s daily lives, particularly women, who were expected to manage household chores, and care for young children.

Cultural housing practices continued throughout this period, whereby male family members inherited land, and women did not. After my grandfather died in 2000, the house was divided according to this practice. My dad’s brother began constructing a separate housing unit upstairs, eventually moving there after construction was completed with his family. The main house was split in two, with my dad and his older brother each inheriting half. These patriarchal housing practices can leave women without security, and a lack of land ownership can result in limited say in household decision-making (Archambault & Zoomers, 2015, pp5). It can expose women to vulnerabilities, such as finding it more difficult to leave their spouse if they experience domestic violence (ibid). It’s important to note that, as mentioned previously, if women were widowed or the family didn’t have sons, then the women would likely inherit property. Nevertheless, it is a practice that is ultimately unfavourable to women, leaving them insecure and effectively dependent on male household members; as a result, reinforcing gender inequalities.

Conclusion

In 2002, my dad found a job in the UK, and shortly after, Mum and I moved here for a new beginning. Mum’s housing story illustrates how Mauritius’ housing policies evolved rapidly from 1972-2002. It highlights how the devasting effects of cyclones meant the government had to push for the elimination of structures that could not withstand them. Although this can be lauded, due to the significant rise of concrete structures due to government schemes which provided affordable loans for workers to build sturdier homes; its inaccessibility, particularly for people living in rural areas, meant they had no choice but to rely on informal community financing schemes. The story also highlights the prevalence of patriarchal cultural housing practices whereby male family members inherited land at the expense of women, reinforcing gender norms. Finally, although the expansion of the real estate industry benefited the economy, it came at a cost for locals, who effectively lost their access to much-needed public spaces in favour of hotels, resorts and holiday homeowners in a country where land was already scarce.

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Pas Geometriques Act, 1895 https://attorneygeneral.govmu.org/Documents/Laws%20of%20Mauritius/A-Z%20Acts/P/PAS%20GÉOMÉTRIQUES%20ACT%2C%20Cap%20234.pdf

This housing story follows the urban transformation of a once-thriving node based in the Old Anarkali neighbourhood of Lahore, Pakistan. It is a story of cultural shift, resistance to change, inevitable transition, and the lingering battle between despair and hope. The story follows a narrative thread, informed by inherited memories and from lived experiences in what used to be a tightly-knit neighbourhood community. The story depicts the loss of shared space and collective consciousness due to repeated experiments of urban (de)generation.

While this housing story focuses on the specific neighbourhood of Old Anarkali, Lahore, it is framed by the lived experiences of one of my dearest friends from college, who has requested that his name remain anonymous. As the protagonist of this housing story, he resided at 3/2 Lodge Road for the larger part of his adolescent life. We studied together at the nearby National College of Arts Lahore Campus and would often get together at his house after college.

 

 

Introduction

Pakistan is a South Asian developing country with over 240 million residents and has been doubling in population density every 35 years (World Population Dashboard – Pakistan). According to a recent UN Report, Pakistan is one of the eight countries that will witness more than half of the projected increase in global population by 2050 (World Population Prospects, 2022). Country wide, it has historically battled housing issues. Even at a micro level with its urbanising cities, it has witnessed housing crises that have seen huge shifts in communities and how they live.

As the capital of one of Pakistan’s most populous provinces, the Punjab, Lahore is no exception. Its residents struggle with socio-political power relations that underpin the housing market. Infrastructure facilities and quality-of-life improving investments are inevitably concentrated in areas of influence, where wealthy residents pull resource division and maintenance, directing access away from the urban poor. This rich-poor divide leads to a “splintering urbanism” (DPU 2013, originally by Graham & Marvin, 2001). Additionally, whilst infrastructure like rapid transport may improve mobility, it comes at a high cost. It can displace entire communities, where ‘bastis’ and ‘abaadis’ (shanties) fall prey to repeating false promises of development.

The context

 

 

As one enters the (new) Anarkali food street, there is a sense of being transported to a different time. This pedestrian-centred traffic artery boasts flavourful food and a sensory delight, especially on festive occasions like Eid. However, as one traverses the aptly titled “tourist street” and walks south, a harsher reality unfolds. The Old Anarkali road is chaotic with traffic, overflowing with motorcycles, rickshaws, and cars and being overtaken by rampant commercialisation.

“Purana” Anarkali or Old Anarkali is a neighbourhood at the south end of Anarkali Bazaar (market), one of the oldest surviving markets in the Indian Subcontinent. It dates back more than 200 years. Anārkalī was a courtesan in the Mughal era, with whom Prince Salim, who later became Emperor Humayun, fell in love. Steeped in Mughal architecture and romance, the mausoleum and the area surrounding it existed as a cultural and artistic centre. The story of Anārkalī itself is one of unrequited love and longing.

Timeline

Around World War 1

The Old Anarkali area consisted primarily of horse stables, to facilitate the cavalry, which were later relocated to a place called Rasala Bazaar

1929

The house, 3/2 Lodge road, was constructed, as per the blueprints, in the celebrated Indo Sarsenic style

1947

The protagonists maternal grandparents moved to this house from India after his grandfather fought in World War 2 and was granted legal tenure for being a part of the pre-partition INA – Indian National Army

“There was community spirit and people were considerate, to the point that even families of four decided to share space with each other. My nana (grandfather) gave space to another family on the ground floor.”

During partition – and post 1947

In the splitting of the Indian subcontinent into Pakistan and India- many families were divided. People had to abandon their homes and rushed to relocate. Some buried expensive belongings in hopes that they’d revisit their homes and reclaim their treasures, but that never happened. There are stories that gold and precious metals were found in some abandoned homes.

The neighbourhood, in its physical state, stayed the same for a large part of 1947 up until the 1990‘s, when the protagonist was born. Neighbourly evening walks were common amongst communities and there was strong social integration.

In early 2000’s

By the early 2000’s, the neighbourhood was running on its last fumes, especially as real physical transformations in the form of construction for the contested Orange Line mass-transit system started taking shape. It corroded what little was left of a past sense of community.

Context mapping

 

 

 

3/2 Lodge Road was right in front of Lahore’s former mayor’s residence, which later became, and is still is, the office for a law firm Kashif Law Chambers. This shows truly what a thriving community once existed in the area. Owing to the fact that the high court was close by on Mall Road, more law firms began surfacing in the area.

Circumstance and proximity play an interesting role in shaping life choices. My friend was inspired by both his parents towards the arts since they were designers by degree and profession. He thus chose to attend the same institution as his mother.

My mother would often walk me through the old streets of Rabbani road and Rasala Bazar all the way up to the National College of Arts, her alma mater. She would get fresh clay from the ceramic studio for me to play with. We would stop by the museum quite often. I think just walking through the streets that were populated with such great colonial, pre-partition architecture, sparked and encouraged my sense and fascination for it.

Reasons for leaving

In his own words the factors for leaving Old Anarkali were perhaps many.

For me personally, there was a decline in the quality of life there. There was so much noise pollution. The doctor advised that we move out because it was depressing for Ammi [mother] to be there. It may ring true for a lot of people, when you’ve seen too much in a house you really want to eventually change scenery and get away from it.

Our house shared the wall with a laboratory for the longest time. The machine was placed directly next to the wall that connected with our side of the house, constantly exposing us to x-rays. They were taken to court a few times but nothing became of it. This was also part of why we decided to leave home.

In addition to this, the house was also gradually coming apart structurally – instead of renovating it, it was more practical  to shift. Due to commercialisation, CNC (computerised numerical control) and laser cutting services had taken over and posed serious health concerns. In 2006, the roof of a room we did not use came down too. So it was all just in shambles.

Since a lot of the houses were built pre partition and used wood materials in construction, there was a serious termite infestation  issue. It wasn’t the sole reason why one would be stressed, but it definitely contributed to the overall situation. In modern construction or areas where houses were built with new methods and procedures, treatments for termites are infused in the foundation of the structure. When you compare those construction methods to the methods of the past, you do get colder rooms in summers due to the construction quality, but then there’s issues like termites and seepage in the walls that need constant maintenance. 

In a broader sense, I think for most people there, the community I’d say was 40 percent well educated. The neighbours whom we were most close to, a doctor, passed away, and his family moved out. The neighbourhood began to lose its meaning in time and space. The structures, walls, alleys and corridors don’t make a neighbourhood. It’s the people that occupy it. So I’d say, for most people, time just moved on, and in saying that, they had that move out and on too. But over time, shops and houses turned into spaces to host shoe workshops and metal sign workshops. This meant a lot of noise and the loss of peace and quiet which the area had seen a lot of earlier. Additionally, the areas in close proximity to newly refurbished Anarkali Bazar and commercialised Food Street also began to witness a lot more movement all around. It just did not make sense to stay there for a longer time.

What next?

My brother lives in and manages the upper floor of the old anarkali house. He has a love-hate relationship with the place. Squatters are common in those areas and people occupy spaces illegally. So, until the house is sold, my brother feels it’s unsafe to abandon it as it’s very likely someone will take over it illegally.

 

Broader implications

Lahore’s Orange Line metro seems to be the elephant in the room. The project was a venture part of CPEC (China Pak Economic Corridor). It was a one-of-a-kind Chinese-backed commuter train line, constructed over five years, from October 2015 till October 2020. It signalled a new chapter in the Pakistan-China friendship and provided an easier, faster commute for the citizens of Lahore.

However, the project was surrounded with controversy. In 2016, construction was temporarily suspended by the Lahore Court because it threatened UNESCO world heritage sites. Unfortunately, the verdict was later overturned by the Supreme Court of Pakistan. (Ebrahim, 2020)

Mr Kamil Khan Mumtaz, an renowned Lahore based architect, strongly advocated against the Orange Line project for its destructive methodology. He said that buildings and sites that “make Lahore what it is with its history, its heritage, its culture” were blasted into nothing. “Entire neighbourhoods, like the Old Anarkali where people lived and had worked for generations, look like Nagasaki,” he added, pointing to the blatant “violation of historic monuments” which he described as a “criminal act”. (Ebrahim, 2020)

Kamil Khan Mumtaz expressed concern regarding how “a cash-strapped country like ours would pay for this luxury”. He estimated that the Punjab government will pay “PKR 74 million per day (USD 460,800) in subsidies”. He suggested selling the train line to a private operator and buying buses instead, because, “Lahore has a good road network for the buses to ply on”.

3/2 Lodge Road was not scheduled for demolition, but a significant part of the neighbourhood on the east was destroyed. Over 200 families were displaced, as well as an institute for disadvantaged children, shops and a squatter settlement. (Ebrahim, 2020)

Affectees were compensated with what the government termed a historic package at the time. According to the Lahore Development Authority (LDA), people were compensated a lump sum of PKR 1 million (less than £3000) per room after being displaced by the Orange Line but many residents were unhappy. Shakeel Ahmed, another resident of the Anarkali district, lost his home and accused local authorities of heavy handedness.

Outdated colonial-era land laws like the Land Acquisition Act of 1894 empower the government to snatch land for unjust compensation. The Lahore Development Authority (LDA) said that the Punjab government was authorised to take land, granting the government the right to appropriate land if citizens receive compensation and prior notice.

This means that many of the  former occupants have sacrificed property in one of Lahore’s most iconic and valuable areas. Property prices have skyrocketed in recent years but the displaced will not reap the rewards.

Conceding that Lahore needs a “smart, green transit system” like the Delhi metro, architect Imrana Tiwana deemed that the Orange Line remained an unacceptable alternative. Tiwana reinforced that it violates the law and is a complete misfit for a historic city with its Mughal-era “protected heritage”. She described it as “a huge white elephant” that will be used by very few. In fact, 1% of Lahore’s population (250,000 people) use the train – with the trains often operating considerably under full capacity. (Reuters, 2020)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Conclusion

Pakistan’s housing problems are certainly manifold and complex. Such problems arise due to prioritising short-term goals against a long-term vision, especially when conceiving projects through external aid. Forming periodic consensus and employing a reframing diagnosis can open up the room for transformative potential in this regard. Thus, recognition of all stakeholders is a must to curb social injustices.

Rethinking, recontextualising and reconstructing mechanisms of housing is necessary to converge towards fair and just compensation to ensure that there isn’t a reproduction of what David Harvey calls the “accumulation by dispossession” (Harvey, 2008). Today, the term Purana Anarkali (old Anarkali) evokes a nostalgic sigh for a bygone era.

Although many have shifted away, all cannot be lost. Governments must see the need as well as the possibility to accommodate citizens without displacing them, as well as awarding fair compensation. Organisations like the Walled City of Lahore Authority strongly advocate and achieve results for the restoration and preservation of historic sites. There remains hope that collective action can spur recognition, bringing back to life the community spirit of places like old Anarkali.

The underlying truth is that neighbourhoods like Old Anarkali are co-produced organic urban centres and reminders of history. Their preservation and the just compensation for residents are important to presence, territory, and historic context. Mass appropriation of space, and the copy-paste replication of global cities, like that in the case of the Ravi Riverfront Development serve no good. Proponents and opponents exist towards this hailed as “Pakstan’s answer to Dubai”. This provokes the question ‘Is this what is visioned for once thriving neighbourhoods like old Anarkali?’

 

 

 

References

Ebrahim, Z. (2020, December 15). Orange Line Metro Train: Another ‘huge white elephant’? The Third Pole. Retrieved April 24, 2023, from https://www.thethirdpole.net/en/pollution/pakistans-first-city-metro-another-huge-white-elephant-2/

Graham, S., & Marvin, S. (2001). Splintering Urbanism: Networked Infrastructures, Technological Mobilities and the Urban Condition. Routledge.

            splintering urbanism | UCL The Bartlett Development Planning Unit. (2013, July 5). UCL Blogs. Retrieved April 24, 2023, from https://blogs.ucl.ac.uk/dpublog/tag/splintering-urbanism/

Harvey, D. (2008). The Right to the City [New Left Review].

Managing supply and demand: The key to getting ‘housing’ right in Pakistan. (2022, March 11). World Bank Blogs. Retrieved March 12, 2023, from https://blogs.worldbank.org/endpovertyinsouthasia/managing-supply-and-demand-key-getting-housing-right-pakistan

Rizwan, S., & Mirza, Z. (2022, February 3). Commercialisation in Walled City hampers conservation, trade – Newspaper – DAWN.COM. Dawn. Retrieved March 12, 2023, from https://www.dawn.com/news/1672926

Toppa, S. (2020, December 21). ‘This will make us poorer’: Pakistani metro brings uncertainty for displaced residents. Reuters. Retrieved April 24, 2023, from https://www.reuters.com/article/us-pakistan-lahore-metro-feature-idUSKBN28W039

World Population Dashboard -Pakistan. (n.d.). United Nations Population Fund. Retrieved April 24, 2023, from https://www.unfpa.org/data/world-population/PK

World Population Prospects. (2022). the United Nations. Retrieved April 24, 2023, from https://www.un.org/development/desa/pd/sites/www.un.org.development.desa.pd/files/wpp2022_summary_of_results.pdf

 

I first met Leslie when I took the Ombudsperson’s office’s seat in the Barrio Padre Mugica’s (BPM) Council for Participatory Management for the Redevelopment Process (CPMRP). Leslie and her neighbours were furious. I wanted to understand why, fundamental changes occurred since BPM’s urban and social integration Law was passed. All residents would access a formalised housing solution with legal tenure, houses would be upgraded, and public services would be delivered onsite with a decision-making CPMRP. These women that were meeting after meeting shouting and crying to be left in their homes had had no information and were never part of the decision that established that, since they lived below the highway, they had to move from their houses to new homes close by, as the Law established. The government has been delivering a policy focused on distribution but needs more regard for the justice of decision-making power and procedures (Young, 1990). I learnt that lesson from Leslie, Sonia, Angela and Mirta, who showed me through their fight for their homes that “just organisation of government institutions and just methods of political decision making” (Young, 1990, p.12) need to be raised in order to achieve social justice.

 

Hoping for a better future

The city of Buenos Aires (CBA) is the heart of a large metropolis five times its population size. The impossibility of accessing formal housing in a country with a dolarised formal market struggling with recurrent economic crises, inflation and no offers to consolidate social housing has led the most vulnerable population to live in informal settlements. Around 7.5% of the inhabitants of the CBA live in slums (DGEyC, 2021). This is the story of one of them, Leslie Rojas, a migrant from Cochabamba, Bolivia, that came to Argentina at age 9 in 1991. Her parents came chasing the dream of a home of their own “They said that in Argentina, your salary was in US dollars. The majority of people who came here saved enough money to go back to Bolivia and buy a house”.

After the hyperinflation crisis, the economy was on the verge of collapse, so the tales of neoliberalism penetrated Argentina deeply. Under Menem’s government, profound changes in the country’s economic organisation were made, which included trade liberalisation, privatisation of public services and the Convertibility Law. This measure established a fixed parity of the Argentine peso to the US dollar. Argentina was soon able to stabilise its economy. However, neoliberalism soon hit the country’s economy: opening markets made Argentina’s emerging industry unable to compete in a liberalised global market with products in USD currency. The economy collapsed, leading to increasing unemployment. This occurs along the implementation of structural adjustment programmes (Davis, 2004), which reduced social policies and welfare (Hirst, 1996). In terms of urban governance, the participation of private actors in the development of real estate operations that encouraged speculation, intensified the commercialisation of urban land, pushed up land prices, and, with this, significantly increased informality” (Gelder, Cravino and Ostuni, 2013, p.128).

In 2000, due to a critical economic situation, Lesli’s parents could not continue to send money to their children in Bolivia. Hence, she and her siblings came and started living in a rented space in Villa Crespo. “They decided to stay because they hoped the country could improve and regain stability”. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The economic situation worsened, leading to one of the most challenging economic and political crises of Argentina’s democratic history in 2001, when poverty reached 66% in 2002 (CEDLAS, 2022). In 2004, after the death of their landlady, with an economic situation that made it impossible to buy a house in the formal dolarised market, the Roja family experienced the difficulties of finding a new place to rent without a property warranty “We did not know anyone who had a formal deed”. They did not have many choices and moved to BPM, one of the largest informal settlements of the CBA, “we had family living there, and my parents learnt about a house that was on sale”. They bought a half-built house in the informal market and started living there incrementally upgrading it.

 

The fight for a house of her own

Leslie wanted to become independent when she finished school, and she learned about squatted land under the highway. With a clear opportunity to rent there “a very precarious house: with brick walls and sheet metal roof”, she found a job and moved in 2008. In 2015 her husband and Leslie managed to buy that house and started incrementally upgrading it, with many material expenses. She put countless hours of sweat equity into that house “I could have enjoyed life, but I deprived myself of many things because I was making an effort to live better. I invested in my house below the highway”.

 

People living in informal settlements in the CBA have been steadily increasing since the return of democracy after slum eradication during the last dictatorship. The state had recognised the right to housing through various laws but did not deliver. This gave rise to a process of judicialisation of the policy (Delamata, 2016) as a strategy to achieve housing. As a result of a long process of mobilisation that included judicial appeals, in 2009, dwellers of BPM managed to pass Law 3343^[1], which established general guidelines for the redevelopment but did not include precise urban planning and regulatory instruments (ACIJ, 2021). However, many dwellers like Leslie had no idea about it “I did not know anything about the Law or our rights. I knew that if you squatted or bought a squatted place, and a formalisation process occurred, you would need to pay for the land, but your house and everything you had invested in it was your own”.

With the arrival of Rodríguez Larreta to the government of the CBA, different socio-urban integration processes were initiated, with a substantial increase in the housing budget. The scheme adopted from 2016 onwards was “a model of territorial intervention that simultaneously comprises physical transformation, social intervention, institutional management and community participation; seeking to promote territorial equity, privileging state action in the peripheral areas of the city, with lower indices of human development and quality of life” (Quinchía Roldán, 2012, p.8). However, in the case of BMP, Lesli witnessed the complex participatory process.

In 2016 the re-urbanisation process began with a census: “I remember there was a census, and I told my husband that he should not tell them anything because I thought it was better. The census was held without information of what it would entail”. Mistrust and misinformation about government action are recurrent in Leslie’s narrative. Even though this policy was aiming at economic redistribution (the what), it did not include recognition of different members of the community (the who) and framing the project in a way in which all members participate as peers in social life (the how) (Fraser, 2009). To achieve social justice, “institutionalised obstacles that prevent some people from participating on a par with others, as full partners in social interaction” (Fraser, 2009, p.13) need to be dismantled. According to Leslie, this did not happen in BPM, leading to severe opposition from dwellers.

Two years later, Law 6.129^[2] was passed, establishing housing improvements, new housing construction, provision of infrastructure and tenure regularisation (ACIJ, 2021) in BMP. It also created the CPMRP and determined that all those enlisted in the census had the right to tenure formalisation. Also, relocations would exist due to project needs (opening roads or public spaces) and environmental and building risk areas. However, they would be carried out as a last resort and with the beneficiaries’ consent. Relocations would be within the neighbourhood (in grey in the picture below), and new homes resulting from them would be built in the areas in light blue. The Law also said that the government must guarantee the availability of units of equal or superior characteristics concerning the original dwelling before moving and vacating the property.

 

At this point, Leslie found out that the process directly affected her house since regulations in the CBA forbid housing below the highway. “Many things had been going on behind my back, meetings had been going on for years, and I knew nothing about them. They were not going to recognise all the materials I had in my house, and I would have to move to the new houses that, for me at that point, were going to be made of sheet metal and cardboard. All my effort, work and sacrifice would be lost. I was angry and wanted to fight for my house”.

Even though she had never been involved in community mobilisation, she started attending CPMRP meetings, going door to door, sharing information and inviting her neighbours to get involved. An insurgent movement emerged; they did not “constrain themselves to the spaces for citizen participation sanctioned by the authorities (invited spaces); they invent new spaces or re-appropriate old ones where they can invoke their citizenship rights to further their counter-hegemonic interests” (Sandercock, 1998).

 

Once I developed a relationship with her, I got to know her house, built with much effort. That was when I fully understood her claims and, in different ways, why she did not want to move. Her house was affordable, adequate, accessible and viable; she already had a just housing solution (Bhan and Harish, 2021). A policy based on regulatory frameworks irrelevant to her needs (Payne and Majale, 2004) demanded that she move because the Law states that it is forbidden to leave below the highway. She was not part of that decision and did not understand it. “I still maintain that even though the highway was a highway, it protected us”.

We started working together once the resettlement process began when it was easy to see how a very comprehensive but top-down policy can have severe implementation problems when not acknowledging realities and voices on the ground. The authoritative disciplinary dominant forms of knowledge that shaped the project needed to be challenged to deliver a consciously collective policy that could address dwellers’ real needs (Bhan, 2019), not those established by the state. This policy falls under the “power of representation dilemma” (Uitermark and Nicholls, 2017). A planner with a privileged position to marginalised communities promotes a specific view of social justice under the risk of making assumptions that sideline specific segments of the urban poor.

Moreover, the government used a steel frame system of construction, unknown by dwellers of BPM, many of whom work in construction. “Nobody understood why we were not getting brick walls. We did not know anything about that system of construction; we had doubts, and they never explained what this system was about. We were afraid, and this was going to be our home. We thought they wanted us to move to houses that would last 30 years, and once we finished paying the mortgage, they would fall apart.” Again, a sense of mistrust, of not getting enough information, of not being part of the decisions that directly involved them emerge. Leslie, like her neighbours, had been directly involved in the incremental construction of their own houses; they knew everything about it, how to fix them, where to add rooms, how to make them more secure, and were happy about the place they lived in. Now they were supposed to move to a place without participating in the decision and to houses they knew little about. “After I moved, I found out that steel frame was a good system of construction and a quick one to deliver 1044 houses in two years. Why did they never explain that? I believe that if you give someone information, arguments, examples, people take it better than if you hide everything”.

While she continued resisting, a second problem emerged by the end of 2019. When people moved out, the government demolished their old houses below the highway to prevent squatting. Everything was left covered by dust and debris. Often, they broke pipes, so places started flooding; the electricity of the houses close by was still on, people threw garbage everywhere, and rats were all over the place. For those still negotiating their relocation, this was perceived as a method of pressure which again increased the mistrust and tension with the government. That was a difficult moment for Leslie, “I was resisting alone. People started to move and everywhere around was demolished, it looked like a war zone, it was insecure, I was afraid. It was unliveable”.

 

 

Soon after, the pandemic started, and Leslie got sick in May. “I was 16 days in the hospital. I was afraid that if people found out my house was empty, they would squat it, and I would lose everything I had been defending. So when I got out, I said, I will accept the new house but under my terms”. As soon as she was discharged from the hospital, Leslie saw the available flats and found a house she liked. Even though she was happy, she did not want to show it because she did not trust the government officials and wanted to negotiate the recognition of the value of all the materials in her house. Through her fight, she moved to a house of her choice and will pay fixed monthly repayments for 30 years, minus the value she negotiated with the government. Every year she has to make an income statement, “I can pay for now, but I know that if I lose my job, I can make the income statement and stop paying”.

 

Again, misinformation and mistrust are present in her narrative: “If I had money to pay it all at once I would, I would feel safer if I fully own the place and nobody can move me”. The Law raises relevant tools for dweller´s permanence after tenure formalisation stating that dwellers must be provided with tenure security in the dwellings they occupy and that in no case the inability to pay could hinder guaranteeing this right. The Law discourages possible gentrification or uprooting processes, seeking the current dwellers’ permanence.

Information could have brought dwellers certainty regarding the policy outcome and their right to stay. However, Lesli does not trust the policy or the Law because her participation was not a “democratic stance; a right of people to decide, in an informed manner and through processes of collective reflection, on the direction of their habitat” (Populab, 2022, p.32).

 

Learning and growth

A lot of Leslie’s fear existed because she did not access information “If you give people information and tools, you don’t hide anything, and you make them part of the process, even if you think that they can oppose it, I think it is worth it and better. If not, it is like gossip”. Leslie believes she is in a better place one year after her move. Nevertheless, how different things would have been if this policy had included and recognised her in the first place, benefiting from her right to participate in those decisions that involved her own life and home. “I would have liked to be involved; I think everything would have been better. In this type of redevelopment process, participation is necessary”.

When I met Leslie, she challenged me to rethink justice rather than come up with a single normative or political vision of housing justice (Bhan, 2019) to reshape my approach of participation in planning to participation as planning (Frediani and Cociña, 2019). During those years, many of her neighbours and even government officials tried to discredit her, accusing her of doing politics. She was fighting for her right to housing; she knew nothing about bills and laws until they directly impacted her. She got involved at that point but did not do things only for her sake; she insurgently fought for justice. She wanted to be recognised, exercise her capacity, express herself and participate in determining her actions and the conditions of those actions (Young, 1990). Those are “universalist values, in that they assume the equal moral worth of all persons” (Young, 1990, p.37).

When I asked her how she could describe this process, she said it was about learning and growth. She became self-conscious of her status as a citizen, collectively demanding rights and battling oppression and domination (Young, 1990) to fulfil that dream that, 32 years ago, her parents sought. She informally bought a house eight years ago. However, a policy intended to upgrade her quality of life made her feel threatened of losing it, mainly because she was never included in the development of that path that comprehended her life and her home. Now, she has a house with a formal deed and a mortgage. She is happy about it, but that was not the only thing she wanted. She was unrecognised, on the side-lines, but she finally determined the conditions under how she would accept her new house, showed she could insurgently and collectively fight until her equal worth was recognised. This is why it is so important to tell her story.

 

Bibliography

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Sandercock, L. (1998) “The Death of Modernist Planning: Radical Praxis for a Postmodern Age”, in Douglass, M. and Friedmann, J. (eds) Cities for citizens: planning and the rise of civil society in a global age. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, pp. 163–184.

Uitermark & Nicholls (2017) Planning for social justice: Strategies, dilemmas, tradeoffs

Van Gelder, J.L., Cravino, M.C & Ostuni, F.(2013). Movilidad social espacial en los asentamientos informales de Buenos Aires. R. B. ESTUDOS URBANOS E REGIONAIS 15 (2). Available at: http://ri.conicet.gov.ar/bitstream/handle/11336/12248/CONICET_Digital_Nro.15339_A.pdf?sequence=2&isAllowed=y

Young, Iris Marion, (1990) Justice and the politics of difference, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press

 

^[1] Available at : https://digesto.buenosaires.gob.ar/buscador/ver/21159

^[2] Available at : https://boletinoficial.buenosaires.gob.ar/normativaba/norma/448918

 

 

This housing story is part of a mini-series revealing the complex ways in which personal and political aspects of shelter provision interweave over time, and impact on multiple aspects of people’s lives. Space for strategic choice is nearly always available to some degree, but the parameters of that choice can be dramatically restricted or enhanced by context. The wide range of experience presented in this collection shines a light on the wealth of knowledge and insights about housing that our students regularly bring to the DPU’s learning processes.

Also by Ruchika Lall – Reflections on Waste, Informality, and Scaling Up

It is the Sinhala – Tamil new year, and my colleague (and friend) at Sevanatha Urban Resource Centre warmly invites me to her hometown, an eight-hour picturesque train journey from Colombo into the Sri Lankan countryside. For almost a week, I have the good fortune to meet her entire family and witness the rituals of celebration that bring multiple generations together in the same space to celebrate the new year. And in this celebration, I see how my friend explains to her Attamma (grandmother) about her work and her life in the city, as Attamma listens proudly. In the evening Attamma teaches us how to prepare her recipe for chicken curry. In many subtle examples, I witness, as is the case with numerous South Asian families, how families find spaces for conversation to share generational wisdom, and yet balance this with the freshness of the aspirations of the younger generation. Embedded in these rituals that make Sri Lanka – is an acknowledgement of the value of learnings compounded over time, and an evolving openness to new ways of living.

Move back into the changing urban-scape of development in Colombo, and my reason for being at Sevanatha Urban Resource Centre, through the DPU-ACHR-CAN internship programme. I wonder – as families continuously learn to balance and juggle old values and new – can Sri Lanka’s urban institutions similarly evoke a similar dialogue between old approaches and new aspirations – through spaces of institutional learning and reflexive conversations?

I write about longitudinal learnings, because Sri Lanka has a unique past of urban housing programmes[1] – one which saw people centred urban development processes piloted, and then scaled nationally. These are approaches and conversations that the Development Planning Unit has very much been a part of[2]. Between 1980 and 2010, more than 90 percent of the classified underserved [3] settlements have benefitted from some form of upgrading[4]. However, times are changing in Colombo, and the current Urban Regeneration Programme (URP) seems intent on disregarding this legacy. In a distinct move away from earlier in-situ development models, the URP now looks to relocate settlements that have often engaged in years of upgrading processes, in a rush to transform Colombo into a world-class city, newly emerged after decades of civil conflict.

In 2018, the pulse of urban development in Colombo is rather urgent and anxious. Indeed, in the anxiety to create a strategic regional hub of finance and the knowledge economy[5], there has been much loss of institutional memory. This is paradoxical as such memory can be an inherently rich resource of learning through longitudinal reflection. In terms of housing policy, there is much merit in revisiting the past to reflect on the impacts, challenges and limitations of earlier housing programmes and asking how can these learnings inform current housing programmes?

This summer, the DPU field trip for MSc Urban Development Planning (UDP) students, facilitated by Sevanatha, attempted to recreate a space of reflection on settlement upgrading and relocation processes in Colombo. Founded in 1989 as an intermediary NGO between the state and communities, at a time when the state was clearly recognised as an enabler of people-led housing processes, Sevanatha were uniquely positioned to intermediate this project. Along with the experience of navigating almost three decades of shifting policies, overtime, Sevanatha have cultivated strong relationships with actors from within the state, communities, academia and civil society, making it possible to bring together multiple perspectives and open up a space of reflection on longitudinal learning.

For two weeks in May, UDP students were able to ground their research in three unique sites across Colombo – Nawagampura, Muwadora Uyana and Mayura Place.

1. Nawagampura: Originally emerging as a planned relocation site in the 1980s, the interceding years have seen waves of informal appropriation, incremental self and state supported upgrading, transform Nawagampura into a community that belies its classification as an underserved Whilst not without its challenges, Nawagampura bears little resemblance to the underserved caricature put forward as justification for the URP.
2. Muwadora Uyana: A multi-block, high-rise housing scheme, in which residents arrived from multiple relocation sites across the city, Muwadora Uyana is a recent URP project. The scheme offers many layers to unpack, including significant variance in the way in which each family (indeed each family member) experiences relocation.
3. Mayura Place: Although officially existing as a URP relocation project, the twelve-storey development of Mayura Place could also be reclassified as an in-situ upgrading project given the site’s proximity to residents’ original dwellings and the active political engagement of residents throughout the process. This site offered a window into the value of maintaining social networks during relocation, whilst also opening up conversations concerning how different design, planning, engagement and management processes can impact residential experiences of relocation.

Within the three sites, and the larger context of urban development in Colombo, it was possible to observe a shift in the priorities and mandates of urban development institutions. With the facilitation of Sevanatha, a workshop and multi-stakeholder panel discussion was convened at the University of Moratuwa. The workshop enabled reflections from government professionals, academia and housing rights activists – each offering a different perspective on the challenges and opportunities of upgrading and relocation processes in the city of Colombo. Through these discussions, it was interesting to note how state programmes did engage in an internal reflection process that fed back into individual programme designs – for example changes to the apartment design across phases of the URP. The discussions however also highlighted the need for a space of cross-learning and longitudinal reflection on the shift in housing policies and programme approaches more broadly, taking a view that spans much further than electoral cycles or project tenure. As a long-term actor in Sri Lanka witness to these shifts over the last three decades, and as an intermediary between the state, civil society and local communities, Sevanatha has an important convening role to play in extending these much-needed reflections on urban development.

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Ruchika Lall

Ruchika Lall participated in the third wave of the DPU/ACHR/CAN Young Professionals Programme. During her time in the programme, she was embedded with Sevanatha Urban Resource Centre in Colombo, Sri Lanka. Ruchika is also an alumna of the DPU’s MSc Building and Urban Design in Development (BUDD) programme

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[1] Such as the Million Houses programme and the Urban Settlements Improvement project

[2] DPU engagement in the Million Houses Programme was started by Desmond McNeil, Patrick Wakely, Babar Mumtaz, Ronaldo Ramirez and Caren Levy. This involved capacity building with the Sri Lanka National Housing Development Authority, with funding from ODA from 1984-1990

[3] The term underserved settlements is specific to Sri Lanka’s classification of areas identified in the late 90s as low income with various constraints regarding access to basic services and tenure.

[4] As documented by a survey in 2012 by Sevanatha Urban Resource Centre, Colombo Municipal Council and Homeless International

[5] Western Region Megapolis Master Plan

This post was prepared by Balint Horvarth, Mateo Lu, Fernando Toro, Nada Sallam and Karlene Stubbs with editorial support from Tim Wickson and Barbara Lipietz

 

Introduction

It is not every day that 35 post-graduate students from 21 countries have the opportunity to travel to a new country, partner with local organisations and policy makers and learn from the urban policies and practices at play there. In May 2018, this opportunity was presented to us through our MSc Urban Development Planning field trip. After months of desk-based preparation, we left London for Colombo (Sri Lanka) with only one certainty in mind: we were going to learn, not to solve. Our ambition was to listen to the city and reflect on what the different voices were telling us.

Guided throughout by Sevanatha Urban Resource Centre, a local non-governmental organisation (NGO), our work in Colombo focussed on exploring upgrading and resettlement in the context of an active state-led Urban Regeneration Programme (URP). The URP aims to deliver a slum-free Colombo by 2023 by moving 75,000 households out of so-called under-served settlements and into high-rise housing projects. Implemented by the Urban Development Authority (UDA), the programme’s financial model rests on a combination of end-user repayments and market cross-subsidy generated by the release of liberated land for private sector development.

Working in collaboration with recent planning, sociology and social work graduates from three local universities, our research benefited from in-depth discussions with affected local communities; face to face meetings with government officials; as well as structured inputs from a host of Colombo based experts and activists. Based on these experiences, we were able to build up nuanced understandings of how urban and housing policies operate at different scales in Colombo; problematise the under-served settlement and slum-free discourses; and begin exploring cracks for alternative urban development approaches in the city.

During our time in Colombo, we were encouraged to blend an appreciation of theory with an awareness of how urban practices get materialised in the city. This approach helped unpack relationships between different actors; and exposed the differential impacts of vested interests and influences at different scales. We worked with communities from across three sites in Colombo – Muwadora Uyana, Nawagampura and Mayura Place – and each contributed uniquely to our picture of the city.

 

Site 1: Muwadora Uyana

In the case of Muwadora Uyana, we chose to investigate how the Urban Regeneration Programme had impacted the quality of life enjoyed by those families and individuals who had been moved from settlements across the city into the high-rise housing complex that is Muwadora Uyana. As far as possible, and given the limited research time available, our (action) research and propositions were guided by the ideas and themes that arose from initial discussions with residents themselves. This approach enabled us to identify what quality of life meant to the relocated residents; avoiding the imposition of a normative framing.

 

Building out from this embedded definition; we pursued a mixed-methods approach comprised of floor by floor spatial analysis; participatory mapping with young people and children; and semi-structured interviews with over 30 residents. In so doing, we were able to unpack why it was that some people who are relocated into high-rises are able to thrive, whilst others struggle to survive.

As well as highlighting the importance of embedded research and face-to-face dialogue with effected communities, this project served to challenge the assumption that all people have the capacity to adapt to living in high-rise conditions. In fact, for many groups and individuals, their agency for adaptation is limited. As such, by introducing agency as a crucial determinant of quality of life, our research problematised the fairness argument often-used to defend a relocation policy based on standardised, one-size-fits-all apartments. Indeed, we argue that this reframing creates space to consider alternative options for both current and future residents alike.

 

Site 2: Nawagampura

Nawagampura is a thriving neighbourhood originally established as a relocation site under the Million Houses Programme in the 1980s. Over the past 35 years, the settlement has evolved and consolidated, stitching its residents into the fabric of the city. However, despite its centrality, the buzz of daily economic activity, and residents’ access to a range of services and facilities, the neighbourhood is still classified as underserved. In the main, this classification relates to the fact that many residents still lack secure tenure; although a number of structures also lack individual toilets and others suffer from periodic flooding issues.

 

The diversity in residents’ experiences and opinions of their neighbourhood served as an interesting point of departure for our research. In the context of state-led efforts to transform Colombo into a world-class city, all neighbourhoods classified by the state as underserved have been slated for future relocation. Though not under imminent threat of relocation, Nawagampura presented a rare opportunity to challenge the stereotypical depiction of underserved settlements and communities that underpins much of the state’s thinking around resettlement in Colombo.

Working directly with residents, community-leaders, and members of resident-associations we sought to provide a more nuanced picture of the challenges and opportunities associated with living in settlements such as Nawagampura. By helping reframe underserved settlements as complex and varied communities, this approach allowed for the development of grounded strategies in defence of in-situ upgrading as a just alternative to one-size-fits-all relocation. 

 

Site 3: Mayura Place

Mayura Place (or Lakhmutu Sevana), sits at the edge of an area previously dominated by textile mills and weavers’ colonies. With the wider site long since shuttered and cleared for luxury real estate development, Mayura Place development is often depicted as a success story of the UDA’s Urban Regeneration Programme’s (URP); an exemplary demonstration of how underserved working-class communities can be successfully resettled into purpose-built high-rise towers. However, as our research unfolded, a more complex picture began to emerge.

 

On the one hand, the experience of Mayura Place residents reinforces the value of keeping communities together during relocation from horizontal settlements to high-rise apartments, as well as relocating communities as close as possible to their original homes. Such an approach, contrasting with larger URP projects that drew residents from across Colombo and constituted new communities through a lottery allocation process, has clearly limited the disruptive impact of relocation on the social fabric of Mayura Place and offers valuable learnings for the UDA.

On the other hand, a number of issues were brought up in discussion with inhabitants, questioning the ‘success story’ of Mayura Place. In particular, many residents are grappling with the shortage of common and private space necessary to realise a dignified existence, whilst the appropriateness of high-rise living for certain household industries was raised by a number of our interlocutors. Importantly too, the extent to which the burden of management and maintenance is born equally between residents and the UDA remains unresolved. Meanwhile, there remain serious issues regarding the fact that not all of the original Mayura Place community received rehousing in this block, due to an inconsistency between the UDA’s apartment for a house replacement policy and the reality of multi-family occupancy in former dwellings. Additionally, for those who have received replacement housing, many still lack official documentation recognising their right to secure tenure status.

Whilst our discussions with the UDA hinted at an apparent openness to debate and institutional learning, it remains to be seen how far this is constrained by the programme’s overarching ambition to liberate commercially valuable land and beautify Colombo. Overall, when considering the exceptionality of Mayura Place within the UDA’s broader urban regeneration programme, it is important to look beyond the façade and embrace this case in all its complexity.

 

Closing Reflections

Working across three distinct communities in Colombo provided a unique insight into the overlapping processes of regeneration, resettlement and upgrading at play in Colombo. Whether working in Muwadora Uyana – a labyrinthine high-rise housing complex home to 5,000 residents from across Colombo; Nawagampura – a vibrant working-class neighbourhood that is still classified as underserved despite significant upgrading initiatives; or Mayura Place – a former weavers colony now verticalised and stacked within Colombo’s largest luxury residential enclave – it was clear that the voice of Colombo’s diverse communities was almost entirely missing from formal plan-making in the city.

Delving into this issue further, our time in Colombo focussed on exploring and elaborating the cracks for alternative policy and practice to gain a foothold in the city, proposing grounded strategies for change and laying a foundation for future fieldwork projects to build upon. Example strategies included:

• Community-led Building Management – Increasing Transparency through Community Contracting: Building on Sevanatha’s existing experience with community-contracting models, this strategy was proposed for two reasons. First, to recognise the capacity of relocated residents to take ownership of common areas within high-rise developments; and second, to increase transparency around the way in which UDA-controlled maintenance funds are currently deployed.
• Learning Platforms – Bringing People to Policy: This strategy was designed to help systematise and extend the existing learning practices employed by the UDA through the creation of multi-actor learning platforms. These platforms would institutionalise multi-directional communication between actors from the state (UDA, Colombo Municipal Council etc.), representatives from academic, activist and civil society organisations, and local communities. By bringing together conversations and relationships that currently exist in isolation, this strategy aims to build synergies between actors helping identify and resolve issues within existing housing stock and planning processes and allowing the lived experience of residents to inform forward looking policy and design decisions.
• Changing Planning Language – Challenging the discourse of Underserved Settlements: Building on Sevanatha’s earlier mapping of Colombo’s underserved settlements, this strategy proposed the development of neighbourhood profiles (based on resident survey data, asset and risk mapping, documentation of upgrading etc.). These profiles would then be used to both challenge the idea that all underserved settlements suffer from an identical set of challenges; and strengthen the negotiation position of communities in the context of relocation.

Embedded in the lived experience of three specific communities, the tentative strategies proposed during this project sprung from a common source – the need to reintroduce complexity, diversity and fluidity into a planning context intent on sorting Colombo into the static, binary categories of underserved and regenerated; world class and working class; planners and the planned for. By failing to account for the multiple realities and capacities of Colombo residents, this reductive framing shuts down the space to think differently about urban development in Colombo and encourages the proliferation of top-down, standardised development models. In contrast, a reframed understanding of Colombo’s communities as dynamic, diverse, capable and connected creates room to advocate, adapt and evolve planning processes towards the achievement of more just, people-centred development. This reading of Colombo planning resonates strongly with ongoing work by academics, activists and civil society organisations in the city, some of whom are already actively engaged in efforts to develop and convey this message onwards to decision-makers. In this way, the fieldwork project enabled the DPU to add its voice to a growing call for more socially, spatially and environmentally just development.

Lastly, we would like to express our gratitude for the fantastic support provided by the MSc UDP staff team as well as all of our project partners in Colombo. In particular, special thanks is owed to Chularathna Herath (Executive Director of Sevanatha Urban Resource Centre) and Ruchika Lall (DPU alumna and DPU/ACHR/CAN Young Professional).