where paths converge

Thinking about the characteristics of these so-called "places of meeting" - places in our communities where people from all backgrounds and strata of society can come together purposefully, as equals - I thought that some of the views expressed by geographer Fi-Yu Tuan in his book, Space and Place: the Perspective of Experience, were worth reflecting on.

Tuan shares some interesting thoughts on how the way we use and design space reflects the way we conceive of society. In a chapter on architectural space and awareness, he traces how the progressively increasing fragmentation of society is reflected in the way we use space today. In past times, he notes, the social, economic and religious aspects of our lives tended to be integrated. Both the meaning and functionality of space reflected this. Those spaces which were accorded a high social value usually also had a strong religious significance. Naturally, our built environment reflected the harmony between these elements.

Tuan goes on to note how our modern world has become more compartmentalised. Not only has the economy been divorced form society, but both have been separated from religion. And just as these elements go on co-existing in different spheres, so too do the places we create reinforce this disconnection. Our sky-scrapers and business centres belong to one part of the city - fast-moving, devoid of nature, reserved for one segment of the population. While our temples, churches and mosques exist in other localities, as do our schools and hospitals. Different roads, different directions for the different compartments of our lives.

So perhaps one characteristic of these places of meeting is that we will see houses of worship side by side with local centres for education and health, with local trading, with performance spaces and the arts. So that we don't forget the interconnectedness of these aspects of our collective lives, nor the coherent nature of our identity whether we are at work, with our families, or in a place of worship. Perhaps this way of conceiving space, of conceiving our lives, will help these places to reflect the sacred nature of all these activities, and the coherence between who we are, and what we do.

Tuan also discusses society's transition from believing in an all-explaining "cosmos" to possessing "splintered beliefs and conflicting ideologies." Symptoms, we could say, of a post-modern world trying to come to terms with the challenge of breaking with the oppressive meta-narratives of the past, without having yet agreed on a contemporary source of unity and common understanding.

For Tuan, humanity's divided sentimental reaction to the sky-scraper embodies this splintered belief system. He notes how individuals can hold opposing views of the sky-scraper - for some it represents a symbol of human progress and accomplishment, for others a threat or sign of greed - this in spite of the fact that the high-rise "is the product of an age to which we all belong." As Tuan notes, there is no consensus on the meaning of the artefacts of modern culture.

But before taking this view too far, perhaps it's important to underscore that individual human sensibilities and interpretive frameworks will naturally take away different meanings from like objects and events. For centuries, the diverse palette of expression that a unique image can evoke has been the stuff poetry is made of. But going beyond these more artistic or romantic sensibilities, perhaps it could be argued that such places also stand as symbols for the institutions they are housing - whether that be the family, the government, the banks or religion. Would it be fair to say that humanity is approaching - and desires - a common understanding of the nature of these institutions and the roles they ought to play in our life? To this extent, does Tuan's perceived societal polarisation over the meaning of the skyscraper reflect a deeper discord over the character and ideology of the business world it represents? For a "place of meeting" to truly welcome all, can we expect that some agreement on these questions would be necessary?

Finally, Tuan also touches on the point of community participation in the construction of places. The last post featured a video of a talk by architect Mark Raymond, where he evoked the idea of moving towards a broader definition of architecture as the "construction of the built environment" (as opposed to the exclusive work of experts). This may seem like a new concept, but until recent times this did indeed reflect the building process, which was literally all hands on deck in the physical construction of buildings. This included sites of worship, for which construction itself was regarded as a sacred act. Naturally, going back to this approach would probably be a bit counter-productive. But this doesn't rule out a space in architecture for active participation. It's one thing for people to no longer build their own houses. But, as Tuan points out, "nor do they participate even in a token manner in the construction of public monuments."

And herein lies our problem. To be "inclusive," places of meeting need to reflect the viewpoints of those who are to use them. And though it might be helpful to come up with some over-arching principles for such places (some of the ideas mentioned here include reintegrating the different aspects of society into one place or site; seeking out common understanding as to the nature and functions of our institutions for which our buildings are constructed to house; and ensuring that planning takes place through a participatory process), ultimately the construction of these places should be undertaken in accordance with the needs and ideas of those who are going to use them. So that all have a stake in building the communities of the future, and in fashioning the environments in which such communities will flourish.

designing inclusive spaces for participation and community

A previous post, "timeless places," touched on the idea that the construction of places within the paradigm of 'modernity' appears to us as natural, as a given. As though the modern city is the inevitable outcome of humanity's progress.

In the TEDxTalks video above, architect Mark Raymond delivers a compelling talk suggesting the contrary. From the practical perspective of 'architecture', which he defines as the "construction of the built environment" (and not as specialised knowledge reserved for experts, setting the stage for his more participatory vision of society), Raymond reflects on the values underpinning the ways that we create and use space within this paradigm of modernity, and the impact these choices have upon society.

Raymond feels that the city planning ethos that saturates government priorities everywhere in their quest for 'modernisation' (high rise developments, shopping malls, highways...) undermines the city's capacity to accommodate broad social interaction:

Those types of buildings, while they work for segments of society, don't work for everybody. They're not equitable.

For Raymond, this lack of equity comes down to a question of access. As he points out, getting jobs in those high-rise developments requires access to a certain level of education and often, by default, to adequate resources, just as access to shopping malls hinges on access to a disposable income. According to Raymond, these urban design choices - far from being the inevitable solution to a sprawling, out-of-control megalopolis - are made to privilege economic profit over social benefit, the latter of which would likely result in more construction of places like schools, parks or pedestrian friendly streets.

As for the impact of these choices, Raymond sees them as leading to the increased polarisation of society, a society divided into isolated pockets of activity, access to which depends on means.

So, if we really are serious about the need for 'places of meeting' which can accommodate everyone, not just segments of society, what role can architecture play in creating spaces that encourage interaction and a sense of community?

Raymond rightly points out that design alone cannot overcome the various forces at play in the increase of this polarisation. Nevertheless, he does see value in using architecture to address the conditions within which people live, whereby the design of places within which all members of society can participate could contribute to the creation of more equitable societies.

Thus as co-creators of the spaces we live in, we should give some thought to determining the kinds of usage that would privilege community building - Raymond suggests spaces for children to play with others, spaces for performance, spaces for people to do things they like to do collectively, or spaces for reflection. We could also add spaces for learning, spaces for worship, spaces for sports activities, or spaces for gardening. In short, places of meeting where people can come together, and advance together.

For Raymond, this implies breaking down barriers - removing the stigma around income levels, race, and where one lives. So that these spaces demonstrate an inclusive society. To do that, people need to feel included - we need to design spaces with everyone in mind. But more than that, we need to design spaces modelled on the types of communities that we want. These are as much questions of design as they are questions about the very nature of community. What kinds of activities would we do together? What would define the nature of our relationships? And what kinds of spaces would promote these fruitful interactions?

These are essentially Raymond's questions, from the perspective of the architecture of our cities. And they are perhaps most powerful because simply asking them implies that we have a choice in the characteristics of our urban spaces, which ultimately reflect how we as a community see ourselves, and what we see ourselves as doing together.

timeless places

"Let everyone look at the space around them. What do they see? Do they see time? They live time, after all; they are in time. Yet all anyone sees is movements. In nature, time is apprehended within space - in the very heart of space: the hour of the day, the season, the elevation of the sun above the horizon, the position of the moon and stars in the heavens, the cold and the heat, the age of each natural being, and so on. Until nature became localised in underdevelopment, each place showed its age and, like a tree trunk, bore the mark of the years it had taken to grow. Time was thus inscribed in space, and natural space was merely the lyrical and tragic script of natural time ... With the advent of modernity time has vanished from social space. It is recorded solely on measuring-instruments, on clocks, that are as isolated and functionally specialised as this time itself."

As I read this passage from French sociologist Henri Lefebvre, I found myself a little taken aback by the significance of this claim - have our modern cities, our urban lifestyles, uprooted us from temporal reality, transporting us into a sort of timelessness?  

Maybe what Lefebvre is really talking about is our shared sense of history. With the erasure of time, a place becomes ahistorical. In our modern cities, nothing is built to last. Everything can be built anew. Buildings are here today and gone tomorrow. Local businesses open up and then close back down. So that any traces of the past can simply become lost along with the memories of passing generations. As its residents, we rarely question how a place came to be. Places just are. The paradigm of modernity within which we live becomes invisible, appearing to us not as a choice, not as one of many possible models that was selected (or imposed) among others, but as an inevitability. 

What are the implications of these ideas for community building within a neighbourhood? 

A first consideration might be a community's sense of ownership. If collectively we do not feel intertwined with the history of a place, does it affect the way we conceive of our role in the development of its future? 

Another consideration might concern our sense of progress. If we cannot conceive of place as existing in time, how can we conceptualise where it stands on a path of an ever-advancing civilisation? Perhaps this is one of the effects that the shift towards a more consumerist society has had on the places within which we live. Materialism writes its own histories, based on its notions of who we are and what our purpose in life should be. The consumerist motor that drives the development of our cities forward propels us to look ahead, towards infinite novel possibilities, but with little sense of direction nor purpose. 

This leads to yet another consideration - our sense of responsibility towards our planet. In promoting an urban design that personifies humanity's triumph over nature, modernity is cutting us off from the natural world. A rampantly growing materialism has built over it, covering up the destruction of our planet being left in its wake (behind smooth surfaces, long roads and towering edifices).

How does this all affect our sense of oneness with our planet, as beings wound up in a common fate with each other and with the world?

The consumerist credo underpinning the very structures of our modern society has taught us to expect whatever we want, whenever we want it. Even our food is no longer bound by the seasonal conditions of a given place. Have seasons, too, lost their meaning, now that we no longer live according to nature's rhythm? Is it thus surprising that our collective sense of responsibility towards the nature we have blindly inherited is diminishing? That, in pursuit of modernity, our actions wreak havoc on a planet whose greatest assets are increasingly hidden from our eyes? How to recover this sense of oneness, how to rekindle an organic connection with place, while still embarking on a course of progress?

A final consideration is the following perspective on the value of history, taken from the Baha'i publication, The Century of Light.

History is a powerful instrument. At its best, it provides a perspective on the past and casts a light on the future. It populates human consciousness with heroes, saints and martyrs whose example awakens in everyone touched by it capacities they had not imagined they possessed. It helps make sense of the world and of human experience. It inspires, consoles and enlightens. It enriches life. In the great body of literature and legend that it has left to humanity, history's hand can be seen at work shaping much of the course of civilisation - in the legends that have inspired the ideals of every people since the dawn of recorded time... 

To feel engaged in a process, to perceive humanity as being on a path of progress, perhaps we need to feel that we are part of its shared history. For places, real places, just as much as people, are inscribed with the stories of how we got to where we are - stories of heroism and triumph; stories - often gone untold - of humanity's nobility, of its potential. Stories that illustrate our oneness. And perhaps within these stories lie vital clues to where we are going, as well as signs of what we care about.

Is there a feeling that such features of place are missing from our current urban models? And, to return to the original question, what are some implications of these ideas on community building processes within a neighbourhood? 

Would love to hear any thoughts :)