meeting places as a basis for unity

At a recent gathering in our home, where people from various backgrounds, with diverse mother tongues, different coloured skin, various rituals for how they practice their faith, and different names to call their beliefs, came together to pray, to consult, and to celebrate the birthdays of various members of the local community, a question was posed:


"What is unity?"


After some reflection, one participant raised his hand and responded, "It's us. Here, in this room." 

His contribution was met with a moment of silent acknowledgement. It was a very eloquent and appropriate reflection. Given the wars fought, the animosity fostered, the divisions created and segregation entrenched in the name of 'religion,' between different groups in all parts of the world, it was hard to ignore that what we were experiencing in that room, each time that we came together for such a purpose, represented a massive leap forward in human relations. And moved us an inch closer to the unity of humanity - even though it was in itself merely a glimmer of what this unity might look like on a global scale. 

For some time, we - and other neighbours - have been holding such gatherings in the unassuming settings of our living rooms. This act of coming together seems to have helped us, as a community, to become more conscious of the common threads that tie all of humanity together. The force of unity, as a light that has the power to illuminate the whole world, is making itself manifest in the relationships that are solidifying between a growing number of friends and through the power of attraction that is drawing more and more of us together in an act of collective devotion, reflection and discussion. 

Our living rooms have essentially been transformed into places of meeting that welcome an increasingly diverse range of people. This act of collective devotion has helped to reinforce a sense of oneness and a sense of common purpose. I have seen how establishing this common base - the meeting point, this moment of acknowledgement that there is a single Creator binding us all together - affects the way we interact. The cause for the spiritual and material wellbeing of our neighbourhood is increasingly becoming a common one, whose advancement more and more members work towards as equal partners. Thanks to such meetings, the act of coming together to reflect and to plan concrete actions in our neighbourhood - which we ultimately implement and learn from together - has become a natural part of the pattern of community life. Coming together for the purpose of advancement, both individually and collectively. 

And, as noted, there is no doubt that these brief, shared moments together - the burgeoning light of unity - are but a mere glimpse of what this would look like at larger and larger scales. But irrespective of the scale, seeing it here, on the home front, one cannot help but feel a tremendous sense of hope, that unity in diversity is a real possibility, that these places of meeting are closer to us than we think. And that unity, as our friend proclaimed, starts here with us. 

divided spaces, parallel places

Backlash and panic over what have come to be perceived as pockets of exclusion created by the erection of isolated, high rise social housing estates has sparked a new wave of urban design policy in France. In an attempt to create a more balanced society, "la mixité" is an approach that seeks to bring together a diverse range of housing types into one space - from private, to public, and everything in between.

It's a great shift in thinking about how to design spaces that seek to unite, rather than divide, an increasingly diverse range of individuals - to create communities that reflect all walks of life. Yet I also feel that care must be taken to avoid simplistic solutions as a kind of silver bullet for the inequalities facing society today. Whilst critical, planning solutions alone are inadequate to seal the cracks that divide our societies. To some extent, spatial proximity can be entirely irrelevant when it comes to bringing people together; multiple worlds can co-exist right along side each other, even within a common space. An aeroplane might serve as a good analogy - passengers may share a pilot, an engine - in fact, an entire aircraft - yet there is a world of difference between the curtained-off journeys of first and economy class.

This notion of "parallel places" coexisting in close proximity is poignantly illustrated in yet another excerpt from the book, Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience, by geographer Yi-Fu Tuan. Tuan offers the example of different workers within an office building to elucidate this point:

People may work in the same building and yet experience different worlds because their unequal status propels them into different circulatory routes and work areas. Maintenance men and janitors enter through the service doors at the back and move along the 'guts' of the building, while executives and their secretaries enter by the front door and move through the spacious lobby and well-lit passageways to their brightly furnished offices.

With its multiple entrances and passageways, this one building in effect harbours multiple worlds, within which workers can go on co-existing without ever crossing paths. After reading Tuan's comments, I started to think about how these divided spaces and parallel places are everywhere - even right in our own neighbourhoods.

My husband and I live in an area comprising largely of privately-owned, semi-detached housing (where we rent), touched on all sides by various social housing estates, ranging in size from clusters of tall high rise buildings to smaller, more discrete blocks of apartments. Having arrived here a few years ago, we moved in, and to this day have considered all of these residences as part of our neighbourhood. We have had the fortune of making friends who come from all the various types of dwellings.

But discussions with different residents made me realise that they don't necessarily see each other that way - or see each other at all. One experience that really marked me was when we went to visit a house for sale a few blocks away. As a sales pitch, the owner went out of her way to assure us that she didn't even notice the high rise buildings that tower over the neighbourhood, and that the people there never bothered her. I suppose as prospective property owners, she assumed this would offer some reassurance to us.

At first I was kind of astounded at the sheer absurdity of the notion that these dominating, towering edifices could be rendered invisible to residents living a mere few blocks away.  But I guess this absurdity gets to the heart of the matter. Blocking them out requires some kind of dismissal of this place and the people living there.

It also made me more conscious of the different worlds within our neighbourhood, both of which - by some good fortune - we were simultaneously experiencing. In addition to their perceptions, peoples' experiences of these common places vary greatly - much like the first class/economy flight. Their taxes might finance a shared road, but while some of them will experience it as being too narrow from behind their steering wheels, others will experience it as that dangerously bumpy surface you try not to trip over while running to get your train in heels ... (at least, that's my experience...).

All of this seems to suggest that genuinely open places of meeting are about more than the physical sites, even though such sites are undoubtedly a good starting point. A meeting place is a mindset. Who we see as belonging where, and who we include as being part of our space, or who we exclude, whether consciously or subconsciously, reflects the way we relate to different members of our neighbourhoods.

Tuan rightly notes that neighbourhood as a concept is highly subjective. Who it includes depends largely on boundaries that we, as its residents, create:

The street where one lives is part of one's intimate experience. The larger unit, neighbourhood, is a concept. The sentiment one has for the local street corner does not automatically expand in the course of time to cover the entire neighbourhood. Concept depends on experience, but it is not an inevitable consequence of experience.

So the emergence of true places of meeting that welcome an increasingly diverse range of people depends more than anything on the will of those people. Governments can provide social centres and parks and strive for 'le mixité' - and governments should keep doing these things. But uniting people spatially is just the first step in overcoming the divisions within society. Truly uniting people depends most critically upon their ability to see each other as one human family, to see past man-made perceptions of our supposed places in the world. It depends upon the recognition of a fundamental truth: that humanity is one, as captured in the following Baha'i writing:

Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch. Deal ye one with another with the utmost love and harmony, with friendliness and fellowship...So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the whole earth. 

public space revival

In a recent post, I shared an article and a few thoughts on the decline of public spaces in the name of privatisation. Today I came across another article in Slate that highlighted instances of a reversal of this trend: private spaces being converted into public spaces.

The article describes how an abandoned former supermarket warehouse was purchased by the City and converted into a public library, with the intent of "establishing a community gathering place." Other such projects have converted abandoned supermarkets into schools, chapels and court houses. 

The buildings that the article describes have been abandoned by businesses in pursuit of bigger spaces. But I can't help but think how with the debris of the financial crisis taking the form of abandoned homes and empty warehouses, this approach holds much promise. 

The article also references this Wikireuse site, which documents community creativity and agency in converting abandoned "corporate real estate" into places for the community. Founder Julia Christensen explains the purpose of the project:

As superstores abandon buildings in order to move into bigger stores, what will become of the walls that they leave behind? It is within the answer to this question that we are seeing the resourcefulness and creativity of communities across the United States, as they struggle to deal with a challenge that is emerging all over the country: the empty big box store. 

Christensen is driven by a desire to change the course of urban development, from cities overrun with large, private corporations, to a future built environment designed with input from communities themselves: 

Big box buildings densely populate the landscape of the United States. Ultimately, we need to change the course of this development, before our land is completely overrun with this corporate, homogenous structure. The structures are environmentally hazardous, as they remove square miles of green space, replace it with impermeable surfaces, and harness the auto-centric culture of one-stop shopping. Unfortunately, we do not have a magic wand with which to wish away existing structures. In fact, they are not easily recyclable ... By looking at how communities are using these structures, and by exploring design issues from the ground up, we can begin to steer the future design of our built environment with informed awareness, as cities and towns learn to regain control over the design decisions that shape the future of their communities. 

Needless to say, I'm a bit of a fan of her project. Not so much because of the 'reclaiming' of public space per se, but because while it is an optimistic project, it's also a highly pragmatic one: starting with what we have, but developing innovative ways to transform this into something of value to the community.

In my first post, introducing this blog, I shared a view that we don't need to go out in search of places of meeting, that we can build them together, to make manifest the world that we wish for right here - in our living rooms, in our parks, in our local markets.

Perhaps Christensen's approach is building on a similar idea - encouraging communities to create places of meeting within the neighbourhoods they are in, using the resources they have - the empty lots and box like buildings. Transforming dull, inutile spaces, where form has been completely subsumed by function, into more vibrant places of meeting, where communities can gather to partake in activities that they have chosen for themselves.

Here are just a few examples from the site:

where paths clash

I was quite impressed by an Australian film I saw this evening, Mad Bastards (check out the trailer above). Set in the Kimberley region of Western Australia, the story and film were developed over several years with a local Aboriginal community, many of whom also make up the cast of the film. While addressing some of the harsh realities that the actor-characters have lived through, I found it nevertheless a story infused with hope, where its main protagonists and the community they belonged to were depicted with a strong sense of agency, and a pulsating determination to move their lives forward.

A line from the protagonist of the film, T.J., quite struck me. Gazing over the vast plains of the Kimberley, T.J. comments to his new friend (in the screen shot above), "you must have a lot of sacred places around here," to which his friend responds in the positive. He then goes on to describe his own home place, Perth, the capital city of W.A.

T.J. recounts how the sacred sites of this land are now covered up by a road and a bridge. A natural spring had a brewery built on it. He described the anger this stirred up in him as a child, throwing rocks at it at whatever chance he got (an image that is certainly intended to be symbolic in the film, since the alcohol such a brewery produces now serves as one of T.J.'s weaknesses. He is still fighting that brewery, one way or another).

I thought it was worth a few brief reflections on the vast ideological differences between the two visions of this land as evidenced by these comments.

For T.J., the land was inscribed with a sense of history, and with the stories of his origins. In his book Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience, geographer Yi-Fu Tuan describes this "origin myth" as being linked to an individual's sense of identity.  Quoting T.G.R. Strehlow from the book Aranda Tradition, Tuan notes that "he finds recorded in his land the ancient story of the lives and deeds of the immortal beings from whom he himself is descended, and whom he reveres. The whole countryside is his family tree." Strehlow also comments how "to Australian natives, topographical features are a record of 'who were here, and did what'. They are also a record of 'who are here now'."

As a result, strong emotional ties are established with the land itself, ties that teach one to value it as a sacred space and that encourage contentment with one's own homeland. Tuan describes how a member of the Ilbalintja tribe explained to Anthropologist Strehlow, "Our fathers taught us to love our own country, and not to lust after the lands belonging to other men."

Clearly, this view of 'the land' is in stark contrast to that which these images of roads and bridges represent. This usage envisages space as a way to move people, and to move them quickly, encouraging transit rather than settlement and attachment. This is all done in the name of development, in an attempt to create a faster, more accessible, more open Perth.

My intention here is not to get into details about the pros and cons of each approach. What I am interested in highlighting is how a fundamental difference between aboriginal people and their then colonisers concerned how they saw the land and its purposes. The act of arriving and stamping the land with one's flagpole is ideologically very far removed from the credo above that discourages the 'lusting' after land belonging to others. Land as a commodity, as something to be claimed and possessed, represented the ideas of the West making their mark on this space. In tandem, the building of roads and breweries signified the spatial erasure of the stories that served as a testament to how these communities came to be, and to who they still saw themselves as.

The appeal here is not one to go back; for there is nowhere to go back to. In places like Perth, that time is lost. But it is worth being reminded of how dramatically our conceptions of space can differ, and how those with less power have their perceptions of space so easily cast aside. In these cases, places of meeting can become places of conflict; when peoples' paths cross, they clash rather than merge.

How can we collectively perceive our connection to a land then, in this 21st century melting pot that we now live in? How can we share a vision of the way to use space that benefits everyone, while remaining respectful of a diversity of views and beliefs? These questions go much beyond who owns what, which would be a very superficial reading of the dilemma at hand. The heart of the issue concerns how we relate to a place, and how its usage can reflect those values we have in common. Any suggestions?

public spaces

Walking around one of our neighbourhood's newest parks, I thought to myself: this is something France gets right. Public spaces. It's clear that some thinking had gone into the design of this park, how it could reinforce a sense of community, and this is reflected in the way it is used. 

A large stretch of grass is frequently occupied by families and groups of mothers and friends, who come from all over to picnic, to spend time together, to share laughter and to give children some space to play. No differences are made between who comes from where. On a sunny day, you're guaranteed to bump into many other families that you know. That's the main characteristic of public spaces, I suppose: they are open to everyone, without exception, and they permit a kind of organic, effortless union of people. A natural place of meeting. 

In this park, the grassed area is dotted with water fountains, which not only serve to beautify the space, but also provide much welcome relief to the (admittedly rare) summer's heat for children. It is hugged by flower beds on each side, behind which, on one side, there is play equipment for children, and on the other ping pong tables. One of my favourite sections is the vegetable garden. Since many residents live in tall apartment blocks, with no space for gardening, there are many plots available for growing local produce. So not only does this space invite the community to meet and reinforce bonds of friendship, it also encourages small scale, local farming.

There are other uses, too. On the side opposite is what you could call an educational area - labeled plant species to be admired and discovered by curious passers-by, but more significantly, little gardening plots dedicated to local primary schools classes. The plots are decorated with hand-drawn labels which identify the class that has created and is maintaining each unique, ornamental arrangement of colourful flowers (photos to come!). Overlooking the flower garden is an indoor area that features a long table and low chairs, to facilitate the learning of these children. Even in small ways, this place embodies values about local participation in the upkeep of the park. But, more importantly, it puts nature back on the curriculum, and brings it back to the home front, not to some far away place in the country that they'll only visit as tourists on vacation. Introducing children to the notion of gardening and tending the soil, helping them understand the efforts that are needed to make things grow, reconnects them to an earth that is increasingly hidden from their eyes. Values not to be taken lightly in these times of environmental neglect and climate change concerns. 

And people do come from all over, even from the neighbouring suburb, to use this space for all these different purposes. Our council plans to create more like these, with numerous park projects in the pipes, and many at various stages of development. Yet, from what I can gather, this is going against trends in the West towards public spaces, which are increasingly facing privatisation in the name of efficiency and development. A recent article in the Guardian describes how many public spaces in Britain's cities have fallen into private hands. This privatisation has been praised by many as a way of channeling private funding into the development of neighbourhoods, where once neglected spaces are transformed into beautiful - or at least more useable - places. Sometimes this might be parks and recreational areas, though usually with restricted access; oftentimes these might be commercial spaces, such as shopping malls or restaurant strips.When, as in many cases, public sidewalks and streets become the only truly 'public' spaces left, perhaps we should stop and ask, at what cost? And, in whose vision of 'development'?Far from the community friendly park described above, a major criticism towards the privatisation of public spaces is that the uses of these spaces become reduced to the pursuit of narrow commercial - and by default consumerist - interests. The article quotes 'Occupy' activist Naomi Colvin, who argues, "It's a vision of society in which you work and you shop. At times when you are not working or shopping, you may go to restaurants. You may possibly go to some officially sanctioned kind of entertainment activity which is sponsored by X but there's no scope for people do so something of their own." As the article notes, "these spaces are being designed on a corporate model that favours ornament - and high footfall for retailers - while community spirit and sustainability are not a priority." So what the "community" does together in these spaces becomes very limited. What Colvin describes - going shopping, going to restaurants - are a very narrow set of activities that fuel a consumption based economy, values towards which the private sector is more partial, but which are not necessarily conducive to a fruitful community life. Interactions are reduced to consumerist pursuits, and choices are narrowed to what we can buy (or afford). In his book, 'The Right to the City,' French sociologist Henri Lefebvre describes how, over time, such planning changes the very nature of our social fabric:






















   

    



     

Some will put into practice and will conretise a directed consumer society. They will build not only commercial centres, but also centres of privileged consumption: the renewed city. They will by making 'legible' an ideology of happiness through consumption, joy by planning adapted to its new mission. This planning programmes a daily life generating satisfactions ... A programmed and computerised consumption will become the hard rule and norm for the whole society.

The article also highlights a reduced capacity for meeting in these places. Many members of the community are excluded from them, whether this is due to a lack of affordability or because private proprietors erect physical barriers. So, yes, the spaces might be more beautiful. But then, the most beautiful parts of the society are excluded from general public use.

Another article by cultural critic Henry Giroux frames the privatisation of public spaces as a threat to democratic values. Giroux describes the influence of a "neoliberal philosophy that reduces all relationships to the exchange of goods and money," where human agency is "replaced by market-based choices in which private satisfactions replace social responsibilities."

For Giroux then, the absence of public spaces signifies more than a lack of places to meet for recreation and to build community bonds, but represents rather an encroachment on public spheres for genuine exchange and discussion. 

 There is a growing sense in the popular imagination that citizen involvement, social planning and civic engagement are becoming irrelevant in a society in which the public sphere is aggressively dismantled and important social issues are trivialised into mainstream media. Those traditional, if not imagined, public spheres in which people could exchange ideas, debate, and shape the conditions that structured their everyday lives increasingly appear to have little relevance.

While Giroux's article goes on to take quite a political dimension, I find that his comments on public engagement and individual agency are worth reflecting on, particularly regarding the notion of who can best define how our neighbourhoods should be used.

The privatisation of space effectively excludes the public from having a say in its design and removes any thread of accountability towards them. The private sector has no obligation to take residents' views into account when deciding how to use the space it has purchased, and most of the time, it's in their best interests not to do so. This is not to say the private sector is completely indifferent to these questions, but rather that its primary incentive isn't to promote the public good.

These spaces, then, now beyond the reach of governments, become disconnected from issues of equity, social justice and civic responsibility. As French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu notes in the article, by surrendering control and ownership of these spaces, by outsourcing public goods, "government is discounted as a guardian of the public interest." Governments are effectively relinquishing their public duties.

This brings us then to a much bigger question - not just about how we uses spaces, nor whose interests this reflects, but on the role of government in providing the spaces (whether physical or otherwise) that reinforce the fabric of a vibrant community life, and that leave room for the exercise of individual participation. We see in the contrasting examples from France and the UK that the government has the power both to support community advancement, and to inhibit it.

We need thus to rethink the nature of the public, how new forms of social citizenship might be expressed through different institutions and spheres. Longing for a more human, participatory society requires agency, engagement and supportive institutions.

It seems to me then that true places of meeting - accessible to all, and reflective of the activities that bring out human beings' higher potential - require the involvement of engaged institutions, just as they require a vibrant community life and individuals who wish to contribute to this. And they require a renewed sense of the 'public', of people as people, not as private citizens, not as consumers, but as human beings who want to be able to express the multitude of things that make us human within the vicinity of their homes. And who want to know that they can do so as members of a public with equal stake in these spaces.

spaces for selling

So I need new glasses, and decided to check out a couple of the local spectacle stores. It turns out that these two stores, which face opposite each other, are opposite in may other ways too, and seemed to embody two very different ways of doing business. More specifically, two different attitudes to the role of work in one's life as well as different conceptions of the purpose of selling goods. At least, this is what was gleaned through my experiences in each store.

The first place was nice enough, and the sales clerk quite friendly. But there was an air of sterility about the place - perhaps an atmosphere towards sales that has become standardised through the large, impersonal supermarket model - everything is brightly lit, all of the products are on display in neat rows so that customers can come in and browse easily, without the need for interruption (or human contact). If we need help, we can ask, but what we see is what we get. If we like something, we buy it, if the shop doesn't have what we're looking for, come back another time. Much like the supermarket, shopping had become a solo trip through consumer-land, where the products alone should be sufficient to secure our interest.

At this point, I must add that finding glasses for me is an extremely difficult endeavour. I have a strangely small shaped/sized head meaning I need really tiny frames (my current pair is from the children's section, seriously). So I suppose I am a little more susceptible to the need for good service in this department. But nevertheless, service in the second store was so strikingly different to that encountered in practically any store I've entered, regardless of the product.

Owned by a young mother, the store has only been open for about six months. Upon walking in, my husband and I were a little taken aback - were we walking into a store, or into someone's living room? The centre piece was a couch, and then a table with chairs, while the glasses - the items for sale - were all tucked away on hard to get to shelving at the back. They were displayed in quite a decorative fashion which looked really nice, but which didn't match that ease of access to the glasses in the first store we visited - access required assistance.

The second thing we noticed was the bright, friendly face of the young woman who came to serve us. As usual, I explained my small-face predicament, as well as the details of what I was looking for (even though I know normally beggars can't be choosers...). She went straight away and brought me back a few different pairs, and each time I tried them she looked closely and gave her opinion. When it came down to two different pairs, she looked a while and said, "you know, these ones, they just become a part of your face." Okay, so it could just sound like a good sales technique. But she seemed to care about finding the right pair, which matters when you need to wear glasses often and don't want to make a fashion statement about them (i.e. just want to be able to see). So those were great words to hear.

When I inquired about her interesting and unusual range, she confided (with much passion) that she worked really hard to find things that were a bit unusual, in the hope that people could come and find products suited to them. She also tried to sell smaller brands that were a bit harder to find. I guess she was trying to go against the tide of mass-production. Irrespective of this business model, her prices were reasonable - in fact, better than the big brands you find everywhere. What impressed me more was the time she seemed to devote to this task - not because there was a major demand for it but because she was so passionate about it, and because she really wanted to try and provide more creative products for her customers.

I think it's rare to find someone so passionate about their work in any field, and also to see how this translates to her desire to serve her customers in every way - not only by trying to offer original products but also in her quest to create an ambience where everyone feels at home. She explained how that feeling we got when walking in was intentional - she wants her customers to be able to sit down and relax and for her to serve them, rather than that help-yourself-all-you-can eat supermarket model (my words, not hers). And then it dawned on me that perhaps we had simply gotten accustomed to this impersonal model - I am used to walking in and out of stores, browsing around, with barely even a "hello" to the sales clerk. When the relationship between the sales clerk and the customer is reduced to a simple economic transaction, there is no need for more than a hello, really. But when we set up shop in our own neighbourhood, when our main clients are our neighbours and inevitably friends, we have a different way of doing business. We conduct our service in a way that privileges building relationships rather than just exchanging goods. We try to offer quality over quantity and the best service possible. Even the spatial layout of the commercial space differs - the furniture arrangement clearly reflects the primacy of relations before sales, or at least as an integral part of the transaction.

I also inquired as to why she had decided to open such a specialist store here in the suburb we live in, which is hardly a hub for shopping. She explained, simply, that she lived nearby and that her children's school was opposite, so she wanted to be able to spend more time with her family. She admitted that sales in Paris would certainly be more profitable. But that wasn't the main thing driving her. Casually, she asked us about our lives, too. I think this natural conversation and this openness in which she felt at ease to put her family values on the table (along with the glasses) was welcoming, as was the passion she clearly held for her job. I mean, there are probably not that many people that take such a keen interest in glasses. But luckily there are some! We need such passion for all the diverse goods and services that we depend on in the world. And I can't help feeling that if more people felt that passionate towards their work, and treated it like a service, the way we conduct these transactions would transform into some kind of meaningful exchange. Additionally, the more that we see a greater coherence between our family and work values, as well as towards those within our community, the more these locally-embedded types of models might prove to be great approaches to 'doing business', not only reinforcing the relationships between members within a neighbourhood, but also increasing and diversifying the range of employment opportunities available locally too.

Once again, I appreciate how 'space' and the way it's defined reflects the types of relationships valued within a place. While I've tended to contemplate this at the level of the neighbourhood, or of the entire city, it's just as interesting to consider how this functions in the space of places like shops too.

places of exchange

Man must work with his fellows. Everyone should have some trade, or art or profession, be he rich or poor, and with this he must serve humanity. This service is acceptable as the highest form of worship.

- Baha'i Writings

Today marked the bi-annual 'brocante' in our neighbourhood - sort of a collective, community garage sale. Organised by the local council, interested members of the community can reserve a stand and come sell off any goods no longer needed - everything from shoes they've only worn once, to old VHS that the odd person can still play, to dinner sets and - in particular abundance - children's toys and books. As usual, the event attracts a steady crowd throughout the day. Held only a few blocks from where we live, we love to go to see who we might run into as much as (or more than) the actual items for sale.

Today's little wander got me thinking about what a great initiative this event is - a far cry from the 'garage sales' that we organised back home in Australia, alone, putting some cardboard signs up on neighbouring streets in the hope of attracting some passers-by. Needless to say, they were few and far between! It made me realise the impact local government can play to support and facilitate local initiatives. Granted, this was just to sell off peoples' things (in itself great because it does encourage less waste and supports a sense of a local economy, of neighbours getting together and exchanging goods for reasonable prices - even if just for a day!)

But it got me thinking. What if these same kinds of initiatives also became platforms for the exchange of locally produced goods? I know that local markets are not a new concept, but those which exist in France tend to be dominated by centralised merchants who tour different markets on different days selling their produce. It doesn't actually facilitate much local exchange, nor serve as a portal for burgeoning young talents to access local markets - it really only brings outside products closer to home.

The reason these questions were floating around in my mind has to do with some reading and thinking I've been doing about social entrepreneurship. I attended a round-table discussion on this issue last week as part of the OECD Forum 2012, and listening to those around the table, it became clear that though once seen as an alternative career path for some innovative, 'risk-taking' individuals, entrepreneurship is now being considered as a more viable employment option, particularly for youth as the labour markets continue to shrink and traditional employment opportunities narrow further. Part of this shift entails a questioning of the current employment model - from an approach where we receive a specialised training to go out and look for a ready-made slot in the 'job market' to one where individuals can themselves start initiatives, based on responding to perceived needs, often in one's own locale.

I remarked how, having worked with many youth closely as part of our community building efforts in our neighbourhood, the extent and diversity of their talents is evident. Yet job opportunities here are few and far between, even before the effects of the 'crisis' set in. What deprivation, then, for these youth (as well as any others), if these talents and capacities are not expressed through a meaningful activity, by which they can earn their livelihood? In addition to these capacities, many of these youth also have networks locally - their families and friends, their community, a crucial ingredient in local trading schemes. What kind of education, I wondered, would help such youth build the skills they needed to embark on such endeavours? What kind of accompaniment and support structures would enable them to believe this route is viable - whether as a career or even as a part-time job to support them through their studies? What kind of access to finance would be required?

A second layer of questioning also involved the model of entrepreneurship that could be pursued - i.e. whether this would be a more traditional 'profit maximisation' approach or whether we can rethink the role of local enterprises as being embedded in some kind of community development framework.

These issues are explored in a little more detail in a publication produced by the OECD's Local Economic and Employment Development (LEED) programme. The book contains analyses of social enterprises already in existence, largely in Europe and the US.

Though there is not yet a common understanding of the term 'social enterprise', or 'social entrepreneurship', in Europe these endeavours tend to be conceived as a "different way" of doing business ('entreprendre autrement' in French). The main objective of social enterprise is not profit maximisation, but rather to meet relevant social needs in an economically sustainable way. According to LEED, typical characteristics include the continuous production of goods and services; autonomy; economic risk; an explicit aim to benefit the community; a decision making power not based on capital ownership; a limited profit distribution; and often a democratic governance structure with multi-stakeholder participation.

Clearly some of these elements make this approach well-suited for integration into a community development model. Indeed, some positive outcomes of this model when applied in the local context were found to include a reduction in legal costs due to the establishment of trust with customers; the spread of beneficial effects to the community at large; the creation of local employment; and  greater sustainability in the long term since production objectives are entrenched locally and adapted to local needs. The LEED publication highlights this point:

Since most groups of stakeholders are embedded at the local level, social enterprises mainly meet localised needs. This way, they are able to increase social welfare provision at the local level through action which increases income and employment, and promotes redistributive activities. Because of the embeddedness of personal linkages, the satisfaction of localised needs and of the asset lock, the activities undertaken by social enterprises are often relatively immobile. Hence they represent a more rooted and permanent source of development, which are less at risk of delocalisation compared to traditional manufacturing activities for instance. 

In this way, social enterprises can help develop local resources and promote an endogenously driven model of local development.

LEED analysis also finds that social enterprises have generally produced positive results by creating local wealth and increasing individual and collective well-being. The book notes that an increasing trend towards such models will partly be due to the effects of the economic crisis, "which has showed the world the negative consequences of reckless speculation and, more generally of an economy overly based on the financial sector." But the book notes that over and above this, the values promoted by social entrepreneurship are likely to become increasingly shared: the centrality of the human being in economic undertakings; a sense of responsibility towards society; and the realisation of collective well-being as an objective (and not as a 'positive externality').

The analysis goes on to explore the ways various governments have tweaked the national policy framework to support these emerging entities. While this level of detail is beyond the scope of this post, it is nevertheless useful, from my perspective, to think about the role of government in supporting such local initiatives.

During the roundtable discussion, some elements that were mentioned as issues to address to help facilitate youth entrepreneurship included ensuring youth had access to relevant education. This could imply rethinking our education models, which many perceived as training youth to get accepted into university courses, and not necessarily preparing them to embark on a path of developing their talents and putting them to use for the benefit of themselves and society. Others mentioned the need for access to finance, as well as creating the right enabling conditions - getting rid of the cumbersome red tape that surrounds start-ups in places like France, and moving towards what many felt was a more inviting model - that of the US, where tax incentives encourage entrepreneurship.

The brocante today also made me think how, quite simply, at the local level, the council could also supply a place, and publicity - much like it does for the brocante - to entrench this type of local exchange within the culture of the neighbourhood. At the very least this approach could serve as a launching pad for motivated youth, complemented by national policies that enable people to easily formalise such endeavours. This could encourage youth to try things with little risk, and take away the burden of them having to find a market straight up, and finding ways then to reach this market. Granted the approach might seem old-fashioned, and even limiting, next to the world we can connect to via the internet. But today's visit reminded me that such local exchange still works (and evidently the different approaches don't need to be mutually exclusive).

The market, then, is a place of meeting that underpins community. The brocante brought people together from all different parts of the neighbourhood. It made me realise the way that exchange always has, and always will, bring people together. When embedded locally, this serves even to reinforce the bonds between neighbours. And, if used in more innovative ways, all that talent left untapped can find a way to be put to use, to reach others. Such spaces can also be used for service to the community, including through fundraiser endeavours (often youth who participate in our community building efforts come up with great fundraising ideas but lack a place to execute them without violating a law!)

The extent of society's responsibility to ensure the provision of adequate employment becomes evident when we contemplate the importance of having a profession. In the Baha'i teachings, work is seen not only as a means to earn a livelihood, and not only as a means to contribute to the betterment of society, but also as a means of worshipping God. What a tragedy then we are faced with as youth unemployment continues to escalate, as those who desire to embark on a meaningful path of service through their professions, find no space in which to fulfill this goal. An excerpt from the Baha'i writings reminds us of the need for better support structures to facilitate these burgeoning new models, which may just provide hopeful alternatives.

It is the duty of those who are in charge of the organization of society to give every individual the opportunity of acquiring the necessary talent in some kind of profession, and also the means of utilizing such a talent, both for its own sake and for the sake of earning the means of his livelihood... for work, especially when performed in the spirit of service, is according to Bahá’u’lláh a form of worship. It has not only a utilitarian purpose, but has a value in itself, because it draws us nearer to God, and enables us to better grasp His purpose for us in this world.

It seems to me then that if all youth have talents to apply, part of accompanying them includes helping these youth to read their locality and to think about the needs of their neighbours, and how they can use their talents to help provide them. So that as well as earning one's livelihood, one can feel a direct social benefit from such actions - whether that be through working together with others in a more horizontal governance structure or responding to local needs (or both!) The example of the market place is mainly about locally produced goods, but surely there is an even bigger market for locally produced services. These go on already in an informal way, but how to formalise them relatively simply so that individuals can get these things started properly, and to enable their service to reach more and more people?