Outside the Checkbox: Politicizing the Place of Social Media in Society at Large

Social media are often discussed as a kind of force of nature that can shape, change, and destroy entire societies. This deliberately overlooks the fact that social media are a part of society – created out of a field of tension between social, economic, and political interests, and therefore as much a product of society as society has become a product of social media. Understanding this will not only allow us to better discuss issues like “TikTok and our children,” but also to think about alternatives to Big Tech, as Aileen Derieg argues.

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Recent years have seen a growing body of works critically investigating the influence of corporate internet services, platform capitalism, data mining, privacy, and surveillance. In his book “The Internet Con How to Seize the Means of Computation,” for instance, Cory Doctorow traces the rise of Big Tech monopolies and their detrimental effect on society, but also describes how users end up trapped within platforms they are unhappy with. In “The Road to Nowhere” Paris Marx draws parallels between the development of car culture leading to complete automobile dependency and the Big Tech monopolies that seek to crush alternatives. The economic, political, sociological and psychological impacts of internet technologies are currently being critically scrutinized by academics, journalists, and activists, while artists, activists and hackers seek to develop alternatives.

Against this backdrop, the day-long Transversal workshop “Publishing and Becoming-Public After Social Media” on March 19, 2024 in Vienna offered a philosophical perspective, thus opening up an expanded view of social media, subjects, and society.

While Stefan Nowotny proposed three very short excerpts from Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Christian Marazzi, and Giuseppina Mecchia, revisiting Nowotny’s own essay “The Condition of Becoming Public” from 2003 turned out to be even more illuminating. At that time, he wrote in reference to “the clandestines,” “the sans-papiers”: “it is a matter of becoming-public, that does not simply consist of the transition from a ‘not-being-public’ to a ‘being-public’ (from invisibility to visibility, from non-representation to representation), but rather of opening up a collectivity in the in-between spaces of representation, which inter-venes – literally – in public life as a social becoming.”

Are social media to blame?

For more than twenty years social media have been defining us more and more “granularly” as “target groups”, ostensibly to serve us with information that interests us, but actually to sell fine-grained data sets to data brokers. Content is irrelevant; all that counts are milliseconds of attention, during which advertisements can be shown. Ticking off all the boxes to identify gender, geographic location, ethnicity, or any other demographics does not result in visibility or representation, but only higher priced data sets. This has been analyzed and discussed at length and in many places in the meantime, but the first discussion of the workshop ended up being about how to politicize “becoming-public,” which seems most urgently needed now.

Considering social media through the lens of the writings of Immanuel Kant, Karl Marx, Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Louis Althusser and others opened up different perspectives for me, as I usually focus more on the technological side. One example is the concept of interpellation: According to Althusser, state apparatuses such as the family, the school, the police, and the mass media, tell individuals from infancy what they are in terms of class, gender, race and other identities – an act of interpellating someone through labels that implies that we learn to respond to those labels. This concept seems especially useful here for moving beyond the conventional hand-wringing considerations of the influence of TikTok and Instagram on young people’s self-image.

In another input text recommended by Felix Stalder, Shusha Niederberger writes: “In his view, the subject does not exist independently of its surroundings, but is created and sustained (hailed) through calls of institutions (Althusser et al.), and in the context of this text: infrastructures. … [T]he process of infrastructural interpellation is not a deterministic process, but operates in relation to other callings, self-understandings, and already established subject positions.” A subject created and sustained through interpellations of institutions and infrastructures is a different social imaginary than an inexperienced teenager in danger of manipulation. Removing the opportunity to blame social media for the unhappiness of young people returns the responsibility to where it belongs: society as a whole with all of its educational, political, cultural and other institutions.

Identity checkboxes vs. server options

In the same text by Shusha Niederberger, she also goes on to examine how the process of signing up for Mastodon differs from making an account on Twitter in ways that confused and irritated many people who fled to Mastodon after Elon Musk took over Twitter. While commercial social media platforms presuppose a self-contained liberal individual, who identifies themselves by choosing predefined attributes from drop-down menus or boxes, Mastodon first asks new members to choose a server.

In 2022 AMRO – Art Meets Radical Openness, a small biennial festival in Linz, Austria, organized a panel discussion titled “Hosting With The Others,” bringing together system administrators from some of the old “art servers” from the late 1990s and activists from a new wave of community servers and self-hosting, including the expanding practices of feminist servers. After so many years of the walled gardens of commercial social media, it seems there is a growing interest in independent servers, but there also seems to be a widespread need for explanation of what a server actually is. On the one hand, focusing attention on the machines that enable connectivity returns a level of materiality to the discussion of social media. On the other hand, however, independently operated self-hosted or community servers require a different way of thinking. This means questioning assumptions about being “always on,” always available; it means an awareness of the actual, real human beings who care for the machines and who sometimes need to eat or sleep or just take a walk. Connectivity then is not just an abstract concept, but a set of concrete actions.

As Shusha Niederberger writes, for people accustomed to being hailed as individuals, it can be confusing to be confronted with having to choose a community as the first step. In addition, Mastodon is not a monolithic centralized platform like Twitter, but rather a multitude of small to mid-sized interconnected “instances.” And it is not even the whole “Fediverse” (“a collection of social networking services that can communicate with each other (formally known as federation) using a common protocol”), but rather only one way to connect with other federated instances like Pixelfed or PeerTube.

When mainstream media continue to refer to Mastodon as a “Twitter alternative” (e.g. CNN: “A beginner’s guide to Mastodon, the Twitter alternative that’s on 🔥”, or TechCrunch: “A beginner’s guide to Mastodon, the open source Twitter alternative”) and compare the advantages and disadvantages of these two alternatives, it obscures that the fact that the Fediverse is not only different from commercial social media because it is free of advertisements. The underlying ActivityPub protocol is more closely akin to email and reflects an approach more like interconnected communities and collectives rather than linking isolated and atomized individuals to one another. What makes Mastodon interesting is not that it offers a haven from the toxic environment of Twitter, but rather that the Fediverse offers a way of becoming public that counters capitalist individualistic subjectivation, and subjects already embedded in communities have possibilities for agency beyond the predefined attributes of “target groups.”

Towards “federating” knowledge

Somehow, the spirit of the Fediverse was mirrored in the format of the workshop “Publishing and Becoming Public After Social Media.” Inviting six knowledgeable people from different fields to recommend short texts or excerpts of texts by other knowledgeable people, was a welcome departure from the conventional format of panel discussions, where individual experts present themselves and their own work. Perhaps this form of collaborative reflection might even be considered as a way of “federating” knowledge. In light of the trajectory from corporate social media platforms to TESCREAList visions of a dystopian future, resistance is not solely a technical question, but also requires critical philosophical reflection.

Note from the editors: The author of this text participated in the workshop Publishing and Becoming Public After Social Media” organized by Transversal as part of the series Peripheral Visions.

Cities in Custody: Urban Development as Spatial Proxy of Ideological Coloniality

In Iran, urbanization has played a central role in establishing infrastructures of social control, labor exploitation, and resource extraction – all under the auspices of religious authority. The appropriation of natural resources and public goods has caused lasting damage to ecological systems, making the region one of the world’s most extreme cases of heat and pollution, as Nassim Mehran and Niloufar Vadiati argue in their contribution to the “Kin City” text series.

Understanding the role of the urban development paradigm – and its particular ecological dimension – after the inception of the Islamic Republic (IR) is an important part of unpacking the enduring system of oppression in Iran. The IR has established a model of coloniality based on an interpretation of the Shiite political system. This framework relies on multiple modes of domination and exploitation that combines economic capitalism, resource extractivism, multilateral social repression, and militarization to operate within urban territories. In the following discussion, we will explore how different modes of urban development have been at the forefront of spatializing this colonial logic of IR. 

In the course of the 1979 revolution in Iran, when neither the workers nor the capitalist class had been able to establish and maintain their political “order” and institute a coherent socio-economic narrative (Vahabi, 2022), the Islamist forces seized control. By integrating themselves into the existing colonial regime and using populist tactics, they orchestrated significant social upheavals that led to the emergence of a state based on Shiite Islamic principles that claimed to be the counterforce to Western imperialism. 

The evolution of revolutionary change and the Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988) facilitated the gradual consolidation of fractious ruling elites around a cohesive vision for a political-economic framework. The political system positions the figure of the Supreme Leader at the center of power and authority, overshadowing the power of the elected government. This structure has been economically enabled by the materialization of the notion of Anfal ideology, a mandate of accumulation, confiscation, and extraction. 

Appropriating all public commons 

In Islamic economics, Anfal means the Imam’s exclusive possession of all public commons. In the political framework of the Islamic Republic, this concept translates into the Supreme Leader’s ownership and sovereignty over public assets. Anfal grants the Supreme Leader control over a wide range of tangible and intangible resources, including natural, infrastructural, social, and political domains that are categorized as either “public property” or those that “have no specific owner” as defined by the state (Vahabi, 2023). This includes all public goods that provide direct and indirect financial benefits. Directly beneficial assets include a wide range of resources such as mountains, forests, grazing lands, wastelands, oceans, lakes, mines, oil and gas reserves, wildlife, and intangible cultural heritage, among others. Indirectly beneficial assets include development projects such as plazas, bridges, roads, streets, shopping and recreational complexes, and others.

Anfal exhibits patterns of control, exploitation, and domination identical to colonial systems that affect various aspects of life. Thus, the paradigms of “urban development” in Iran spatialize the IR coloniality. 

Development strategies of an ideology

The Anfal economic model has been embedded within development strategies through a complex interplay of various social, administrative, and spatial mechanisms, including (1) standardizing the procedure and implementation of Anfal laws and policies by forming a network of affiliated institutions and administrative protocols parallel to the elected government, including entities such as Bonyad Mostazafan, Setade-Framan-e Emam, Astan Qods Razavi, and others; (2) regulating the liberalization and privatization of public commons and resource extraction, while ensuring that they remain under the control of the Supreme Leader Office (SLO) and its network of allied institutions (primarily the military organization of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps); (3) imposing a deeply discriminatory social and spatial order and hierarchies based on gender, race, ethnicity, and class that continue to control societies.

The political agenda of privatization, coupled with the implementation of Islamist state ideology, has fostered the emergence of competition among various parastatal organizations, ranging from clerical authorities to military entities, particularly the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC). This has led to the emergence of a fat capitalist class without liberal capitalist methods of production (Harris, 2013). 

Amidst episodic Western sanctions targeting Iran’s financial services, energy sectors, and technologies, as well as recurrent widespread public uprisings against autocracy, theocracy, and the colonial nature of the regime, the “elected government” became increasingly reliant on the IRGC’s military apparatus to counter sanctions and securitize domestic national dynamics. Over time, as the elected civilian government’s legitimacy has been increasingly undermined and it has become internationally isolated, the IRGC’s influence has grown. Ultimately, this has transformed the IRGC from a previously economically and politically dependent entity into a fully autonomous organization with its own economic, political, and operational divisions. Gradually, a significant portion of key strategic economic activities (at least 60 percent of the economy), including the extraction of natural resources such as oil, mines, gas, and land, and development projects, have shifted to the authority of the IRGC and its parastatal organizations linked to the SLO.

While ongoing discussions debate whether Iran’s economy reflects neoliberal tendencies or is entrenched in a praetorian economic mode, both the IRGC and the SLO, along with their affiliated network of companies and financial institutions, are increasingly gaining significant multi sectoral economic and political dominance. This has led to an increasing militarization of Anfal-based development, securing the operational path for multiscale extractivism over nature, infrastructure, and human bodies.

The spatial practice of Anfal

Urban development in Iranian cities has been the spatialization of the colonial modalities of Anfal. In this article, we present two major urban development paradigms (among others) that the IR has employed in cities across Iran to extract resources, control bodies, and present its ideological glory.

Urban Infrastructure of extraction and exploitation

The urban infrastructure of extraction paradigm involves the development of urban outposts around major industries and oil, gas, and uranium extraction sites. The most tangible examples of resource and environmental extractivism have taken place in the provinces of Khuzestan and Bushehr, where there are substantial reserves of oil, gas, and uranium. The IR state’s dependence on revenues from the export of these raw materials made these regions strategically important both domestically and on the global stage, earning them the nickname “the state’s wallet.” Urban centers newly built or developed around these resources, such as Ahvaz for oil, Abadan for refineries, Mahshahr for petrochemical industries, and Asalouyeh for gas, play a vital role in the accumulation, extraction, and exploitation of natural resources and human labor.

Following the Iran-Iraq War, the IRGC’s military organization established its engineering arm, the “Khatam Al-Anbia Construction Headquarters,” to spearhead the country’s “reconstruction” era. Over time, the IRGC’s dominance of the political and economic landscape led the Khatam Headquarters to become the primary contractor in strategic regions, monopolizing various urban and industrial development projects. These initiatives included the construction of numerous dams along the Karoon River, the main river in the area, as well as the development of intercity roads and highways, industrial and urban areas around extraction sites, and the establishment of (Tax) Free Economic Zones.

In this context, cities, regardless of their historical trajectories, have been transformed into infrastructures primarily designed to facilitate resource extraction and exploitation. The colonial hegemony of the IRGC over these areas has been achieved through two distinct mechanisms: (1) exercising power and control over urban society and the infrastructures of extraction, and (2) exercising authority in the sale of extracted raw materials, directing the revenues to strengthen the military base instead of proceeding as a public commodity and government budgetary support.

The adoption of this radical approach to resource extraction has triggered an acute climate crisis, culminating in the region being one of the most exemplary cases of extreme levels of heat and pollution on a global scale. At the same time, and in contrast, the development of extractivist urban infrastructure is unable to adequately meet the basic quality of life needs of the population. In addition, the IRGC, with the highest degree of securitization has suppressed all forms of social and spatial civil society and advocacy. This has perpetuated striking inequalities, resulting in a society in the region that is markedly discriminatory, marginalized, and impoverished. Such conditions are characterized by pronounced socio-economic disparities and systemic neglect of basic human needs in urban contexts, including health services, education, leisure, etc.

Urban representation of ideology

In contrast to the urban infrastructure of extraction paradigm, the urban representation of ideology seeks to portray Iran as the epicenter of political and religious power within the Islamic world, commonly referred to as Umm al-Qura (literally, Mother of Cities). Cities such as Mashhad and Qom, revered as bastions of religious importance, stand as focal points of spiritual devotion within Iran. Urban centers such as Tehran and Isfahan serve as hubs of political and administrative power, symbolizing the governance and influence wielded by the nation. Together, these cities represent the IR’s complex interplay between religiosity and political authority within Iran’s urban landscape, both nationally and internationally.

Here we consider the case of Mashahd as one of Iran’s major religious cities, where its urban development paradigm serves as a manifestation of the IR’s aspirations for earthly success and spiritual transcendence, epitomized by growth and grandeur. Following the 1979 Islamic Revolution and the IR’s efforts to increase its geopolitical and ideological importance, Mashhad underwent a significant transformation (the current local population is approximately 3.4 million). It has been reconceptualized as a bastion of conservatism and religious orthodoxy, solidifying its position as a key urban stronghold. Central to its identity is the shrine of the 8th Imam of Twelver Shia Islam, a site of profound religious significance that further underscores Mashhad’s role as a spiritual epicenter within Iran and the broader Islamic world. At the same time, Mashhad’s urban economy became heavily dependent on the pilgrimage industry (hosting some 20 million pilgrims per year).

In this context, Anfal’s colonial practices were revealed through the centralization of the shrine as both a spiritual and economic spectacle within the city. This process of centralization involves not only the physical concentration of resources and attention around the shrine, but also the establishment of developmental values and ownership structures that revolve primarily around the shrine. Thus, the shrine becomes not only a religious focal point, but also a locus of economic activity and a symbol of power and control, perpetuating a system in which influence and resources are disproportionately allocated to those associated with it.

This has resulted in massive forced displacement of the local population, including residents and property owners. In this context, the administrative organization of the Imam Reza Shrine, Astan-e Quds Razavi (AQR), which can be identified as an endowment-based parastatal organization affiliated with the SLO in Mashhad, has owned Over 43 percent of the city’s land. This control extends beyond mere ownership to include significant authority and influence over various aspects of urban development, planning, and governance within this vast area. The AQR and its engineering arm, the IRGC, hold full legitimacy for development on holy land, not the city council. As a result, the AQR wields considerable power in shaping the socio-economic landscape of Mashhad, exerting its influence on everything from land use, housing and infrastructure projects to cultural and religious activities.

This unbridled development has created a wealthy capitalist and conservative class in Mashhad that can only sustain itself by maintaining an exclusive mechanism of legitimacy to assert sovereignty over Anfal (including all natural resources, urban pilgrimage infrastructure, and social and demographic structures).

The Bottom Line

The Islamic Republic’s urban development has become a proxy for shaping not only the economic structure, but also the coloniality of the ideological-political framework, with inter- and intra-scale systems of violence, exploitation, and inequalities perpetuated along ethnic, gender, and class lines in everyday life. It is worth noting that this paradigm of coloniality is not limited to cities within Iran’s borders, but also extends to urban areas in neighboring regions such as Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, and possibly beyond. This extension of impact and influence beyond national borders indicates a regional dynamic in the replication of colonial-era urban development strategies.

Editor’s note: The article is a contribution to the “Kin City” series of the Berliner Gazette. More information: https://berlinergazette.de/kin-city-urban-ecologies-and-internationalism-call-for-papers

Requiem for Trees: Rhizomatic Ecologies, Insurgent Communities, Green Policing

Athens is a city where air pollution from vehicles is widespread, while the intensification of construction activity, often in the name of green development, has made green spaces scarce. A new subway in the rebellious community of Exarcheia is both an expression of this paradox and a strong impetus for the development of urban ecopolitics from below, as Nelli Kambouri argues in her contribution to the “Kin City” text series.

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“The smell of leaf mould and the sweetness of decay / Are the incense at the funeral procession here, today”. Pulp, The Trees

On Monday, November 6, the trees in the central square of Exarcheia in Athens disappeared to make way for the construction of an underground metro station. There were approximately seventy trees on the square, some of them older than fifty years old: carob trees, one fun palm, plane trees, arias, robins, privets, mulberry trees, acacias, sophoras, olives, one cypress, pines, maple trees, ficus trees, and bushes. The articles published in the media did not mention any information about the lost trees, other than their number. We need to name them and account for their loss.

The only information on the trees comes from an announcement made by Attico Metro (AT), the construction company that claimed that the trees were not cut, but “moved” to make room for the overground parts of the metro station that will occupy Exarcheia Square. According to the company, the trees will be safely stored by the municipality and then moved and replanted in scattered locations nearby. No one in Athens trusts Attico Metro to replant the trees, and even if they do, it is very difficult for the trees to survive. Yet the turmoil these trees are going through is treated as a technical problem in the announcement.

Incorporating Exarcheia

Local groups mourned for the lost trees by protesting. They had been protesting against the development of this project for a long time and their mourning became an integral part of these practices. They are opposed to the destruction of the square because it represents a symbolic place for social movements, a meeting place for locals, a playground for children, but most importantly one of the few open green spaces left in the area. Most tourist guides introduce the square to foreigners by telling histories of social movements, struggles, revolts, and occupations, but warn them that Exarcheia is an unpredictable place in which violence may erupt abruptly.

They warn tourists that the square might seem “authentic” and “tranquil” in the morning, “vibrant” and “alive” in the evening, but it is not always safe for tourists, as it hosts drug dealers, drug addicts, and migrants. Fights between anarchists and the police may erupt any time. The sounds of the police attacking the crowd, especially young people, the smell of burnt garbage and tear gas are common. Tourist guides do not even mention the trees that stood there silently to witness the tranquility of early mornings, the selling of drugs in the evening, the arrival of tourists, the protests, and the fights with the policemen that seem to have multiplied since the works started.

From the roots to the branches?

In “Mille plateaux” (1980), Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guatarri criticize the tree structure as one of the foundations of Western philosophy. The thought that grows like a tree from the roots to the branches, the thought that takes the tree as a paradigm, is problematic because it relies on a worldview based on fixed points, roots, from which all binary truth grows. The root (one) is divided into (two) branches. However, they argue that the architecture of the tree we have developed is not how trees actually are in nature: “Nature doesn’t work that way: in nature, roots are taproots with a more multiple lateral, and circular system of ramification, rather than a dichotomous one. Thought lags behind nature.” At one point, the two thinkers speculate that perhaps all plant life in its diversity is rhizomatic. Some animals may also be rhizomatic.

Deleuze and Guatarri criticize arborescent thinking and propose a rhizomatic one. Unlike trees, rhizomes have multiple and differently positioned roots that are interconnected and create complex spaces. (The word “rhiza” in Greek means root.) One cannot identify where the rhizome began, there is a multiplicity of origins, a complex understanding of floral and philosophical development that is non-linear and non-binary. In rhizomatic thinking, any point can and must be connected to any other point. As a result, any part of the rhizome can be broken off and replanted elsewhere without stopping the development of the first part, because rhizomes always have multiple lines from which to grow. Rhizomatic thinking requires attention to detail. One must find connections and networks that are not immediately apparent, especially if one has eyes only for a single strong root and the way it divides into two branches. As parts of the plant touch the ground, they develop new roots that can grow into an interdependent plant that is both autonomous and interconnected. Rhizomatic thinking does the same: it reads in detail all the signs of roots that can develop out of nothing, it identifies how they are connected to other roots and how they multiply.

Can we think of Exarcheia Square, the metro and the trees in a rhizomatic way? The decision to cut or uproot the trees is ironically justified as part of a green policy planned in a very linear, futuristic, technoscientific imagination. This is the norm today. Paradoxically, every time we celebrate a green infrastructural innovation, we must at the same time mourn the terrible destruction of part of our social life and our relationship with the urban and rural flora and fauna that surrounds us. Moreover, each time we welcome a spectacular green plan to remake life, it is accompanied by increasing precarity and uncertainty about the future.

The paradox of green development

Athens is a city where air pollution from vehicles is widespread, while the intensification of construction, often in the name of green development, has made green spaces rare. The new subway at Exarcheia Square is, not least of all, an expression of this paradox. The metro is a relief to the poor public transportation system, and it’s the only mode of transportation that doesn’t seem to worsen air pollution. It also provides emotional relief from the agonizing and stressful time squeeze that Athenians experience because of traffic. It gives people the opportunity to move cheaply, easily, and quickly without the enormous environmental impact that commuting by ground has. But there is one detail that makes all the difference: the metro stations are built in such a way that they eat up the remaining open spaces in the city, destroying the trees and social relationships that used to grow there. Metro stations are large, cemented, and spectacularly built where there used to be rare green spaces, leaving the streets intact and expanding spaces for commercial use. In fact, the shrinking of public spaces and the expansion of their commercial uses is one of the most lasting effects of green development.

The subway imposes a new logic on the surface. The metro reconfigures the life of urban plants, animals, and people. Proponents of the metro’s overtaking of the square argue that it is far more important to build an infrastructure that reduces the number of cars, buses, railroad tracks, and motorcycles than it is to preserve the old trees and social relations of the square. Environmental issues in urban spaces are framed as binary dilemmas: it is either or. The binary opposition between the metro as green infrastructure and the trees, people, and history above ground seems inescapable. Aren’t trees also an infrastructure worth protecting, rhizomatic yet green, perhaps greener than all?

The cutting of trees has become a social issue in Athens. The group “Cut it right” has been campaigning against the widespread practice of cutting and pruning. They call for a tree sergeant approach that takes care not to harm the trees, not to upset their balance. They argue that many trees fall during storms or snowfalls because they have been pruned in ways that make them unstable. The effect of this strange arboreal urban planning, which paradoxically results in many dead trees, combined with a construction boom that has eliminated the few remaining truly green spaces in the city, is that the temperature in the summer rises to such an extent that there are regular heat waves. The heat combined with the pollution is a deadly combination. The heat waves reproduce stereotypes about the laziness of Greek workers, even though precariousness and overwork are the norm in Greece. Especially in the summer, the absence of trees, the pollution and the tired bodies of overworked people are felt more intensely.

In contrast to the arboreal urban planning regime of the metro stations, which relies on the uprooting of trees, there is a park nearby that was born in a rhizomatic way. A former “parking lot,” the space was cemented until its occupation in 2008. It was liberated and planted as part of the uprising that began in Athens when a young boy was murdered by a policeman in Exarcheia. It was also the beginning of the financial debt crisis. The occupation led to the creation of a small park where plants and social relations developed in a rhizomatic way. While there are many tensions surrounding the park, both within the social movements and in their relationship with the police, Navarinou Park manifests a different possibility of how space can grow out of the entanglements of people and flora. Despite its organizational shortcomings, the park’s architecture emerges from a non-binary conception of the natural and the urban.

Green infrastructures, pollution, gentrification, and policing

The history of protest has made Exarcheia a “hot” place for tourism-related investment. The promise of golden visas has opened up new opportunities for real estate development in the area. Once purchased, the apartments of Exarcheia are renovated and turned into short-term rentals. Rental prices have risen enormously and many locals have been displaced. Some members of local groups protesting the destruction of the square have been unable to rent in the area and have moved away. As the locals leave, tourists arrive en masse at Exarcheia. The local shops and taverns are renovated to meet the needs of a crowd that wants to consume local authenticity. A few years ago, a tour called “sweet anarchy” advertised on Airbnb was widely criticized. Today, sweet anarchy enthusiasts seem to be everywhere. They are still attacked and booed by locals.

One wonders why a place where trees are violently cut down amid local protest attracts so many investors, developers, and tourists. They have no interest in exploring the tragic history of the local trees, but find the aesthetics of past revolt and mourning fascinating and pleasurable. The police make sure that tourists, developers, and investors feel safe consuming a revolutionary past, while local social movements are crushed and trees are cut down (or removed). After spending some time in an Athenian Airbnb, visiting the museums and nightclubs, tourists move on to the Greek islands, where similar processes of investment, policing, tourism, and gentrification are taking place. Last summer, protests spread to the beaches, with local groups demanding free access to the sea and open beaches free of rented chairs and umbrellas.

As the binary oppositions of underground and aboveground collapse, the binary oppositions of urban and rural lose their meaning under the weight of intense exploitation and extraction of natural and social resources. Police violence ensures that this kind of green development continues without major disruptions.

Redrawing the city map

Rhizomatic thinking proposes a way of approaching the question of the urban and the natural that escapes the inevitability of green infrastructures, gentrification, and policing. It requires roots that are complex and grounded in entanglements between plants, people, animals, and machines that move underground and above ground, between urban and rural spaces. It requires emergent infrastructures that produce livable lives, within and across the borders that seem to separate the rural from the urban. Livable lives are lives that adjust their rhythms to the social, floral, and machinic entanglements that take place above and below ground. These infrastructures are usually opposed to green policies, although they may use some of their products to subvert and rethink them.

The preparation of a plan for a livable life will involve the drawing of a map of Athens, a map of Exarcheia, which will visualize these entanglements. The map will be produced in collaboration with residents, visitors and technicians. The map will prioritize the demands, needs and practices of social movements, their opposition to the police, mass tourism and speculative investments. The map will expand horizontally according to these demands to include islands that are not overcrowded and access to the sea that is not blocked. It will also expand vertically to include trees whose roots and branches are no longer cut to grow linearly. It will also include the rhizomatic paths of animals and people – locals and visitors – who don’t overwork and don’t overheat, who have time to travel underground, to rest, or to walk above ground under the shade of trees.

Editor’s note: The article is a contribution to the “Kin City” series of the Berliner Gazette. More information: https://berlinergazette.de/kin-city-urban-ecologies-and-internationalism-call-for-papers

Multi-Species Metropolis: Rethinking the Rural Factory Farm as a City

Even when labor-intensive industries locate outside metropolitan areas, they tend to reproduce a kind of urban centralization in rural areas, attracting (and often housing) masses of workers and creating a kind of communal living environment as we know it from the big city. Examples abound in the mining, automotive, and logistics sectors. Factory farming is another case, and it is particularly worth looking at because, as Dinesh Wadiwel argues in his contribution to the “Kin City” text series, it urges us to rethink the multi-species metropolis.

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The commonly narrated story of the relationship between the city and the slaughterhouse goes something like this. At one time, tied to agrarian models of production, animal slaughter was carried out in village and backyard contexts. However, the rationalization of production methods, the emergence of the capitalist economic system, and industrialization, created pressures to centralize the business of slaughter. This led to a transition in production. Animal slaughter was urbanized, and brought into reach of human labor forces within the bounds of the city. In many cities, large stockyards and co-located slaughterhouses were centrally positioned; this is iconically remembered in the Chicago Union Stockyards.

However, a range of different pressures, including community sensitivities, and the practical problems posed by millions of animals entering the city alive (and leaving dead), eventually forced the slaughterhouse out of the city again. This also happened to helpfully place slaughter out of range of the sight (and smell) of many citizens; as Amy J. Fitzgerald observes, the movements of stockyards out of urban spaces “were designed and sited to reduce contemplation and questioning of them by workers and consumers.”

Reengineering human communities”

The shift of the factory farm away from urban to the country reinforces a conceptual separation between animal life used for food, and the city which consumes these products. This conceptual narrative conforms with a point of view, advanced by Karl Marx, of a break or ‘rift’ between city and country. Here, in this story, the movement of (human) populations from country to city, and with this the development of a system of landed property, alter the ‘natural laws of life itself’ and foretell the environmental crisis to come. This rift is central to many green Marxist accounts, such as John Bellamy Foster’s theory of the expropriation of nature.

Arguably Alex Blanchette’s important book, “Porkopolis: American Animality, Standardized Life and the Factory Farm,” offers us a different perspective on this history. Studying the life and death processes of a large vertically integrated hog production facility in the mid-western United States, Blanchette observes a vision of a densely populated space which brings together and co-shapes animals and human lives within capitalist animal agriculture. Of course, here to understand the factory farm as a ‘city’ we need to alter our view of what makes an urban space.

The hog farm studied by Blanchette brings together many thousands of human workers with millions of hogs (5.6 million in 2010); most of the latter will be birthed and slaughtered there in a year. As Blanchette notes, this “porkopolis” involves mapping the human labor process to the hog production cycle: “the American factory farm is not a project of detached human mastery over hogs so much as it is one of reengineering human communities and embedding their labor in novel ways through the porcine species’ changing life-and- death cycle.”

Between human, animal, and dead labor

I would add that this polis of the factory farm, is not merely the site of human labor, but also animal labor. In my book, “Animals and Capital,” I argue that in capitalist animal agriculture, the metabolic labor of animals is subsumed and transformed into a value producing activity. This effectively means that animals are positioned as a hybrid of constant and variable capital, entering production as raw materials, being asked to labor upon themselves in order to produce a final product that will be the consumption commodity. Importantly, in so far as the tendency of the development of the factory farm is to reduce relative human labor time through the use of fixed capital (machines, enclosures, technologies etc), while expanding the volume of the animal labor force, there is a constant dynamic tension between human labor time, animal labor and the mechanization of production. In other words, this is a space where humans, animals and machines are brought into an intense antagonistic relation with each other in order to generate surplus money as part of capitalist exchange.

What if we take seriously the idea that the vertically integrated factory farm, arguably developed in the United States, but now seen as a model for production elsewhere, is a city? That is, the factory farm as a dense, nightmarish, urban site? These are cities, despite their apparently ‘rural’ location, where labor, production and the problem of reproduction all meet, and where pressures of space and resources, and the movement of circulating capital into (and waste out of) its boundaries remain constant tensions. These spaces are composed of a mass of bodies in co-relation with each other, not just human labor, but animal labor as well, in production processes that are simultaneously life and death making.

Clearly this view of the factory farm as a city would not satisfy some contemporary scholarship, which after Saskia Sassen, would see the global city shift away from industrial production to services, and see in growing metropolises the prioritization of their role as a headquarters for global economic control. Nor is this understanding of the city necessarily in conformity with important animal studies and posthumanist scholarship, such as Jennifer Wolch, Maan Barua or (in the “Kin City”-series) Guillem Rubio Ramon and Krithika Srinivasan, which has drawn attention to the fact that the bustling metropolis is, and always has been, a multispecies space.

Cities, despite their apparently ‘rural’ location

However, there is no reason why this understanding of the factory farm as the city might not be in conformity with the classical outlines provided by Max Weber. Here there are a number of shared features:

a) Density; impersonality: The factory farm is a space where human (and non-human) lives are densely packed together, where the familiarity of the village is replaced by relations of ‘impersonality.’ As Blanchette’s book highlights, the depersonalization and alienation of relations is intensified through processes of standardization of labor and life: human workers are as replaceable and substitutable as non-human workers. Fixed capital (machines, enclosures and technologies) feature prominently in this locality, commanding the rhythm of its internality, segmenting and sequestering from sight.

b) Economic exchange; the market: The factory farm has an internal relation of ‘economic’ exchanges which are dominated by an enveloping market logic. Highly exploited human labor is motivated by a low monetary wage; animal labor is efficiently calculated by maximizing ‘yield’ and minimizing the time that animals live for a given set of inputs. The exchanges of these labor forces, amidst the heat, friction, and intensity of machinic relations, produces value. This internal market communicates with a broader economy which enables flows of money, raw materials, commodities and labor between the factory farm and the world outside. More, the factory farm becomes the center of life for the rural space it inhabits; its presence dominates the environments in which it is located; the human labor force make up a significant portion of the inhabitants of the locality, while services, food provisioning, health, community activities and education are oriented, and pay homage, to the factory that assumes its center.

c) Central authority structure; ‘principality’: The factory farm constitutes within its ecology an autonomous downwards system of authority which consolidates and monopolizes exchange, and determines the uniquely austere and brutal conditions of labor, injury and death for human and non-human lives inside. In many respects, the factory farm is a site of juridical exception. Bespoke rules, norms and codes of conduct shape the life-worlds of those within, which bear little comparison to life outside. The vertically integrated operation commands all life within as a source of internal rules and rationality.

d) Fortress market: The factory farm establishes a consolidated set of external borders which seal the operations of the city, effectively creating, in the words of Weber, a “fusion of fortress and market.” This city seals its internality; it establishes a system of production and a market of labor and capital within, while carefully controlling movement and vision from the outside world. The borders must be permeable to flows of money, raw materials, commodities, labor and waste, while maintaining ruthless control over movements in and out. The fortress form remains powerful in the way it can capture activity within: it achieves a complete ‘real subsumption’ of labor within the factory; all life is choreographed to move in tempo with the song of production. Escapes, either of the labor force, or of pathogens, or intrusion by activists, are however seemingly inevitable.

Globalizing the sunless hell

Considering the factory farm as a city has a number of implications. At least one is that we can trouble the classical distinction between the city and the country, the urban and the rural. The relocation of the factory farm outside of the traditional city has been a project of creating new cities with their own unique structures of authority, relations of production, modes of fortification and labor forces (human and non-human).

But it is also a reminder that in our contemporary era the most prominent model for the multispecies city has been the “sunless hell” of the factory farm. This city is now being replicated in earnest around the world. The larger challenge before us is to imagine a very different kind of city, where the terms of exchange between humans and animals (and nature at large) are not based on a fundamentally violent and antagonistic relationship.

Editor’s note: The article is a contribution to the “Kin City” series of the Berliner Gazette. More information: https://berlinergazette.de/kin-city-urban-ecologies-and-internationalism-call-for-papers

The Limits of Kin in Belgrade: Fighting Air Pollution in the Wake of Racial Capitalism

Since the so-called “Industrial Revolution” of the late 18th and 19th centuries, pollution has gained momentum. Particularly in metropolitan areas, air quality has become a major political issue, often revealing divisions between those who denounce the deterioration of air quality, point to the health-related and social consequences, and campaign for change, on the one hand, and those who are most affected by air pollution, on the other. In his contribution to the “Kin City” series, Ognjen Kojanić examines such social divisions in Belgrade, arguing that urban environmentalism, which appears to champion universal values, has yet to overcome its unacknowledged classism and racism.

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Air pollution is a problem that plagues many urban centers across the world. Cities across Eastern Europe, including Belgrade, occasionally top the list of the most polluted places in the world. A 2020 report on air pollution in the Western Balkans highlighted the problem of high emissions of harmful particles, which often exceed EU and national limits. It cited a 2016 estimate that the cost of air pollution in Serbia was 1.68 billion euros.

In Belgrade, the capital of Serbia, several citizens’ associations and non-governmental organizations have been active in the fight against air pollution. Activists promote expert knowledge on the topic, emphasizing the need for constant monitoring and measuring of air quality. They highlight the short-term and long-term consequences of harmful substances on human health and emphasize assessments about excess mortality due to air pollution, which show that Serbia’s rate is double the EU’s. Terms such as “PM2.5 particles” are now frequently used in public discussions about air quality, attesting to the success of these public awareness campaigns.

Increased awareness of the issue has led to increased use of mobile phone apps such as BeoEko and AirCare. Many Belgraders constantly monitor air quality indicators and, especially in winter, some residents avoid going outside when these indicators are particularly high. Some people also use filtering devices in their homes to reduce the amount of harmful particles in their homes. This type of small-scale infrastructure reflects individual solutions to social problems that depend on private wealth. While systemic solutions are lacking, these devices allow wealthier segments of the population to manage indoor air quality and reduce their own exposure to harmful air.

For Land, Water and Air”

There have also been overtly political attempts to raise this issue in public. Air pollution became a focal point of a wave of environmental protests in Serbia between 2020 and 2023. In addition to the problem of poor air quality, the mounting environmental issues that the protesters were rising up against included the devastation of rivers due to the construction of small hydro-power plants, polluting industrial facilities, illegal landfills, and deforestation. Ivan Rajković has described these protests as ecopopulist in the sense of pitting “the people” as the defender of “life itself” against the “elites” who spread death. Air, water, and land functioned as symbols of nature as life-giving and simultaneously in need of protection from rampant destruction in search of profit, as the prominent slogans “Stop the Investors! Save Nature!” and “For Land, Water and Air” suggest.

At the level of national and urban politics, these protests were seen by many as a form of mobilization against the ruling regime that has been in power since 2014. Protesters point to corruption, manipulation of institutions, and the political use of economic growth at the expense of quality of life and egalitarian ideals.

The government has many instruments at their disposal to limit air pollution. The largest sources of pollution, according to reporting from the Guardian in 2023, are “coal plants, vast landfills, old vehicles and bad heaters spew a cocktail of toxic particles that land in the lungs and veins” of Belgrade’s residents. Government policies related to the production of electricity, car engine standards, and subsidies for clean energy sources thus shape the possibilities for improving overall air quality. Accordingly, there have been pressure campaigns to force the government to act in addition to the large-scale protests. The national government adopted a national action plan for air quality with a 2.6 billion Euro price tag spanning 2022 and 2030. However, the ruling regime continues to be criticized for not being up to the task on this issue. For example, the Belgrade city government decided to install a tank filled with microalgae that bind carbon-dioxide and emit oxygen through photosynthesis that was dubbed a “liquid tree.” Critics pilloried this as a publicity stunt performed by the ruling regime that is infamous for cutting numerous trees across the city.

But while much of the ire is directed at the government’s (in-)ability to regulate and monitor large sources of pollution, activists fighting for better air quality have also identified smaller targets. If they cannot phase out the use of coal in power generation on their own, some activists say, “we must at least clean up our own backyard.”

The burning of cables to extract copper that can be sold for recycling is thus frequently singled out in discussions about air quality. As Eva Schwab documents, calls for policing this source of pollution were articulated in small-scale protests that started back in 2012. More recently, the activist group Eco Watch, which was the main organizer of a series of “Protests for Harmless Air” attended by thousands of people in Belgrade, posted multiple times about cable burning in Belgrade on its Facebook page. Although they sometimes admitted that the phenomenon of cable burning is not a major factor in the overall air pollution, it was singled out for producing “smoke full of dioxins and furans that not only cause cancer but also change DNA.”

Framing the urban Roma population

One post called those interested in attending a meeting to come up with a “plan for collective action” to send a direct message to Eco Watch because the meeting was secret “out of precaution.” Posts like this one led critics to speculate about the intentions of Eco Watch activists and to label the group as racist. They drew parallels between Eco Watch and Leviathan, a group of right-wing activists who claimed to care about animal welfare but used it as an excuse to harass the Roma population. Eco Watch defended itself against accusations of racism by claiming that its concern was not with the nationality of those doing the burning, but rather with its consequences in terms of the release of carcinogenic particles. They explained that they wanted to solve the problem that the state institutions in charge had failed to solve, including by crowdfunding the purchase of a machine that separates metal from insulation without the need to burn cables.

Contrary to the group’s claims that they are not targeting Roma, the Facebook posts attract several comments from the page’s audience that more directly attack the waste pickers. Typically, these comments are written from the perspective of the “majority” and echo stereotypes about the Roma population. Commenters express dissatisfaction because the Roma are supposedly protected by the state and various NGOs, making it impossible to solve the problem. The Roma are portrayed as lazy and criminal, who neither follow community rules nor pay the taxes and fees they owe. Comments also express fears about the high birth rate among Roma, describing it as “animalistic breeding.” Some go so far as to call on their neighbors to gather and beat them with sticks, or demand that the government evict them and place them under supervision to ensure that they follow the rules.

Piro Rexhepi argues that the position of Roma is an outcome of the historical articulation of racial capitalism in the Balkans.The Roma are racialized as “tainted Europeans” and seen as incapable of integrating into the dominant population, which is coded as white. These long-standing patterns of social exclusion persisted throughout the socialist period, despite the official emphasis on egalitarianism and the fight against pre-socialist patterns of inequality. However, they have arguably become more pronounced since the restoration of capitalism in the Balkans. Many Roma in Eastern Europe are challenged to negotiate both the hierarchies of racialization and the accumulation of waste, as Elana Resnick shows in her work on waste pickers in Bulgaria.

The divisions in the fight for clean air

The anti-pollution protests in Belgrade faded over time, partly due to infighting within the environmental movement. Although the protests resulted in some victories, not many demands were met. In particular, some of the biggest polluters are still operating as before. This failure allows us to reflect on the divisions in the fight for clean air and similar environmental struggles, and the implications of such divisions for urban environmental justice.

On one level, the split is strategic. One strategy is to fight the problem of air pollution as a systemic problem, pressuring the state to enact policies that target the biggest polluters, create a strong regulatory environment, and create a system of subsidies to move away from polluting activities. An opposite strategy is to fight the problem in racialized terms, scapegoating some as the perpetrators of environmental damage who need to be policed.

On another level, and mirroring the split in strategy, there is a split in the way the subject of the anti-pollution struggle is conceptualized. Within the systemic strategy, the constituency with a shared interest in clean air as a common good can be seen in class terms, consisting of all people who cannot afford privatized air purification infrastructures. Within the racialized strategy, the constituency is the dominant group, coded as white, subjected to the inhalation of smoke produced by Roma waste pickers.

Beyond the limits of kin

If the collapse of the anti-pollution protests is a cautionary tale that shows us the limits of kin in Belgrade, it can also point to the ways in which environmental politics can be reframed in more productive ways. Ghassan Hage, in his polemic “Is Racism an Environmental Threat?”, argues that anti-racism and environmentalism must be intertwined because both should resist the logic of what he calls “generalized domestication” as a way of being and relating to the world.

Hage sees racism as an environmental threat “because it reinforces and reproduces the dominance of the basic social structures that are behind the generation of the environmental crisis.” His insight is helpful in reframing Belgrade’s anti-pollution policy. The fight against pollution should go hand in hand with the fight against the racialization of Roma. Like other marginalized and racialized groups, the Roma suffer disproportionately from environmental harms, and as such should be an integral part of the fight for environmental justice. This struggle should be one in which Roma and non-Roma act in solidarity and kinship to demand large-scale solutions for the benefit of all.

Editor’s note: The article is a contribution to the “Kin City” series of the Berliner Gazette. More information: https://berlinergazette.de/kin-city-urban-ecologies-and-internationalism-call-for-papers

Make Kin Beyond: Against the Focus on the (Urban) Centers of Capitalism

Cities function as engines of capitalist growth not least because of their multiple, often invisiblized connections to the surrounding countryside and other regions of the world, which are mercilessly exploited in terms of both resources and labor. As Friederike Habermann argues in her contribution to the “Kin City” series, overcoming the ecological and economic crisis of the planet means, not least, thinking everything from outside – that is, from outside the city and, ultimately, from outside any center.

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I lived for many years in a forest in Brandenburg. That’s about as non-urban as it gets. But after my name in conference programs I usually read: Berlin. Officially, I lived in a village of 1500 people. Now I actually live in a village of 1500 people, but officially in a city. The magic word for this is incorporation. At first, I wrote the name of the village after the zip code, but when the work contracts came back because of this, I gave up. And so I look out of my window in my city, which consists of 49 settlements with a view of forested mountains, and ask myself, first, if I am contributing to statistical urbanization in this way, and second, why I am writing an article for the “Kin City” series from this position – and if I am not contributing to the problem.

Cities are engines of growth, I read in the Call for Papers. Sure – but aren’t industries increasingly moving to the countryside? There is already often less biodiversity here than in the city as a result of monoculture and the use of pesticides in agriculture. And isn’t the individual consumption of resources even greater per person in the countryside due to poorer public transport connections and more affordable housing? Not that I’m proud of that. I also read that cities are particularly susceptible to crises. And what about drought and/or flooding in the countryside? Forest dieback? In my street alone, aging and the loneliness that comes with it is a big problem.

Reclaiming the village?

More concretely: Isn’t it high time to put the feeling of being left behind in villages with a dying infrastructure (‘grow or die’ applies to bakeries as well as farms) at the center of political activity? It is no coincidence that right-wing hegemonic conditions are mainly found in the countryside. As emancipatory forces, are we not in danger of reinforcing this if we also – once again – focus on the city? Why aren’t we calling for “reclaiming the village”?

I find the proposal to understand the “city as a factory” similar to the focus on the city. As Magdalena Taube and Krystian Woznicki show in their introductory essay, this focus runs the risk of reproducing the capitalist view of paid work and paid resources – while many activities and much of the world around us is unpaid and therefore often invisible in statistics. Of course, this is problematized by this comparison in the call. But do we solve the problem just by looking at the center again from a critical perspective?

Countryside feeds city

Anna Saave wrote in the BG text series “Allied Grounds” about the tradition of radical materialist ecofeminism and the realization that solutions, however well-intentioned, fall short when they focus on wage labor and market-based care – in short, on the realm of the official, valued economy. It was Maria Mies who originally designed an iceberg model for a lecture in 1979, which visualizes “the whole of the economy.” The upper, visible part of this iceberg represents what is generally regarded as the economy: the monetary sphere, i.e. everything that is transacted through prices. This includes wages. Karl Marx famously analyzed how surplus value is extracted from workers because their cost of reproduction, reflected in their wages, is less than the value they add to products. He called this exploitation.

The part below the water’s surface symbolizes what is externalized and yet essential to the capitalist production process: the so-called “ecosystem services” as well as unpaid or underpaid activities, be it reproduction in the household or subsistence activities (the latter not only but predominantly in the Global South). Economic activity takes place both above and below water. But in the “underwater area,” as Anna Saave calls it, in the sense of satisfying needs as the actual production, namely the production of life. In the upper area, goods are valorized as commodities in order to maximize profit. This is fed by the underwater area.

The fundamental analysis behind this is much older. In 1913, Rosa Luxemburg showed in “Accumulation of Capital” that capitalism has always had and still needs a supply of raw materials, labor and sales markets from outside (accordingly, she criticizes Marx’s mathematical equations of c+v+m as purely internal capitalist formulas that make this invisible). Then as now, the supply came from the (still largely female-connoted) care activities, as well as then from the colonies, today from unpaid or underpaid resources from the Global South.

It is not only post-colonial power structures that lead to this, but the market mechanism alone. Adam Smith already wrote about this in 1776: In urban crafts, the same amount of labor could produce significantly more valuable goods than in the peasant economy, resulting in different rates of productivity. According to Smith, the city therefore had an increasing advantage in the direct exchange of its goods: “A city might in this manner grow up to great wealth and splendour, while not only the country in its neighbourhood, but all those to which it traded, were in poverty and wretchedness.”

Overcoming hyperseparation

Today, the same is true for the trade between industrial goods and the products of the South (raw materials, food, tourism), as well as between the productive and reproductive sectors. Even more serious than the mechanism of the invisible extraction of energy in the broadest sense from the underwater sector, however, is the structural pressure on companies to exploit nature and activities (and thus life/time, as Andrea Vetter points out in her BG article for the “After Extractivism” series) as unpaid or underpaid as possible in order to be cheaper than the competition. Whoever “sleeps” here will be squeezed out of the market.

However, it is clear that in practice these market mechanisms can hardly be separated from conscious and unconscious postcolonial and patriarchal policies. Today’s multiple crisis will not be resolved without overcoming the “hyperseparation” that divides the iceberg, in the words of Val Plumwood, i.e. the division of the world into a “kingdom of ends and a kingdom of means” that permeates everything.

Jason W. Moore understands the aspect of hyperseparation as the separation of nature from society: “nature” is everything that is defined as a resource, as being available to “society” for exploitation. He places this “Cartesian binary” at the center of his analysis of the Capitalocene – his term, which he opposes to the Anthropocene as more appropriate. This binary arises from the dialectic of value formation as abstract social labor and abstract social nature. Together with Raj Patel, this connection is summarized in the plural with “frontiers”: „Frontiers are frontiers because they are the encounter zones between capital and all kinds of nature – humans included. They are always, then, about reducing the costs of doing business. Capitalism not only has frontiers; it exists only through frontiers.”

It is no coincidence that the question of whether indigenous people are human beings was raised in European discourse in the 16th century, and whether women are human beings in the 17th century. Racist, sexist, and other identity categories arose within this framework of separating “nature” from “society.” And we reproduce this framework every day. All too often, efforts at emancipation result in being allowed to switch to the upper part of the iceberg model.

Make kin beyond!

So what happens when we focus not on the city and not on the factory, but on the outside? The documentary “Berlin Utopiekadaver” (2024) shows how the pressure to invest leads to rising rents and repression, and open spaces in the city become increasingly difficult to maintain. In the words of the activists portrayed, these are places that instill self-confidence and increase the desire for discussion; that absorb the world-weariness when young people realize, “Fuck, the world as it currently exists, I don’t really want to grow up in it, I actually want to change things.” They show that another life is possible. Outside the capitalist logic of exploitation. Where it’s about “being there for each other a lot more and deciding a lot more collectively: How do we want to live together?” In the end, the musician (and in one of my short real Berlin episodes, one of my 23 roommates) Yok sings: “We had our time – it’s over now. Now comes another time. Now comes a new time. Now comes our time! And it’s going to be good!”

What is new is that more and more people, especially young people, are taking advantage of the relatively inexpensive space in the countryside. Not as closed communities as in the past, but networked as different projects, which may well have different political cultures, in one village. And 5 km, 10 km, 20 km away are the next ones in another village. This creates a regional and ultimately supra-regional network of solidarity. The term “free of exchange logic” is often used. What is meant is a focus on needs and peer-to-peer contributions based on inner motivation. In other words: commoning.

The Network Economic Transformation (NOW NET) sees the way to a good life for all in dismantling the logic of the market and replacing it with democratic structures (free of the logic of exchange) that are already building commons. Not only within movement projects, but also as peninsulas of other self-evident things with an impact on the environment. And on every other level of action. Because the big picture is at stake. It’s about escaping the growth compulsion of the market and the danger of a new fascism. And about the small things. Because abolishing the hyperseparation between “nature” and “society” also means abolishing the separation into useful and superfluous parts of ourselves. And with it, a completely different way of life and economy. A more precise formulation of Donna Haraway’s call to “make kin” would be: Make kin beyond! No, not “to the beyond,” because that would leave a center. And that is what needs to be overcome.

Editor’s note: The article is a contribution to the “Kin City” series of the Berliner Gazette. More information: https://berlinergazette.de/kin-city-urban-ecologies-and-internationalism-call-for-papers

Ordinary Modernism and Incomplete Industrialization: The Long Life of Mass Housing in Yugoslavia

Just when a lockdown during the COVID-19 pandemic forced city dwellers back into their homes, if they had any, a major earthquake struck Zagreb. While the stucco of the historicist old buildings crumbled and red-and-yellow stickers warned of endangered statics, the socialist apartment buildings remained virtually unscathed. Lea Horvat takes this surprising disparity as an opportunity to trace the history of mass housing in Yugoslavia.

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The three “rockets” by neo-avant-garde architect Vjenceslav Richter are featured on the title page of Miles Glendinning’s 688-page global history of mass housing, the most detailed to date. The residential towers rest on a plateau, seemingly ready for takeoff and fully committed to the space fever of the 1960s. This is no coincidence. Glendinning counts socialist Yugoslavia among the “great powers of mass housing architecture.” What did Yugoslavia do right?

The purpose of the following is not to establish the superiority of the Yugoslav model and to dissect it from other contexts. Instead, I would like to reflect on subtle differences and the spectrum of what is possible within the architecture of “ordinary modernism.” At the same time, I would like to offer a holistic perspective that attempts to understand mass housing in its complexity, while treating its past, present, and future inhabitants with care and appreciation. Dealing with the Yugoslavian case does not mean creating this depth at the expense of other contexts, but rather entering at a concrete place.

Decentralization and self-government

Built quickly and intended for many people seeking housing to compensate for war damage and to take account of rapid urbanization, mass housing construction spread rapidly in Europe after the Second World War. Yugoslavia was no exception. During the Second World War, around 75% of the housing stock in Yugoslavia was damaged. After provisional solutions in the early days, such as the redistribution of housing for the privileged classes, more sustainable solutions were sought. As early as 1947, the industrialization of construction was anchored in the first five-year plan. Analogous to the development of heavy industry, Yugoslavia’s economic priority at the beginning of socialism, the new architecture was to consist of prefabricated parts that could be quickly assembled on the construction site. The expectation was that seriality would speed up and reduce the cost of housing construction and counteract the shortage of skilled workers in architecture and construction. The industrialization of construction on a large scale was the logical consequence of the fascination with machine aesthetics and rationalization among modernist socialized architects. Nevertheless, in the late 1940s, a special feature was already emerging: the diversity of building culture in Yugoslavia.

In many contexts, the centralization of mass housing resulted in an astonishing seriality. In the GDR, the WBS 70 type accounted for more than 40% of mass housing. The Stavoprojekt architectural conglomerate from Czechoslovakia had more than 10,000 employees in the mid-1950s and developed prefabricated buildings in a highly industrialized process. Instead of a comparable institution tasked with designing a system that could be applied nationwide, attempts to industrialize the construction method took place in parallel at various construction sites in Yugoslavia – particularly in Ljubljana, Zagreb, Split and Belgrade. In addition to the research institutes, it was the construction companies that balanced between research, self-promotion and construction practice.

With the approach of building small or no series at all, the essential advantage of industrialization did not seem to come into play. In this respect, the term “mass housing” seems more appropriate than “prefabricated housing.” However, if we consider mixed technologies more openly than incomplete industrialization, it is possible to see housing construction in Yugoslavia beyond a rigid technical categorization. This brings into focus, for example, the fact that k(l)eine Serien and the polycentrically organized building industry resulted in architectural diversity. Even the IMS Žeželj, a widespread prefabrication system developed in Belgrade, was so changeable that such buildings were not immediately visually recognizable as a uniform category. All mass residential buildings in Yugoslavia resemble each other in much the same way as all old buildings from the Gründerzeit; they are associated with a specific period, but their façades and floor plans are often not identical.

The cornerstones of socialism in Yugoslavia – decentralization and self-administration – played a central role in this. The inconspicuous role of the party leadership in favoring an architectural form also fits in with the intended “withering away of the state.” Nikita Khrushchev was so unmistakably associated with modest, five-storey 1950s prefabricated buildings that they are still known as Khrushchevki. Erich Honecker ceremoniously handed over the one millionth apartment in Berlin-Mitte in 1978, accompanied by intensive media coverage. Josip Broz Tito, Yugoslavia’s president, on the other hand, hardly commented on his architectural taste and refrained from presenting himself as a benevolent housing donor.

Controlled diversity” in the “mosaic state”

Instead, the employer became the main party responsible for solving the housing issue for its employees, who since 1956 have paid 4% of their salary into a locally administered housing fund for this purpose. With diversity and housing now becoming affordable for more and more people, inequality also crept in. This was particularly visible in the comparison between sectors with a high level of construction (such as the People’s Army or construction companies) and sectors with a low level of construction (such as the textile industry). The north(west)-south(east) asymmetry was also repeatedly evident: the largest construction companies operating throughout Yugoslavia were based in Slovenia, Croatia or Serbia, as were the most important architectural journals. In addition to housing distributed by employers, there were other forms, such as informal housing, housing from solidarity funds and privately financed housing. Financial self-management was promoted especially since the economic liberalization in the mid-1960s, explicitly with the blessing of the main theorist of self-management in Yugoslavia, Edvard Kardelj.

However, housing construction was not a capitalist free market. Rather, it was a “controlled diversity” to which limits were set, often by the architects themselves. A good example of this is Split 3, a much-praised project on the Adriatic coast. The competition for the urbanistic solution (1968) was won by a team from Slovenia (Vladimir Mušič, Nives Starc, Marjan Bežan) with a concept for residential streets that made strong reference to the urban planning and architectural features of the old town. The development of individual buildings was entrusted to local architects through an internal competition.

In early socialism, the architectural historian Dušan Grabrijan reinterpreted the pejorative description of Yugoslavia as a “mosaic state” and instead emphasized the regional variance of building traditions. This also applies surprisingly well to socialist residential architecture. Residents also contributed to the image of diversity, especially after the process of individual housing acquisition in the 1990s, during which they were made responsible for individual renovation and conversion strategies.

Large housing estates without communal spaces?

Most of the images and ideas that emerge in connection with mass housing construction in the Global North are based on a deficit perspective. Whether it is the deliberately dreary photos used to illustrate news reports about crime in the affected settlements or the exaggerated transfer of the US ghetto image to prefabricated housing estates – it usually looks gray and hopeless. This perception, which is surprisingly persistent in the Global North, has its origins in the early 1960s, when the Western European welfare states said goodbye to prefabricated housing. This led to a discursive domino effect that also reached Yugoslavia. Left-wing thinkers in particular, who had been enthusiastic about the ideas of the French New Left, suddenly warned of alienation and the threat of vacancy in mass housing estates.

The book “The City on a Human Scale” (1987) by philosopher Rudi Supek contains caricatures from the French-speaking context, such as Edvard Munch’s “Scream” against a background of prefabricated housing, or housing construction as a merciless lawnmower that leaves behind a uniformly bare settlement in the midst of destroyed urban diversity. In this context, it is significant that this negative rhetoric met the still prevailing housing shortage; demand was unbroken, there was no trace of vacancy. In Yugoslavia, at the end of socialism, there was a gap between everyday life in the mass housing estates and the hypothetical projections for the future.

However, the historical discourse surrounding mass housing was much more complex. Different positions can be found within one group, for example among social scientists in late socialism. Alongside Rudi Supek, the sociologist Dušica Seferagić also wrote a general rejection of mass housing, which she saw as irreparably linked to alienation and community deficits, and instead advocated single-family homes. Her colleague Ognjen Čaldarović, on the other hand, called for patience and argued that certain aspects of the community would only gradually emerge. Instead of chalking up destroyed or inadequate communal spaces as the failure of large housing estates, he said it was all the more important to repair and consistently maintain this infrastructure. At the same time, he criticized the concept of community, which is based on a village, as nostalgic and out of date. The ethnologist Dunja Rihtman-Auguštin went one step further and was already convinced in 1980 that the first signs of a local identity and an emerging urban culture were already visible; you just had to notice them: “Before our eyes, unfinished building sites become bowling alleys, skating rinks and ice rinks, meadows and soccer pitches, balconies become a variety of storage rooms or rooms, or they become the scene of neighborly competition in planting and growing ornamental plants.”

These examples and the neo-Marxist interpretations of the social scientists from Zagreb already show that the scope for interpretation was significant in late socialism. In the Yugoslavian case, these debates were particularly fierce and can be found in a spectrum ranging from women’s magazines to philosophy. They all make up mass housing.

Everything can turn out differently

After all, it is worth remaining open to new interpretations and noticing when weaknesses can be transformed into strengths and current priorities as well as aesthetic and social values make things appear different. The sparse to non-existent seriality can be read as an incomplete industrialization. At the same time, it can be interpreted as an unexpected strength, as it enabled creative diversity. An uncompromising urbanity was the ultimate goal of modernist urban and architectural experts, who criticized the “ruralization” of the city and mocked vegetable gardens and animal husbandry in new settlements. Central heating, electricity and running water were among the most important promises of mass housing construction, even if not everything was always immediately available. However, they turned out to be fragile during the siege of Sarajevo, in the unreliable infrastructure caused by the war. The recourse to frowned upon traditional skills, be it vegetable growing, wood heating or manual washing methods, was life-saving and revealed the weaknesses of uncompromising, self-confident modernism as a one-way street.

In March 2020, Zagreb found itself in an exceptional situation. A severe earthquake struck in the middle of the pandemic-related lockdown. While stucco turned to rubble in the historicist old buildings and red and yellow stickers warned of the endangered statics, the socialist mass housing buildings remained virtually unscathed. This was not least due to the building regulations that were issued after the devastating earthquake in Skopje in 1963 and were intended to make the buildings more earthquake-proof. Even before the earthquake, the mass housing buildings in New Zagreb were able to hold their own on the local housing market; after the earthquake, the year of construction became a seal of safety.

The new makes the old appear in a new light, we are changing and mass housing is changing with us. Let’s not insist on a narrow repertoire of stereotypes that are long outdated.

Politics of Adaptation: The “Flood Idiot” and the Slow Liquidation of Normality

While the political right seems well-prepared for the age of catastrophe, the left is not, because we have yet to develop (mass) narratives that go beyond the false choice between doom and cruel optimism. One way to forge an emancipatory politics of apocalypse would be to address adaptation, Lukas Stolz argues.

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In the last days of January 2024, almost unnoticed amidst the ongoing militarization of public debates, we have entered a new era of ecological struggle and historical consciousness in Germany. A headline from the German weekly Der Spiegel indicates this shift: “Klimakleber wollen nicht mehr kleben” (“Climate gluers no longer want to stick”). This headline doesn’t just describe a shift in climate activism tactics: away from the blockage of streets towards less controversial Habermasian actions. The exit of the climatist as the main actor in the theater of ecological struggle in the most influential European country marks a shift in the political unconscious: away from progress towards adaption as telos of our age. What does that mean and why is it important?

Let’s talk about a picture that was taken in Lower Saxony. The police in Barsinghausen, a small town near Hannover, took the photo in the first days of January this year. I came across the picture in a Bild article on January 4th titled “Flut-Idioten suchen den Kick im Katastrophen-Gebiet” which translates as “Flood Idiots are Looking for a Thrill in the Disaster Zone.”

In the pixelated photograph, we see a kite-surfer on a flooded meadow, with leafless bushes in the foreground and a cluster of single-family homes in the background. The green and gray color fields in the image reminded me of Andreas Gursky’s 1999 photograph “Rhine II.” With the sale of the photograph for 3.1 million euros, Gursky became the world’s most expensive photographer. In 2002, he provided the motif to Gerhard Schröder and Joschka Fischer for the red-green re-election campaign. A version of the photo also adorned the office of Armin Laschet, former governor of North Rhine-Westphalia and the CDU’s most recent candidate for chancellor.

No threat from the outside

Back to the picture of the “flood idiots” in Barsinghausen: It struck me immediately that it captured the current political moment, the unfolding of the climate catastrophe in this part of the world, with an almost uncanny precision. What exactly struck me? On the one hand, the ordinariness. As someone who grew up in northern Germany, the whole landscape seems very familiar to me: the green-gray fields and the gloomy winter sky, the single-family houses with gabled roofs, the iron workers that as a child conjured up fantasies of ancient colossuses. These elements represent the everyday normality of my upbringing in a middle-class family in the 1990s and early 2000s.

However, this familiarity is interrupted: In the lower part of the photograph, we see the gray water and the green meadow blend into each other, suggesting that this is not a regular lake or river with a demarcated separation between land and water, as depicted in Gursky’s Rhine photographs. It is a first small indication that something is not normal, a subtle disturbance. A more obvious questioning of normality than the transition between land and water is the kite surfer. The figure of the kite-surfer is not necessarily uncanny, it represents leisure and recreation, we can imagine them on a beach in the North or Baltic Sea. It is not unlikely that he lives in one of the houses in the background, works as an employee in the public sector of Lower Saxony, probably middle class: able to afford the hobby of kitesurfing and the occasional trips it requires, perhaps in a VW camper. What’s the alienating and disturbing effect of this image if it contains no irregular elements, no threat from the outside?

It is just that: Normality in this image is not interrupted from the outside, but from the inside. Two different elements of the everyday, houses and fields on the one hand and the kite-surfer on the other, are put together like in a montage. Normality corrupts itself from within. The image is like a hyperlocal meme, assembled by the reality of flooding in northern Germany, which is related to the global reality of climate catastrophe. But the climate catastrophe here doesn’t look like the biblical apocalypse overwhelming civilization. It’s not a gigantic wave rolling over New York. No, it’s an almost comical scene: a flooded meadow in Barsinghausen with a kite-surfer.

The police, your “friend and helper” as a saying goes since the 1920s , probably took the picture to document an infraction: As we learn from the Bild article, surfing on flooded meadows is strictly forbidden and will result in an official complaint. The Interior Minister of Lower Saxony, Daniela Behrens (SPD), warns: “I can only warn against such life-threatening nonsense.” Again, the voice of the authorities warning of life-threatening danger where one could also see harmless fun seems familiar to me as a German. What emerges from the title is the figure of the “flood idiot” and the designation of the landscape as a “disaster area.”

There are certainly some dramatically flooded areas in Lower Saxony, but I can’t help but notice a dissonance between the dramatic title and the harmless picture: the strong wording evokes images of large-scale devastation and destruction, e.g. after earthquakes or wars. With these images in mind, the damage we see in the picture is probably manageable in comparison. The description of the picture is an inversion of the right-wing discourse on climate catastrophe so typical of newspapers like Bild: If mentioned at all, the severity of the ongoing climate crisis is hidden behind technical language without illustrating the consequences. In stark contrast, a flooded meadow in Lower Saxony with a kite-surfer is described as a “disaster area.”

From “climate idiot” to “flood idiot”

The fear and anger that come from the pervasive sense that normality feels increasingly hollow and untrustworthy are projected onto the figure of the “flood idiot,” who accepts the status quo: If climate catastrophe brings you floods, go kite. The “flood idiot” is the hedonistic successor to the “climate idiot,” the figure onto which the unpleasant feelings resulting from the repressed reality of climate catastrophe have been projected. The notion of the “climate idiot,” also known as the “climate terrorist,” is most closely associated with the figure of the “Klimakleber,” which translates as “Climate Gluer” and refers to the activists of the Letzte Generation (Last Generation) who glued themselves to the streets as a form of protest. It was coined by the German tabloid Bild to condescendingly report on recent climate protests.

The “Klimakleber” is still a political subject: they put their bodies on the line to stop us from getting away with business as usual. They are trying to do something about the catastrophe by hitting us where it hurts the most: the car infrastructure. Quite successfully, they disrupt the fiction of normality. The “flood idiot,” on the other hand, has abandoned the political ambitions of the climate-wreckers. They stand for the individualistic and hedonistic acceptance of the status quo. Inadvertently, the “flood idiot” reveals the slow liquidation of normality that must be repressed, even as it happens right before our eyes. Part of this repression is the inversion of language: Instead of accepting a global emergency, for which the language of a disaster zone would be appropriate, the sense of disaster is displaced and used for a rather innocent scene in Lower Saxony. Because you can’t report a catastrophic reality to the police, it’s the “flood idiot” who has to step in. They are the scapegoats because they make it harder to ignore the slow liquidation of normality, as represented by the flooded meadow. Since there seems to be no viable way to interrupt the irresponsible policies leading to this liquidation, it is the “flood idiot” who is deemed irresponsible.

To take this a bit further: The “flood idiot” represents the diminishing promise of progress. They don’t try to solve the climate catastrophe by putting sandbags in front of their houses to stop the floods. Instead, they surf on the flooded meadow. They have accepted the tragedy of the worker as defined by the Salvage Collective: “All realistic solutions, defined by capitalist realism, are inadequate. All adequate solutions, defined by the exigencies of the crisis, are unrealistic.” Consequently, they point to a shift from the paradigm of prevention, which has been at the center of climate protests in recent years, to the paradigm of adaptation. The “flood idiot” literally challenges the idea that humanity is in the driver’s seat of history and in full control. Perhaps revolution is not about pulling the emergency brake, but about letting the kite fly in the storm? It’s not just an idea that’s being challenged, but a deeply ingrained narrative structure that modern capitalist societies use to make sense of themselves. To challenge this narrative structure is to challenge the very identity of modern capitalist societies. As the geographer and economist Geoff Mann writes, “the tragedy of liberalism is its inability to narrate the end of progress. Yet this is the impossible task demanded of the Anthropocene.” The “flood idiot” epitomizes that impossible task.

Resisting false alternatives

While the political right is well prepared for the age of “flood idiots” and a political theater structured around the broken promises of modernity, the left is not. While the right can not only meme, but also plug into a tradition that goes back to Spengler’s doom-fantasies and reap the dividends of political disillusionment, the left has been busy working through its own nostalgia since the 1990s. Surely there must be a place for political mourning and leftist melancholia. But perhaps there is also a place for adapting to the slow liquidation of normality, beyond the false alternative of doom and cruel optimism that structures public debate these days.

A good place to start would be to develop a language and aesthetic of catastrophe – indeed, a politics of apocalypse – that transcends both the right-wing desire for large-scale doom scenarios like the Great Replacement and the liberal desire for constant consternation and moral outrage. A sensibility that pays attention to a present that is already cruel enough might even rediscover forms of humor as a legitimate cultural coping technique. Sometimes, in all the tragedy, we can find moments of comedy that offer much-needed temporary relief. Recognizing how tragedy often appears in comedic drag might contribute to the realism of our times.

Hybrid Publics of Human and Other-than-Human Life: Free-Living Dogs and the “Green” and “Healthy” City in India

Colonial-capitalist urbanization has propagated the city as a bulwark against the barbarian wilderness, declaring certain parts of human populations and the natural world obstacles to this project, and thus segregating them as something “undesirable” and ultimately “harmful” to social harmony, well-being, and progress. Overcoming these colonial-capitalist legacies means, not least, imagining cities as hybrid publics of human and non-human life, where the aim should be to engage with the other rather than to manage it, as Guillem Rubio Ramon and Krithika Srinivasan argue in their contribution to the “Kin City” series.

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The adjectives of smart and green often go hand in hand with new urban development strategies worldwide. What exactly does smart or green mean, however, is often unclear, with context shaping both definitions and approaches. In India, for instance, some of the Government’s 2015 Smart Cities Mission projects showcase a variety of newly built public spaces, providing space for some citizens to socialize and exercise. Promoting, creating, and protecting green spaces is also an essential part of the Smart Cities mission. For instance, a lake restoration project in Coimbatore has created “a bird paradise” that is also a space for exercise and socialization.

What seems to underlie both these cases is the association of smarter and greener cities with various health benefits for some of their human citizens. At the same time, urban development agendas often include initiatives to remove some types of nature, including animals, from cities, e.g., marshes, weeds, cattle, street dogs, mosquitoes, and rats. This raises fundamental questions for cities in simultaneous processes of de-greening/de-animalization and greening: what is the “green” or urban nature that these programs refer to? Who or what benefits from these interventions? And what natures, on the contrary, are seen as obstacles to them?

Neglecting uncurated nonhuman nature

While some scholars have critically explored these questions, the “who” we find in such questions around greening the city is often formulated in exclusively human terms: green gentrification, unequal access to green spaces, or displacement due to green infrastructure are some examples of this important work. In most of these accounts, nonhuman nature appears as a passive non-agential object that can be made and remade to fulfill particular human projects and imaginaries. Even in cases where urban scholars have engaged with animals seriously (e.g. Hubbard and Brooks 2021; Narayanan 2017; Palmer 2003; Chowdhury et al. 2024) the place of nonhuman animals in greening programs has rarely been addressed.

Paula Arcari and her colleagues (2020) point out that this might be because some animals in the city, especially those located within institutions such as laboratories, slaughterhouses, and human homes, are not seen as part of nature at all. Similarly, animals situated within or on the fringes of cities can often be regarded as “too human” to be part of nature, and “too natural” to be part of the city (Arcari, Probyn-Rapsey, and Singer 2020; Srinivasan 2019). For instance, animals like monkeys, snakes, and free-living dogs are all part of the everyday geographies of most Indian cities and villages. Still, they are rarely considered as either part of the “green” of the city or as inhabitants of the city whose health will benefit from these greening projects. Because these animals are typically not considered either “green” or “the city” and mostly exist outside the realm of complete human control (Srinivasan 2019), they are mobilized in public discourse and mainstream media narratives as unhealthy elements threatening the city’s human residents.

Free-living dogs in urban landscapes

However, as research on free-living dogs in Chennai for our project, ROH-Indies, shows, this is far from the reality on the ground. Free-living dogs are part of complex multi-dimensional ecologies of place and community-making that escape simplistic understandings of dogs as pets, nuisances, or disease vectors. For instance, a free-living dog barking at night could be a nuisance for some but also a security mechanism for pavement dwellers and communities in situations of insecure housing.

Even when it comes to health, just as pet dogs and cats are often promoted as beneficial to human health and well-being, sometimes at the expense of their own, the same applies at the community scale to free-living dogs and those they live with. These relationships often go beyond functional views of protection, with some participants who care for free-roaming dogs often reporting that they feel cared for in return. For example, a fish vendor in Bandra East, Mumbai, described developing a close bond with a free-living dog: “Back then I used to live on the road. I didn’t have a place. I found her as a puppy under the car. She used to be with me and we would sleep together in a rickshaw. She follows me everywhere now.”

For the most part, free-living dogs and humans typically engage in everyday interactions that are indifferent or positive and caring, similar to those between human neighbors. As an agricultural laborer interviewed in Alipurduar noted: “Generally, the dogs are part of the community. No special attention is given to dogs. But generally, the dogs are friendly and villagers feed them and love them as puppies.” In this way, living with, and at times caring for, free-living dogs can contribute to well-being by fostering a sense of convivial cohabitation, belonging, and multi-species community-making – all recognized as key aspects of a good life for humans, but seldom considered as part of the health that green interventions aim to produce.

Conflict, co-existence, and co-habitation

In both cases, pets and free-living dogs, one finds more-than-human forms of kinship that cross species divides (Han 2022). However, one of the main differences in the case of free-living dogs is that this relationship becomes explicitly bidirectional, with more autonomy present on both sides and with most negative aspects of “living together” not exclusively falling on the canine side of this relationship (Srinivasan 2019). In contrast, pet dogs, as Jessica Pierce and Marc Bekoff argue “must cope with an asymmetrical relationship (…) [because] to live in our world we require them to give up some of their freedoms and natural behaviors” (2019, 5).

Living together and in community (whether human or more than human) offers many benefits (in terms of health and well-being), but it also inevitably involves conflict (Srinivasan 2019). Conflict is constitutive of social life. This understanding of multi-species cohabitation as involving both conflict and coexistence is evident in our study of the city of Chennai: 70% of respondents considered free-living dogs a problem, but 80% also believed that they nevertheless had a right to live on the streets.

Such ideas of multi-species communities, however, are in opposition to greening interventions where the objective is always a narrowly defined health of an abstract human population, pursued through insulation from the rest of life and individual self-improvement; this, in turn, means that greening projects end up being centered on giving particular (usually wealthier) citizens spaces to work on their bodies and minds. Rooted in the notion of cities as human exceptionalist spaces, only non-human natures that further these productive visions are allowed to exist and flourish as “green” and “healthy.” These terms end up becoming synonymous with “nature,” dangerously neglecting the contributions of uncurated nonhuman life, like free-living dogs, to the health of the city, as well as overlooking them as more-than-human publics. In turn, this hinders our understanding of health and well-being in their plural form, as always politically and ethically tied to that of others, humans or not, and beyond limited ecological or medical valuations.

The politics of unruliness and health

Animals (and plants) that do not fit or even negatively impact ideas of productive and healthy urban nature are often demonized as unhealthy or as impediments to achieving human health and, therefore, not part of the city’s green. For instance, in the Swachh Bharat Abhiyan program (Clean India Mission), to improve sanitation infrastructure in cities, dogs are often portrayed as a hurdle to such projects, stemming from the belief that “their presence contributes significantly to the uncleanliness of cities.” Moreover, strategies to control, remove, and even eliminate “stray” animals that are not easily contained within determined human systems and imaginaries are not new to India, as well as to other cities in the rest of the world.

As Chris Pearson (2021) mentions in his book “Dogopolis,” which focuses on London, Paris, and New York from the early nineteenth century into the 1930s, dogs roamed freely in the streets of these cities, but were removed, often through very violent means to follow ideas of healthier, safer, and cleaner cities, supposedly leading to increased levels of human well-being. In the colonial era, city authorities launched public health campaigns against unruly animals, often classified as pests, in both metropolitan and colonial cities. In India, while conflict was always present in human-dog interactions on the community level, population-level and systematic efforts to eradicate dogs from the street were wrought by colonial institutions. These efforts often encountered resistance, such as is evidenced by the Bombay dog riots of 1832 (Palsetia 2001), in which plans to destroy “unowned” street dogs were met with fierce opposition by Parsi communities. Yet, similar culling mechanisms became part of the repertoire of institutional tools to deal with free-living dogs in post-independence India until the Animal Birth Control (ABC) rules of 2001 came into effect.

In today’s India, the nationwide ABC rules recognize free-living dogs as rightful inhabitants of the streets of cities and villages, prohibiting not only their culling but also their relocation, which still occurs illegally (Karlekar 2008). Instead, the ABC program is a policy to sterilize dogs, aiming to control their population. This program is the responsibility of urban (or rural) local bodies and includes anti-rabies vaccination, making it both a public health program for humans and also an intervention to manage the presence of unruly animals in the public space. Both dimensions are intertwined in their public contestation: recently, these rules have been legally challenged for their ineffectiveness, with some organizations pushing for stricter regulations against the presence of “off-leash dogs” in the city, as well as institutionalized restrictions on human-dog interactions. For instance, following resident complaints, a 2023 ruling in Mumbai limited feeding street dogs to specific feeding spots.

Contesting colonial legacies

Often at the root of these conflicts are ideas about what cities should look like and how they can be improved and redesigned for the well-being of their human populations. These colonial-capitalist imaginaries are often pursued through the symbolic and material ejection of unruly forms of animal life and urban nature (Zhang 2020). Narrow definitions of the urban “green” ultimately restrict which ideas of health and well-being inform these interventions, usually resulting in exclusionary outcomes for both human and non-human communities. As Pearson (2021, 3) writes, historically, the blame for the need (or failure) of these interventions has often been directed “at the colonized, the poor, people of color, and immigrants for allegedly creating the environments in which vermin thrived, while the authorities and elites overlooked deep social, racial, and economic inequalities.” This can be seen in today’s India too, where basic services such as access to safe water remain more critical public issues than free-living dogs.

Thinking of free-living dogs as both the “green” of the city and the city itself should make us rethink what and who are the natures, ecologies, and multi-species communities that might make (and benefit from) healthier, livable and just cities. Beyond visions of both health and the city that rely on colonial-capitalist constructions and, then removal of ‘unhealthy’ others, we might need a “departure for planning from earlier modes of urban development, by engaging with animals rather than managing them” (Narayanan 2017, 489). This will require imaginaries that go beyond technocratic greening projects that are only justified in terms of the health benefits for specific humans, often conflated to the city itself.

Ultimately, while the focus so far has been to make particular visions of both adjectives, green and healthy, coincide, we might need to make visible the human, socio-ecological, and animal costs of this superimposition. The idea of “the public,” which is constantly contested both in public health (Rock and Blue 2020) and in greening interventions, therefore needs to be further destabilized and expanded. This is especially important if we are to recognize that there is always more than one (human) city, public, and health.

Editor’s note: The article is a contribution to the Berliner Gazette’s “Kin City” series. The references are listed here. More information about the “Kin City” project: https://berlinergazette.de/kin-city-urban-ecologies-and-internationalism-call-for-papers/

Digital Guillotine Anyone? A Guide to the Decomputation of Algocratic Regimes

The eternal supply of reality has been exhausted in the process of digitalization, just as the biosphere of the earth has been used up in the course of capitalist valorization of natural resources. Ecological nostalgia is as unpromising as the illusion of a pre-digital world. So we need new strategies of resistance, such as a digital guillotine to cut off the heads of algocratic regimes, Giorgi Vachnadze argues.

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We are held captive by a recursive simulacrum; an automated confessional that forces us to produce ourselves and our reality according to the rules of digital logic. The model is an image of reality, but not in a representational sense, but in an interactive sense. The simulation is a fiction, but only insofar as reality itself is a fiction. The fiction of the model is set against the fiction of reality in a way that the rational of the model is mapped onto the rational of reality in a parallel way. Uncertainty, undecidability, and incompleteness act as catalysts rather than obstacles to the datafied sublation of human experience. Algorithms are comfortable with irrationality. A closed system would be much easier to criticize, an algocracy based on pure reason would be easier to overthrow. But an interactive field of governmentalized cybernetic practices that condition and subjectivize us gradually into becoming Homo Algorismus, are far more discrete and difficult to resist. Homo Oeconomicus Algorismus marks a new threshold in the neoliberal experiment with its own regimes of truth, its own apocalyptic narratives, and its own utopian promises. Instead of thinking machines, we now have calculating humans. And instead of deciphering creativity, we gradually reduce all creativity to a mere cypher.

In his book “In the Delirium of the Simulation: Baudrillard Revisited” Achim Szepanski displays an expert demonstration of how we are being played by an interactive digital ideology. Algorithmic language games of truth, power and subjectivity crisscross and overlap in silent, violent, dazzling, and seductive ways. A kind of gaming ontology orchestrates Szepanski’s work, where the world keeps playing (with) us in its refusal to answer in a straightforward “Yes” or “No” to the questions posed by modern techno-science. And it is the double-bind of an algorithmic regime that refuses to play “The Game of the World” – “either nature obeys, or we will force it to obey!” – that keeps us trapped inside the mainstream of mall music and commodified living. The regime chooses to play us instead by forcing human subjectivity into its reductive, binary, digital paradigm. Facilitating the annihilation of human subjectivity by rendering it entirely computational.

Quantum governmentality

With the advent of quantum mechanics, we will soon be facing the politics of quantum algorithms or “quantum governmentality.” These are non-Turing hypercomputational systems that operate in non-binary form beyond 1’s and 0’s. The quantum world is fundamentally counterintuitive to the human observer, things refuse to unfold in time and they resist spatial localization. Even more bizarre is the fact that some major thinkers in the field (Palomaki, Aerts, Görnitz, etc.), as cited by Szepanski, believe that even macroscopic systems can become entangled and exhibit quantum mechanical behavior. The real question, according to Szepanski, is not “what’s wrong with quantum mechanics?”, but in fact, what has been done to the human observer in face of the modern epistemic regime? The question that really needs to be posed is “what is wrong with classical physics and common sense?” What is wrong with the subject?

“For Baudrillard, the fact that we cannot simultaneously determine the speed and position of a particle is part of the illusion of the object and its eternal play,” as Szepanski notes. We are being played – hard; by the object. The object dominates, decentering the subject and introducing ambiguity into the system. Baudrillardian objects are anxiety-inducing features of the world that refuse to be assimilated into rigorous formal conceptual apparatuses. Like Jorge Luis Borges’s “Lottery in the Babylon,” what seemed a compartmentalized, locally domesticated occurrence of a chance event, has infiltrated the entirety of the social fabric, introducing an element of randomness at every moment. The quantum experiment testifies to the counterfeit nature of the subject-object dichotomy. Szepanski notes: “This raises the question of whether the concepts of subject and object can still be used at all in quantum theory.” – or outside of it, for that matter.

The illusiveness of the quantum object offers some savory food for thought. Quantum entities are essentially series of relations, relations of relations; functions with placeholders unoccupied by arguments, functions whose variables are always functions in turn. A transclassical logic, which goes beyond the law of identity, excluded middle and non-contradiction is required to deal with these paradoxes; a “transformal” system for computing liminal spaces and predicting non-entity quasi-behavior. Objects are fundamentally processes, or looping events, that is, hybrid formations that exhibit relative levels of stability. Objects don’t exist; only games. Strictly speaking, there are no objects in the universe, only processes and states of affairs.

The digital heavens of the Western hemisphere

The digital world has opened a new avenue of digital objects. The virtual cybernetic field is characterized by complete hyperfunctional inter-substitutability of each and every entity within the program. An ontological ascension has taken place where things are no longer constrained by the laws of physics, the simulation is a purely (post)logical world. Insofar as there’s enough computational power, silicon, precious metals and of course, the colonies where human labor is exploited and almost directly fed into the cybernetic system, the digital heavens of the Western hemisphere will remain alive and operational. For as long as genocide is being outsourced and actively produced in one part of the globe, biopolitical heavens will flourish in another. Imperialism has finally found a way to efficiently activate negentropic processes by accelerating entropic processes elsewhere. Coincidentally, AI and Machine Learning systems are here again, actively “recruited” to model warfare and minimize risk in the battlefield. An endless feedback loop of international, post-industrial economic colonialism and cyberwarfare.

Simulations do not mirror, nor do they represent the “real” world. There was never a real world to begin with. The world is always a product, it is always a construct (be it social or scientific). The simulation is a production of reality. What distinguishes the cybernetic dispositif is only the way in which new simulations constitute the contemporary regime. The speed of production, and the automation of world-building practices. The autonomy and independence of the digital production of equivalences, exchangeable sign-systems and abstract power-knowledge matrices that no longer have to answer to the world through the object-concept relation. This is what Szepanski refers to as “the divine referentiality of the images.” Echoing Ludwig Wittgenstein, one could say that the picture no longer has anything in common with what it depicts, there is nothing to compare the picture with, no standard against which to measure reality, the world has no substance.

Outside the system

Jean Baudrillard offers us a digital guillotine or an anti-cybernetic strategy of resistance we can use to decomputate the head(s) of the royal simulacrum. Remaining grounded is no longer an option, there is no reality we could refer to in order to prevent or reverse the world’s insertion into the computational episteme. The standing reserve of reality has been exhausted, like the earth’s biosphere, there is practically nothing to go back to, an ecological nostalgia holds little promise. We need a novel strategy of deterritorializations. Szepanski notes: “Reality and truth emanate from the codes and models of hyperreality. Identities and differences are modulated according to the model and multiply into infinity. In hyperreality, any distinction between the real and the imaginary is abolished, only leaving room for the orbital return of models, and the simulated generation of distinction and difference.” We no longer have the reality at our disposal, all we have are “reality effects,” we are in a turbulence of waves and affects, we are constantly being modeled and digitized by the homogeneous counterfeit multiplicity of algorithmic visibilities.

The first line of attack, a trajectory for flanking the computational paradigm, comes from within the real itself. The primary real, as Szepanski emphasizes, a much neglected and perhaps opportunistically ignored aspect of Baudrillard’s theory, points to the inherent failure of any attempt to render reality entirely transparent through codes. Very similar to Michel Foucault’s notion of resistance, the primary real presents a structural residue that always falls outside the system. An element of the signified that remains opaque to the best attempts at cybernetic translation. The first decomputational tactic is therefore the recognition of fundamental (no matter how small) incomputability at the heart of every digital relation. A limit. Szepanski notes: “Baudrillard tries to use the (primary) real to think what remains removed from simulation or escapes from it and what does not simply disappear or dissolve.” The real never disappears, but it can be turned into an infinitesimal, one that nonetheless continues to haunt the system as a noumenon.

According to Baudrillard via Szepanski, simulation is the discursive apparatus of capital par excellence. The last word, so to speak, in neoliberal governmentality and in the conduct of conducts. An anonymous force used for the complete levelling and homogenization of lifestyles, the deployment of false differences and a tyrannical universalism that privileges consumption/enjoyment over creativity/happiness. Again Szepanski: “The calculability inherent in code liquefies the solid according to the requirements of capital. In the informatic flow, the computer’s close connection with the erasure of territory from the map and with the neoindustrial project of financialised globalisation is reflected in the derealisation of traditional forms of space and time.” Place is replaced with space, persons; with avatars and relationships are commodified into transactions. The human lifeworld is colonized by mathematical optimization.

Consumption and mathematics

What does consumption have to do with mathematics, or at least the superficial affectivity of calculation? Everything. The notion of a gapless series orchestrates the computational regime; fascist greed is at the center of the notion. Consumerism is a hysterical attempt to silence the silence of nothingness, an attempt to escape annihilation by making the brain into an algorithm of non-stop enjoyment. Junk after junk, an uninterrupted sequence of counterfeit experiences; an averaged-out, hypernormalized sensationalism that prevents the subject from confronting her death. Sterilization of the amygdala through stable and sustained excitation. Subjectivity is sectioned off from the possibility of experiencing the full spectrum of human emotion. What do algorithms have to do with consumption then? The monotony of a wannabe spectacle – an affective lobotomy: the shopping mall. “Baudrillard explains that the postmodern subject leads the life of a cat that roams around and feels at home in an indifferent and highly designed domesticity of non-places,” Szepanski states.

The shopping mall is a spectacular presentation of nothingness, a tightly knit collection of signifiers, false differences and things without content. A noisy silencing of everything meaningful. A full-bloodied non-experience. “The stupid machines must entertain at all costs, whereby the constant production of entertainment generates disgust on the one hand and the desire for more stupid entertainment on the other,” Szepanski notes. Consumerism is a guilt-ridden glorification of procrastination, an evasion of life, meaning, creativity and happiness. Consumerism is what makes subjects into calculating humans, it is what makes the soul – Turing-Machine-Computable.

It is said that if you eat the same thing every day, no matter what it is, it will eventually start to taste like shit. This sums up the feeling of disgust universally experienced by everyone who has the privilege of consumption, the great honor of having their desire regulated, controlled, managed, policed and channeled. In short: calculated. Calculation and accounting, the mindless repetition of the same lie at the heart of the regime. When stupid abstractions are taken to constitute the structure of the universe, followed by the attempt to make these mechanical “miracles” tangible and real through industrial automation, what results is precisely the homogenization and thus the transformation of all human experience into fecal matter. The shopping mall is a shit-machine at the heart of the computational episteme. But in order to really enjoy it, consumers must be trained, disciplined, and coerced or “nudged” into the right direction. With the emergence of digital taylorism, algotaylorism, or AI-capitalism in the workplace we have a simultaneous development of “consumption drilling.” We are taught to exchange happiness for pleasure at a very early age.

Militant mobilization of human desire

The object of consumption is not a stand-alone entity, it is placed within a causal nexus and inscribed with very specific instructions. A consumer object has meaning only within the context of a highly coded consumer environment. A highly controlled, panopticonic milieu where the rules for activity are just as specific as the rules of passivity, where incitements are as calculated as the prohibitions. And everything is seen, recorded, labelled, priced, hierarchized, and archived. Consumerism is the militant mobilization of human desire towards state-interest i.e., power, warfare, and genocide. It is the means whereby subjectivity is stored as a standing reserve of desire. Baudrillard famously notes how news and media use the same techniques of subjectivation as advertisements. A subject trained to perceive ads will also be trained to consume “news-events.”

The dispositif operates through seduction. Consumers are tricked by advertising into thinking they are buying something of value, but the function of advertising is anything but communication. The advertisement is used to train the subject into desiring transaction for its own sake. Szepanski notes: “In the end, the consumer object or product mutates into garbage for the shopaholic. The purchased products are then piled up in the cellar or placed in display cabinets because the only thing that counts is the pleasure of the act of buying itself, which in turn is stimulated by advertising.” This is the primary mechanism of the apparatus, which trains the subject to love the empty gesture of buying. Transactions are the contemporary equivalent of confession. Transactions function as mobile, automated confessionals of the computational regime. It is important therefore that the subject is trained to love the act of confession, the act of buying. Data is therefore the scripture, and AI is the digital pastor who governs the subjects in the cybernetic monastery that stores desire.

From the Streets to the Parliaments: Municipalist Platforms and Eco-Socialist Politics in Zagreb and Belgrade

In former Yugoslavia, the multiple crises of capitalism have provoked new movements at the intersection of social and ecological concerns. Zagreb and Belgrade are among the most important sites of these struggles in the region. Not only do the crises have their critical junctures here, but the political possibilities for change also exist, provided that the authoritarian inertia of the state can be dismantled, as Norma Tiedemann observes.

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Beginning in 2015, a wave of democratic political struggles at the local state level spread from Spain across the world under the name of New Municipalism. The hybrid actors of movements, unions, individual activists and parties emerged in response to the multiple crises of capitalist forms of society and their authoritarian management. They seek to democratize the (local) state, feminize politics, and transform economic structures to end inequality. The “municipalist platforms” governed in Barcelona and Madrid with the aim of implementing left policies and transforming urban institutions without becoming a traditional party. This model found sympathizers not only in Western and Southern Europe. Municipalist platforms were also founded in the capitals of Croatia and Serbia in the Southeastern European periphery, after years of extra-parliamentary activism in various fields. These initially local, urban-based actors have recently transformed into green-left parties challenging the authoritarian, clientelist regimes that have consolidated their grip on state apparatuses in recent years.

Zagreb Je NAŠ! (ZJN, Zagreb is Ours) and Ne Da(vi)mo Beograd (NDB, We will not give up on Belgrade/We will not let Belgrade drown) were founded in the mid-2010s and have since managed to enter the state institutional terrain, to revive the importance of oppositional, progressive work in the parliament and to change the political landscape. Since 2021, ZJN (or now: Možemo! – We Can!) governs the Croatian capital. And since 2022, NDB (or now: Zeleno-Levi-Front – Green-Left-Front), as part of the alliance Moramo (We Must), is represented as a small opposition in the city of Belgrade as well as in the national parliament. This is the first time since the collapse of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and the civil wars of the 1990s that left-green forces rooted in social movements have made it into the institutions of the local and national state in Croatia and Serbia.

Reclaiming leftist ideas and values

The two platforms and their success – compared to the almost complete absence of left, emancipatory actors in the institutional sphere before – did not come out of nowhere. Their history goes back to the so-called New Left in the Balkans, which emerged from the deepest crisis of late capitalism around 2008. Since then, the political discourse and the groups articulating it have evolved in the context of different protest cycles and peaks that politicized the so-called democratic-capitalist transition in the decades after the breakup of Yugoslavia. Within the student protests against the neoliberalization of the education system, the Right to the City and feminist movements, transnational networks engaged in the establishment of solidarity economy and commons projects, many of those who have been the backbone of municipalism in Croatia and Serbia have collectively reclaimed leftist ideas and values against the discredited remnants of left parties.

The specific context and history of municipalist platforms in Southeastern Europe is important for understanding the character of these new actors and the kind of state apparatus they now face. While New Municipalisms are often described as radical democratic experiments in the context of a crisis of representative democracy, the municipalist platforms in Zagreb and Belgrade are not adequately characterized in this way. Although bourgeois-liberal democracy was formally established in the successor states of the Socialist Federation, it never really existed, which means that the current “crisis of democracy” needs to be understood differently than in Western Europe. State and society in both countries are constituted by the patronage networks of the ruling parties, which are intertwined with organized crime. Serbia and Croatia are characterized by major democratic deficits, limited freedom of the press, and systemic corruption.

For my Ph.D., recently published as a book, I conducted 56 interviews with municipalist actors during visits to Zagreb, Belgrade and some other places between 2018 and 2022. The overall analysis also includes a long historical reconstruction and some theoretical reflections on understanding post-Yugoslav statehood, which has much in common with other forms of peripheral statehood, for example in Latin America. The research has been a dialogue with materialist state theory and how it can be adapted to a context with different social and political conditions than the entities most state theory deals with, i.e. the capitalist West or the European core countries. This effort forms the implicit background of the following very brief reconstruction of who the municipalist platforms are.

Zagreb Je NAŠ!

After at least ten years of extra-parliamentary organizing that began with student protests in 2009, the group of people who founded ZJN in Zagreb entered the local institutional terrain as a small opposition force between 2017 and 2021. In 2021, the longtime authoritarian-populist mayor Milan Bandić died and ZJN won the regularly scheduled elections.

In their first institutional cycle as the Left Bloc in the City Parliament, the former activists tried to transfer their experience, knowledge and political style to a field that they knew mainly from the outside as a deadlock producing corruption scandals without consequences for the ruling elites. During these years, they vacillated between acting as troublemakers to break up entrenched routines and presenting themselves as the better government option, i.e., contributing to parliamentary debates with constructive policy proposals. They also brought new dynamics to the neighborhood and district councils, generated knowledge about the patronage veins of the local state system, and won smaller defensive battles through the interaction between institutions and self-organization. They supported residents when, for example, they demonstrated against the destruction of the last green space in their neighborhood and tried to revive the basic democratic instrument of the neighborhood assembly, which dates back to Yugoslavian times. The reaction this provoked within the urban political sphere was reflected in the results of the 2021 elections. Since then, ZJN is governing the capital in a coalition government.

This transition to the leading role at the top of the communal hierarchy meant a further transformation of ZJN as a political actor: from activism to parliamentary opposition to full responsibility for government. ZJN faced new problems that required solutions. For example, the crumbling building stock, whose years of neglect became strikingly apparent with the earthquakes in and around Zagreb in March 2020. But also the impenetrable machinery that the local state proved to be, challenged ZJN and its goal of reprogramming the local state apparatus to make institutions serve a public and common interest. They changed the structure of the new city administration, which now has significantly fewer departments and which they are trying to fill with personnel who are not tied to the former ruling party of Bandić. They have also created new channels of communication between the central city bureaucracy and the neighborhood and district councils in order to give the lower levels more opportunities to have an impact. But such structural changes consume time and energy and produce few of the visible results that their constituents demand. The mainstream press continues to discredit their efforts, and it remains to be seen whether they can repeat their electoral victories in the next national and local elections.

Ne Da(vi)mo Beograd

Starting as a small civic and urban political initiative, NDB has developed over the last eight years into a widely respected and serious opposition force within the broader green-left alliance Moramo. NDB’s roots also go back to the student protests of the mid-2000s and later struggles for urban commons, opposing the capitalization of urban space. The initiative was founded in 2014 as a movement against a gigantic urban renewal project. Its activist practices before entering the institutional arena in April 2022 ranged from the production of an alternative public sphere through newspapers, podcasts, and noise demonstrations during the COVID-19 pandemic-related lockdowns, to the use of public consultations, complaint mechanisms, and legal battles, to neighborhood organizing and support for ecological struggles in more rural and mountainous areas. Driven by the optimism generated by ZJN’s electoral victory, NDB paved the way for considerable hope that organizing resistance to Serbia’s authoritarian-neoliberal regime could have actual effects. In the municipal elections of December 2023, it was also their share of the votes that brought the ruling majority almost to the brink of collapse. As in the case of Zagreb, former activists have now been fighting for democratic, social and ecological transformation on the terrain of the local and national state for two years. They are using the instruments guaranteed to the opposition by the constitution to establish public control over the government, while continuing to rely on street protests and self-organization. In order to broaden their base and democratize their internal structures, they founded their own party in the summer of 2023 – the Zeleno-Levi Front.

Multi-layered collage: Galerija Belgrade shopping mall at the Belgrade Waterfront in front of the Belgrade cityscape, framed and perforated by a rally against the Belgrade Waterfront, which leads through a tunnel. Artwork: Colnate Group, 2024 (cc by nc).
Artwork: Colnate Group, 2024 (cc by nc)

Since their emergence, they have changed the political discourse in Serbia and exposed the deeply anti-pluralist and undemocratic practices of the ruling Serbian Progressive Party. Due to massive criticism of electoral fraud on the streets and from various groups and institutions, as well as difficulties in forming a stable government, new elections in the capital have been announced for June 2024. Hence, the continuous electoral mobilization in the country will not come to an end anytime soon. It drains on the one hand the resources of smaller political forces, but on the other also makes life uncomfortable for the president and his allies.

A democratic emergency brake

The political practice of both new political actors rests on two central pillars. One is the attempt to overcome the deep divisions that characterize Croatian and Serbian society – divisions based on religion, ethnicity, historical-political affiliation, or national identity. As a counter-narrative, they place the material quality of life at the center of their work. They keep emphasizing that it is more important to have good health care, mobility infrastructure, good jobs, gender equality, an intact environment, clean water and air, etc. than to argue about who was right in World War II.

The second pillar is democracy. Democracy has been central to the municipalist platforms and the new parties because neither the state as a relatively autonomous sphere nor political democracy has effectively emerged in Serbia and Croatia, even if the conditions for parliamentary democracy formally exist. Democracy has remained the unfulfilled promise of capitalist transition.

The new green-left parties navigate between transformation and affirmation of the liberal-democratic framework. Neither is a project of radical rupture, with a post-capitalist future on the horizon. They encounter a specific form of statehood and political landscape and develop their way of dealing with it. In view of the authoritarian consolidation and the unbroken networks of corruption that characterize Serbia and Croatia, the emancipatory potential therefore lies in the defense of political democracy against the unmediated imposition of particularistic interests of the ruling elites. Ultimately, they could act as an emergency brake on the democratic involution in the Southeastern European periphery.

Obituary for René Pollesch: “We Don’t Produce Thoughtfulness.”

Reading, writing, thinking together – these cultural techniques were as fundamental to the theater director René Pollesch as they were creatively transformed again and again through his practice. Theater maker and BG author Alexander Karschnia tries to capture the ephemeral nature of an artistic singularity. An obituary.

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On the morning of the first day after the news of René Pollesch’s death, Walter Benjamin’s image of “secret heliotropism” came to mind: Somewhere a sun rises and all the plants align themselves with it. This “sun” is the idea of happiness, the “public happiness” that Hannah Arendt speaks of in connection with the American Revolution. It seemed to me that the diffuse feeling of happiness shared by the people in the auditorium after a Pollesch premiere came damn close to this idea of “public happiness,” which otherwise remained so alien to the old European tradition. And that’s what hurts the most, the realization that this theater will never exist again, the happiness of hearing these Pollesch sentences, this sound, this beat – what was that?

What made Pollesch’s theater such a happy experience was the fact that in his plays people actually thought together on stage. As a director, Pollesch was above all a very good listener: a kind of “equal attention” – sometimes he seemed almost asleep, but as soon as a wrong note crept in, he would start up: “You didn’t think that!”

A certain way of speaking

In fact, anyone could become a Pollesch actor. You just had to hit the right note. I was able to experience this myself in 2002, when he staged the scenic project “Stadt als Beute 2” (“City as Booty 2”) with students of theater, film, and media studies at the Goethe University in Frankfurt. Shortly before, he had become the director of the Prater in Berlin, where he had created “Stadt als Beute”. He had borrowed the title from the urban sociologists Klaus Ronneberger, Walther Jahn, and Stephan Lanz, whose book many of us had read. It was about the privatization of public space and so-called inner-city actions, a form of activism that had gained importance in the 1990s.

Pollesch had us write our own texts, which, surprisingly, suddenly sounded like Pollesch texts. However, not because he taught us a certain way of writing, but because he practiced with us a certain way of speaking, which he called “thinking.” Specifically, this meant that we had to be willing to constantly rediscover the links between sentences. The trick was to make quick connections, to cut out the pauses: “We don’t produce thoughtfulness” was the constant refrain.

And yet that sounds far too authoritarian. René was the opposite of an authoritarian director: he never shouted suggestions or objections from a distance, but always went to the front of the stage and spoke to the players in a calm, almost gentle tone. This is how I later experienced him in the rehearsals with his team (Wuttke, Peschel, Beil), when he rehearsed “Und jetzt?” (“And now?”) on the basis of the material for Gerhard Winterlich’s “Horizonte,” which was given to him by my group andcompany&Co. We had told him that Benno Besson had been so enthusiastic about the play about cybernetics and the computerization of industry that Winterlich had developed with the Arbeitertheater Schwedt that he had commissioned Heiner Müller to write a new version of the text for his ensemble.

In 1969, Besson opened his first season at the Volksbühne with this play. At that time, Heiner Müller took part in the development of a play – as he had previously done with BK Tragelehn in “Die Umsiedlerin” – so that rehearsals and writing went hand in hand. For Müller it was a sporting challenge, for Pollesch it was 40 years of work. It went so far that he could only write when he knew for whom. In Pollesch’s “discourse theater” the dialog does not take place on stage, but in the rehearsal between author and actors. The result is a “polylogue,” a word he will have heard in Giessen in the seminars of Andrzej Wirth and Hans-Thies Lehmann. Julia Kristeva used it to describe the “revolution of poetic language” in which “text” becomes “practice.”

The de-literarization of writing

Part of this “practice” (one of his favorite words) was that new texts were constantly being produced. If something wasn’t right, he took it upon himself to rewrite the text. When Fabian Hinrichs says in “Kill Your Darlings!” that the best scenes were never shown to the audience because they were far too ingenious, this was not only Pollesch’s way of interpreting Bertolt Brecht’s learning play, but it actually corresponded to reality: many grandiose texts were never heard by an audience. Pollesch’s production principle was the “darling massacre.” Texts that seemed brilliant when read at the table were mercilessly sacrificed if they didn’t work on stage. Pollesch will probably go down in the history of theater as the author whose writing has most consistently deliterarized itself.

And that makes it so damn difficult to write an obituary for him – “as if life itself had died,” as Elfriede Jelinek said after the death of Christoph Schlingensief. I couldn’t get that out of my head in the first few days. Jacques Derrida wrote this enigmatic sentence: “Representation is death.” As if René had written against death in all his plays. As if he had always tried to banish death from the stage. As if it were nothing else: to stop death through texts that refuse to become “literature.”

And now?

Now we have to think for ourselves again. And when we hear the words we are thinking coming out of the mouth of the person across from us, we will briefly remember how lucky we were to have seen people on a stage who really seemed to have mastered this: this thinking together. This practice. And how happy that made us. What was that?

Before I get sentimental, let us note that there was always a lot of laughter in the rehearsals. I’ll never forget the rehearsal when Pollesch laughed so much that we had to send him to the doctor: he actually had a laughing fit! He left the rehearsal still laughing and called out to us: “Don’t worry, guys!” That’s the image I want to keep of him. That’s how I’m going to imagine Brecht’s god of happiness in the future, this god of liberated productivity. Are you feeling well? (No answer, laughs…)

Politics of De-Cityfication: Uninhabitable Cities, Climate Crisis, and Struggles for a New Economic-Ecological Order

Since it is no longer possible to separate urban politics and climate politics (if in fact it ever was), struggles for the right to the city are actually always struggles for a new socio-economic and ecological order to be built on the ruins of the previous mode of spatial production and capital accumulation. Both objects and terrains of eco-political struggle, cities are laboratories of planetary futures of human and other-than-human life, Florin Poenaru argues in his contribution to the “Kin City” series.

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Cities, once celebrated as places of refuge from “barbaric wilderness,” are increasingly becoming inhospitable places for most of their inhabitants and, in the current situation of unbridled capitalist accumulation and ecological destruction, downright uninhabitable. This transformation towards general decay has a systemic cause: the prioritization of capital accumulation and speculation over the well-being of people and nature. Urban infrastructure has ceased to be a public, collective good (or at least an object of class struggle to maintain it as such) and has instead become the backdrop for capital investment under conditions of low profitability.

Life in general is negated as cities become closed centers of profit-making rather than places of human and other-than-human sociability. As a result, for example, more and more groups of people find themselves marginalized and ghettoized within a built environment over which they have no control and which is tailored to serve the interests of the capitalist class and its sycophants. This text highlights the relationship between urban transformation, capital, and human habitation in the context of global warming, while arguing for a reimagining of cities as places of refuge for all in the wake of collapse.

Explosion of urban logic on a global scale

In his 1970 book “The Urban Revolution,” Henri Lefebvre launched the hypothesis that society had become completely urbanized. At the time, it seemed far-fetched: only one-third of the world’s population lived in cities. What Lefebvre had in mind, however, was a new condition: the explosion of urban logic on a global scale; the affirmation of urban space as the main backdrop of capitalist accumulation. For him, this was a major break with the previous mode of capitalist production, namely industrialism embedded in nation-state economies.

Lefebvre used the concept of global cities as early as the late 1960s. This approach became standard in urban studies only in the late 1980s, when the emergence of global financial giants like New York, London, and Tokyo, due to the de-localization of industrial production following neoliberal economic restructuring, suggested the dawn of a new era in which global cities (not only in terms of size, but also in terms of economic and financial reach) would become dominant actors.

More than half a century after it was formulated, Lefebvre’s prediction no longer seems so fanciful: in 2024, nearly 60% of the world’s population will live in cities. The proportion of urban dwellers is expected to continue to rise. Planetary urbanization, as Neil Brenner calls this phenomenon with a nod to Lefebvre, continues in full force. But the process is uneven and heterogeneous. The Americas and Europe are highly urbanized (over 80%), as opposed to Africa (45%). Asia (53%) is highly unevenly urbanized, with Japan, South Korea and, of course, China leading the way. One result of planetary urbanization has been the unprecedented growth of megacities. Worldwide, there are 34 cities with more than 10 million inhabitants. Nearly 60% of the world’s urban population lives in one of these cities. In some cases, the rate of growth has been staggering. Beijing grew from 5 million people in 1980 to nearly 25 million today. Delhi jumped from 5 million to 30 million in a generation, while Mexico City more than doubled its population to 25 million in less than four decades. Dhaka, Sao Paolo, and Shanghai are projected to surpass 30 million by the end of this decade. It is important to note that planetary urbanization is a highly uneven and unequal phenomenon, leading to urban concentration and polarization similar to the economic and social polarization generated by the accumulation of capital in the hands of a few. It also leads to the formation of huge urban polities that are increasingly difficult to govern, organize, and live in.

Most urban growth has taken place on the fringes of the world’s major cities. This process, too, has been uneven and heterogeneous. Cities have exploded and urban fragments have flown like shrapnel, fundamentally transforming the space around them in diverse and contrasting ways: functionally integrated suburbs for the affluent; peri-urban developments that incorporate residential, industrial, and logistical functions; agglomerations of squats and favelas leading to what Mike Davis has called “the planet of slums”; “ghost towns” created by intense financial speculation; and various forms of dubaification, a process by which cities grow through megalomaniac projects in which land appropriation is key. Sometimes a city can concentrate more than one of these developments on its outskirts.

Take the case of Bucharest, the city in which I am writing this text and doing research. In the north of the city, there are suburban housing developments for the affluent middle and upper classes, combined with office space for the corporate sector. To the east and west of the city, there are increasingly large peri-urban areas that combine residential and service functions for the lower middle classes that cannot afford to live in the city core. The south is the most economically depressed area, combining “pockets of poverty” with logistics infrastructure.

The logic of urban capital

The intense concentration of population in and around certain hubs has led to the depopulation of others and the emergence of “shrinking cities.” The result is a hierarchically structured global geography of cityscapes in which inequality is rampant and growing. Big cities tend to get even bigger, while smaller cities continue to shrink. Skopje, Lisbon, Tokyo, Athens, Monrovia, and Dubai are home to about 30% of the population of their respective countries. About 35% of the population of Argentina lives in Buenos Aires, and the same percentage of the population of Lebanon lives in Beirut. Nearly half the population of Congo lives in Brazzaville, half the population of Israel lives in Tel Aviv, and half the population of Paraguay lives in Asuncion.

Although urban in nature, this growth generally lacks distinctive urban characteristics. One of the driving forces of urban expansion is the rent differential between urban and rural land. When land is transformed into urban land, it yields more capital to its owner. But this makes urban land more expensive and scarcer. Following this logic, there is little space left for public spaces and other collective amenities that characterize urban life: sidewalks, squares, hospitals, schools, and the like. Very high density is another key feature of the sprawl, leading to congestion, longer commutes, and pollution. This is why urban sprawl always seems to be an unfinished, transitory space.

But in the process of planetary urbanization, the cities themselves are changing radically. Lefebvre was well aware of this transformation. He wrote about the process of “embourgeoisement” of city centers, a process better known since the 1980s as gentrification. Neil Smith developed the notion of the “revanchist city,” the type of city that emerges from the process by which highly mobile global capital descends on cities and radically transforms them along the lines of profitability. Landlords, finance capitalists, landlords, real estate developers and retail conglomerates merge their interests and share the profits from the increasing privatization and ghettoization of urban space. The state, still relatively active in those urban centers that used to have a strong socialist and social democratic tradition, generally functions as an enabler of the radical transformation of cities along neoliberal lines.

One cause of the decline of the state’s ability to regulate and plan cities is that they are increasingly detached from their national economies and become sui generis global actors. The city-states of the Gulf region are only the extreme versions, with a very specific historical trajectory, of a global process of the rise of cities that become state-like. The constant urban development and redevelopment that characterizes all global cities is itself becoming an important economic activity: in other words, cities can generate their own (productive) economies by virtue of their own dynamics. It is precisely the most service-oriented global cities, disconnected as they are from any industrial activity, that have the capacity to grow their economies exponentially through land speculation and redevelopment.

No place for the poor

This transformation of the urban core has enormous consequences for its inhabitants. At the wrong end of the gentrification process, many are forced to leave cities altogether, swelling the ranks of the urban sprawl. Others, even less fortunate, join the growing ranks of the homeless. In 2021, the World Economic Forum estimates that approximately 150 million people worldwide will be homeless, while 1.6 billion will lack adequate housing. According to OECD reports, homelessness rates have increased in Denmark, England, France, Ireland, Italy, the Netherlands and New Zealand in recent years. In short: As cities grow, so does homelessness.

The downside of planetary globalization is restricted access to housing. This also violates the “right to the city” – another term coined by Lefebvre. Access to housing and the infrastructure of urban life in general is increasingly determined by the interests of capital: a large part of this infrastructure is in private hands, has been turned into the plaything of the markets, and is becoming more and more expensive. Consequently, most cities around the world tend to be structured along very clear lines: work and leisure infrastructure for the affluent classes within the city, on the one hand, and a large population of service workers employed to serve the former, who do not earn enough to live in the city and are thus forced to commute long hours each day, on the other. Unlike medieval towns or early capitalist cities, today’s cities have no place for the poor.

Moreover, precisely as a result of this constant pressure for “urban renewal” as the main means of capital accumulation, cities themselves begin to import features from the periphery, leading to a process of de-cityfication, a term I coined with my colleague Norbert Petrovici. By this we mean the loss of the characteristics of a city in the process of its restructuring by global capital and its associated interests: privatization of public spaces and their constant reduction (such as parks, gardens, sidewalks, etc.), increased densification, poorer public transport and greater reliance on private means of transport (not only cars, but also bicycles and scooters), lack of planning and regulation, and no development of social housing. This, combined with the increased cost of living in the city (which has reached unbearable levels, especially during the recent energy crisis), tends to turn cities into large, relatively uniform ghettos. The rise of digital platforms for a variety of urban services further usurps the functions and rhythms of the city, reinforcing the insularization and privatization of urban life. The generic coffee shop that looks the same from Tokyo to Berlin to Johannesburg, the urban “non-space” par excellence, to use Marc Augé’s phrase, is the insignia of late capitalist urbanization, in which the city itself is bound to disappear in the context of urban expansion.

As capitalist urbanization reaches planetary proportions and (global) cities become increasingly uninhabitable and inhospitable for the majority of their populations, romantic visions of urban escape and rural idyll once again dominate the public imagination. These romantic visions are juxtaposed with images of urban decay and ruin – a dialectic that has haunted the collective imagination of urban life since its inception. Closer to our predicament, Jane Jacobs lamented the death of American cities in the early 1960s. By today’s standards, they were the pinnacle of urban life. A number of reports document the descent of American urban life into chaos. Rebecca Solnit’s portrayal of San Francisco as the playground of Silicon Valley’s tech bros is particularly chilling.

But cities everywhere are experiencing a series of intractable problems in the current paradigm that make urban life a threat and a struggle, especially since capitalist-induced processes of urban decay are part of a vicious circle, as Magdalena Taube and Krystian Woznicki argue: “Ravaged and consequently revolting, ecosystems play back the stress to which they have been subjected; exposed to the feedback of the stress they generate [e.g. in the form of pollution or global warming], cities, as infrastructures of capital and life, are increasingly breaking down.”

Climate collapse as urban collapse

The ongoing climate collapse is likely to render a number of densely populated cities uninhabitable within a generation. Rising sea levels caused by global warming, for example, are a major concern. Jakarta, population 11 million, is sinking. So is Miami. The increasing number of extreme weather events (storms, heat waves, etc.) is also having a devastating impact on cities. For example, in 2023, storm Daniel caused a dam to burst, wiping out the Libyan city of Derna and killing tens of thousands. In recent years, several cities around the world, from China to India, Turkey, Iran, and the Arabian Peninsula, have recorded temperatures in the high 50s Fahrenheit. Barcelona introduced water rationing in the middle of the winter of 2023/2024 amid severe draughts. Other such cases abound around the world. Planetary urbanization on a warming planet poses unbearable dangers. And these disproportionately affect the vulnerablized, expropritated, and racialized, including the homeless.

This is the conjunction in which we find ourselves today: urban explosion (also reinforced by economic and climatic migration) accompanied by de-cityfication, declining city life and climate catastrophe. In short, planetary urbanization and disaster capitalism. “Who will build the ark?” Mike Davis once asked. Today, Darwinian ark and lifeboat fantasies are propagated by the right as it intends to exploit the apocalyptic condition. But there are alternative histories that can be traced back, for example, to the slave ship and its revolting masses of expropriated laborers, which, as Malcom Ferdinand suggests in his seminal book “Decolonial Ecology” (2022), can be harnessed to imagine and build a world-ship that enables emancipatory world-making.

Thus the question is: Can we activate this arsenal of alternative histories of colonial-capitalist modernity and redesign the urban form to function as a world-ship for all – a place of refuge, sociality, and solidarity? Lefebvre rightly noted that historically, cities have had a heterotopic foundation: caravanserais, throughfares, and marketplaces (in the broader sense, including carnivals and public theaters). Before the rise of the bourgeoisie as a dominant class, cities were places to escape the harshness and dullness of village life. Cities were islands of refuge for outcasts, adventurers, and lovers of freedom. Is it possible to rediscover this foundation of cities today?

Towards a new socio-economic and ecological order

The increasing unlivability of cities takes a toll on the physical, mental, and emotional well-being of their inhabitants. Crowded and polluted environments contribute to a wide range of health problems, including respiratory diseases and mental disorders. In addition, inadequate access to basic services such as health care and education perpetuates cycles of poverty and marginalization, trapping individuals in a state of perpetual precarity. As the infrastructure of capital continues to prioritize profit over people, the quality of life in urban centers deteriorates, leading to social exclusion.

Addressing the problematic relationship between the infrastructure of capital and life requires a fundamental rethinking of cities as inclusive and equitable spaces for all. This means prioritizing the needs of human and other-than-human life over the imperatives of capital accumulation, and investing in infrastructure that promotes social equity, environmental sustainability, and community well-being. Initiatives such as affordable housing programs, accessible public transportation, and green spaces can help mitigate the negative effects of capital-driven urbanization and foster a sense of belonging and agency among residents. Since it is no longer possible to separate urban life and climate consciousness (if it ever was), struggles for the right to the city are actually struggles to redefine a new socio-economic and ecological order on the ruins of the previous mode of spatial production and capital accumulation. Both objects and terrains of eco-political struggle, contemporary cities are laboratories of the collective future: either metropolitan eco-socialism or urban disaster capitalism.

Editor’s note: The article is a contribution to the Berliner Gazette’s “Kin City” series. More information: https://berlinergazette.de/kin-city-urban-ecologies-and-internationalism-call-for-papers/

Housing in the Eco-Polis: From Commons to Club Space and Back Again?

Faced with the privatization of essential urban resources such as housing, and asking why reclaiming the infrastructure of life from capital has become even more urgent in the wake of the climate crisis – this leads us to rethink the commons. Our theoretical knowledge of the commons comes from two different fields: political economy research on commons institutions, and socio-cultural research on emancipatory commons movements. In order to recognize the commons and distinguish them from non-commons, findings from both fields need to be linked. In both fields of research, ecological studies are implemented to support the concept of commoning as a condition for climate-just urbanism, Dagmar Pelger argues in her contribution to the “Kin City” text series, focusing on Berlin.

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The starting point of all commons is their common production. Any process of communitization – or commoning – can only take place if those who use the goods, resources or spaces are also those who determine the rules for this use, as we have learned from the political economist Elinor Ostrom. But only if the spatial resources and the – conscious or unconscious – negotiation of rules are potentially accessible to all, does a space open up as a spatial commons through emancipatory appropriation. Only then does it fulfill the description of the commons as a place of solidary relationships, to quote the philosopher Silvia Federici.

The process of opening up a spatial commons as a sphere beyond public and private is determined above all by the way in which any yield or profit from the respective use of space is dealt with. As long as the material, immaterial, social or cultural surplus of a particular spatial commons – for example, a place of assembly – is shared among potentially all users and not accumulated, extracted or absorbed by a few, a universal spatial commons – for example, the city as such – is preserved, maintained, and reproduced as a common good on a daily basis. Commoning thus becomes legible as a reproductive and non-extractive mode of spatial production. This opens up a perspective on spatial production in the commons as an ecologically just and sustainable process in which resources are shared rather than exploited.

By applying Elinor and Vincent Ostrom’s economic description of four different types of goods – common, public, private, and club – to space, it is possible to distinguish not only different ways of dealing with spatial resources and their profit, as well as different degrees of accessibility, but above all different modes of ownership: The more one’s economic activity is directed toward subsistence (food, clothing, shelter) rather than the market (profit, growth, etc.), and the higher the degree of communal inclusiveness and democratic governance that prevails in a place or process, the higher the degree of commoning. The opposite is true for club goods or club spaces that are exclusively accessible to, privately owned by, and commercially managed by members.

This makes spatial commons as well as public spaces legible as a non-profit oriented and therefore ecologically reproductive form of ownership, in contrast to spatial clubs and private spaces as a profit accumulating and therefore ecologically exploitative form of ownership.

All four types of space overlap, mix, and interpenetrate in urban space. Nevertheless, their description provides a helpful analytical tool for making the production of urban space economically and ecologically legible as a reproductive or extractive practice, as will become clear in the following consideration of Berlin’s modes of housing provision.

Berlin’s houses and the people who live in them

Different economic and political systems are inscribed in Berlin’s urban fabric, and thus the city’s housing models provide a number of peculiar examples of ownership changes in recent history that have affected Berlin on both a socio-spatial and ecological level.

Already during the so-called Gründerzeit (1867-1873), a first attempt at mass housing was initiated with the expansion plan of James Hobrecht. A public road network was planned around the existing city, offering private developers plots up to 250 meters deep. Filled with a high-density type of building, the so-called tenement, characterized by a series of narrow courtyards, this network structure guaranteed high profitability for investors. The downside of the boom: rapidly rising rents and evictions. Those who lost their homes often ended up in a workhouse. Informal settlements outside the city walls compensated for the lack of housing with self-built structures. The self-proclaimed Freistaat Barackia was only a brief experiment in land commons, lasting only two years until it was cleared by the Berlin police, but it still creates a social as well as spatial connection between the traditional common land of the village green and the urban street as a commons enclosed by the blocks of tenements.

In the Weimar Republic (1918-1933), as a kind of counter-movement to this Wilhelminian model, civic-public housing associations such as GEHAG, GSW, and Gewobag were largely initiated and shaped by workers’ unions and syndicate organizations and their traditions of self-administration. Interwoven with municipal or state structures, these hybrid associations were conceived as non-profit or charitable/non-profit. The iconic housing estates of modernism, such as the Hufeisensiedlung, Onkel Toms Hütte, Wohnstadt Carl Legien, and many others, were homes for workers, employees, and civil servants who participated in decision-making and ownership. Cooperative models were also initiated, such as the Lindenhof settlement, where the degree of self-determination and common ownership was even higher. The modernist housing estates remained in public ownership until the 1990s, and the cooperative housing estates until today.

However, the two very different political systems of the post-war period in East and West Berlin (1949 to 1990) shaped both the existing and the newly built estates. While the housing production of East Berlin, with about 155,000 apartments, is characterized by highly standardized prefabricated building types in park-like settings, West Berlin, with about 60,000 new apartments, shows a greater variation in construction methods and types. But the rather similar architectural results of the large housing estates on both sides, such as Marzahn in the East or Märkisches Viertel in the West, differ much more in their socio-spatial production due to different economic and ownership models.

Housing production in East Berlin was non-profit by nature, provided housing for all, and was administered either by the state or by workers’ housing cooperatives in a kind of state-controlled self-administration. In various constructions, housing in the East can be seen as a cooperative-public approach within a strongly state-controlled system. In West Berlin, on the other hand, the state-regulated subsidy system for so-called social housing primarily promoted and financed a market-based real estate industry through tax breaks for investors. Additional subsidies allowed for a “social lock-in” of rents, limited to a period of 20-30 years. After this period, the housing could be rented out at market rates and thus managed for profit.

Socio-ecological agency?

This approach of temporary non-profit housing provided by publicly funded investors was also the model for the Internationale Bauausstellung (IBA) in West Berlin from 1984 to 1987. Driven by the plans for an inner-city highway in Kreuzberg at the end of the 1970s, a massive protest by civil society against the clear-cut redevelopment and the associated IBA plans led to a split in the IBA project. In the more established western districts, the original concept of a “critical reconstruction” of the pre-war block grid with new buildings in public, association or private ownership was pushed forward as “IBA New Construction” (“IBA Neubau”).

In Kreuzberg, a district with a high proportion of proletarian residents, subcultural workers, activists, and many residents with a history of migration, the alternative concept of “IBA Altbau” was installed for a “gentle renewal” of existing blocks through participatory renovation and careful insertion of new buildings. For all the emancipatory power behind the concept, little effort was made to integrate Kreuzberg’s diverse communities into the German-dominated participation processes, according to Esra Akcan’s thorough research. Nevertheless, the establishment of small cooperatives such as Selbstbau eG or Luisenstadt eG, which secured practices of self-administration of collectivized houses taken over by maintenance squatters, was one of the remarkable results, along with the establishment of non-profit urban development associations such as Stattbau or S.T.E.R.N. Central results of the participation processes for soft renewal were guidelines to ensure resource-conserving renovations, decision-making power for residents, green open spaces, and social infrastructures for the entire district. This socio-ecological mindset of self-empowered urban citizens is reflected in the spatial appearance of the blocks, with a high proportion of diverse vegetation and alternative building materials. While the IBA Neu produced housing as a club good in private-public cooperation, the IBA Alt produced housing as a common good in civic-public cooperation.

Both urban structures were integrated into a city-state when Berlin became the capital of the united FRG in 1990. By the end of the 1990s, most of the publicly owned rental housing, many of the Weimar Republic’s modernist estates that had provided affordable housing for almost 150 years, and large parts of the IBA Alt buildings that had been renovated in a participatory process were converted into private companies or sold in the early 2000s to companies such as Deutsche Wohnen, a subsidiary of Deutsche Bank. The stock of publicly owned apartments shrank from 482,000 in 1990 to 223,000 in 2009, while the stock of cooperative apartments remained at 185,000.

Towards an urban eco-politics of spatial commoning

These intertwined and layered transformations in Berlin’s housing and real estate ownership – from communal to club and back again – continue to impact today’s socio-economic struggles over spatial resources in the face of the unfolding climate crisis, disproportionately affecting vulnerabilized groups such as racialized communities and the homeless, and framing the conditions for socio-political adaptation to its effects as well as measures for climate justice in Berlin.

In the aftermath of the post-2009 financial crises, the consequences of the wave of housing privatization have materialized in violent ways, causing many displacements, overcrowding, homelessness, evictions, and gentrification. Similarities to the Wilhelminian model overlap with similarities to the IBA-Neu model, accompanied by experiments with the IBA-Alt model, which already referred to the non-profit associations of the Weimar Republic. Since real estate has become the most profitable financial asset traded globally, the potential of housing estates to be transformed into a club good has greatly increased.

Since club space is a closed and exclusive type of (im)material good rooted in an extraction-based economy, it is by definition opposed to commoning as a careful, reproductive and ecologically integrative mode of resource management, as well as to a solidary and inclusive social practice. Claiming common ownership of housing is the only economic model in which a practice of ecologically sustainable housekeeping with a reproductive use of resources is integrated into a solidary and socially integrative self-management of communities. Let’s socialize.

Editor’s note: The article is a contribution to the Berliner Gazette’s “Kin City” series. More information: https://berlinergazette.de/kin-city-urban-ecologies-and-internationalism-call-for-papers/