As I noted in my last post, professional architectural design has recently come to be seen as a valid and potentially effective approach to improving informal settlements. I have long had an interest in the spatial and material qualities of built environment of informal settlements, and the recent shift in thinking about “design in favelas” presents an opportunity to expand the discussion to include architectural design as practiced by the residents themselves. As a point of reference, I would suggest that spatial constraint is typically the factor most at play in the process of architectural design in an urban informal settlement, and that its impact can be observed in every piece of the built environment.

Part of my architectural research in São Paulo focused on documenting stairs and semiprivate outdoor spaces, as these were common elements visible from the circulation spaces which showed a lot of individual expression. At first glance, designing a stair in an informal settlement might seem like a simple project. In fact, the number of factors that have to be addressed by the designer is surprisingly high. The first design decision would most likely be the selection of a location. In the spatially constrained context of an informal settlement, the builder may wish to encroach on an adjacent circulation path. These “public” spaces appear to be created and maintained by local agreement, although I have not investigated how the encroachment process occurs in that context.

But whether the stair was within the zone of a resident’s home, or encroaching in the circulation space, the guiding principle appeared to be to serve the purpose in the minimum space possible. Stairs were almost always narrow rather than wide, and within the great variety of stair configurations I documented, I rarely encountered full landings where a stair changed direction – typically, a triangular step or two would serve the purpose. As the photo above shows, the two angled treads appear to be designed to encroach as little as possible into the adjacent circulation space.

Fortunately, the best material for designing these freeform stairs is also one of the most inexpensive and readily available. Poured-in-place concrete can be formed and adapted to even the most awkward spaces, and is often used in ways that enhance communal spaces and allow for individual expression.

Informal settlements are typically in a state of physical change as families improve their structures and negotiate ways to increase their living space. As new structures are built or new access provided to an existing one, sometimes stairs have to be modified, and again the material’s physical qualities support this process. The complexity of stair forms result from the pressure to minimize the size of the stairs and their encroachment into circulation spaces, as well as to adapt to change over time.

Architectural design in the service of useful and creative solutions can be found everywhere people live. In favelas, barrios, and colonias, the very real dangers of unsound construction, crowding, and building on at-risk sites may overshadow our awareness of design elements like these. It’s unclear whether architectural upgrading projects will be more widely implemented in the future, but if so perhaps we will see more analysis of the fine-scale context of project sites and processes by which they are produced.

]]> http://favelissues.com/2012/02/24/informal-designers/feed/ 0 bethanyopalach Villa Triangle Stair Barragan Stair Thin Stair http://favelissues.com/2012/02/22/remaking-rio-favela-tourism-and-the-tourist-narrative-part-i/ http://favelissues.com/2012/02/22/remaking-rio-favela-tourism-and-the-tourist-narrative-part-i/#comments Thu, 23 Feb 2012 00:46:40 +0000 Tucker Landesman http://favelissues.com/?p=2493 ]]>

The above video shows a new tourist attraction in the famous favela Santa Marta: paintball. Brought to you by Off the Track Rio, a collaboration between a Santa Marta resident and a US-exchange student. Some of you may be shocked or even appalled by the moral implications of a bunch of rowdy, privileged foreigners playing war games in what used to be a favela controlled by a notorious drug lord. (If so, feel free to debate it out on the blog of the co-creator, where he has addressed such criticisms). I myself am fascinated, because through this project they are making a space of leisure and fun in which residents and ‘outsiders’ engage with one another through play. As a side note, at 25 reais a game (about 15 USD, and residents play at a “steep discount” according to the co-creator), paintball in Santa Marta is far more economical than any favela tour I have ever seen advertised.

Front cover of the UN report critiqued by Gilbert.

Like all social categories, concepts, identities and definitions, slum is not static but constantly reproduced and contested (locally and globally). In a recent paper, Gareth Jones examines aesthetic representations of slums and how spatial and territorialized stigma can be challenged through art and what he calls “aesthetic work” [2]. With a global approach, Jones offers examples from Accra, Durban, London and Rio de Janeiro. The Rio example of Projeto Morrinho is especially interesting. What started as a small project by local youth to create a miniature model of a favela out of cinderblocks and bricks became a travelling art installation, one that represented all of Rio as favela. Jones views Morrinho through a lens of political subjectivity; how is the favela represented and by whom? He concludes that recognition of the slum-as-category is “vital”, but he stresses that we must study how the slum is represented and prioritize the idea of the slum (an inherently political process) rather than stress over and operate within utilitarian technical definitions of informal housing settlements (which mistakenly try to apoliticize the phenomenon).

Morrinho. Photo by mizaweb

 The idea of the slum is central to my own research because I am interested in how the reproduction of Rio de Janeiro’s favelas affects urban spatial relationships and the city experienced. The evolving hypothesis is that ambitious state-led initiatives meant to legitimize and integrate (some of) the city’s favelas necessarily broaden the city itself. Simply put, by remaking the favela they are remaking Rio. Similar to Jones’ questions above, how this happens, by whom (and for whom) are essential matters. In this post, I lay the groundwork to begin exploring this public reconstruction of the favela through one mechanism to which I think many readers can relate (and hopefully offer their own commentaries): favela tourism.

Favela tours have exploded in the tourism market in Rio de Janeiro. Friends who have worked at hostels in Zona Sul have told me that favela tours are the most popular guided trips that guests sign up for; hostels and guesthouses have opened in a number of the most picturesque favelas; and the municipal government has promoted both foreign and native tourists to visit certain pacified favelas, even providing free guided tours of the celebrated favela Santa Marta. To attract the adventure-seeking travellers, some companies go beyond the classic guided tours (yawn) and offer truly exciting excursions like favela funk parties or favela paintball. My goal is not to analyse the market for favela tourism nor problematize poverty voyeurism. Instead, I want to consider the favela tour experience, and particularly how tourists in turn represent favelas, as part of the constitutive discourse that is currently reframing the position of the favela within the city of Rio and redefining its spatial significance.

An example of a photo posted online by a favela tourist.

Part two of this post will skip straight to the empirical “data”, and we’ll look at how favela tourists represent their experience in their blogs and photos. The idea is simple: tourists are sold their favela experience by guidebooks, hostel employees, tourist agencies and their websites. They arrive with preconceptions based on popular media (movies like City of God, news media, TV and the internet), other tourists, Brazilian nationals, and their scholastic and personal histories. While on the tour they experience the favela through a narrative provided by their guide and through their own discerning senses. They then consolidate this narrative with the influences mentioned above and reproduce it through blogs and online photo sharing. As tourists are not directly involved in the political subjectivity of favela representation, and as they did not grow up with the locally constructed socio-spatial prejudices, it stands to reason that they should easily adopt the narrative provided to them by their guides, tourist agencies and others parroting official state discourse about the new era dawning in Rio de Janeiro. Part two of this post will ask if there is a collective narrative being reproduced through travel blogs of favela tourists and what we might learn about the transformation of the favela carioca and the remaking of Rio de Janeiro.

***Anyone who would like to read any of the academic literature cited in any of my posts but does not have access to the journal, let me know in the comments section and I’ll be happy to share a digital copy.

1. A Gilbert. 2007. The Return of the Slum: Does Language matter? International Journal of urban and Regional Research; 31(4):697-713.
2. G Jones. 2011. Slumming About: Aesthetics, art and politics. City. 15(6):696-708.

For the first time since the advent of World War II the soccer world reconvened in Brazil in June, July 1950. With the Maracanã as the larger stadium in the planet, the country that played well in 1938 (3^rd place) was galvanized around its Seleção that seemed unstoppable. In the first phase Brazil beat Mexico (4-0), tied with Switzerland (2-2) and beat Youguslavia (2-0). With a couple of nervous appearances the Seleção was not as exuberant in its first 3 games. The biggest surprise of all was the amateurish team of USA beating England (1-0) in Belo Horizonte, sending the favorite British Team back home.

The second and final phase between the hosts, Sweden, Spain and Uruguay would see the Brazilian splendor that all 50 million Brazilians were waiting for.  The first game was an elastic 7-0 win over Sweden, followed by another “goleada” of 6-1 over Spain. Meanwhile, Uruguay struggled to tie with the Swedes (2-2) and beat the Spanish (3-2) on a very tough game.

For the final on July 16^th 1950 the Maracanã stadium was at full capacity (200,000)  waiting for Brazil to continue its winning strike and take the FIFA World Cup for the first time.  Brazil would be champion with a simple tie and actually scores first. But Uruguay’s dangerous counter-attacks worked twice. End of the game, Uruguay 2-1 Brazil. The biggest loss of Brazilian history. The biggest victory of La Celeste Olímpica.

Meanwhile, in 1950 the city of Rio did its first census of informal neighborhoods.  The census showed that 340,000 people lived in favelas, half of which was below 20 years of age.  The census also showed that 70% of Rio’s favela population described themselves as black or mulatto (while in the rest of the city this number was below 30%).  The favelas were already black territories but nobody was talking about it this way, either in the press or in academic research.

The Maracanazo  of July 16^th 1950 would be prominent on Brazilian imaginary for many decades. The Afro-Brazilian Moacir Barbosa, the goal-keeper took the blunt of the blame. Nelson Rodrigues coined the term “complex de vira-lata” (mutt complex) to explain the Brazilian lack of self-esteem that cursed our great players, a concept with direct racial undertones. It would take dozens of  other mulatto geniuses (Pelé 1958; Vavá 1962; Pelé again 1970; Romário 1994; Ronaldo 2002) to bury this idea.  The goalkeepers, however, would be all white: Castilho, Gilmar, Felix, Leão, Valdir Perez, Carlos, Taffarel and  Marcos.  This taboo would only fall 56 years later with Dida (2006) when Brazil was already “penta” (5-times) World Cup champion.

La Salada at 9 on a Sunday morning (J. Renteria)

La Salada, whose 20 hectares are lined along the south of the Rio Matanza in Buenos Aires, claims to be the largest informal market in Latin America. Given the thoroughness of pieces like this one, I thought I would instead share my personal experience with La Salada in hopes of providing both a more textured understanding of its context and insight on how it is perceived by some.

At the recommendation of a Buenos Aires-based architect, I decided to visit La Salada, located south of the Rio Matanza, just outside of the city of Buenos Aires’ boundaries and a part of the generally impoverished region of the South, which is largely characterized by poor infrastructure and few social service amenities.

Stands teeter over the Rio Matanza (J. Renteria)

Those less interested in La Salada as subject, knowing it only as an unsafe, chaotic place, repeatedly told me I should not go. I justified my insistence in going by assuming that it could not be terribly bad. Hundreds of thousands, from all of over the country and outside of it, bus in regularly to shop at this place, I thought. Tens of millions of dollars are generated from sales on a monthly basis! What is there to fear?

By the day of the trip, I had recruited a hostel companion to accompany me, thus somewhat assuaging the apprehension I was feeling about the trip at that point. When we jumped onto the bus to get to our destination, I let the bus driver know where we were headed and asked if he could give us a heads up as our stop neared. “Sure, it’s the last stop,” he said and, like many others before, asked if I knew where I was going. “Yes, I do know.” He shrugged and on we went.

Customers maneuver around narrow, serpentine walkways (J. Renteria)

About an hour and a half later, and after the dense city became vacant lots, dilapidated factories, and high-rising, sparse apartment buildings, we began crossing the Rio Matanza, which to me was an indicator of our close proximity to La Salada. As we crossed the river, the bus driver pointed to his right, where a dense massing of what appeared to be mangled shacks stood in the distance. “That, there, is La Salada, you see it?” asked the bus driver. “Yes, I see it, it looks like a short walk from here,” I said. “Sure it does, but you won’t be walking it. Instead, you’ll be taking one of the buses that will take you in from the next stop, where I’ll be dropping you off. You don’t want to walk that.” My response? “Mmm, okay.”

Coming through the modest bus station, were several buses, seemingly retired from a life working public transit routes and which had worn, cracked tires and missing seats – “truchas” or bootleg is how one vendor described them. All went to La Salada. We jumped onto one for a pricey 2 pesos or 46 US cents. As the bus made its way over unpaved, muddy streets and through the villa (what Argentines call their “favelas”) that was between us and the market, modest homes and abandoned shopping carts and toilets came into view. The sight, needless to say, was bleak, and, yet, optimistic, with bright, blue skies in the background.

Empty stands reveal their seemingly fragile skeleton (J. Renteria)

We eventually pulled into La Salada, our view from the bus looking much like this.  We had arrived on an early Sunday morning, but not early enough for La Salada, which, on the weekends has been running since the late hours of the night before and goes on until vendors choose to close shop the following day.

As we hopped off the bus, we could more clearly see the “mangled shacks” we had seen from a distance. It turned out they were vendors’ stands, pushed up against each other, no bigger than 4 feet wide and 4 feet deep, and teetering on the edge of the river. Once we walked through one of the “entryways,” my companion and I ended up in a serpentine-like walkway that narrowly weaved its way around the rickety stands. Much of the same was being sold – Gap sweatshirt and pant knock-offs, baseball caps embroidered with an array of logos, and the paisley-printed stockings that could be found on young ladies all over town, amongst other things.

Precarious situations abound where weak infrastructure is present (J. Renteria)

We moved onto the main “boulevard” along which the bus had entered and from where the end of the market could not be seen. We continued along this stretch where much of the same sight repeated itself. Smoke from grills and the smell of sausages permeated the air at some points. Appealing as they were, our minds told us to think twice. Music blasted and we became increasingly exhausted by all the stimuli. We had little energy to be at all concerned for our safety, a worry that seemed less and less relevant as we marched along the rows of vendors alongside other shoppers. At this point, we decided to head out and into the city, with a pathetic battle story to share, given what turned out to be a harmless visit to La Salada despite the concerns expressed. Perhaps we were lucky. Nevertheless, the claim that we had been there seemed to arouse the interests of some, who “could not believe it.”

It was only afterward, when I spoke with Paola Salaberri, an architect and professor at the Universidad de Buenos Aires, who has done extensive research on La Salada and on what she and colleagues call “paraformal,”, that I realized that I had only seen and experienced a small bit of the place. More specifically, I had only seen one of its several ferias, the notorious La Ribera. (More on La Ribera and La Salada, generally: 1 and 2.) Too, much like those who warned me of the place, ultimately, it seems, my understanding of it remained unknowingly far narrower than I thought. And, as such,  it remains.

Vendors walk over dusty, at times muddy, ground (J. Renteria)

Transforming Electricity Consumers into Customers: Case Study of a Slum Electrification and Loss Reduction Project in São Paulo, Brazil

Today I will be writing about a project that although I have known for a while keeps coming back to my head every time I try to think about a successful example of going beyond sectors (housing, energy, transport…) when doing slum upgrading interventions. I learned about this project when I was in India working on my PhD and evaluating the Slum Rehabilitation Scheme being implemented in Mumbai.  I was volunteering at the Slum Rehabilitation Society – a small but inspiring NGO that worked in slums since the early 70’s – and since they were helping me out with some of my research I felt the need to help them out with one or two basic things. In return for their solidarity I agreed to help them (1) redeveloping their webpage that was quite outdated – I have to admit that I am not especially proud of my work on this area since my design skills stopped in kindergarten – and (2) help them develop a set of community workshops for a Safe Electrification and Loss Reduction Project in Mumbai that was bound to replicate the SELR project in Sao Paulo, Brazil. The NGO in which I was volunteering was in charge of communicating the project to slum households on behalf of USAID and COPPER International, the two agencies leading the projects.

I left Mumbai long before the community workshops started so my knowledge of SELR Mumbai or its outcomes stopped there but during the workshops’ preparation I learned a little about SELR Sao Paulo and that is what I wanted to share with you today. The Slum Electrification and Loss Reduction Project –SELR-  aimed to (1) solve a large-scale and long-term problem of electricity losses from theft and non-payment in slums (2) while bringing more reliable and safer electricity service to its residents and (3) reduce their electricity consumption dramatically to affordable levels. Its first pilot was in Paraisópolis, a slum in Sao Paulo. At first, when I started reading the papers that documented this pilot I was a little skeptical. Of course, electrical companies will always be happy to ‘legalize’ electricity consumption in slums – if local governments allow them to – since it means a considerable reduction of their losses due to theft. However, from what I had seen before, this type of projects needed to be accompanied by large tariff subsidies since poor slum households, who were not used to pay for electricity and generally had the most inefficient electric appliances, could easily pass from theft to non-payment once their electricity became legal.

So how was the SELR project in Sao Paulo different? Two elements in my perspective were fundamental for its initial success (I haven’t so far found long term impacts evaluation of the project therefore its sustainability remains a research question to address). The first was the inclusion of an energy efficient component in the project. All households involved in the project received new efficient lights and the poorest of the households that had inefficient refrigerators received replacements. This allowed households to reduce their total electricity consumption to a more affordable range. The other element that was fundamental for SELR’s success was the inclusion of a three month education campaign on electricity payment. To reduce the impact of passing from electricity consumers to costumers bills were capped at 150 kWh for a period of 3 months. During this period of time households received their electricity bills containing the real information about their monthly consumption – which allowed them to adjust their behavior – but only had to pay for 150 kWh. The next table shows the results in reduction of electricity consumption pre and post regularization and due to the energy efficiency component. Overall the regularization and Energy efficiency measures leaded to a reduction in 40% of the initial electricity consumption.

Some of the key results from Brazil’s SELR pilot project analysis were:

-          Improved collection of revenues that went from virtually no payment to 68%  payment

-          A reduction of electricity consumption within the pilot area of about 40%

-          Improved security and safety: emergency incidences related to electricity passed from 57 in the first 6 months in 2006 to 2 in the same period in 2007.

Here are some links for more information:

Transforming Electricity Consumers into Customers

 http://pdf.usaid.gov/pdf_docs/PNADO642.pdf

SELR Mumbai Copper International info

http://www.copperindia.org/cu/wcms/en/home/events/seminars/selr/index.html

Electrifying the Bottom of the Pyramid: Improving Access in Slums

http://dspace.mit.edu/bitstream/handle/1721.1/59922/676698770.pdf?sequence=1

Garage on block with favela in the background. Image from the Coletivo de Arte do Bamburral.

I have been teaching art classes to kids in a favela in the north zone of São Paulo for two years now. One of our staple activities is free drawing – crayons, markers, pencils, and imagination. Well, sort of. There is specific drawing that always seems to repeat itself amongst almost all of my students. It is the image of a simple pitched roof house with two windows and a front door accompanied by a brightly shining sun and a long, thin set of clouds. Where the imprint of this image comes from I am not quite sure. The TV, textbooks, children’s books, computer games, or all of the above… It is, definitively, the preferred version of the “perfect” house. I think I have seen at least one hundred slightly different versions. But this “ideal” house is nowhere in sight as you look around the masses of flat-roofed, brick homes, stacked one atop the other. In fact you will rarely encounter this image of a house in the city of São Paulo at all.

Pitched roof house. Image from the Coletivo de Arte do Bamburral

I am working with the students, some as young as six, to draw the homes on their street, in their neighborhood. The results are amazing – bricks drawn one by one, close lines stretching across decks, adorned by colorful clothing, stairs on the ground, in the sky, or carefully placed on the face of a house. But once in a while a child will squint their eyes tightly, and peering at a house in front of them adorn their drawn representation with a peaked roof. Sometimes I ask them to look again, to explain to me what is different between the drawing and the physical house. Giving me a puzzled look the response is often “but teacher, roofs are like this”. “But teacher, roofs are like this”.

House on block, with a pitched roof. Image from the Coletivo de Arte do Bamburral.

Much of my work is about finding the unique, specialized, collective, and ever changing spaces and buildings that make up favelas. It is about looking for spatial qualities that reinforce community and thread together the peripheries of São Paulo. As I flip between forums about favela reurbanization and public housing and drawing activities with six-year-olds, the deep-rooted aesthetic value gaps begin to surface. The perfect house. The pitched roof. The formal city. Ideals ingrained before we even begin to read, a structural stigmatization so wide that it permeates math books of public schools. I wonder how this influences not only a kids vision of their neighborhood, but a whole community design process through which people are asked what their ideal house is, what types of spaces they would like to see. And more, how might this change when kids (on both sides) grow up with broader image of what a house is, what a neighborhood is, and ultimately what a city is.

House on block. Image from the Coletivo de Arte do Bamburral.

We all agree that urban interventions should be positive social actions that focus their benefits on low-income urban dwellers. There is a wide range of projects in this list: punctual upgrades in informal settlements, participatory projects, new infrastructure equipment, renovations, and so on and so forth.

Yet, as urbanists and urban activists, we will have to learn to sort out the ‘good’ interventions from the theatrical urban shows. This is particularly important, as various demagogical regimes have discovered a way to implement political control through the disguise of innocent urban interventions. Allow me to expand on the latter, as it is a scheme applied in my home country, Venezuela:

Governments begin by preaching ‘globally approved slogans’ on urban upgrading: empowerment of the people, participative projects, equal access to land, leadership in self-development and so on. However, this façade discourse quickly transforms into a prize contest where people are offered, not education, stability nor the power to make decisions; but instead, cheap trinkets ranging from participation on a share of ‘invaded’ land, to white line appliances, to cash, to positions of ‘power’ within the community.

Originally designed to transform dwellers into owners of their own future, provide responsible for their living conditions, support equality in citizenship and so much more; these types of interventions become a simple disguise for manipulation. Instead of strengthening citizenship, free gifts and free help tend to weaken population in general, many times even springing corruption: frequently ‘gifts’ are directed to ‘friends’ and never reach real target populations. As long as people remain in a government shelter or in a particular government list, they are eligible to these prizes; not surprising, surveys have shown that many refuse to get a stable job because it prevents them from attending all raffles while away at work.

In this scenario, slower but informed efforts for long-term sustainable upgrades and development are quickly truncated by quick ‘buying out’ strategies relying on ‘free cash’ and knickknacks. This has become extremely clear in Venezuela, as in recent years, NGOs in the country do not find support but instead are harassed both economically and legally.

Although the following merits a separate discussion of its own, I also want to mention another theatrical strategy relying on the spectacular or iconic urban interventions where a very visible ‘toy’ or gadget is deployed in order to get international publicity for “the social government.”

In short, these theatrical interventions and policies require more free goods and land to hand out in order to feed illusions; there is no time for planning or building adequately, and even less for participatory methods. In this theatrical stage, any house is good enough to give away for free; so the government buys out whatever low cost unit is being built, they use whatever open land they see- a park, a mall, a hotel, an unfinished building, a farm or existing industry- and all of these are torn down or confiscated using arbitrary urban and political tools to half-hazardly install displaced and homeless populations in unsanitary and risk environments.

I don’t know for how long people will be satisfied with “urban mirrors and trinkets”. In my eyes, the city’s decay and appearance are not as bad as the moral damage. The economic dependence of on easy resources, the ecological damage, the deteriorating conditions of cities, the lack of norms and urban procedures, and the list goes on…. Yet, it is exactly this list what will weigh more heavily on the more vulnerable classes in the long run.

In 1984 the State Government of Maharashtra, introduced the Cess Policy that entitled an additional 2.00 FSI (Floor Space Index or Floor Area Ration [FAR]) for the redevelopment of old dilapidated buildings in the Island City of Mumbai. Cessed properties are old residential or mixed-use buildings that are owned by “landlords” and occupied by tenants who often do not have the required finance capital for self-redevelopment. The policy encourages private developers to redevelop old buildings, while rehabilitating old tenants on the same plot of land and selling the additional units at market rate to offset development costs. While this policy was introduced in the best interest of communities living in the inner city neighborhoods of Mumbai, to ensure these neighborhoods could be revitalized with negligible gentrification, it was being used as a means to “illegally” acquire FSIs up to 7 and 8 times (and in some cases even higher) more than what was legally permissible. Uses that did not previously exist or tenants who were not involved were brought in to present false cases that could exploit the loopholes of the said policy. Such was the case of the City Center Shopping Mall and Orchid Enclave Residential building.

Neighboring context, average building heights 2-3 storeys.

Haphazard redeveloped buildings based on DCR 33/7 along a neighboring street from the Mall

Round the corner from the new Mall

The City Center Mall was built on a site where roughly 100 tenants with mostly commercial uses—i.e. auto-repair stores, hardware stores, and other miscellaneous retail and commerce—rented or owned space. Visually (or aesthetically) these buildings (mostly ground plus two or three storey, see above) looked dilapidated, with crumbling infrastructure, very little light or ventilation, and prone to all kinds of public health concerns. However, the cess policy does not permit the redevelopment of commercial properties, hence to work around that technicality, these units were considered as “live-work” units, permitting the redevelopment and subsequent rehabilitation of individual tenants on the same plot of land. The next step towards building the Mall was to get rid of the tenants! Architectural drawings (see below) presented to the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) delineated names of individual tenants to retail spaces within the Mall to present the case for rehabilitation. However once the project was approved and built, the Mall had no hardware stores or auto-repair centers (obviously!). Apparently, each of the 100 odd tenants leased their space to a finance management company for the next 100 years, systematically cleaning the traces of a whole community of ‘entrepreneurs’ from the heart of the city.

Floor Plans of the Mall. The large area highlighted in yellow is the sale area, and areas indicated in red are rehoused tool and auto repair shops. The large green space indicates 'Modern Garage' and the brown space towards the top right corner indicates a community space i.e. a preexisting 'Jamatkhana' (space for communal prayers followed by free meals).

Virtual Simulations of the Mall and Residential towers with recreational amenities.

      

Diagrammatic Representation of the 'Rehabilitation' component and the Sale component

Advertising Orchid Enclave and its new way of life

The images above show an absolutely obnoxious “invasion” of affordable and accessible spaces in the city transforming them into enclaves of wealth and order—an informality perpetuated by the powerful and elite classes of our society. These may look legal and formal enough to appease our desires for a ‘world class’ city, but are they Just? That can be debated; however, debating legality and illegality of land acquisition is a moot point—what is a more pressing question is “access”—do we have equal access over opportunities for security of housing, jobs and a safe livelihood? Namrata’s recent post, speaks to this very clearly problem of access and security (amongst various other things) within rapidly growing cities. Here ‘informal/ illegal/ occupied’ spaces serve as forms of affordable housing—we could either address them with massive evictions, coercive and uncivilized State policies, lucidly discussed in Tucker’s recent post, or begin understanding the problem of access in more structural and systemic ways as Namrata begins to layout through her posts.

Silvia Soonets (as Tucker correctly points out) begins to question a very crucial problem encountered by architects who are often crippled by their readings of the physical built environment and therefore enter the problem of ‘romanticizing’ conditions of abject poverty. However, I think the problem is less of “invasion” (as Soonets writes about it) and more a lack of our understanding and ability to disengage from the physicality of the built environment to an understanding of processes. Therefore, discussions around urban poverty are often framed as justifications or objections against forms of informal living. Rather, what is needed is a shift of discourse towards ‘processes’ and systems that need intervention, than a discussion around the formalization of informal housing; or a discussion around housing types, be it rental, transitional (as modeled in some parts of the United States where housing for previously homeless persons or families is coupled with supportive services like employment generation, rehabilitation, mental health facilities etc.) or affordable housing.

The case of the City Center Mall topped with the 42 storied Orchid Enclave, (elite residential condominiums with swimming pools, spas, a gym and tennis courts), speaks of an extreme system failure where the poor are seen as informal invaders and the rich are seen as the rightful, earning members of our neoliberal society. My previous post on the occupy movement precisely spoke of the shift of the discourse around poverty from being a problem of the poor, to becoming a problem of extreme inequality in wealth distribution and therefore inequality in public access. There are many forms of ‘informalities’, as the title of this post goes, informal policies to impede public access, informal forms of achieving temporary access within urban spaces, informal (and often inhuman) planning mechanisms to evict the urban poor from cities and informal ways of protesting historic repression within our societies. Hence, it would be a terrible mistake to confuse informal settlements with occupy-encampments, even though they address almost similar questions of “access”; they are formalized around very different politics. It would also be a terrible mistake to close your reading of informal settlements with words like squalor, invasions or unlawful acquisitions—because it speaks of our ignorance of history, time and processual and ancestral poverty. And in the most humblest manner, admitting to absolute ignorance to conditions of life in Caracas, I would like to caution Ms. Soonets against it.

Gentrification - Mural at Balamy Alley, San Francisco.

By 2050, 55% of India’s population is expected to live in cities[1]. While it has been noted that the influx of people into cities shall create a high demand for housing, it’s important to highlight that much of the immediate demand is going to be for rental housing. Given that rental rates in cities like Mumbai are sky rocketing, the demand for affordable rental housing for the lower income groups is often fulfilled by slums.

The slum serves as peculiar kind of rental housing market. The affordability of rents in a slum hinges on its “informality” and lack of services. Hence the paradox that any kind of attempt to formalize/regularize/improve the slum threatens to gentrify it. I use the term gentrify to speak about the process of displacement of the poorest renters by those who are willing to pay a higher rent. I understand that gentrification is not a term that can easily be transported to a slum because the literature, that I am familiar with, speaks very particularly about the American inner city. Yet I feel that it’s a useful term as it helps draw attention to the difference between the renting slum dwellers and the ones who come to “own” homes in the slum. The upgradation/redevelopment projects in some ways benefit those who come to “own” a house in the slum leaving tenants sensitive to rent changes at risk of displacement.

The Indian governments Rajiv Awas Yojana (RAYs program) authoritatively lays out “guidelines to create slum free cities”. It directs the local governments to increase the level of infrastructure in slums to match that of the formal city and to bring slums under formal systems of property ownership . I shall not get into the absurdity of bringing back the slum free rhetoric, but I would like to point out that the report does not examine the complexities of rental housing within slums and the fact that this process of formalization would be accompanied by a loss of affordable housing to gentrifying forces.

This brings me to the question, under these circumstances, can we find ways to preserve rental affordability? How does an upgrading city beat its inherent tendency to gentrify? I wish to begin an inventory to record the ways in which rental housing can/has been kept affordable in formal cities around the world.  Any additions/subtractions/critiques to the list would be appreciated.

Ways to keep it cheap :

1. Crowd it:

The simplest way to bring down rents is to increase the number of people sharing the space. Needless to say there is a limit to how far this could go!

2. Designed for affordability: eg. Chawls, Mumbai.

Certain housing typologies tend to remain affordable because they could be inconvenient places to live in. The chawl is one such example. The chawl is a 3- 4 story walk up, dorm-like housing typology. Households rent 180-200 sq foot rooms strung around an open central courtyard and each floor shares common toilets and bathrooms. The Chawl typology makes efficient use of space and services and has successfully managed to stay affordable even in places which have soaring real estate prices. However as every household shares a common toilet, renters lack privacy.

State enforced affordability: eg Rent Control

For rent controlled apartments, the State seals the rents form rising above a fixed affordable price. However economists are quick to point out that the system is highly inefficient as it provides landlords with below market returns and discourages them from renting. This eventually brings down the total supply of rental housing in the city and pushes the rental prices even higher.

State built/ maintained: Public Housing

Public housing is affordable rental housing owned and maintained by the state. Renters pay the state affordable rents and in turn the state maintains the building. Continued maintenance is important for public housing projects to succeed but often difficult to ensure.

State subsidized: eg Section 8 housing USA

Section 8 programs, which may be project or voucher based, pay rental housing assistance to private landlords on behalf of low-income households to enable them to rent housing in the city. However this program requires continued expenditure on behalf of the state and most states are reluctant to take on the burden of rental housing subsidies.

This is a preliminary list which shall see further additions and analysis in future blog posts.

Something unremarkable about him is that all his adolescent years he was actively recruited by the neighborhood drug traffickers. Antônio Carlos is a respectable guy and the higher ups in the drug gangs could see that we was honest, reliable and a hard worker. They, like any business, sought to draw in individuals who would grow their enterprise and help them make money.

Something else about Antônio Carlos that may or may not be remarkable is that he grew up soccer buddies with another Antônio. This Antônio, Antônio Francisco Bonfim Lopes, grew up to one day become the “Dono do Morro.” “Morro” means “hill” where favelas are usually located, and “Dono” translates as “landlord, owner, proprietor,” etc. It’s the sad and telling title for the chief drug trafficker. And that Antônio’s career as “Dono do Morro” was recently cut short by his arrest at the hands of a coordinated law enforcement effort, an invasion of the hill during the first week in Novemeber of 2011.

Wanted Poster for Antônio Francisco Bonfim Lopes, leader of Rocinha the drug faction based in Rocinha

The various law enforcement agencies announced their intention to invade and a shortly thereafter, they had captured the man who some regarded as the most wanted criminal in Rio.

Typically when we think of cocaine dealers running multimillion dollar operations, what comes to mind? Griselda Blanco? Pablo Escobar? Do we think of people who lack only empathy and shame more than they lack scruples? Thugs of shrewd intellect and pitiless character? 

While I was in Rocinha the picture I was able to glean bore no resemblance to this stereotype. Make no mistake, to be where he was, Nem must have committed many a foul act. But he appeared as much a victim of circumstance as the willful “Chefão” that would be the stuff of Baile Funk lyrics and police advisories.

My friend, the other Antônio, described Nem as quiet, careful and observant. He told me that he always seemed to study his circumstances and learned to react accordingly. This might resonate yet with the Scarface stereotype. However, the way in which my friend Antônio described Nem did not paint a picture of malice and unscrupulousness, rather much more as any regular guy around the soccer field, around the neighborhood.

That neighborhood is Rocinha, remember. On my way to Rio, Brazilian passengers were consistently appalled that I was headed to Rio at all let alone Rocinha. They said I was crazy, did I want to be killed? Didn’t I know that’s where the drug wars and “bandidos” live?

Rua do Valão, Rocinha. I was careful not to photograph the group of armed "Soldados" grouped just outside the lower edge of this frame.

What the news reports didn’t tell about these “bandidos” was what one might hear from their neighbors, from their family members. Even from, perhaps other residents of the Rio’s South Zone, where street crime had all but been abolished on order from Nem, the “Dono do Morro” himself. By that point the ADA (Amigos dos Amigos “Friends of Friends” drug faction that, with Nem at the helm, controlled the South Zone, based in  Rocinha and neighboring Vidigal) held it as a point of pride that no one needed to worry about their safety in the streets.

And never once over the course of my 5 week stay in Rocinha did I feel threatened by the many functionaries and managers of the ADA. I should say that once was I made to feel unwelcome, by a “Gerente.” But then, in fairness to him he was heavily armed and I was right near the ADA headquarters, and he simply asked me to head back to the main street. He could easily have been more threatening, and he wasn’t.

I had previously discovered why. Why he didn’t stir up any more trouble than necessary.

In my neck of the woods, there is an interesting phenomenon. Regardless of how much damage a mutlinational corporation or other large and powerful employer does to your community, to your ecology, to your health, you don’t ever “shit where you eat.” It was like this with logging families in Veneta, Oregon, like this with miners in Libby, Montana, like this with farmers and ranchers in Soda Springs, Idaho, with downwinders in Cedar City, Utah.

People involved in power such as that turn a blind eye to the negatives of the institution that cares for them. As long as that institution is able to do what it does, if business can continue uninterrupted, the people dependent on it will be able to pay for shelter and clothing and food.

Michel Foucault. Image: F. Viard / Gamma

Michel Foucault explains that power is never as hierarchical as we think. It acts much more in capillary action than a centralized, top down chain of command.

So what do Foucault and Libby, Montana have to do with that ADA Gerente who spoke crossly to me in Rocinha? I’ll try to begin explaining that by telling you he was headed up the hill with two large pistols and a radio concealed under his soccer jersey, typical of one in his role, that’s not unusual. What struck me he held a caged songbird in his right hand.

Of course that fact alone would mean little if I had not had already so many experiences to suggest that these guys weren’t out to get in gun battles or wreak havoc. They do this, no doubt. Just as many workers at carcinogenic mining companies or polluting agribusinesses are “just doing their job.”

The “power” in a drug faction as in a multinational corporation or a government, comes from all involved: peripherally, directly, high-up or foot-soldier.  The power of the ADA doesn’t come from the drugs, the cash or the weapons. These are manifestations, tools of the power. Remember, power acts in capillary, not in hierarchy.

I mention this again for two reasons: (1) Imprisoning Nem and his cohorts will do little to actually end the drug trade in Rocinha, the South Zone or anywhere else. (2) The power at the root of the existence of such business as the ADA conducts lies in one simple label: Marginal. The cognate of “marginal” in English, but rather than an adjective, in this context in Brazilian Portuguese “marginal” is a noun synonymous with “Bandido” “Trafficante” it’s a poor, favela-dwelling street thug.

Nem of Rocinha, just after his arrest in the early ours of 10 November 2011. Image: Rede Record.

Most importantly it cuts directly to the quick of the issue: the young men who bear this label have found scant opportunity in mainstream life, and have found ample prejudice, ample marginalization. The myriad signals they have received from the world they live in have dictated that the most appropriate thing to do is enter the drug trade. And they know the risks. They’ve lived as children through gunbattles, seen the crooked cops and bullet riddled bodies.

My friend Antônio Carlos had been recruited and made it into his thirties because he resisted. But it came at a cost. Only now as an adult with relatively stable employment, has he overcome the shame and stigma and prejudice of admitting to those from elsewhere in Rio, prospective employers, and others, that he is from Rocinha: A favelado, with all of the stereotypes it carries.

The other Antônio, Nem, is said to have entered the drug trade in desperation only when his daughter fell ill and he was left with insurmountable medical expenses. He assumed control of the ADA after its previous leader was killed by police.

While in Rocinha last, I spoke with a young man who told me something I’d hear echoed in many different ways and circumstances. He said “I’d feel safer in a crowd of traffickers than among a bunch of cops.” He had friends in the drug trade, he had seen the deaths, been there for raids and searches. How else could he feel?

Translation: "The State." Obviously highly reductionist, but there's also not nothing to it either. Image: Carlos Latuff © 2009

Nem was not the cause, he was not really even in control of the ADA’s illicit trade. The police, captured the “Dono do Morro”, but he was caught up in the currents of forces larger than himself, forces of racism, classism, corrupt politics, unjust economics, forces with deep roots and long histories.

It’s a tricky thing asking sympathy for the devil. And one thing I certainly don’t want to do here, is to minimize the strength of character and force of will it takes for my friend Antônio Carlos to tread water in the mainstream. Of course, Nem must be held accountable for his actions, his lifestyle. I’m certain even he is aware of that on some level.

But of something else I’m also certain: Nem was a symptom, as long as marginalization exists, it will produce “marginals.”