Measuring the state of global peace

The Institute for Economics and Peace (IEP), based in Sydney and New York, focuses on measuring peace with quantitative metrics to better understand the factors contribute to political stability and economic development.

Check out the full PDF here:

Link to full PDF of Global Peace Index 2013

Or click image to see the snapshot:

Notes on a Brief Tour to Australia and New Zealand

Just finished production managing Circolombia’s tour of the show Urban in Australia’s Sydney and Adelaide and New Zealand’s largest city Auckland.  I wouldn't have ever visited these countries as a tourist for it’s distance too far, the cost too high, and what I assumed to be the cultural experience too low. But my actual visits have made me see otherwise (except for the cost bit!). Both Oz & Nz are unique and interesting places which run across magnificent stretches of planet earth...

Though I have to admit what has struck me the most is the ability of England, Europe's most densely populated country, to bud into a variety of commonwealth nations. As I walked around Australia and New Zealand I couldn't help but wonder how could convicts, missionaries and farmers expand so much? Then one day I saw a group of white children on a school outing in Adelaide and thought to myself: ‘ah, that’s exactly how they took over these lands… reproduction’. This added with an imported complex social system backed by Guns, Germs & Steel and of course cruel colonial practices...

So what about the indigenous people? In Australia I saw the beautiful Aboriginal flag flown next to the Australian flag more often than I saw the newer Maori flag flown next to the Kiwi flag. Yet I barely saw any Aborigine people coexisting in the cities I worked in, and the few I saw seemed marginalised and destitute.  Nevertheless Oz seemed to have adopted Aboriginal symbols and patterns as a sort of local folkloric motif seen on anything from public benches to souvenirs  One river pathway in Parramatta en route to the theatre where I was working did retell the story of the Stolen Generation when Aboriginal children were taken from their parents and put in ‘civilising schools’ to become more ‘white’. What I was told by a local was that what is missing from the story is the systemic killing of the adult males and raping of the females to mix the race. And this was going on until recently as you can see in the brilliant film Sapphires about a female Aboriginal soul group in the 60's that tours to Vietnam entertaining US troupes during the war. During this same era a 1967 referendum finally recognised the Aboriginal community as citizens of the Australia and should be noted was overwhelmingly voted in.

In New Zealand racial integration seemed much more apparent and was to me a rather welcome relief. Upon arriving for the Auckland Arts Festival, all the visiting artists were taken to a marae (sacred area) for a Pōwhiri  (welcoming ceremony) where I got to have my first hongi greeting (kinda Maori kiss :). It was a generous gesture of cultural identity and a real tourist attraction. The AAF programming included various Maori works including the festival hit Hui where a new local friend performed and a live Ta Moko, or traditional Maori tattooing, event where tattoo artists worked on their clients and took questions about the process and the meaning from spectators.

Perhaps this larger representation of Maori’s in the cultural scene of Nz comes from a combination of the Maori people as a strong warriors not easily defeated and the Treaty of Waitangi, which was signed between the British colonists and the Maori chiefs in 1840, creating an early constitution from which to organise the country. Many white New Zealanders spoke with pride of Maori traditions in some ways seeing them as their own as New Zealanders even if they were not Maori themselves. After all Maori’s were immigrants too, arriving by waka (canoe) from Polynesia, a few hundred years before the Europeans and to an already inhabited island. Yet a parallel was drawn to me by a Maori between them and African-Americans, where a lack of education opportunities, funding, history of inequality and racism has created huge domestic disadvantages for them. I noticed when filling out some official forms that the first racial option was ‘white european', in the US you'd find 'caucasian' and in the UK 'white', though I suppose it makes sense as their roots are much closer to Europe. In Latin America I cannot remember ever filling out a race form, but I was happy while abroad to check 'other' and fill in Latino! 

Aussies actually struck me as very close in idiosyncrasy to Americans except that they lived in a very British system. I say that in terms of social organisation: the road signs and street arrangement felt very British with both Aussies and Kiwi’s in right-hand drive automobiles on the left hand side of the road. I only remember jay-walking being awkward in Germany until I found myself being the only one doing it in Adelaide. The laws seemed very rigid and the people rather compliant. Oz has that expansiveness of the US, the country is huge, the roads and cars are big, the streets are wide and everything just seemed very clean and in its proper place. Even Parramatta where I was based was considered ‘working class’ and by comparison to either the US or Britain was relatively clean and nice. Australia seemed to gleam with new construction and people spending $50 notes as if they were coins. The impression I was left with was the real land of milk & honey, when I compared my weekly pay rate with local crews they made more than double! Time to jump ship I thought! I suppose this is ideal for an economic immigrant whose sole purpose is to produce income, which seems to be one of the drives of globalisation, yet so is cultural output and its legacies. A festival producer told me the best way to make a profit for the company was to export work to Europe where there were funds to buy shows and public to buy tickets. Australia felt like California all over, but with the naïve optimism of the 1950’s. What I was definitely left with was wanting to explore more of the amazing continent: beautiful beaches, tree covered cliffs and valleys, endless outback with an untapped wild spiritual core...

New Zealand was much more relaxed, the people incredibly friendly and the nature spectacular as probably everyone already knows from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. But in person its even more stunning and I didn’t even make it to the South Island. While in New Zealand I felt I was on the cusp of the future; a sliver of land that almost begins the calendar year on planet earth. But more importantly than that works towards cultural integration, not only between Maori and whites but also all the demographics that inhabit the country; Auckland seemed just as diverse as London to me. And the most fascinating fact shared by a geothermal scientist I met was that Nz produces 75% of its electricity from renewable sources!  This had a profound effect on me, for it changed something that I felt every time I flick a switch: guilt. I am so aware that any use of the grid is bad for the environment that each time I use energy it haunts my animal brain. This was so ingrained in my subconscious that it was only until I was in Nz that I realised the impact this has on eco-aware individuals when you power up the electric kettle and know that almost ¾ of that power is renewable not consumable. Now THIS is the future, when there is no such thing as waste but re-cycle and we finally learn to live in symbiosis with our great host planet earth...

I hope to live long enough to see the changes that may help me believe this day can happen...

Leaving Nz made me feel it is possible....


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NYC Ghosts and Flowers

I never really understand what happens when I get to New York. An invisible energy goes into me and I buzz through my time there at a million miles an hour without a moment to contemplate all the images, memories, people, senses, and emotions that boil together in the soup of experience that is walking those frenetic streets.

My brother said to me 'you make it hectic'

Maybe thats true, but there is also an energy there that's palpable. New York is also a muddled palimpsest of memories for me, every neighbourhood, subway line, and flavour of bagel has something to associate it with and makes each movement a surge of thoughts that mix up with the present and confuse the past.

I remember reading that the local Native Americans considered Manhattan a sacred island, formed of bedrock, sticking out into the bay and hugged by two rivers as it sat there like a steady glacier. A large rock formation that held underneath it the rest of the planet and on top of it a crown of buildings with golden lights flickering at night and sneezing jewelled bridges across to other pieces of land.

New York is like one of those lovers you can't help be obsessed with even though you know they are really unhealthy for you emotionally, but the electric charge of being together is worth the burn out when you are apart and you realise that it could never really be long-term.

The city is a walking theatre, a waking psychotic episode, each person manages to be a huge personality and they all somehow fit into the rush hour subway car while competing mariachi bands and break-dancers clear space for some change.

Random conversations with strangers about my tree tattoo, the presidential election, parking regulations, the best coffee. Union Square with public chess playing, Hare Krishnas,  political slogans in chalk, kids on skateboards and hippies with guitars. Times Square with hoards of tourists, dressed up cartoon characters aggressively requesting photos for money (I was told Elmo had been arrested on a number of occasions in full costume), police side by side with them as a tourist attraction... I cant even see the ads, all I see is a blur of light, was the New Years ball always that tiny?

I stayed at my brother's in Sugar Hill, Harlem. History and future rolled into one, amazing brownstones, gentrification, the local bodega that carried every item I brought back from Colombia as gifts.... oh well.

At night the white noise... It never really gets quiet. The white noise always buzzes... It never really gets dark, the sky a golden orange... I saw some stars though. I did.

How many things can you do in one day in New York? More than you can cram in most cities, the place is built for movement and efficiency... Its truly exhausting. And exhilarating. Every one should live there for a while, work its flow, walk its streets, meets its people and see what cosmopolitan truly is. But as Kurt Vonnegut said: 'Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard.'

I guess thats why I did....

I love you New York...

You drive me crazy...


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Notes on Colombia learned from taxi drivers and circus teachers

In some ways every time I travel I have a tendency to fall in love with where I am. Maybe it’s my innate connection to place and people, or ability to have an open ear, endless curiosity, nomadic nature, good disposition. Wait, no its not just disposition, learning about a place is a skill I have picked up along the route of life, as I’ve worked here and lived there and been always a welcome outsider. And here I am again, flying across the ether in a metal tube, wondering about the magical place I just left as I zoom into the familiar of yet another place I call home: from Colombia to New York...

I miss Colombia already… I started missing it before I even left. I’m not quite certain I’ve made this many friends in such a short time, and I don’t mean just meeting people, but a genuine feeling of kinship. Colombians are incredibly open and good-natured, proud of their country in a way that doesn’t feel patriotic or xenophobic but welcoming. And why shouldn’t they be, an incredibly diverse land, from Caribbean beaches to the densest jungle in the world, bustling metropolises, to snow-capped mountains, Colombia offers almost every possible geographic location in one geopolitical state. All encompassed in an interesting sense of time I remember experiencing in Ghana… Being 3 degrees away from the equator means that the sun runs like clockwork year-round, up at 6 down at 6, never a variation. After years living in London where each day is slightly but noticeably different to the last, this mechanism becomes incredibly apparent. It keeps the rhythm and flow of the day consistent somehow. And because you can always count on fertile land and constant sunshine its no wonder that the agribusiness in Colombia is intense and productive. The country is a lush producer and you can be blessed with any assortment of amazing fresh fruit juices just about anywhere in the country (even I may add the airport in Bogota).

Colombia is also very racially mixed, which is reflected in its musical traditions and dance. The Museo de la Independencia had this incredible chart that had a list of every possible ethnic group in the country and the name for every one of their combinations. For example you could lift the tab that stated Español (Spaniard) and Indígena (Indigenous) you would get Mestizo written underneath. The chart had over 30 variations… I couldn’t tell if this was derogatory or not, but nevertheless it reflected a regional mix of peoples that adds to the spice of life in this land.

Now combine this with working in the city of Cali and in a circus school. Cali is a hot and humid working-class city where salsa music was born. Almost half the population of the city lives in a district called Aguablanca, where certain areas are no go zones even for the police. This reminded me of the Brasilian favela’s before the Pacification of the Favelas. And like my experience residing in Naples or Beirut I find myself surrounded by passionate generous people with fervour for life and love. It was lovely to walk through a city where strangers were polite to each other and asking for directions might mean a new friend and definitely an extended conversation. No exchange would begin without the usual exchange of pleasantries and a walk from my flat to the school in the morning meant saying good morning to a variety of dog walkers, maids sweeping pavements, security guards standing on corners and street vendors. Then again I am prone to people-watch and smile when caught, plus sporting a tree tattoo down my right arm does attract some attention… Of course this is a version, Colombia remains one of the most violent countries in the world by some statistics, but none that I witnessed anywhere in my wanderings around town.

And the school Circo Para Todos, how to begin… I’ll have to leave out the history for the purpose of this travelogue and speak about the present I witnessed. Set on the end of a park, the site consists of a huge big top tent, a tall octagonal dance space, and converted shipping containers that function as a canteen kitchen, loos, storage, and offices. All this scattered among grass and trees. The school is spiritually and educationally supported by a trio of incredibly dedicated Cubans: Annia the schools’ director and Fernando and Rodolfo the circus teachers. Never have I worked in an institution so open to suggestions, willing to accommodate and trusting of a stranger in their midst. Organised, dedicated and engendering confidence and trust in the students and new staff alike these three are well worthy of true respect and admiration. Along side my workshop the school had four new teachers in dance, music, theatre, and technical scenography. My role was to give artistic direction to the final year production of the graduating students. The school was rebounding from massive budget cuts, with a financial injection from the Ministry of Culture, and abuzz was this energy of regrowth and redistribution. With my pedagogical training, technical knowledge, and artistic vision, I ended up situated in the best place possible. Working with a new team, developing a large creative project and organising a group of young people to make the best out of their skills and talents.

And about the students: a veritable microcosm of the country. A variety of social and racial backgrounds with a common interest: their abilities and skill in circus. Mixing in with these students were the egresados graduated circus students who come back and train between touring in cruises and circuses around the world. This possbility to travel and make a living through a creative enterprise is a valuable commodity. And I made it very clear to the students what a total luxury this school was. Though the physical site was in need of repair, it remained fully functional and offered a free 4-year education that included a hearty lunch every day and two decent snack-breaks twice a day (high energy training requires a good caloric intake).

This experience has reiterated my assertion that for a successful outcome to a collaborative practice model, it is dependant on three inter-combined factors:

1. A sound working methodology for development of a creative practice

2. The host organisation’s willingness to incorporate that model into their existing format of practice

3. The participants’ openness to engage with the methodology & ability to collaborate with each other.

In this case the fantastic hosting of the school, the eagerness of the students and my own working methodology combined to create in a matter of three weeks, the beginning of a 90 minute circus show to be presented 14th Dec, the date the co-founder of the school passed away and the first class graduated. It would be amiss to not mention Felicity Simpson who co-founded the school and the circus company Circolombia, which is composed of the talent trained in the school. The school’s basic premise is a social enterprise, giving access to training to disadvantaged young people. But this is a core principal and not a limiting factor, for mixed with students coming from Agua Blanca district are university graduates from Bogota and this mix is healthy for like Colombia it represents all walks of life.

I’m leaving out the many details of my adventures in order to focus on the core of my travels, like the friends who took me out and around Cali and Bogota and the great times I had. The only regret I have in Colombia is leaving and if you have the opportunity to come here one day, I’m sure you will be just like me… counting the days to come back.

From the dark skies en route to the Big Apple…

R

Circus in Colombia...

Nothing better to do post-PhD than take up tattooing and run away with a circus.... In this case am now Technical Director for Circolombia on their world tour of their show Urban... Circolombia is was born from and is composed of graduates from the Colombian circus school Circo Para Todos based in the city of Cali.

You can read more about the school here: Click

And about Circolombia here: Click

Also a brilliant documentary on the school and it's social context (Spanish no subtitles): Click

Finally a music video I shot with part of the troupe in Rio de Janeiro in June this year: Click

The great thing about circus is that everyone is in it together, less comparmentalised than traditional theatre and much more risk. Though I have included circus in my performance work before I am now incorporating performance into circus work and finding it totally gratifying. How did it take me this long to get into this artform? 

Very happy to also be completing a residency here in Cali, Colombia at the circus school Circo Para Todos. I am giving an intensive laboratory in creative collaborative performance making for the final year students. The students basically have by this point completed 4 years of training where they have completed a routine that they then sell to the various businesses around the world, either touring shows, cruises or theme parks. The perks are travel and pay, a real draw for many of the inner-city youth who compose the student body.

I have found the energy and vibrancy of the participants intense and brilliant. Very open to the process and able to conceptualise form and play in an open-minded and exciting way. In a matter of days we put together 6 skits based on dreams that we performed for a small audience. Now my task is to think about the bigger picture of their final degree show in December and offer a method towards which to create a meta-narrative that will link all their individual numbers as well as transition skits to keep the flow of the show.

Apparently Cali is the 11th most dangerous city in the world according to a report by Seguridad, Justicia y Paz. Of course this is subjective, as I wandered the streets going from bars to clubs and meeting people throughout the evening without ever feeling threatened. But of course Colombia is synonomous with the drug trade, and well after all it is a major producer marijuana, cocaine and heroine. Regardless there is the Latin American warmth that is contagious and undeniable. No exchange begins without a ping-pong of salutations and greetings, which are actually genuine not just an ice-breaker. And like Brasil, its teeming with a mix of races that form a real unique mix.

The combination of vibrant energy, motivated students, engaged staff and a circus ethos make for a formidable experience. There is a magic at the school and in the city that demonstrates a cultural power here in Colombia that from afar gets clouded by negative media attention and assumptions. But as I've recently learned it is after all here in Colombia that the famed El Dorado existed, city of gold that the original conquistadors sought with such bloody consequences. And so apt that this vast and lush country, bordering the Pacific and the Gulf should hide its treasures until you come seek them out... 

As Choc Quib Town says closing their song: 'Ahora dígame que cree usted porque Colombia es más que coca, marijuana y café'

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The art of dying: Aesthetics and palliative care

Here is an article I just had published based on my experience working as a Community Artist for St. Christopher's Hospice in South London. This institution was not what may come to mind as a typical hospice, but rather it was a holistic care and education centre, complete with a performance / music room, a large central hall with a cafe and public seating, a gym, a landscaped garden and a wonderful atrium that is used for art workshops. I was part of the Arts Team, a selection of about 8 individuals with specialities in visual arts, graphic design, music, music therapy, video and performance. My time working there was formative and I learned much about death and dying and the arts which I discuss in this paper.

Here is a link to the journal:
http://www.intellectbooks.co.uk/journals/view-Issue,id=2052/

You do have to subscribe, though back issues are still free. If you are interested in knowing more about the article just email me.

Abstract below:

Volume 2 Issue 2

Cover Date: August 2011

The art of dying: Aesthetics and palliative care

Authors:  Roberto Sánchez-Camus
DOI: 10.1386/jaah.2.2.155_7

Keywords
death and dying,liminality,aesthetics,place-making,St Christopher’s Hospice,palliative care,

Abstract

The Art of Dying explores the function of arts integration into the management of death. The article focuses on a practitioner’s point of view as a Community Artist at St Christopher’s Hospice in London. Looking at how the death process itself functions as a transitory and liminal phase in life, the article proposes that the arts are an integral component of dying. With references to creative texts that have shaped how we view and manage death The Art of Dying demonstrates the methods in which arts can be integrated into the dying process. The creative process is shown through two case studies to assist the dying person in dealing with the complexities of the transitional phase, allowing a level of objectivity and critical thinking. The article concludes with the power of place-making through memory and its impact on legacy and a new narration of life when faced with death.

Jeremy Deller's Joy in People

Along with Francis Alÿs, I really enjoy the work of Jeremy Deller as socially engaged live art practice, that is both critically and aesthetically strong as well as socially resonant. Jeremy Deller's Joy in People is his first retrospective, which reads more like staging an archive than curatorially designing an exhibition. As a comparison I am thinking of Alÿs' A Story of Deception at the Tate Modern, which had a very museum quality on it's exhibition design. Maybe it's that my partner has moved into curatorial practice that I now not only read the content of the work but also the mode of display. Or is that there is something lacking in the overall body of work itself?

But for now I'm more interested in highlighting some of the work. Though I was not totally compelled by the the works, they exhibition did serve to create a journey through time of the artist's past and process. The viewer was made to feel to be in on an intimate encounter with the work immediately as you walk in to a recreation of his bedroom in his parent's home that he turned into an exhibition and subsequently entirely into an artwork. Das unheimlich to the umpteenth degree, the home made public, the private on display, the recreation false yet accommodating and intimate.

The best room for me was the video projection of a lecture Deller gave speaking about his work. It was there that the real heart and soul of his practice seemed present. Most of those works didn't make it into the exhibition, and by comparison I did feel slightly disappointed by the rest of the show, but this was partially due to my expectations, and struggle to critique modes of re-presentation of socially engaged practice.

If we are to consider process and product as the entire source of aesthetic critique, how do we display process without it being a serialised archive? How can process be presented on an equal aesthetic basis to product? This is a question I think I need to discuss with curators and exhibition designers as well are artists who work in applied live art settings.

Of course his seminal work Battle of Orgreave is present, which is worth the mention. Performance wise there were two sets of live actions present which I very much appreciated. One was a solitary performer sat reading on a black chez lounge with a large black wall behing them where the words Melancholia where written in black bubble lettering. It was a nod to his emo roots in some ways, slightly too cute for me to like as a work. The other performance / live action, was a float from a parade he did, that was a recreation of a cafe, complete with free tea and lovely servers. Again, entertaining but slightly flat. There is more to that narrative but I'm going to write a new blog entry on parade as performance soon and will include more background there.

Unfortunately I have recently found out that Deller tends to be actually terribly disengage socially and politically, having mostly fallen into a the social system as artistic medium without much real passion for the subject. Rather heart breaking to say the least, but I'll sway to my sources opinion.

Finally I'll mention the photo I used for this post. There were presses available for embossing your programme or any other piece of paper: 'A group of people standing outside a closed day centre.' Hell is other people's money 'A range rover, crushed, and made into a bench'. We decided to markedly improve on Deller's work by embossing Hell is Other People's Money on to a tenner, right next to the Queen's face and on to a euro bill. Later that day we needed some groceries and off went the tenner to the shop. When the turkish cashier took the money he actually noticed the embossing and looked at quizzically - 'Oh yeah that, it was part of an art project, but its still real money' responded my partner. He happily took the tenner gave her change and essentially placed a part of the Deller exhibition into the social stream to swim freely along the rivers of capital exchange. Now this is what socially engaged is all about, should someone tell Deller about it?

on Nature Walking...

Just returned from an epic trekking experience: did the 'circuito grande' of the Torres del Paine national park in Patagonia, Chile. Walked about 180km over 8 days starting at Refugio Laguna Amarga and ending at the waterfalls at Pudeto (map below).

The park itself has a variety of areas of outstanding natural beauty and levels of tourist infiltration, from more upscale country-hotel lodgings to free camping. The general trek is called 'W' which takes you up to see Glacier Grey then around one small mountain range and up Valle del Frances, back down to the immense lake and up again to see the famous torres.

Though the 'W' trek is highly walked, around the back of the mountain range you can go at it alone with the wind, waterfalls and puma tracks as company. Taking all my provisions with me, it took a few days before the noise in my head died down. No company, no phone, no music just my 12k pack stuffed with a good tent and sleeping bag and my walking shoes.

There is a poetry in walking and traversing space consciously. Becoming aware of the gradations of landscape, of the changes in temperature to altitude, of your body's own weight and posture. There's that moment that you stand still only moving your legs while the earth magically revolves under you. I think about Richard Long's work, where we get to glimpse a single moment of a journey. But when that journey goes on a week it becomes a pilgrimage, like the Camino de Santiado de Compostella.

And silence... This is key. It was days before I had to speak to anyone and then it was 'hola' in passing. There is a lucidity in quietness, in taking the time to listen and hear. Each bird call transforms from a musical note to a language, the trickle of the upcoming river beckons a rest and a drink, the thunder of crashing snow and glaciar ice a power that fills with awe and dread.

I can't remember feeling so alive and full of hope before. You feel the wind come off the millennial ice caps, formed from the cracking and popping of millions of little air bubbles trapped since before the dinosaurs and breathed into your lungs, whirling in your brain. The cold, crisp water that tastes so pure you just become certain its somehow linking you with the planet from before man ever even walked this land.

And so much water... clean, fresh, aqua-blue, sweet water flowing non-stop.... The dreams of 2012 armageddon are very far away in these remote places...

Moving your body through a landscape allows a sense of focus and freedom, of accomplishment and dedication and of humbling pain and uncertainty. A time-out from the urban experiences I study and love. But it also gives me the tools to understand better how we may walk in the concrete forests of London, New York or Santiago by being connected to the more subtle currents that revolve around us.

I may have arrived but I've left part of me in those mountains while part of them remain in me....





Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Al-Thawra 2011 - الثورة

Housing Estates, London, and Dystopia

Just went to see the Broadwater Farm exhibition, portraying the story of a massive council estate complex in Tottenham made infamous after it's 1985 riots.


Held at Bruce Castle Museum, an interesting site in itself, a strange piece of history nestled in one of the more socioeconomically challenged areas of London. The power of the exhibit was in it's honour of the local people who made Broadwater a success. But underlying it all was the sense that the brutality of the civic system not only crushed a momentum of people's movement but left it dead on the curb.

Broadwater was one of those massive efforts at post-war social engineering, meant to deal with poverty and rising immigration. The huge complex was built and then basically left to decay and within a decade had fallen to such a state of disrepair that it clearly reflects a planned state of structural violence against a community by a council. The failure of these large-scale housing estates was studied by the Land Use Research Unit at King's College in the late seventies. The research of this group influenced Coleman's book Utopia on Trial: vision and reality in planned housing, which featured Broadwater Farm as an example (she was head of the research unit at the time).

The Centre for Spatially Integrated Social Science has a great article on this: Design Disadvantagement.

I also recommend the film Utopia London, which outlines the Labour vision of modern social housing and how in many ways it failed at the hands of politicians and urban planners with no foresight into community and culture.

Finally if you're in London a cycle up to Tottenham to see the exhibit takes you past the smashed windows and boarded shops that mark the result of the recent riots caused by anger over police brutality. Guardian: 'Tottenham in flames as riot follows protest'. 26 years on and history repeats itself, as we move faster towards a social dystopia fuelled by mind-numbing solutions by those in power: BBC: 'David Cameron back councils planning to evict rioters'. Russ Swan has some amazing photos he shot there in 1985 and an good article on his blog entry: Cat and mouse on Broadwater Farm, 1985

To not end on that note I channel the thoughts of Jane Jacobs and her research into the existence and importance of community at the street level and the failure of urban planning to respond to that community in her seminal book The Death and Life of Great American Cities, something that seems to have not been accounted for in the early planning of Broadwater and most other estates across the country. History doomed to repeat itself....

Press Release:

In 1985 Broadwater Farm experienced one of the worst nights of civil unrest anywhere on mainland Britain. It shocked the nation and nearly destroyed a community. Just months before, Diana Princess of Wales visited to congratulate the Broadwater Farm Youth Association on its success. Today Broadwater Farm is seen as a model of social housing, attracting visitors from around the world. This exhibition will explore the heroic achievements of a community who from the very beginning fought against all the odds. October 2010 at Broadwater Farm Community Centre. Now on at Bruce Castle Museum June 2011 to March 2012

Hoods, Freedom & Dancing

I love the Hackney Gazette. Mostly because it comes free through my postbox, its local and not stapled, meaning I can read it page by page as I walk my dog and use it to scoop his poo off the pavement. I dont though agree with it's big brother policy of posting photos of looters so that we can all pretend to be hey-diddly-doo neighbour vigilantes in Fahrenheit 451. Reminds me of the graffiti I saw in Greece, 'WE WEAR OUR HOODS UP SO YOU CAN LOOK US IN THE EYE'

A friend of mine just wrote to me: 'the only forces who feel empowered to express themselves in our society r the yobs who riot for flatscreens. the rest is divergence...'

As usual I find myself somewhere in between all stances and I still go with Emma Goldman's philosophy, if I can't dance I dont want to be part of your revolution:

'I did not believe that a Cause which stood for a beautiful ideal, for anarchism, for release and freedom from convention and prejudice, should demand the denial of life and joy. I insisted that our Cause could not expect me to become a nun and that the movement would not be turned into a cloister. If it meant that, I did not want it. "I want freedom, the right to self-expression, everybody's right to be beautiful, radiant things." Anarchism meant that to me, and I would live it in spite of the whole world — prisons, persecution, everything. Yes, even in spite of the condemnation of my own closest comrades I would live my beautiful ideal.' (Goldman 2006)

Memory Walking and Nostalgia

Just returned from Crete, visiting a friend who grew up in the capital Heraklion. We were given an amazing tour of the city centre that was based on her memory of what was there when she lived in the city during a variety of different ages. Seeing past the numerous cafes and bars a new city began emerging. Hidden under the parasols and flat screen tv's of the multiple venues, were beautiful facades of stately homes that housed a variety of characters who came to life among the cobbled lanes. The white noise of chatting people and buzzing phones, became the ghost sound of a child's bicycle racing down the slanted alleys, or the old woman chasing them with a pot of boiling water.

A new city emerged, like Raban's Soft City, one of histories and stories, one which seemed much more local as a social network. Raban tell us 'the city, our great modern form, is soft, amenable to a dazzling and libidinous variety of lives, dreams and interpretations'. It was this soft amenable city that came alive with the bench behind the square where lovers once met now empty, the popular hair dressers studio where the scraping of chairs being pulled out for customers was heard around the corner but is now turned residential, the childhood home transformed into a health spa yet retaining the original tiles and doors, allowing the phantoms of nostalgia to continue to inhabit the hard city. The hard city that retains its shape while the soft city lives and dies within it. 

Going on this walk around Heraklion opened up a past, re-awoke a memory, like Lazarus it brought to life a narrative that once was but had died. The deep nostalgia that punctuated the derive was palpable and I felt a strange sense of both belonging to the place and envying the memory. Somehow wanting to be a part of that which was never mine. It reminded me of Boym's The Future of Nostalgia and her rich analyses of the workings on memory on society and city. She tells us 'the past of the city... is not entirely legible; it is irreducible to any anachronistic language; it suggests other dimensions of the lived experience and haunts the city like a ghost.'

This was an alternate ghost tour of a city, a rich and vibrant walk down memory lane that made me really truly appreciate Heraklion and see it for what it was and had once been.