The people-centred city

How can architects and planners create cities fit for the future? Or to put the question another way, how can we create people-centred cities? The phrase ‘people-centred’ may not be one you would naturally associate with the professions of architecture and planning. One of the more dubious legacies of Western Enlightenment thinking and the dominance of modernist ideologies during the 20^th century has been the elevation of the technician and the expert – usually male, usually highly educated, usually middle aged – to a position of undisputed authority.

Consider the assertion of the French Modernist architect Le Corbusier: ‘I repeat that man, by reason of his very nature, practises order; that his actions and his thoughts are dictated by the straight line and the right angle, that the straight line is instinctive in him and that his mind apprehends it as a lofty objective.’[1]

The way of expertise and order – the way of the straight line – has been to enclose, to direct, to cut through and to impose the will of the technician on the populace and of humankind on the environment. And yet, as I indicated in my short talk yesterday, the challenges of the 21^st century reveal that in many respects the very order the experts have sought to impose is putting the environment that sustains us at risk, and the City Beautiful dreamed of by the planners, whether in Paris or Rio, remains surrounded by poverty and desperation.

On a finite planet that is struggling to carry a population it has never previously had to accommodate, in cities that are growing faster than the intelligence or ability of governments and experts to understand them, is it time for a different approach – one in which the experts become the servants of the people rather than their overlords, and where families and neighbourhoods are given the power and support needed to develop their own locally appropriate solutions to our common problems?

Experts are often accused of working in silos: academic ivory towers, government departments, or repositories of professional expertise that are unable to communicate effectively with each other and that have little understanding of the people whose lives are affected by their decisions. But there is a world beyond the silos that affects us all: a world that is increasingly congested, increasingly diverse, increasingly connected, and increasingly strained economically, environmentally and socially. I’d like to talk today about how the experts can use their expertise helpfully outside and beyond their professional silos to create cities and communities that work for the people who live within them.

I would like to explore three themes. First, the precarious city: the challenges that face us as we sit on the edge of new and sometimes frightening possibilities. Second, the puzzled city: the unresolved dilemmas that are the often unobserved backdrop to the choices we need to make, whether as urbanists or as ordinary citizens. Thirdly, and most important, the people-centred city: some signposts that I believe can help us as we seek to address these unresolved dilemmas and move on to create better places.

First, the precarious city. The main picture in Slide 4 is from Ordos in China, where an entirely new city, Kangbashi, has been created where hardly anyone lives. Kangbashi is designed for one million people, but only a few thousand actually live there. Think about that for a moment: at a time when our cities are growing at an unprecedented rate and millions live on the brink of survival in slums and shanty towns, it is possible to build new cities that nobody wants to live in, that have been bought up by investors in order to make speculative gains rather than as functioning centres of human activity. Something has gone very wrong here in terms of both planning and priorities.

The other two pictures show more familiar challenges. The regular flooding in Kolkata highlights the position of a city that was recently named as one of the top ten worldwide that are most vulnerable to natural disasters.[2] The picture of a smoggy day in Beijing shows how urbanisation and traffic congestion – indicators to many of progress – are threatening the very people who it is assumed will benefit from economic progress, undermining their health and quality of life.

I’d like to highlight three aspects of the precarious city that will test the future role of urban experts. The first is the constraints imposed by a changing natural environment.

There are two aspects of this we need to consider. The first is a changing climate, which in all its known and unknown effects, threatens cities’ resilience – their ability to cope with shocks and unexpected events, survive and adapt. Flooding, whether from storms or changing weather patterns or ultimately as a result of rising sea levels, is the most obvious and visible issue. According to the World Bank, if no action is taken to reduce flood vulnerability, most coastal cities will eventually become inhospitable and dangerous places to live, with annual losses in excess of US$1 trillion dollars.[3] Flooding in Bangkok in 2011 cost the insurance industry US$15 billion – the largest loss to freshwater flooding ever. The 2010 floods in Pakistan left around one fifth of the country underwater and affected two million people, with nearly 2,000 fatalities. But flooding is not the only threat. Our cities need to be able to withstand heatwaves too: in July 2010 in Moscow, 14,000 people died as the city became a hothouse – compared with an average July death rate of around 5,000.

The second aspect of environmental constraint we need to consider is resource scarcity. Countries like Mexico and Yemen are finding that demand for fresh water to meet their people’s needs is starting to outstrip supply. In Chennai, India, water is ferried into the city by tanker because the city authorities can’t meet demand.[4] Last year 35 countries around the world required international food aid because they could not feed themselves.[5] World grain reserves have fallen by one third in the last decade.[6] The key issue here is the interconnectedness of world food supplies: we can no longer assume that a disaster in one part of the world will not be a tragedy for us, wherever we happen to be. For architects and planners this is not someone else’s problem: we need to design cities that can be productive and more able to feed themselves. Small scale urban growing in backyards and public places, but carried out on a massive scale, can help to make city populations less dependent on large-scale intensive agriculture that is subject to commercial control and speculation. Kampala in Uganda is a city that still produces much of its own food despite a rapidly increasing population.[7]

This leads us to another facet of the precarious city: the rise of multinational corporations as the key economic players of our age. For the first time in history, cities across the world are becoming more beholden to commercial companies and investors than to their own civic leaders and governments. Investors are able to move from one part of the world to another at short notice to benefit from cheap labour, a benign tax regime or fluctuations in currency valuations. The more vulnerable cities become ever more desperate in competing for foreign investment. The effect is that cities, far from being authors of their own destinies, become less able to map out their own future, with local planning increasingly dependent on success in attracting the eye of global corporations.

Globalisation has another impact on our cities, creating a homogenised culture dominated by an Americanised worldview: shopping malls and freeways, tall buildings and gated enclaves for the wealthy have become indicators of successful cities the world over. Where does local culture and identity fit within these increasingly similar corporate cities, and where is the space for debate about alternative values and ambitions?

The third aspect of the precarious city, which is in many respects a consequence of the first two, is widening inequality and urban poverty. The slum and the shanty-town have become global motifs too, squatting in the shadow of the tall buildings and the shopping malls. Urban poverty and destitution, and all the desperate aspects of human life that go with it, can’t be swept aside or left to the social workers and aid agencies: they are at least in part the result of planning and design policies that channel resources and energy into supporting the lifestyle ambitions of the wealthiest. According to the World Bank’s Global Monitoring Report, 24 per cent of the world’s ‘extreme poor’ now live in urban areas, up from 18 per cent in 1990.[8]

The second theme I’d like to explore briefly is that of the puzzled city: the city that does not know where to turn or how to resolve its conflicts and conundrums. Again, urban planners are part of the complexity and contribute to the headaches as well as suffering from them. Take the main picture in Slide 9: a shanty town in Lima, Peru, photographed by tourists because of its bright colours and higgledy-piggledy construction, but teetering on a hillside where it is vulnerable to storms or landslips, where services are basic or non-existent and where it is difficult or impossible to break out of the cycle of poverty. Imagine trying to study for an architectural qualification while living in one of these buildings. Our growing cities are hives of economic activity, but all this activity comes at a price: the expansion of slums and favelas, congestion and pollution, and often the loss of culture and identity.

I’d like to highlight three puzzles in particular. First is the puzzle of economic growth. Every international institution sees growth as desirable and the only ultimate solution to poverty. Yet if growth is achieved at the expense of the sustainability of a finite planet, the ultimate outcome will be impoverishment rather than enrichment: ours would not be the first civilisation to collapse because it has outgrown its ability to resource itself. This is why, like the Kingdom of Bhutan, we need to begin looking at what we really value in life and how we can align our economic priorities with our human wellbeing – not just for ourselves but for future generations. Bhutan’s index of gross national happiness is revealing: it found that the biggest challenges to happiness in urban areas are the lack of community vitality, cultural activity and psychological wellbeing. That should be food for thought for urban planners and designers.[9] Tim Jackson puts it succinctly: In pursuit of the good life today, we are systematically eroding the basis for well-being tomorrow.[10]

Second is the puzzle of competitiveness. The corporate city demands obedience to a doctrine of competition: it demands high technology, low wages and low taxes. But who benefits and at what cost? Is there an alternative? For the poorest people in our cities, the benefits of competition are often outweighed by the sacrifices they are expected to make. Are there better ways of living that respect and build on the skills and assets of all members of our communities? As Blaz Kriznick puts it in his study of Seoul, Korea: ‘There is little evidence that competitive urban policy necessarily leads to long-term economic growth or to just and sustainable urban development equally beneficial to different social groups in the city.’[11]

Third is the puzzle of freedom. The French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau famously said in 1762 that man was born free, but is everywhere in chains. Two and a half centuries later, how much has changed? Our factories are cleaner and safer, but do people feel more human in them and more able to live fulfilling and purposeful lives? Do the residents of our cities feel more able to determine their futures and fulfil their desires as human beings than their grandparents or great-grandparents? Do people feel safe when they speak out against injustice or when they advocate human rights, or are they silenced or victimised?

There are no quick and easy solutions to these dilemmas, and none that can be advocated or implemented by architects and planners alone. The path towards a more open society and towards better places to live can be difficult and painful. But there are signposts I suggest we all, and the urban professions in particular, would do well to follow.

So what is a people-centred city and how can the urban professions help to build it? The pictures in Slide 14 give us one obvious clue: the quality and use of our public space sends a strong signal about how cities can be designed for people and to maximise human sociability and interaction. The Botanical Gardens in Kandy, for example, are not just a preserve for botanists but a place for people to relax and to grow, a place where children have space and opportunities to discover. A public square in Beijing where older people can practice tai chi, improving their health and having an opportunity to spend time with others. In a world where the number of older people is increasing rapidly, and one of the greatest risks to their wellbeing is isolation and loneliness, we need to recognise the unrewarded services our elders can and do provide for our communities in terms of family care and what the urbanist Jane Jacobs called ‘eyes on the street’ – the self-policing of our cities by the people who live there. The third picture is from Melbourne, Australia, and shows the importance of the tiny public spaces offered by cafes and street food outlets, where people can meet, grab a coffee and do business or simply strengthen their social networks. Spaces for interaction are like the brain cells of cities – they’re places of connection and imagination. Cities that are too empty, too congested or too controlled prevent such connections being made.

If we are to create people-centred cities that are fit for the future, I suggest there are three types of response we must encourage.

The first is to build a sense of purpose. What are our cities for? Are they simply places to live? Are they satellites of global corporations? Or are they more like Petri dishes in which we grow distinctive and unique local cultures? If we believe our cultures and human identities have value rather than simply serving the enrichment of the few, then how can we plan our cities to support those cultures and human values?

This is where physical planning and community development need to work together. Planning is often seen as a tool of economic development, a process designed to attract investment and wealth. But I would suggest that there cannot be sustainable and robust economic development without community development – a process that allows community members to articulate their concerns and aspirations, devise solutions at a scale that is appropriate to them, and that seeks to align planning and resourcing with the elements that allow people to lead more fulfilling and productive lives. These elements include basics like clean water and sanitation and access to healthcare; access to education; transport planning that makes it easy to walk, cycle or use public transport in order to reduce stress on the city’s infrastructure; and delegation of authority to levels that enable people to make decisions that are lighter, quicker and cheaper. To achieve that, people need to feel that they own the planning and decision-making process, that it’s something that works for them and not for the benefit of bureaucrats. It means reviving the idea that a public servant is the servant of the public, not a gatekeeper for the state.

The second response focuses on place: how can we create places that residents and visitors have permission to shape according to their needs? Where there are neglected pieces of land or abandoned development sites, are people given permission to use them productively – say for food growing or markets – or are the interests of the landowners given priority irrespective of their impact? What can we do to recognise and encourage the value that’s created through the ephemeral or occasional? Could we learn from the Better Block approach in the US, for example, where residents in a neighbourhood come together to collectively redesign the public realm and use of buildings?[12]

Thinking about place demands a focus on the small scale as well as the big picture. Our cities are kaleidoscopes with thousands of parts. Le Corbusier saw the shell and the straight lines: the best cities of the 21^st century will be those that recognise the intricacies of pattern and connection, formed by a host of apparently insignificant components that together can create something beautiful. Each place – each fragment in the kaleidoscope – carries its own history and significance for the people who use it or have helped to create it.

The Greek word for place is topos: it gives us concepts of topography and landscape. It’s a multi-dimensional concept – it’s about hills and valleys and watercourses, the geology below and the flora and fauna on the surface. Topos is also a concept in literature: a literary topos is a shared story or meme, a ‘common place’ that may cross cultural or social divides and functions as a shared heritage we can all draw on. The flood myths of ancient literature are one example: they tell a story of catastrophe and survival that crosses cultures and religions.

Places, stories, commonalities and creativity: these form the skeletons and sinews of cities and the people who live in them. The authentic and self-directed city is one of shared stories, individually told and different with each telling and each teller. The architect and planner can help to create these topoi or landmarks. They can be landmarks of control and imposition, courts and citadels which proclaim how we should act and where we belong, or they can be frameworks for freedom, enabling people to act as agents of their own future, constructing social and economic worlds that are human-centred rather than state-centric or capital-centric.

In practical terms, what might such landmarks or topoi be? One of the first is the market: the formal or informal gathering place for trade, exchange, gossip and barter. Another is the street corner: the chance meeting place where you stop for conversation. There are places where you watch the world go by: in ancient times a town’s elders would sit by the city gate, inspecting and conversing with the people going in and out. Today the public park or square can play a similar role. The civic or community hall, more formally, is a location where people associate and build the fabric of society, whether in exploring shared interests or in striving for justice and the right to be heard. Places of worship and cultural expression, sports clubs and informal playing fields, cafes and restaurants are social landmarks. The buildings used by neighbourhood associations and business networks are building blocks of the city. The 21^st century planner or architect needs to design for life and vitality – not only by building to impress and overawe, but by creating buildings and the spaces between them for life and adaptation, designing for osmosis and fluidity as well as order and efficiency. A park with chairs that can be moved around to suit the park’s users is a space for people: one with fixed concrete benches is a space for planners.

The old walled city of Jaipur in Rajasthan, India, began its life as a planned city which sought to achieve a harmony between secular power, culture in the form of religious observance, and the importance of the extended family and neighbourhood. The plan drawn up by King Sawai Jai Singh in 1727 brought together extreme formality of design with devolved governance at the level of a locality or mohalia, a grouping of dwellings and workshops where the community set the rules of behaviour.[13]

A few miles from my home city of Sheffield in the UK there’s a very different example of the connection between planning and self-governance. Incredible Edible Todmorden in West Yorkshire has attracted visitors from all over the world because of the way it has transformed a town through the planting of vegetables in public places. This planting was led by citizens, not by planners or politicians, and its radical power is evidenced not by protests on the streets but by colourful signs declaring ‘Help Yourself’. It appears anarchic, but it’s an informality which is bounded – by the natural constraints of what can be grown in a cold, wet climate, by the topographic constraints of a town at the junction of three steep valleys, and by the interaction between local people and property owners. It shows how citizen-generated planning at a micro level can bring about significant change, reconnecting people with their neighbours, with skills and knowledge that an entire generation was beginning to lose, and with involvement in determining the future of their town. Ordinary people, without instruction from above, have grasped what the experts at the UN Environment Programme are also saying: The habits of urban dwellers will largely determine the health of our ecosystems and the survival of biodiversity.[14]

The third challenge follows from the second: it is the challenge of participation. What makes each city unique is the people who live there. People with imagination and aspirations attract others: a place where people believe they can build a future will always attract new inhabitants. For many years people left cities like Detroit and Liverpool because they believed there was no future there for them or their children. In today’s rapidly growing cities, can civic leaders and planners help to make sure that the dream of a better future is achievable and accessible?

Participation in a better future starts with the people and places that tend to be most neglected and overlooked. In Pune, India, waste collectors have formed a co-operative that has contracted with the city corporation to collect and recycle garbage from more than 360,000 households. They create compost that is used on public parks and they ensure rubbish is recycled rather than going into landfill whenever possible. The corporation provides health insurance and safety equipment such as gloves. The result is that some of the poorest people in the city can earn a stable living, the city saves money by reducing the need for landfill, and residents are provided with an efficient service.[15]

The participatory city is an open city. It is one where planners and designers seek to engage with ordinary people’s aspirations rather than sitting in specialist enclaves. It is one that values the contributions and voices of young and old people, women, ethnic and cultural minorities and people with disabilities. It is one that encourages civic participation and the use of social tools, whether it’s social media such as Twitter and Facebook or crowdsourced information such as the emergency response site Ushahidi.

And finally, it is one that seeks to bring down the walls, visible and invisible, that divide communities. In Belfast, Northern Ireland, there are still ‘peace walls’ or ‘interfaces’ that keep communities apart, 15 years after Northern Ireland officially adopted a peace accord. A community that can only co-exist with its neighbours if there is a wall separating them is a fearful community, not a safe one. It’s only when we take the risk of trusting each other and respecting each others’ rights to participate freely in society that the barriers can start coming down. This requires a constant retelling and reshaping of our stories, instead of becoming victims of them. As I once saw written on a wall in Belfast: A nation that keeps one eye on the past is wise. A nation that keeps both eyes on the past is blind.

In Buddhist thought a key element of the eightfold path is the idea of ‘right livelihood’ – that one earns an honest living, avoids violence or harm to others, and exercises restraint in business and domestic life. What might right livelihood mean in the context of today’s growing cities? Beyond living within the law, I would suggest it implies respect for others, and especially minorities and those who are poorest; civic leadership that seeks the good of the whole city rather than favouring particular groups; transparent and even-handed administration of justice; and, crucially in terms of city planning, an understanding of and protection of the natural environment and a recognition of its importance to urban humanity. To these I would add what the writer Lewis Mumford recognised as a foundation of civic life: culture and creativity. The city is a reflection of the kind of people we choose to be.

Le Corbusier ushered in the Modernist era of architecture with a call to order: the city would be a well-oiled machine, allowing the same human tasks to be repeated efficiently, identically and endlessly. The straight line and the right angle, the architect and the planner, would rule. Chandigarh in India is a city designed according to these principles: it starts from the plan, not from the people.

Today we need to recognise where the boxes and right angles have failed us. The cities where people want to be are sociable cities, places where they have space to be themselves and the opportunities to be architects of their own futures. The metaphor for the successful city is no longer the box or the machine but the web: organic, fragile, multi-noded, and resilient enough to reconstruct itself after a shock. For a city to function effectively as a web or a network there needs to be devolution, communication, and empowerment. Devolution of authority and responsibility, so that each part of the network can sustain itself wherever possible and respond to changing circumstances and challenges; effective and fast communication between different parts of the network, sharing information and learning across professional, political and social boundaries; and empowerment at a neighbourhood level to enable decision-making to take place at locally appropriate scales. This requires localised as well as city-wide solutions to the most pressing issues facing today’s growing cities: the provision of food, water supply and reuse, waste management and recycling, sustainable transport, affordable and safe housing, and energy generation.

In the city of the future, getting on starts with letting go and recognising that the people in our cities are our greatest resource. The health not only of our cities but of our planet depends on it.

• This paper is the text of my keynote speech at the International Conference on Cities, Places and People in Colombo, Sri Lanka, in October 2013.