How can cities ensure healthy architecture in an era of rapid population growth?

A new building emerges on Place de la Concorde, Paris. Image: Getty.

Worldwide population growth and mass migrations are putting the infrastructure of many cities under strain. With city governments under pressure to provide more housing and work spaces, people can end up living and working in poorly designed or low quality buildings.

Since the beginning of human civilisation, people have been striving to create a beneficial built environment. Take Neolithic buildings, for instance: they were purposefully orientated to catch the sun and allow for ventilation. Later, over 3,000 years ago in Crete, the Minoans built underground sewage systems to avoid plagues. So too did the Romans, who also used underfloor heating systems and aqueducts, and provided baths throughout the empire to keep the population in good health.

Slums in Wentworth Street, Whitechapel. Image: Wellcome Images/Wikimedia Commons.

Despite these early successes, maintaining healthy conditions became much more difficult in times of rapid population growth. During the industrial revolution, for instance, many cities quickly became overpopulated. With growing industries, employers were under pressure to accommodate more workers, and decayed or unfit buildings were used to host increasing numbers of tenants.

In the UK, living conditions reached such poor standards that the government passed a number of laws to improve public health. A similar sanitation project took place in Germany, at around the same time. These strategies provided many cities with outstanding green infrastructure such as parks and boulevards, which still bring many health benefits to those who can access them today.

Sick building syndrome

But in recent years, “sick building syndrome” has become a worry worldwide. Research has shown that headaches and respiratory problems among office workers were directly related to the use of air conditioning, poor ventilation and other widely-adopted technologies. Today, health professionals and designers have plenty of evidence to show that some buildings can harm people, both physically and psychologically. Yet ensuring buildings are “healthy” is a difficult task.

In the UK, some features such as ventilation and heating have to meet certain standards. But other design features, which are known to have a big impact on human welfare, are still not regulated. For example, there’s evidence that exposure to natural light and direct contact with nature have a positive effect on school exam results – yet there’s no legislation which says they must be a feature of learning environments.

And while scientists are constantly experimenting to grow our knowledge of the impacts that buildings have on human health, laws and regulations tend to develop more slowly. This means that even new buildings can be inadequately ventilated, or suffer from a lack of natural light – even though we now know that both cause symptoms of ill health.

A lack of natural ventilation means viruses are retained in the air, while a lack of natural light can affect brain functions. In Britain alone, these design pitfalls are adding to the stress on the NHS, and costing the economy an estimated £24.6m due to lost working days each year.

What’s more, as the Grenfell Tower disaster made awfully clear, technical difficulties and budget constraints can mean refurbishments are made using incompatible or inappropriate building materials, resulting in homes which simply aren’t safe to live in.

Tech fails

Architects aim to deliver sustainability by reducing energy consumption. There is a huge range of technologies which can help achieve this. But relying too heavily on such solutions can backfire: in 2016, researchers found that many homes had been built to be airtight, in a bid to meet energy efficiency targets. This can cause CO₂ and other pollutants to build up indoors, which in turn has adverse effects on residents’ health.

Human factors – including how we navigate and socialise within the built environment, and how our body responds to it – also have a big impact on the overall efficiency of buildings, and the sustainable technologies which go into them. Research has shown that people don’t always operate equipment as instructed – rather, they naturally look for comfort through more instinctive behaviours.

For example, when we feel a room is overheated, we tend to open windows to gain instant refreshment, rather than turning the thermostat down. This reduces the effectiveness of low-carbon technologies. So even buildings that have plenty of features to enhance energy efficiency can still be unsustainable, if people don’t use them properly.


The power of good design

Design is still the most powerful tool an architect can use: simple design measures, such as opening buildings towards sunnier aspects or adding ventilation in strategic locations to make the most of prevalent winds, are tried and tested techniques which can help to deliver healthier, more sustainable buildings.

Yet this approach comes with its own issues. Inner-city locations are often difficult to build in, because of their small size and crowded surroundings. Sometimes, architects will prioritise creating a “landmark” exterior, at the cost of a healthy interior. Other times, architects misinterpret planning guidance and recommendations, which can be vague and unspecific. Likewise, planning restrictions can actually be enforced to the detriment of the overall building quality.

The ConversationAt the moment, planning laws aren’t strong enough to provide truly sustainable environments that take human factors into account. Reform is long overdue, and designers, builders, planners and health professionals need to make a greater effort to find a more collective and coordinated way of working. But as a society, we must take joint responsibility: we can all make a start by learning how to change our our behaviour, to make the human aspects of sustainability a central part of our lives.

Laura B Alvarez, Architectural Technologist and Urban Designer, Nottingham Trent University.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

 
 
 
 

Canada’s gay neighbourhoods are struggling. Can queer pop-ups plug the gap?

Vancouver. Image: Getty.

Queer life was highly visible in Western Canada last year. In May, Vancouver declared 2018 the “Year of the Queer,” celebrating decades of service that the city’s cultural organisations have provided for lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, queer and two-spirit (LGBTQ/2S) people across the region.

Yet 2018 also saw the loss of multiple queer venues and gay bars. While economic forces, such as rapacious gentrification are part of the story and struggle, our research shows that something creative and generative is happening in the city as well.

In the face of changing urban landscapes, economic hardships, and more straights moving into historically gay neighbourhoods, queer pop-ups — ephemeral gathering spaces whose impact lingers among revellers long after the night is over — now play a large role in the fight for LGBTQ/2S equality.

Scattered gay places became neighbourhoods

Queer life germinated in “scattered gay places” across cities in North America from the late 1800s to the Second World War. Inside cabarets, bars, theatres or outside in public parks, washrooms and city streets, queers found spaces which could hold and celebrate transgressive sexual connections while also providing respite from daily experiences of discrimination and social exclusion.

After the Second World War, scattered gay places congealed into permanent gay bars and residential “gaybourhoods” in a period anthropologist Kath Weston calls “the great gay migration.” Queer people flocked to urban centres and sexual subcultures flourished in cities like New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Toronto.

The formation of queer community spaces has always been controversial. Cultural and legal backlashes marred early developments. A host of laws and regulations tried to suppress and contain homosexuality in North America by limiting its presence in the public sphere.

These measures resulted in frequent hostilities, police raids and violence. Queers congregated together not just to find love or community, but to protect themselves, to protect one another and to find refuge. Pride parades, now celebrated worldwide, commemorate these early turf wars.

Pop-ups revitalise queer spaces

Researchers have written a great deal on the cultural and political importance of gay districts in urban centres, and they have grappled with concerns that these areas, along with the establishments they house, are fading.

But innovative urban forms challenge arguments about the death and demise of queer spaces in the city. Our research suggests that queer pop-ups, or temporary cultural gathering spaces, cater to diverse and often marginalised queers.

Some gaybourhoods are dwindling in their residential concentration and gay bars are dropping like flies. But new queer place-making efforts are emerging.

Two of the authors at the queer pop-up in 2018 at East Side Studios in Vancouver. Ryan is on the far left, back row, Adriana is on the far right of the back row. Image: author provided.

Unlike gaybourhoods and gay bars, pop-ups are intentional in how they address persistent, intersectional forms of inequality. Queer pop-ups offer patrons a space to explore non-binary forms of gender and sexual identities, and especially a place to experience collective effervescence among queer people of colour, and femme lesbians.

Some pop-ups create environments that are explicitly trans-inclusive, consent-focused, and sex-positive. Pop-ups are not panaceas for queer life. Pop-ups can also be places where issues around socioeconomic status, gender identity and expression, and racial inequality are called out.

Yet these spaces directly and indirectly encourage dialogue on inequalities within the queer community, conversations that help produce safer spaces for marginalised queers to find each other and forge enduring queer consciousnesses.

Turf wars

Queer pop-ups show similar trajectories of infighting and compromise that the LGBT social movement encountered from the late 1970s through the early 2000s when trying to forge a collective consciousness, gain social visibility and win legal rights.

These turf wars, expressed as contests over space and inclusion, are generally sparked over three perennial concerns: privilege, race and gender. One interviewee, a 20-year-old self-identified queer, trans person of colour (QTPoC), who spoke about Vancouver’s gay district told us:

“I tend to avoid the gay bars on Davie [because] a lot of the gay bars there have now been taken over by cis-gender, heterosexual people. I’ve [also] heard from a lot of QTPoC friends that they are often uncomfortable going to gay bars on Davie, because it’s usually very dominated by cis-gender, white gay men.”

A 28-year-old white, cisgender, queer male found pop-ups more politically and culturally radical than gay bars. He put it this way:

“It’s very rare that we’ll ever have a conversation about politics [in gay bars]. It’s just about partying and things that we kind of see as very stereotypical portrayals of gay culture: like going out, dancing, drinking, fucking.”

Historically, gaybourhoods have served an important role in the fight for LGBT rights, but they have also developed to cater to a specific cis-gender, white, middle-class, male sensibility. One 30-year-old, white, trans DJ put it bluntly, “the mainstream scene is just not welcoming to trans people, in my experience,” adding that verbal transphobic harassment is common in the streets of Vancouver’s gaybourhood.

At Vancouver Pride this year we were reminded of this schism at a local pop-up event. “Gay men won’t come here, it’s too trashy,” shouted a white Australian lesbian playfully to friends over loud music. We were at Eastside Studios, a large warehouse turned into the newest collaborative queer venue in Vancouver.


The comment was striking because it highlights the visible bifurcation occurring in queer life and queer consumption in Vancouver. Many gay men tend to patronise businesses and events in the West End, Vancouver’s official gaybourhood; whereas, other members of the LGBTQ community are scattered across the city at events and venues that are far less permanent. Eastside Studios attempts to break through the homonormative bent some gay bars perpetuate. It is a space that generously houses some of the struggling pop up events who lost space to gentrification in Vancouver’s out of control rental market.

Historically, pop-ups arose as the first signs of urban sexual transgression. They continue to emerge as spatial innovations which nurture transgressive queer diversities that do not have space or representation in the gaybourhood. Weekly social media blasts via Facebook or Instagram and word-of-mouth dissemination play an important role in linking queers around the city to these events. Pop-ups take different tones and establish different vibes among patrons. Collectively, pop-ups highlight the many important projects local queers are undertaking to increase the plurality of what queer life looks like and how it is expressed.

Struggles for equality

Marriage is the leading story in many headlines these days, but queer struggles for equality were never only about relationship recognition or acceptance into the mainstream.

Queer struggles are also fights to resist oppressive normativity, to end racial inequality and white supremacy, to end sexualised violence, to reconcile generational traumas associated with colonialism.

Continuing these fights is perhaps what makes queer pop-ups unique. Organisers of these events are intentional and responsive to such concerns. They seek to create new worlds that soften the impact of inequalities, both in gaybourhoods and in other parts of Canadian cities as well.

Pop-ups nourish queer lives; they emerge as temporary meeting grounds where diverse, oftentimes marginalised, queers flock for community and collective, momentary release. Here an image from a Man Up pop-up event in Vancouver. Image: Shot by Steph/Facebook/The Conversation.

Many of these spaces are an opportunity for patrons to travel in a re-imagined world, even if only for the night. While not all pop-ups that appear survive, the ones that do matter, fundamentally, because they create spaces that resist heteronormative culture and homonormativity, address intersecting inequalities, assert and anchor queer cultural and political identities, and promote well-being for a wider portion of the community in ways that gaybourhoods used to and have always had the potential to.

Pop-ups nourish queer lives in ways that gaybourhoods and gay bars historically had. They emerge as temporary meeting grounds where diverse, oftentimes marginalised, queers flock for community and collective, momentary release. They allow patrons to dance and comfortably explore the implications of their gender and sexual identities around like-minded individuals. At times they are more than friendly social gatherings, becoming sites where the moral arch of the community is shaped through demonstrations on urgent issues impacting queer lives and the surrounding community.

Queer pop-ups are vibrant locations that work to push forward the unfinished projects of social justice first envisioned during gay liberation.

The Conversation

Ryan Stillwagon, Ph.D. Student, Sociology, University of British Columbia; Adriana Brodyn, Ph.D. Candidate, University of British Columbia; Amin Ghaziani, Associate Professor of Sociology and Canada Research Chair in Sexuality and Urban Studies, University of British Columbia, and D. Kyle Sutherland, PhD Student, Department of Sociology, University of British Columbia.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.