“It’s hard not to see them as lose-lose”: the problem with co-living spaces

Inside The Collective, Old Oak Common, London. Image: Getty.

The trend for co-living is evolving. In the next few years more units will appear in London, and in Manchester, too. While researching a piece about them recently I spoke to several companies who want to move into co-living; from traditional, well-established property developers such as Allied London, to arty, design-led start-ups like Noiascape.

Co-living buildings provide small apartments or rooms as well as communal spaces such as a library, restaurant, or co-working space. Freelancers or entrepreneurs can get work done, then sign off and mingle with people doing the same thing in the evening.

The trend originated in the US with the likes of WeLive and Ollie. The Collective, the UK’s largest example of co-living opened its first apartment block in north-west London in early 2016. Experts writing on this site were skeptical at the time: the tiny, relatively expensive bedrooms the building offered didn’t exactly persuade anyone that a solution to the housing crisis had been found. 

But my knowledge of housing is what I’ve learnt from my own expensive, mould-laden, experiences of renting, and I was initially quite taken with the idea. I am, after all, a target demographic for the model: freelance, young, jaded by private renting and unlikely to ever own my home.

Instead of worrying about those concerns, I could embrace being, “mobile” and “experience-led” along with lots of other people in the same situation that is, if I were to put all my trust in the developers I’ve spoken to. “People don’t care about ownership, nowadays,” I’ve been told several times by people, who, by nature of their very profession, own a lot of property.

While there are some positives in the model, such as the social aspect, it’s hard to shake the feeling that these options represent a sticking plaster fix to two converging problems: precarious work and not enough decent, spacious, affordable places to live.

Co-living spaces also benefit, in my opinion, from the current trend of seeing anything associated with words like “start-up” and “tech” as inherently exciting and good – and therefore not requiring much scrutiny. Housing experts say that  building standards in such spaces are often lower than normal.


Super-productive precarious work

In the UK over 15 per cent of all people in work are now self-employed, a record number. And it’s well-documented that self-employed people are finding the experience tough, with mental health problems like anxiety being a common side-effect of irregular work and pay.

On paper, grouping people who are in this situation together, in either a co-working or co-living space, could help by providing a support network, as well as normalising being self-employed.

But Ollie Mould, a human geographer at Royal Holloway, University of London, who has written a book about the co-working trend, suggests that often, co-working leads to nothing more than the pressure to perform work without support.

“It is the atomisation of work and skills,” he told me. “Co-working buildings often adjoin the word ‘collaboration’ to individual work, when it’s nothing more than individuals working in the same space. Even if they are working in teams, they are doing so because they’ll get something out of it themselves. It’s competitive.”

Now that the co-working concept has been extended to also living where you work, he is concerned those feelings of pressure will only intensify.

“Co-living seems like another movement in work that aims to make us more productive and have more free time – but actually that free time isn’t used, except to just do more work, meaning that work is ever encroaching on home life. It’s just given up on those boundaries.”

Inside the Collective. Image: Getty.

There are opportunities to chill out at co-living spaces, but they could easily blur with ‘networking’, such as at evening talks, which has nothing to do with chilling out.

There are yoga and mindfulness sessions advertised at places like the Collective too, which, to me, sounds good on paper. But this also speaks to a culture obsessed with performing at the highest level. It tells you: ‘‘Relax, sure, but in this healthy and socially acceptable way.”

Premium community

Then there’s the demographics and locations of the buildings to consider. The Collective’s next opening will be Stratford, in Newham, one of the poorest boroughs in London and is part of the government’s regeneration scheme in the area.

But its facilities not likely to provide a solution for families in need of housing in Newham, says Penny Bernstock, the director of the Centre for East London studies, at the University of East London, who also sat in on the planning meetings for the new, nine-storey building as an observer.

The site will include communal kitchens as well as a gym, sauna, library, cinema room, outdoor hot tub, roof terraces, a gallery space and a “Hackney Wick-inspired” food market, according to press releases. It sounds like a corporate-hipster paradise, which is not a good sign.

What does ‘shared-values’ mean in this context, one wonders. It’s very obvious from the list of included facilities given above that this Stratford co-living space is basically for young professionals who want to live in east London without having to actually touch it.

Bernstock said: “I initially was quite interested in the idea, I thought it was reference to something quite progressive – communal living. But I'm not convinced it is, or that it’s contributing a solution to the housing crisis in Newham. It’s the warehousing of young graduates in one place.”

She added the quality standard of mixed use buildings tends to be lower. “A lot like luxury student housing that is being built all over the country – multi-purpose buildings such as this – living spaces can be much smaller.”

This is partly, she explains, because, like with students, they expect the population to be temporary. Perhaps the councils approving these blocks hope that that people will come and stay in the co-living space and then move out and settle in the area. 

So are they the future?

Not all these properties are developing in the same way. For example, the architects behind Noiascape did tell me they wanted ensure a percentage of flats were rented at a rate tied to local wages, and would ensure a portion were rented to over-65s. Those stipulations would go some way to preventing a homogeneous and ephemeral population in the building – but for most of the co-living spaces I’ve heard from, these concerns weren’t heard.

Unless the model is more regulated or evolved to be something more progressive and positive, it’s hard not to see them as being a lose-lose development in housing. For the people living in them, they are small and low-quality. For the areas around them, they don’t provide more housing nor even potential new customers to local businesses, as they do everything (food, gyms etc.) in-house.

For those living in them, Ollie Mould puts it even more starkly: “All these spaces do, really, is take advantage of people who are actually quite precarious. They can’t afford to live anyway, so they are going to these places where they can live and work together, thinking they might as well constantly be at work as that might keep them economically safer.” Revolutionary? Perhaps not.

Editor’s note: this article was amended on 15 November to correct some minor inaccuracies. 

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How the rise of anti-crime politics caused lasting harm to Black Americans

"I see an awareness that has developed in the Black community in the last 10 years or so about how deeply racist the criminal justice system has become," James Forman Jr. says. (David McNew/Getty Images)

The police killing of George Floyd, and the protest movement that emerged from it, has reinvigorated a national conversation around reinventing criminal justice policy in the United States.

At the same time, reports that violent crime is rising in many US cities have resurrected talk of the much-disputed “Ferguson effect,” a theory put forward by law enforcement professionals, and some researchers, who argued that police slowdowns in the wake of the first wave of Black Lives Matter protests resulted in elevated rates of violent crime. President Donald Trump is trying to weaponise this narrative, paired with images of federal officers clashing with protesters in the streets of Portland, to wage a 1968-style backlash election campaign.

“People who want to mobilise a lock-them-up style of either policing or prosecution have tried to weaponise those short-term increases,” says James Forman Jr., professor of law at Yale Law School. “Criminologists will say you have to be very, very cautious about short-term movement [in crime statistics]. We don't know whether or not what we're seeing right now [with violent crime increasing] is going to sustain itself. But the fact is, it's here and people are talking about it.”

In 2018, Forman won the Pulitzer Prize in nonfiction for his book Locking Up Our Own: Crime and Punishment in Black America. Drawing on his experience as a public defender in Washington, DC, he traced the emergence of anti-crime politics in late 20th century Black communities. Forman showed how newly empowered Black politicians fought for policies they believed would protect and uplift Black Americans, but inadvertently contributed to mass incarceration. 


CityMetric recently caught up with Forman to discuss crime trends, where he sees reason for hope in this moment and how the Black political class’s attitude toward crime and punishment has shifted since the latter part of the 20th century. 

This interview has been edited and condensed. 

There is talk right now about a resurgence of crime and violence in American cities. We saw similar, more localised concerns after the initial 2015 Black Lives Matter protests in Ferguson and Baltimore. Do you fear this could reinvigorate the kind of politics you describe in your book among segments of the Black community and political class?

I fear that it could be reinvigorated nationally and also in the Black political class. Look at the political conversations that are happening in Atlanta right now, for example, a city that also has seen a short-term uptick in crime as it is a site of a lot of protests about George Floyd and Breonna Taylor on the national level, as well as Rayshard Brooks and Ahmaud Arbery more locally in Georgia.

I think that you can already see in some of the language of the local elected officials this idea that we have to be very careful about pulling back. [They are saying] “while the protesters may make some valid points, we can't risk returning to the ‘80s and ‘90s.” Those decades really traumatised the United States, and particularly traumatised Black communities. There's a deep fear about returning to the levels of the violence that we saw in the crack years.

You write a lot about class divides among Black Americans, where middle income and elite Black people don't suffer as much from extremely punitive policies. They also have closer ties to the politicians who are creating these policies. There are very specific groups of people, even in marginalised communities, whose voices are heard.  As a result of these dynamics, you write about Black politicians fighting for things like mandatory minimum prison sentences or against decriminalising marijuana. Is there still that disconnect between those who suffer the most from criminal justice policies and those who are actually heard in political discourse?  

Let me just say a caveat, that when we talk about class divisions in the Black community it's important to hold two truths in our head at the same time. Bruce Western and others have shown the way in which class, educational status, income can dramatically reduce the likelihood of being hardest hit by the criminal system – namely incarcerated. Middle class and upper middle class Black people get some measure of protection. It's also true at the same time that Black people of all classes are worse off relative to their class counterparts in the white community. 

One area where class is least protective is policing and police stops. The police do not know how many degrees you have. They don't know how much money you have in your bank account. I want to be very clear that in making this point about class, I'm not making the argument that race or racism don't matter in this context. 

In terms of how it plays out now, I see an awareness that has developed in the Black community in the last 10 years or so about how deeply racist the criminal justice system has become. Twenty or 30 years ago they had a consciousness, but there's levels of understanding. Many of the people I write about in the book wanted to promote the interests of the Black community. They weren't motivated by indifference or callousness. When presented with mounting evidence of how awful this system has been in Black lives, they're reconsidering and recalibrating. 

Lots of former elected officials have said to me some version of “I didn't know at the time and I appreciate that you showed us in our full complexity. I appreciate that you showed the pressures we were under. If I had known then what I know now, maybe I would have been less quick to go along with some of these harsh measures.” 

The second thing that has affected the Black political class has been the emerging movements, led by Black people in particular and led by young people. They not only educated leaders, but pressured them and made them understand that there is a political cost. If you're not moved by the moral argument, then you'll be moved by the political argument. You'll be moved by the people protesting outside the office of District Attorney Jackie Lacey in Los Angeles, for example, where Black Lives Matter LA has held, I believe, a year of consecutive protests against a Black district attorney who has had really some of the worst practices.

From what I can tell, she's been pressured by the movement to change some of her positions on important issues like prosecution of low-level drug offenders, for example, and the aggressiveness with which she prosecutes police officers for acts of violence.

What do you make of the calls to defend or even abolish the police?

What I find so compelling about abolition, initially in the prison context and extended to the police as well, is that it shifts the conversation and forces us to go through experiments in which we imagine what it would take to build that world. I think that exercise is very important, because it pushes us further than we are naturally inclined to go. Cultivating a broader imagination is an incredibly important part of this work, because as you know from my book, often it was lack of imagination that caused people to fall back on [punitive policies]. 

That's what caused D.C. Councilmember David Clarke to call the police rather than public health experts when he was overwhelmed with letters about heroin addicts in public space. He was anti-drug war, but he couldn't imagine responding to a call for help with heroin addicts with anything other than police. That's a very common move from even really good and progressive people. 

People who are for defunding, for abolition, are absolutely right about reinvesting that money into alternative structures that support communities. But the reinvestment part doesn't follow naturally from the terms. We might want to come up with a term that captures the new stuff we want to do. I think that's particularly important because one of the reasons Black communities have ended up supporting more police is that Black communities have always wanted their fair share of the resources.

Then, the evidence suggests the United States has too many police officers doing prophylactic, preventative, or stop-and-frisk style policing. The style of policing that leads to district level harassment, pulling people over for no reason. But we have too little investment in the parts of police departments that investigate unsolved crimes. I'm talking about the investigator or the detective who comes to your house after there's been a robbery, an assault, a rape, or homicide. 

As compared to European countries, in the United States we actually underinvest in those parts of our police departments. Jill Leovy’s book Ghettoside shows this in dramatic detail. She describes an LAPD that's stopping and frisking Black drivers wantonly and yet the homicide detectives are still relying on a fax machine and the fax machine is broken. They have to go with their own money to Staples to buy a printer. Meanwhile, other aspects of the department are kitted out in this ridiculous riot gear that makes them look like they're in Fallujah. 

That under investment is particularly damaging to Black communities because we're disproportionately victimised by crime. Because of racism and this allocation of resources, the police are less likely to respond in Black communities. The kids I used to work with in the charter schools in DC, we talk about no snitching, but one of the reasons they would never call the police after they'd been victimised by crime is they would say, “They're not even going to come. You're wasting time.” 

I did a Q&A with Jill Leovy too and her argument is one I've struggled to articulate in our present moment. She argues the state doesn't have a monopoly on violence in low-income Black neighbourhoods, because investigations of violence are deemphasised and crime victims or their loved ones often take retribution into their own hands.  But right now, establishing or preserving the state's monopoly on violence isn't an appealing talking point. 

Yes, this is another thing nobody's talking about. Whatever we're going to do instead of the police has to be accountable to the public. The best, most direct way to have accountability is to have the individuals be public employees. As long as we have 300 million guns in this country at least some of those state employees are going to themselves be armed. It's unreasonable to ask them to do the job without it. Not as many need to be armed as are armed now, but some of them need to be. But they can't be hiding behind union contracts or civil service protections which make it impossible to remove even the worst performing, most abusive officers. 

We can not call them police if we want to. That's semantic, but maybe symbolism matters. But those people have to be state employees. They can work with community-based nonprofits, but there are also communities that don't have as robust of a nonprofit network, and they deserve protection too. These [community] groups have to be accountable to the state and, when they don't exist, the state has to be there. 

Progressives get all the points I just made when it's applied to education. The notion that things be public and accountable to the state is understood when it comes to schools. It's exactly why so many people on the left are opposed to charter schools, because they say they don't have public accountability. They want these things to be a state function. But this point about the difficulty in removing this entirely from the hands of the state is, I think, one that liberals and progressives understand from other contexts.

Jake Blumgart is a staff writer at CityMetric.