Raising Diemen: Amsterdam's never ending battle against the sea

The city and its sworn enemy: Amsterdam's Lake Ij. Image: Getty.

Amsterdam is a city that is constantly sinking into the North Sea, and being dragged out again by its determined citizens. Built on layers of overworked peat, overwrought clay and the overly intrusive North Sea, this capital city is a subsiding monument to Dutch engineering.

The silver-lining to all this sinking is that Amsterdam council has found a number of ways to link raising the city to citizen wellbeing. It’s not just about raising the streets to their previous levels: it’s about improving the lives of people who live on those streets.

The technology used to do this was on offer to – and robustly ignored by – both the US and UK governments, prior to Hurricane Katrina and the UK floods in 2014. But that may have to change: the cities that will be underwater if we embrace all the hubris and melt all the ice by burning all available fossil fuels include London, New York and Hong Kong.


The latest terrifying numbers on climate change include the news that the heat waves which used to happen every three years are now happening every 200 days. With these doom-laden figures in mind, and the uneasy knowledge that my Amsterdam apartment is 5.5m below sea-level, I went to find out exactly what it means to raise a city.

Maita Van Der Mark is an alderman for Diemen: a small town in the south of the Amsterdam-area, surrounded and intersected by multiple rivers. Areas of north Diemen are currently being raised back to their previous levels.

The project saw used satellite technology to pinpoint exactly which areas of the city are sinking, and when work will need to begin. Armed with this information, civil servants started redesigning Diemen; they then sorted through citizen feedback, and checked in with the town council, before presenting the plan to the alderman and the mayor.

A Diemen pavement, beginning to sag. Image: Beluah Maud Devaney.

Van Der Mark is involved in the community outreach side of things: her job is to ensure the citizen satisfaction levels are rising along with the pavements.

Since 2012, the aldermen have been working to citizen wellbeing targets: Van Der Mark herself is responsible for making sure the public are aware of when, why and how their neighbourhoods will be reconfigured.

“We took [the 2012 targets] as an opportunity to look at the needs of the community,” she tells me. “The town council wanted a more harmonious public space, and that naturally lead to more citizens participating the in the redesign.”

The sinking is caused by the ancient peat and clay beneath Diemen slowly compressing into thinner and thinner layers. The maximum amount an area can be allowed to sink by is 20cm: at that point, cracks are appearing in the pavements and street signs are starting to look rather inebriated. (Some of the buildings are sinking too, but not as quickly: they usually have stronger foundations, rather than just sitting on top of slowly condensing peat and clay. These also aren't being raised in this particular piece of work.)

The raising is accomplished by, affectively, lifting up the sinking area, adding another layer of sand and soil, and then laying the pavements, tarmac, playgrounds, et al. back down again. The rate at which neighbourhoods are sinking can vary: some areas need work every five years, others only once every 50. But after the first few hundred years of doing this, the Dutch had streamlined the process so effectively that entire neighbourhoods would be raised with minimum disruption. 

A garden in the process of being raised. Image: Beluah Maud Devaney.

Before the aldermen began doing citizen outreach, many Amsterdam-area residents wouldn’t have been aware that their streets were being raised at all.

“Last time I saw the workmen but I didn’t really ask what they were doing,” explains Anita, a Diemen resident. “The builders were here for a few days and then they left and the streets were nice. We got a note saying we needed to raise the garden and that was that. We raised it. This time they [the town council] have explained what’s happening and invited us to meetings about it.”

This increase in communication doesn’t only mean that citizens are more involved with the planning process: it’s an opportunity to air some neighbourhood disputes and dissatisfaction with the previous attempts at town planning. This has included ongoing discussions about where a children’s playground should be relocated, and whose turn it is to have the street’s trees in front of their house.

The raising and redesigning of Diemen’s streets is easy to spot. A street paved with bright white stones suddenly disappears into a privately owned path composed of cracked, discoloured slabs. Privately owned property must be raised by the owners: often between 10 and 20 houses will be involved in discussing the costs, and it can take another year for a homeowner to organise for their own garden to meet the newly raised street.

None of which acts as a deterrent for house buyers or investors: the raising process has become such a part of life residents like Anita didn’t even consider potential building work when buying property in the area.

There is a misplaced perception that adapting cities to climate change is a massive, costly headache: this is usually the reason given by governments for not taking advantage of the Dutch anti-flood technology. When one looks at the raising process in Amsterdam, however, it’s clear that reconfiguring a city (or even a few postcodes) can be a positive, low-impact undertaking.

Despite politicians’ reluctance to face reality, the effects of climate change are already being felt around the world. As more of our capital cities are threatened, it’s going to become increasingly difficult for governments to hide from the Dutch technology – or their pragmatic approach to citizen wellbeing.

 
 
 
 

Mexico City’s new airport is an environmental disaster. But it could become a huge national park

Mexico City’s new Norman Foster-designed airport, seen here in a computer rendering, is visually striking but environmentally problematic. Image: Presidencia de la República Mexicana/creative commons.

Mexico City long ago outgrew the two-terminal Benito Juárez International Airport, which is notorious for delays, overcrowding and canceled flights. Construction is now underway on a striking new international airport east of this metropolis of 20m. When it opens in late 2020, the LEED-certified new airport – whose terminal building was designed by renowned British architect Norman Foster in collaboration with the well-known Mexican architect Fernando Romero – is expected to eventually serve 125m passengers. That’s more than Chicago O'Hare and Los Angeles’ LAX.

But after three years of construction and $1.3bn, costs are ballooning and corruption allegations have dogged both the funding and contracting process.

Environmentalists are also concerned. The new airport is located on a semi-dry lake bed that provides water for Mexico City and prevents flooding. It also hosts migrating flocks and is home to rare native species like the Mexican duck and Kentish plover.

According to the federal government’s environmental impact assessment, 12 threatened species and 1 endangered species live in the area.

The airport project is now so divisive that Andrés Manuel López Obrador, the populist winner of the country’s 2018 presidential campaign, has suggested scrapping it entirely.

An environmental disaster

Mexico’s new airport sits in a federal reserve. Image: Yavidaxiu/The Conversation.

I’m an expert in landscape architecture who studies the ecological adaption of urban environments. I think there’s a way to save Mexico’s new airport and make it better in the process: create a nature reserve around it.

Five hundred years ago, lakes covered roughly 20 percent of the Valle de Mexico, a 3,500-square-mile valley in the country’s south-central region. Slowly, over centuries, local residents – first the Aztecs, then the Spanish colonisers and then the Mexican government – built cities, irrigation systems and plumbing systems that sucked the region dry.

By the mid-20th century, the lakes had been almost entirely drained. In 1971, President Luís Echeverría decreed the area a federal reserve, citing the region’s critical ecological role for Mexico City. The smattering of small lakes and reforested land there now catch and store runoff rainwater and prevent dust storms.

The new airport will occupy 17 square miles of the 46-square-mile former Lake Texcoco. To ensure effective water management for Mexico City, the airport master plan proposes creating new permanent water bodies to offset the lakes lost to the airport and cleaning up and restoring nine rivers east of the airport. It also proposes planting some 250,000 trees.

The government’s environmental assessment determined that the impacts of the new airport, while significant, are acceptable because Lake Texcoco is already “an altered ecosystem that lost the majority of its original environmental importance due to desiccation and urban expansion.” Today, the report continues, “it is now only a desolate and abandoned area.”

Environmentalists loudly disagree.

Make Mexico’s airport great again

I see this environmental controversy as an opportunity to give Mexico City something way more transformative than a shiny new airport.

Nobody can entirely turn back the clock on Lake Texcoco. But the 27 square miles of lake bed not occupied by the airport could be regenerated, its original habitat partially revitalised and environmental functions recovered in a process known as restoration ecology.

I envision a huge natural park consisting of sports fields, forests, green glades and a diverse array of water bodies – both permanent and seasonal – punctuated by bike paths, walking trails and access roads.

The airport will come equipped with new ground transportation to Mexico City, making the park easily accessible to residents. Extensions from the surrounding neighborhood streets and highways could connect people in poor neighbourhoods abutting the airport – dense concrete jungles like Ecatepec, Ciudad Nezahualcoyotl and Chimalhuacan – to green space for the first time.

The nine rivers that empty into Lake Texcoco from the east could be turned into greenways to connect people from further out in Mexico State to what would become the area’s largest public park.

Space could also be reserved for cultural attractions such as museums, open and accessible to passengers in transit.


New master plan

This idea is not as crazy as it sounds.

As early as 1998, Mexican architects Alberto Kalach and the late Teodoro González de León proposed rehabilitating the lakes of the Valley of Mexico. Their book, “The City and its Lakes,” even envisaged a revenue-generating island airport as part of this environmentally revitalized Lake Texcoco.

Under President Felipe Calderon, Mexico’s National Water Commission also proposed building an ecological park in Lake Texcoco, which was to include an island museum and restore long-degraded nearby agricultural land. But the project never gained traction.

Granted, turning a large, half-constructed airport into a national park would require an ambitious new master plan and a budget reallocation.

But in my opinion, evolution and change should be part of ambitious public designs. And this one is already expected to cost an additional $7.7bn to complete anyway.

Toronto’s Downsview Park – a 291-acre former air force base turned green space – has transformed so much since its conception in 1995 that its declared mission is now to “constantly develop, change and mature to reflect the surrounding community with each generation.”

Local communities neighboring Mexico City’s new airport were not adequately consulted about their needs, environmental concerns and their current stakes in the Lake Texcoco area. A revamped park plan could be truly inclusive, designed to provide recreation and urban infrastructure – and maybe even permanent jobs – for these underserved populations.

Presidential race

Three of the four candidates in Mexico’s July 1 presidential election wanted to finish Mexico City’s new international airport. But eventual winner López Obrador was not so sure.

Early in his campaign, he said he would cancel it if elected. Instead, López Obrador suggested, a former air force base could become the new international terminal. It would be connected to Benito Juárez airport, 22 miles south, by train.

López Obrador has since said he would support completing construction of the new international airport if the remaining financing came from the private sector, not the Mexican government. Currently, some two-thirds of the project is funded by future airport taxes.

The ConversationLópez Obrador’s promise to review and likely upend the airport plan could open the door to its wholesale transformation, putting people and nature are at the core of a plan ostensibly designed for the public good.

Gabriel Diaz Montemayor, Assistant Professor of Landscape Architecture, University of Texas at Austin

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