Bristol’s buses are in chaos. Here are four fixes that won’t break the bank

On the buses. Image: Getty.

On a damp afternoon across the street from Bristol’s main railway station Temple Meads, people stamp their feet in line, while passengers file off the late-running number 2 bus through its single door. Once the last person is off, the queue steps up one at a time to pay, some with cash and some with mobiles. When the 15 or so are on board, the driver waits for a gap in the cars and pulls out – straight into a traffic jam.

Scenes like this are a flavour of the bus catastrophe that has befallen the city in recent weeks. Roadworks have left the centre gridlocked, while driver shortages have led to frequent cancellations. While these are short-term issues, Bristol is also experiencing the growing pains that come with a 56 per cent increase in bus passengers since 2011.

A metro system is in the early stages of planning, but is many years away. Using the city’s narrow roads more efficiently is the only way to keep people moving – and that means shifting more car drivers to buses. Some modest investments could do so quickly and cheaply. 

Move along, please

First, bus journeys could be sped up greatly by reducing the time spent at stops. The current single door for both entry and exit causes long waits. A second further back, as London buses have, would allow passengers to enter without waiting for those exiting. The recent purchase of hundreds of single-door buses is a missed opportunity here, but a refit is surely possible.

There’s another thing keeping buses waiting – other drivers. When buses try to pull out from the kerb, cars often won’t let them out. These extra seconds at each stop add up along the route to slower journeys. In Seattle, cheap pavement ‘bulb-outs‘ are the solution. The bolt-in plastic boarding platforms line up with the edge of the traffic lane, allowing stopped buses to keep their place in the flow. With two doors and contactless payment, delays to the traffic behind should be minimal.

Plastic ‘bus bulbs’ allow stopped buses to stay in lane, so they don’t get stuck waiting to pull out. Image: Zicla.

Cartographer wanted

Second, fragmented ownership and branding makes it hard for passengers to understand where they can easily travel to. The transport agency’s bus map shows how frequently each particular street has buses, but not the routes themselves. Rail lines are shown, but not the routes and destinations of trains.

The public authorities’ map shows frequency on each street (dark blue) without showing individual routes. Image: TravelWest.

First Bus, the dominant operator, publishes its own maps. These show colour-coded routes, but not frequency, leaving riders guessing as to whether the bus comes every five minutes or twice a day:

First Bus’s map. It shows the routes, but not the frequency. Image: FirstBus.

Slicker information from TravelWest could help plaster over the gaps. To riders, how often transit comes is just as important as where it goes. ‘Turn-up-and-go routes’ – those running about every ten minutes or more – give people the freedom to travel without organising their lives around timetables.

In Luxembourg and Auckland, the map clearly shows such services using thickness and color. Bristol would do well to follow their example.

This is better – the lines are colour-coded, frequent routes are thick, and occasional ones are thin. Image: City of Luxembourg.

Make a change

Third, a complete redesign of the bus network could allow frequent service to the whole city, rather than just a few key roads. Today, a tangle of occasional routes run by different companies try to connect outlying suburbs directly to the hospitals, shopping areas and the centre. Ideally, passengers don’t have to change buses, but with occasional service once every hour or more, waits are long.

Schematic of today’s network. Routes are direct, but only run infrequently, so waits are long.

Counterintuitively, short and frequent routes with transfers between them would be faster for most trips than today’s direct but infrequent ones. More passengers would have to change buses, instead of waiting for the one bus that goes exactly where they want. But because all routes run very often, they’d get to their destination quicker throughout the day. Transfers between lines and between operators would have to be free, so people aren’t penalised.

Reorganisation to a simpler network gets most people to their destinations faster for the same overall cost, but more people must transfer. Images: Jarrett Walker.

Regulation ahead

Bristol’s buses are a deregulated market. Various companies exist, with First dominant. But here is the difficulty.  First is incentivised to maximise profits, not passenger numbers.


This is not an ideological dig, but a simple observation that for a business, if a small network gives the same profit as a larger one, smaller is preferable and less risky. So First, with its monopoly position, is unlikely to be commercially interested in wholesale expansion and reorganisation.

Fourth, then, services should be planned to achieve ridership, not profitability. In Jersey, the island’s council sets high-level goals, while the contract incentivises the private operator to grow passenger numbers. Passenger numbers are up by a third and subsidies down by £800k.

The city’s Bus Strategy, due early 2019, will likely offer a choice between softer measures or full regulation. If local politicians go with the latter, First is sure to put up a fight in public and in the courts. Council leaders should tough it out; voters will thank them later. And so will those waiting for the number 2.

 
 
 
 

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.