Photos from the Field |
VOLUME 31, ISSUE 2 (AUGUST 2019)
Creating a Market Where There Is None: Spatial Practices of Street Vendors in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania
Alexis Malefakis
Urban Settler Colonialism: Policing and Displacing Indigeneity in Taipei, Taiwan
Tomonori Sugimoto
Photo Description from the Author
"Indigenous vendors on a Taipei street"
"Indigenous vendors on a Taipei street"
VOLUME 31, ISSUE 1 - SPECIAL ISSUE: URBAN RELIGIONS (APRIL 2019)
VOLUME 30, ISSUE 2 (AUGUST 2018)
“MOSTLY WITH WHITE GIRLS”: SETTLEMENT, SPATIALITY, AND EMERGENT INTERRACIAL SEXUALITIES IN A CANADIAN PRAIRIE CITY
SUSAN FROHLICK, PAULA MIGLIARDI, & ADEY MOHAMED
Photo Descriptions from the Author [from LEFT to RIGHT]
Photo 1.
One of our most engaged interlocutors took this photo to share with us. He was inspired by a walking ethnography activity we did together, where we had taken photos of him in front of the actual house he and his family had first settled into when they arrived as government-sponsored refugees from South Africa. Dany wanted us to use a photo of a similar house instead that, he hoped, would invoke the same message but save his family the pain of bad memories of those first tough years in Winnipeg. The house is located in a downtown neighbourhood where many immigrant and refugee families from African countries are first settled, due to the low rents and proximity to services. For Dany, this housing strategy exacerbated racialized segregation and, related to that, the housing stock poignantly contrasted with the front-porch-and-picket-fenced homes he saw in wealthier, mostly white neighbourhoods, inaccessible to his family.
Photo 2.
Dany took this photo, too, for us. It’s the stairwell of an apartment downtown where he and his friends spent many days and nights, a space away from the surveillance of the community and other city residents, and a place where they partied and brought, in his words, “white girls here who liked to hang out with the bad boys.”
Photo 3.
This is central park. Although quiet on the day we shot photos it is often busy with families congregating, soccer games underway, and children playing. It has come to represent “Africa” in the eyes of many local residents, negatively and positively, and has become an iconographic social space for African newcomers, situated close to settlement services, cheap housing, and ethnic restaurants and shops. The woman on the right, a peer researcher, is explaining to graduate student-ethnographer, Estella Marmah, on the left, a story about her experiences walking through the park when she first arrived in Canada as an adolescent because her auntie lived in a nearby apartment building and having to keep her head down and ear-phones in so she wouldn’t be harassed by the young men hanging around. In the article, Alex talks about needing to watch his back when walking on the periphery of the park, where the ethno-physical landscape was confusing, and potentially dangerous, to him. (Photo credit: Taken by Sue Frohlick)
Photo 4. [BOTTOM LEFT]
This shopping mall was the site of many youths’ stories about experiences settling in a Canadian city that seemed very “Canadian” and ethnically and racially diverse to them. Located very close to the Commons (mentioned in the article), youth spent a lot of time here, waiting while parents worked, hanging out with friends, often the only place to do so, and watching public displays of affection and interracial couples, all of which influenced their emergent sexual subjectivities and understandings of racial difference and boundaries in their new surroundings. The young man in the photo shared this photo with us, which he submitted when we asked for photos that represented what it meant to them to be an African newcomer youth living in Winnipeg and negotiating sexuality. See this website for additional photos from the same project.
Note: Because the participants wish to remain anonymous we won’t provide any photo credits for Photos 1, 2, and 4. However, we want to acknowledge our gratitude for their generosity in taking the photos and sharing them with us and allowing us to make them public.
Photo 1.
One of our most engaged interlocutors took this photo to share with us. He was inspired by a walking ethnography activity we did together, where we had taken photos of him in front of the actual house he and his family had first settled into when they arrived as government-sponsored refugees from South Africa. Dany wanted us to use a photo of a similar house instead that, he hoped, would invoke the same message but save his family the pain of bad memories of those first tough years in Winnipeg. The house is located in a downtown neighbourhood where many immigrant and refugee families from African countries are first settled, due to the low rents and proximity to services. For Dany, this housing strategy exacerbated racialized segregation and, related to that, the housing stock poignantly contrasted with the front-porch-and-picket-fenced homes he saw in wealthier, mostly white neighbourhoods, inaccessible to his family.
Photo 2.
Dany took this photo, too, for us. It’s the stairwell of an apartment downtown where he and his friends spent many days and nights, a space away from the surveillance of the community and other city residents, and a place where they partied and brought, in his words, “white girls here who liked to hang out with the bad boys.”
Photo 3.
This is central park. Although quiet on the day we shot photos it is often busy with families congregating, soccer games underway, and children playing. It has come to represent “Africa” in the eyes of many local residents, negatively and positively, and has become an iconographic social space for African newcomers, situated close to settlement services, cheap housing, and ethnic restaurants and shops. The woman on the right, a peer researcher, is explaining to graduate student-ethnographer, Estella Marmah, on the left, a story about her experiences walking through the park when she first arrived in Canada as an adolescent because her auntie lived in a nearby apartment building and having to keep her head down and ear-phones in so she wouldn’t be harassed by the young men hanging around. In the article, Alex talks about needing to watch his back when walking on the periphery of the park, where the ethno-physical landscape was confusing, and potentially dangerous, to him. (Photo credit: Taken by Sue Frohlick)
Photo 4. [BOTTOM LEFT]
This shopping mall was the site of many youths’ stories about experiences settling in a Canadian city that seemed very “Canadian” and ethnically and racially diverse to them. Located very close to the Commons (mentioned in the article), youth spent a lot of time here, waiting while parents worked, hanging out with friends, often the only place to do so, and watching public displays of affection and interracial couples, all of which influenced their emergent sexual subjectivities and understandings of racial difference and boundaries in their new surroundings. The young man in the photo shared this photo with us, which he submitted when we asked for photos that represented what it meant to them to be an African newcomer youth living in Winnipeg and negotiating sexuality. See this website for additional photos from the same project.
Note: Because the participants wish to remain anonymous we won’t provide any photo credits for Photos 1, 2, and 4. However, we want to acknowledge our gratitude for their generosity in taking the photos and sharing them with us and allowing us to make them public.
HOUSING THE CONTINGENT LIFE COURSE: DOMESTIC ASPIRATION AND EXTREME POVERTY IN PERUVIAN SHANTYTOWNS
KRISTIN SKRABUT
Photo Description from the Author
“A settlement extension for the children of the pueblo, not for outsiders. 2010”
When viewed from afar, this nascent ampliación (settlement extension) might be said to represent inequality within Peru’s sites of extreme poverty, or to highlight different stages in the developmental cycle of homes in a “progressive” or “self-help” housing settlement. However, in “Housing the Contingent Life Course” I argue this landscape also evidences the ways Peruvians use houses to construct kinship ties and navigate relational uncertainty. Interviews with the builders of these shacks revealed that most of them had houses in an adjacent settlement, but were claiming land in this area to provide homes for their adult children, thus reinforcing intergenerational kinship ties while facilitating their children’s socially mediated transitions to adulthood and related desires for household “autonomy”. The few exceptions to this were the shacks established by “single mothers” fleeing partners they described as abusive and unfaithful. While I argue that “single,” “separated,” and “abandoned,” were rarely complete or permanent relational conditions in this context, women’s abilities to establish homes of their own in the periphery in emergency circumstances also allowed them to accumulate assets that increased their independence and sense of security in contexts of relational uncertainty.
“A settlement extension for the children of the pueblo, not for outsiders. 2010”
When viewed from afar, this nascent ampliación (settlement extension) might be said to represent inequality within Peru’s sites of extreme poverty, or to highlight different stages in the developmental cycle of homes in a “progressive” or “self-help” housing settlement. However, in “Housing the Contingent Life Course” I argue this landscape also evidences the ways Peruvians use houses to construct kinship ties and navigate relational uncertainty. Interviews with the builders of these shacks revealed that most of them had houses in an adjacent settlement, but were claiming land in this area to provide homes for their adult children, thus reinforcing intergenerational kinship ties while facilitating their children’s socially mediated transitions to adulthood and related desires for household “autonomy”. The few exceptions to this were the shacks established by “single mothers” fleeing partners they described as abusive and unfaithful. While I argue that “single,” “separated,” and “abandoned,” were rarely complete or permanent relational conditions in this context, women’s abilities to establish homes of their own in the periphery in emergency circumstances also allowed them to accumulate assets that increased their independence and sense of security in contexts of relational uncertainty.
"WE ARE VISIONING IT": ASPIRATIONAL PLANNING AND THE MATERIAL LANDSCAPES OF DELHI'S METRO
RASHMI SADANA
Photo Description from the Author
"Delhi Metro construction site signboard"
Unlike the photographs featured in my article, “‘We Are Visioning It’: Aspirational Planning and the Material Landscapes of Delhi’s Metro,” which emphasize station architecture and how it interfaces with the city, the one above is a close-up of a Metro construction sign board. Delhi-ites have seen these signs plastered across the city for years now as construction is cordoned off by the now highly recognizable blue walling. This photo is just one of hundreds of photos I’ve taken as part of my decade long research on the Delhi Metro. Many of my photos serve the function of field notes, capturing in shorthand “a thousand words.” But this photo is a little different. Because it’s a close-up, it’s not really about the Metro as construction site; instead, with the stenciled lettering, visible brush strokes, and white scratches (or dripping paint remover?), the sign suggests a kind of official graffiti, if there can be such a thing. It’s a form of branding and an announcement, telling the public, “herein lies the future Metro line,” but it’s also a sign of something that should not be there or is not usually there; a heralding of destruction before construction; of traffic headaches before the release from traffic. For me it symbolizes the Metro in all its variety – public transit, design object, and the intrusion of infrastructure as much as its promise.
"Delhi Metro construction site signboard"
Unlike the photographs featured in my article, “‘We Are Visioning It’: Aspirational Planning and the Material Landscapes of Delhi’s Metro,” which emphasize station architecture and how it interfaces with the city, the one above is a close-up of a Metro construction sign board. Delhi-ites have seen these signs plastered across the city for years now as construction is cordoned off by the now highly recognizable blue walling. This photo is just one of hundreds of photos I’ve taken as part of my decade long research on the Delhi Metro. Many of my photos serve the function of field notes, capturing in shorthand “a thousand words.” But this photo is a little different. Because it’s a close-up, it’s not really about the Metro as construction site; instead, with the stenciled lettering, visible brush strokes, and white scratches (or dripping paint remover?), the sign suggests a kind of official graffiti, if there can be such a thing. It’s a form of branding and an announcement, telling the public, “herein lies the future Metro line,” but it’s also a sign of something that should not be there or is not usually there; a heralding of destruction before construction; of traffic headaches before the release from traffic. For me it symbolizes the Metro in all its variety – public transit, design object, and the intrusion of infrastructure as much as its promise.
VOLUME 29, ISSUE 3 (DECEMBER 2017)
Haunted Infrastructure: Religious Ruins and Urban Obstruction in Vietnam
Christina Schwenkel
Photo Description from the Author
"The ghosts of socialism: haunted Bulgarian Embassy in Hanoi, 2015"
This photo exemplifies an encounter between socialist planning and the spirit world, or what I identified as “haunted infrastructure” in my City & Society article (2017). The woman who runs the tea stall outside this building is one of many residents who enjoys telling ghoulish stories about the quarantined “ghost house” (nhà ma) in central Hanoi. Underlying these tales of hauntings is a narrative of spirits that dwell in the ruins of socialist infrastructure that obstruct plans for modernization. The image reminds us of the role that the spiritual and nonmaterial also play in the study of modern infrastructures that privilege these systems as technical, material, and secular.
"The ghosts of socialism: haunted Bulgarian Embassy in Hanoi, 2015"
This photo exemplifies an encounter between socialist planning and the spirit world, or what I identified as “haunted infrastructure” in my City & Society article (2017). The woman who runs the tea stall outside this building is one of many residents who enjoys telling ghoulish stories about the quarantined “ghost house” (nhà ma) in central Hanoi. Underlying these tales of hauntings is a narrative of spirits that dwell in the ruins of socialist infrastructure that obstruct plans for modernization. The image reminds us of the role that the spiritual and nonmaterial also play in the study of modern infrastructures that privilege these systems as technical, material, and secular.
VOLUME 29, ISSUE 2 (AUGUST 2017)
SPECIAL ISSUE: CITIES OF REFUGE AND CITIES OF STRANGERS: CARE AND HOSPITALITY IN THE CITY
FARHAN SAMANANI
Photo Description from the Author
On a housing estate in the London neighbourhood of Kilburn, vast concrete courtyards rise up from the streets. For modernist architectures and urban planners, rebuilding Britain’s post-war neighbourhoods, raising public spaces above ground was a deliberate tool of community building. Such spaces, both secluded and private, and yet public and open, were meant to encourage neighbours to come together and cultivate shared bonds.
Community, however, is never singular, and the Brunel House forecourt finds itself subject to shifting and sometimes conflicting uses. Young men blaring hip-hop mingle with parents and children, inviting some in but driving others away. Children playing football jostle for space with those who would prefer the climbing frame not to be used as a goalpost. And, here, an older woman appropriates the bench for a mid-afternoon nap.
On a housing estate in the London neighbourhood of Kilburn, vast concrete courtyards rise up from the streets. For modernist architectures and urban planners, rebuilding Britain’s post-war neighbourhoods, raising public spaces above ground was a deliberate tool of community building. Such spaces, both secluded and private, and yet public and open, were meant to encourage neighbours to come together and cultivate shared bonds.
Community, however, is never singular, and the Brunel House forecourt finds itself subject to shifting and sometimes conflicting uses. Young men blaring hip-hop mingle with parents and children, inviting some in but driving others away. Children playing football jostle for space with those who would prefer the climbing frame not to be used as a goalpost. And, here, an older woman appropriates the bench for a mid-afternoon nap.
You Care More for the Gear Than the Geezer? Care Relationships of Homeless Substance Users in London
JOHANNES LENHARD
Photo Descriptions from the Author [from LEFT to RIGHT]
Photo 1.
One of my informants took me to this abandoned train on the southern margins of Paris in late Spring 2016. He was proud of having identified the train as a possible place to stay himself - using Google maps. When we went there together, Carl had not been sleeping in the train himself anymore for several months. It had been taken over by other groups of people once news had made the round. Some compartments had since Carl’s last visit been turned into literal toilets - just as the one depicted on the image. A used syringe lies right next to human excrements, clothes and cigarette butts. Other parts of the train were sleeping compartments where people were storing duvets and pillows for the night. The train was in this way divided into different parts - just like a normal house - some dirty, some clean, some pure and some dangerous.
Photo 2.
Just behind the Gare du Nord, Europe’s busiest train station in the North of Paris, my informants had carved themselves a small niche to be able to consume drugs. Above the underground parking lot, a small wall separated a narrow space from the street. My informants would dug underneath the barrier and sit down behind the wall preparing their gear. Only the tip of their heads could be seen from the street while they were filling the syringe with the methadone mix. The procedure had to be quick - there was always a danger of police checking on them. Often within a couple of minutes after arrival, the injection would have happened. The needle stayed back, disappeared in the gutter.
Photo 1.
One of my informants took me to this abandoned train on the southern margins of Paris in late Spring 2016. He was proud of having identified the train as a possible place to stay himself - using Google maps. When we went there together, Carl had not been sleeping in the train himself anymore for several months. It had been taken over by other groups of people once news had made the round. Some compartments had since Carl’s last visit been turned into literal toilets - just as the one depicted on the image. A used syringe lies right next to human excrements, clothes and cigarette butts. Other parts of the train were sleeping compartments where people were storing duvets and pillows for the night. The train was in this way divided into different parts - just like a normal house - some dirty, some clean, some pure and some dangerous.
Photo 2.
Just behind the Gare du Nord, Europe’s busiest train station in the North of Paris, my informants had carved themselves a small niche to be able to consume drugs. Above the underground parking lot, a small wall separated a narrow space from the street. My informants would dug underneath the barrier and sit down behind the wall preparing their gear. Only the tip of their heads could be seen from the street while they were filling the syringe with the methadone mix. The procedure had to be quick - there was always a danger of police checking on them. Often within a couple of minutes after arrival, the injection would have happened. The needle stayed back, disappeared in the gutter.
VOLUME 29, ISSUE 1 (APRIL 2017)
Beyond the Ethnic Enclave: Interethnicity and Trans‐spatiality in an Australian SuburB
LINLING GAO‐MILES
Photo Descriptions from the Author [from LEFT to RIGHT]
Photo 1.
“Box Hill,” for local residents, often means the space where the businesses are concentrated. The business area is built around Box Hill Central, a shopping center containing a north and a south precinct. Aside from restaurants, cafés, grocers, and varied travel, legal, and financial services, Box Hill Central hosts a bus terminal and the Box Hill train station. Restaurants and miscellaneous shops spread out along the streets surrounding Box Hill Central. Convenient public transport facilitates translocal movements and reshapes the neighborhood’s commercial and residential formation. As a result, this local place has become a business spot that attracts a wide population from Melbourne’s metropolitan area.
Photo 2.
One of the food courts in Box Hill Central. With the bus terminal above and train station below, the food court connects to the streets in all directions and generates traffic from morning until the end of rush hour in the late afternoon. This food court is in the center of translocal flows of people and goods. Workers, shoppers, travelers, families, and retirees fill up the space from morning, having a cup of coffee or Chinese style breakfast/snacks. When the bustling lunch time finally ends, the place turns into a social spot for after-school students, who appear in groups and sample snacks before making their way home. Most of the shops offer varieties of Chinese food that reflect not only the owners’ but the diners’ diverse Chinese backgrounds. Whether by geographic origin or by linguistic affiliation, the Chinese participating in this food court in turn epitomize the heterogeneity of Chinese immigrants to Australia in the past several decades.
Photo 3.
A view of a street outside Box Hill Central. In this photo, the restaurant in the foreground serves “authentic Northeastern BBQ,” and the one next door is Old Liu’s Shanxi food. It is a good example to show that Chinese food is regionalized in this local neighborhood (i.e., from the China’s Northeastern region and Shanxi province). In addition to a wide selection of regional cuisines from mainland China, there are Malaysian-, Singaporean-, and Taiwanese-style Chinese food as well as casual Australian, Vietnamese, Korean, and Japanese dining. The multiplicity of food choices suggests not only the diverse origins of the Chinese consumers but also those from other Asian and non-Asian backgrounds.
Photo 4. [BOTTOM LEFT]
Fresh markets in Box Hill Central. Aside from produce, some shops also sell Chinese/Asian snacks. Similar to the food court, Chinese customers are the most distinctive presence; however, the freshness, variety, and low price of the products appeal to costumers of multiple cultural backgrounds. Not all the shops are owned by Chinese, but they all employ at least one Chinese-speaking person as a cashier or around the store space, and they sell identical items, especially Chinese green vegetables and fruits.
Photo 1.
“Box Hill,” for local residents, often means the space where the businesses are concentrated. The business area is built around Box Hill Central, a shopping center containing a north and a south precinct. Aside from restaurants, cafés, grocers, and varied travel, legal, and financial services, Box Hill Central hosts a bus terminal and the Box Hill train station. Restaurants and miscellaneous shops spread out along the streets surrounding Box Hill Central. Convenient public transport facilitates translocal movements and reshapes the neighborhood’s commercial and residential formation. As a result, this local place has become a business spot that attracts a wide population from Melbourne’s metropolitan area.
Photo 2.
One of the food courts in Box Hill Central. With the bus terminal above and train station below, the food court connects to the streets in all directions and generates traffic from morning until the end of rush hour in the late afternoon. This food court is in the center of translocal flows of people and goods. Workers, shoppers, travelers, families, and retirees fill up the space from morning, having a cup of coffee or Chinese style breakfast/snacks. When the bustling lunch time finally ends, the place turns into a social spot for after-school students, who appear in groups and sample snacks before making their way home. Most of the shops offer varieties of Chinese food that reflect not only the owners’ but the diners’ diverse Chinese backgrounds. Whether by geographic origin or by linguistic affiliation, the Chinese participating in this food court in turn epitomize the heterogeneity of Chinese immigrants to Australia in the past several decades.
Photo 3.
A view of a street outside Box Hill Central. In this photo, the restaurant in the foreground serves “authentic Northeastern BBQ,” and the one next door is Old Liu’s Shanxi food. It is a good example to show that Chinese food is regionalized in this local neighborhood (i.e., from the China’s Northeastern region and Shanxi province). In addition to a wide selection of regional cuisines from mainland China, there are Malaysian-, Singaporean-, and Taiwanese-style Chinese food as well as casual Australian, Vietnamese, Korean, and Japanese dining. The multiplicity of food choices suggests not only the diverse origins of the Chinese consumers but also those from other Asian and non-Asian backgrounds.
Photo 4. [BOTTOM LEFT]
Fresh markets in Box Hill Central. Aside from produce, some shops also sell Chinese/Asian snacks. Similar to the food court, Chinese customers are the most distinctive presence; however, the freshness, variety, and low price of the products appeal to costumers of multiple cultural backgrounds. Not all the shops are owned by Chinese, but they all employ at least one Chinese-speaking person as a cashier or around the store space, and they sell identical items, especially Chinese green vegetables and fruits.
Cleaning Up Bodhgaya: Conflicts over Development and the Worlding of Buddhism
JASON RODRIGUEZ
Photo Descriptions from the Author [from LEFT to RIGHT]
Photo 1.
In this photo local Bodhgaya residents stand by and watch as government officials oversee the demolitions of a number of local businesses and homes deemed to be encroaching on government land. Some of the businesses had been in operation for more than thirty years and were among the most popular with locals. In the next few days streetvendors and local business owners began a protest movement to halt the implementation of the master plan. The business owners, streetvendors, and concerned residents who joined the protest noted that the demolitions had come right at the beginning of the tourism season, which would create severe financial hardships, and that there had been inadequate public knowledge of what the plan would entail prior to the implementation. The protest would eventually, more than six years later, culminate with a moratorium on the implementation of the master plan.
Photo 2.
Military and police demolished a number of small businesses on two roads near the Mahabodhi Temple, which marks the site of Buddha’s Enlightenment. These demolitions were part of the master plan to transform Bodhgaya into a new kind of tourism and pilgrimage destination over the next fifty years. The master plan was a product of city, state, and national government officials in conjunction with a cross-section of local stakeholders, foreign Buddhists, and others. However, most local residents did not have an opportunity to contribute, and many local business owners learned of the specific provisions of the master plan only in the weeks and months after the demolitions. One of the provisions of the master plan was that small businesses and streetvendors would not be permitted to operate within 1 kilometer of the temple. In this photo owners of the businesses and residents survey the damage.
Photo 1.
In this photo local Bodhgaya residents stand by and watch as government officials oversee the demolitions of a number of local businesses and homes deemed to be encroaching on government land. Some of the businesses had been in operation for more than thirty years and were among the most popular with locals. In the next few days streetvendors and local business owners began a protest movement to halt the implementation of the master plan. The business owners, streetvendors, and concerned residents who joined the protest noted that the demolitions had come right at the beginning of the tourism season, which would create severe financial hardships, and that there had been inadequate public knowledge of what the plan would entail prior to the implementation. The protest would eventually, more than six years later, culminate with a moratorium on the implementation of the master plan.
Photo 2.
Military and police demolished a number of small businesses on two roads near the Mahabodhi Temple, which marks the site of Buddha’s Enlightenment. These demolitions were part of the master plan to transform Bodhgaya into a new kind of tourism and pilgrimage destination over the next fifty years. The master plan was a product of city, state, and national government officials in conjunction with a cross-section of local stakeholders, foreign Buddhists, and others. However, most local residents did not have an opportunity to contribute, and many local business owners learned of the specific provisions of the master plan only in the weeks and months after the demolitions. One of the provisions of the master plan was that small businesses and streetvendors would not be permitted to operate within 1 kilometer of the temple. In this photo owners of the businesses and residents survey the damage.