Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe: Discourses, Images, and Practices (GeoJournal Library, 127) 3030667650, 9783030667658

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GeoJournal Library 127

Tiziana Banini Oana-Ramona Ilovan   Editors

Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe Discourses, Images, and Practices Foreword by Anssi Paasi

GeoJournal Library Volume 127

Series Editor Barney Warf, University of Kansas, Lawrence, KS, USA

More information about this series at http://www.springer.com/series/6007

Tiziana Banini · Oana-Ramona Ilovan Editors

Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe Discourses, Images, and Practices

Foreword by Anssi Paasi

Editors Tiziana Banini Sapienza Università di Roma Roma, Italy

Oana-Ramona Ilovan Babes, -Bolyai University Cluj-Napoca, Romania

ISSN 0924-5499 ISSN 2215-0072 (electronic) GeoJournal Library ISBN 978-3-030-66765-8 ISBN 978-3-030-66766-5 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Foreword

Place, Territory and Identities in a Fast-Changing World Scientific terms and concepts are, and should always be, under critical scrutiny, in motion and subject to changes. This is critical for the progress in research. Such changes may reflect power relations, major political, economic and cultural events, conflicts and wars, institutional decisions, diverging social practices (nationalism, regionalism, globalization, spatial divisions of labor), but also different interests of knowledge (technical, practical, emancipatory) and philosophical and methodological approaches. They are doubtless also expressions of struggle for symbolic capital that is ever more visible under the condition of academic capitalism and competition (Paasi 2015). Territory and identity have been, for a long time, keywords in political geography and several other academic fields, such as International Relations Studies, anthropology and political psychology and political sociology. In addition to the term territory, in many of these fields, a wide-ranging spatial vocabulary has been in use. Geographers and psychologists frequently talk about place identity and the politics of place identity, and scrutinize the conceptual and empirical dimensions of this category related to individual and community life. Peng, Strijker, and Wu (2020) have recently prepared a useful, extensive review of research literature to find how far and where scholars have come in exploring the meanings of this idea, particularly in psychological and geographical literature. They show how the literature on this topic has dramatically expanded in various thematic contexts since the millennium. The ideas of place and territory were ostensibly relatively stable until the 1960– 1970s. For Broek (1965), the key dimensions of place resonated with absolute and relative location, i.e., site and situation. The 1970s witnessed the rise of humanistic concepts of place which put human experience, sense of place and emotions in focus, whereas, two decades later, ideas of open, relational places and regions emerged. Critical scholars challenged then the ideas of bounded spaces, regions, places and, ostensibly, essentialist identities that geographers and other scholars had been studying. More recently, a search for a synthesis of and dialogue between territorial and relational spaces has emerged. At the same time, a deep interest in the v

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concepts of space, place, and territory has arisen, often in the conceptual and methodological framework of narratives, geohistorical formations and spatial transformation (Paasi, Harrison and Jones 2018). During the last 30 years or so, many academic scholars have been thinking that human interactions and the intensification of all kinds of mobilities, from finance capital to tourists, from immigrants to refugees, from ideas to policies, will change also global spatial patterns based on and constituting territories as well as human spatial consciousness related to such units. Thus, along with these features, characteristically associated with globalization, the space of places would gradually be superseded by a space of flows, and the traditional “slow geography” would thus increasingly turn to a footless “fast geography”. Space of places and space of flows were expressions coined by Manuel Castells (1989) just before the radical political changes took place at the turn of the 1990s. Among the most important transformations paralleling the rise of such dynamic views were the downfall of the sharp political dividing line between the capitalist West and socialist East, the gradual evolution of IT technology, cyberspace and internet (see Lambach 2020, for contested roles of cyberspace and its “territorialization” in the contemporary world). Similar processes were habitually thought to transform the meanings associated with state territory, notion that had been scrutinized by political geographers and political scientists for decades in various states. Indeed, already in 1973, Jean Gottmann wrote, in his The Significance of Territory, how the attitude of people to their territory, the basic relationship in geography, was changing in the fast-moving circumstances and required reconsideration. Gottmann noted how territory means different things for actors operating in different social realms such as the military, politics, or law. At the same time as the world was seen to be opening, subsequent horrifying ethno-nationalist wars in the states following the collapsed Yugoslavia and elsewhere displayed the uninterrupted power of socio-political borders and, in many cases, their strengthening. The most recent example of such re-bordering is the ongoing construction of walls around the world that has speeded up after the 9/11 terrorist attacks. As sociologist Furedi (2020) has observed, the attempt to change or eradicate conventional borders coexists with the imperative of constructing new ones. In spite of the tendencies noted above, most researchers regard territory and place incessantly as both significant conceptual tools and social practices which can have absolute, relative, and relational meanings/dimensions depending on the context. Respectively, scholars have claimed, in a way echoing Gottmann’s old guidelines, that researchers have to be prepared to re-consider or re-conceptualize their concepts if needed and to problematize territory’s continual allure (Storey 2020; Murphy 2020; Paasi 2016, 2020). However, since the 1990s, ever more often bounded spaces and related spatial identities were challenged in academic debates, both in the case of the identity of the territory itself and the identity of the group of people inhabiting these spaces. Arguments in debates have varied. For some scholars, such opening was an inevitable result of expanding economic processes and flows. Perhaps the most extreme thoughts were presented by the Japanese organizational theorist and globalization enthusiast, Kenichi Ohmae, who argued that global changes in IT and mounting economic flows

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would lead to a borderless world and to the end of the nation-state (cf. Paasi 2019). Accordingly, the future world, characterized essentially by a borderless businesslogic, would become a model for other spheres of social lives, too. Ohmae’s utopian images represented a sort of naïve cosmopolitan thinking when he claimed that state leaders should give up their nationalistic passions and images of bounded territorial spaces and to accept and to adapt to the emerging global dynamics. Also, critical political geographers and political scientists advanced widely spread concepts, such as territorial trap or embedded statism, to characterize the all-pervasive territorial logic of state-centrism. They argued that we needed to reject our perennial leaning on states and other political and cultural territories, as well as the common understanding of identities as fixed and immobile features. A sense of territory and place, and associated identities oscillate at and across scalar contexts and similarly do the mechanisms that mediate such processes at and across scales. Likewise, in spite of the rise of all kind of flows, probably most scholars think that boundaries and identities matter but their mobilization and the power relations and ideologies behind them need to be always carefully analysed. Meyer and Geschiere (1999) have written already a long time ago that the search for fixed orientation points and the re-affirmation of borders is a shared element in people’s understanding of globalization around the world and for numerous social groupings from the left to right. Some may involve localist and regionalist feelings, some other nationalistic. They argue that the making of locality is a critical question if one wants to understand globalization’s “paradoxical articulation of flow and closure, flux and fix” (p. 3). Yet, this fact has not prevented some scholars from articulating claims for open borders and even no borders, no states, and no nations, claims that go much further than Ohmae’s utopian idea(l)s. This new Springer collection, Representing Place/Territorial Identity: Discourses, Images and Practices, edited carefully by Tiziana Banini and OanaRamona Ilovan, is a welcomed and rich contribution to the burgeoning debates on the dimensions, functions, and meanings of place, territory, and identity. In a situation where Anglophone thinking and concepts tend to be hegemonic and dominate international debates in geography and other social sciences, it is most laudable to convey new voices, approaches, and research contexts into international discourses regarding geography’s key concepts and their use in concrete research. This collection is useful in many ways. At first, it provides valuable theoretical analyses of key-concepts and their complex relations to empirical research. The introductory chapter provides the reader with a sophisticated conceptual prism for looking through the complex terrain constituted by these key terms. Introduction also offers a balanced, much-needed interchange between the often disconnected continental European and Anglophonic debates regarding these concepts. Secondly, the subsequent, habitually well-illustrated chapters present an exciting collection of case studies that have stimulating topics, focus attentively on different spatial scales and bring into discussion diverse geographical and political contexts and sites from Romania, Italy, Ireland, France, and Poland, for example. Authors often pay attention also to such concepts as collective memory and heritage that have frequently been neglected in the debates on territory. Thirdly, the book is also valuable in terms of

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methods and methodologies as well as in displaying the value of versatile textual and visual research materials that can be used in examining representations. The editors also sketch an agenda for future research with an ambitious aim to push the ongoing debates further. The topics discussed in the book touch upon some of the most burning issues today: how we should recognize in what ways national and local identities matter and transform, and how the relations between locality, state, and territory are created, mediated, sustained, and altered. The book confirms that these spatial concepts and social practices related to them are historically contingent, which implies that changes are also possible in both concepts and practices. Recognizing such transformative potential is often critical for active agency. The themes are also significant for local and regional development schemes. Romano Prodi’s Commission accentuated the significance of identities as tools for local and regional development already at the turn of the millennium, but these have not yet been taken seriously enough in planning circles and theory. Just now, we are living in a stage where Covid-19 has forced states to monitor and even close state and regional borders, which has emphasized nationalism in many senses, for instance, the fears of the Other, medical protectionism/nationalism, etc. Will this modify permanently the relations and dynamics between people, place, territory, cities, and rural areas, as well as the processes of bordering at various scales, remains to be seen. Overall, this book edited by Tiziana Banini and Oana-Ramona Ilovan is a valuable read to both students and more advanced researchers interested not only in the conceptual dimensions of place, territory, and identity but also in how such dimensions can be scrutinized in concrete research work. Anssi Paasi University of Oulu Oulu, Finland

References Broek, J. O. M. (1965). The spirit of geography. Columbus, OH: Charles E. Merrill Books. Castells, M. (1989). The informational city. Oxford: Blackwell. Furedi, F. (2020). Why borders matter? London: Routledge. Gottmann, J. (1973). The significance of territory. Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press. Lambach, D. (2020). The territorialization of cyperspace. International Studies Review, 22, 482– 506. Meyer, B., & Geschiere, P. (Eds.). (1999). Globalization and identity. Oxford: Blackwell. Murphy, A. (2020). The history and persistence of territory. In D. Storey (Ed.), A Research Agenda for Territory and Territoriality (pp. 25–41). Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Paasi, A. (2015). Academic capitalism and the geopolitics of knowledge. In J. Agnew, A. Secor, V. Mamadouh, & J. Sharp. The Wiley-Blackwell companion to political geography (pp. 509–523). Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Paasi, A. (2016). Dancing on the graves: Independence, hot/banal nationalism and the mobilization of memory. Political Geography, 54, 21–31.

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Paasi, A. (2019). “Borderless world” and beyond: Challenging the state centric cartographies. In A. Paasi, E-K. Prokkola, J. Saarinen, K. Zimmerbauer (Eds.). Borderless worlds for whom? Ethics, moralities, mobilities (pp. 21–36). London: Routledge. Paasi, A. (2020). Nation, territory, memory: Making state-space meaningful. In D. Storey (Ed.), A research agenda for territory and territoriality (pp. 61–82). Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Paasi, A., Harrison, J., & Jones, M. (2018). Handbook on the geographies of regions and territories. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Peng, J., Strijker, D., Wu, Q. (2020). Place identity: How far have we come in exploring its meanings? Frontiers in Psychology, 11, 294. 10.3389/fpsyg.2020.00294. Storey, D. (2020). A research agenda for territory and territoriality. Cheltenham: Edward Elgar.

Contents

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Introduction: Dealing with Territorial/Place Identity Representations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tiziana Banini and Oana-Ramona Ilovan

Part I 2

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Constructing Identities: Re-Building Place-Based Relations

Living at the Esquilino: Representations and Self-Representations of a Multi-ethnic Central District in Rome . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tiziana Banini

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Shifting Imageries: Gentrification and the New Touristic Images of the Inner City of Palermo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Marco Picone

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Place, Identity and Local Music Representation in Touristic Backgrounds of Romanian Medium-Sized Towns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ioan Sebastian Jucu

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Sentiment and Visual Analysis: A Case Study of E-Participation to Give Value to Territorial Instances . . . . . . . . . . Valentina Albanese

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Landscape as ‘Working Field’ for Territorial Identity in Friuli Venezia Giulia Ecomuseums Action . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Andrea Guaran and Enrico Michelutti

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Representations of Nations and Cities: Ever-Changing Territorial Identities

Sense of Place as Spatial Control: Austerity and Place Processes Among Young People in Ballymun, Dublin . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sander van Lanen

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Place-Identity Discourses in “Tunnel of Time: 10x10 Ten Decades of Romania in One Hundred Images” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111 Kinga Xénia Havadi-Nagy

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Visual Discourse and Urban Spatial Identity in Picture Postcards During Socialist Romania (1948–1989) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127 Oana-Ramona Ilovan

10 Identification and Interpretation of the Territorial Identity Elements of a Small Industrial Town Using Postcards. Case Study: Anina, Romania . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143 Florentina-Cristina Merciu, Andreea-Loreta Cercleux, and George-Laurent, iu Merciu Part III Negotiating Identities and Belonging: State Borders and Internal Migrations 11 Everyday Territorial Identities in Romania and the Republic of Moldova: A Case Study on the Impacts of Territorial Representations from Above . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161 Lisa Gohlke 12 Past Bordering Practices Modelling Present Representations: Transylvanian Saxons’ Administrative Units and the Chair of Rupea /Repser Stuhl /K˝ohalom Szék . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 Zoltan Maro¸si 13 There Is Always a Way Out! Images of Place and Identity for Women Escaping Domestic Violence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 Janet C. Bowstead Part IV Challenges and Stereotypes: Representing Rural Areas 14 The Green Illusion: Rural Representations and Poverty in Ariège, France . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205 Celia Innocenti 15 Spatial Imaginations as a Form of Rural Representation. Lessons from Poland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219 Marcin Wójcik, Paulina Tobiasz-Lis, and Pamela Jeziorska-Biel 16 Iron Men on Wooden Boats: Connection and Isolation Between Local Culture and the Sea in Coastal Donegal . . . . . . . . . . . 235 Atalya Peritz and Liam M. Carr 17 Conclusions: Towards a New Agenda for Place/Territorial Identity Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251 Tiziana Banini and Oana-Ramona Ilovan

Chapter 1

Introduction: Dealing with Territorial/Place Identity Representations Tiziana Banini and Oana-Ramona Ilovan

1.1 Representations, Identities and Geographies The study of the representations and symbolic aspects of places, landscapes and territories marked an important moment in the history of geography, which coincided with the cultural turn of the 80s of the last century and more generally with the post-structuralist turn. By claiming that “every ontology is always the result of an epistemology, of our socially constructed way of knowing the world” (Dixon and Jones 2004, p. 80), post-structuralism has undermined any previous theoretical framework, introducing not only new questions in geographic research, but also new objects of analysis, taking a critical position towards any simplistic, essentialist and a-problematic reading of reality (Murdoch 2006). Although subjective geographies and radical geography introduced significant innovations since the ’70s of the last century—one for the reversal of the point of view (from the object to the subject), the other for the relevance of the politicaleconomic dimensions and the issues of social justice (Banini 2019)—it is with the cultural turn that a deep epistemological revolution occurred in geography. It is no coincidence that the post-structuralist turn in geography coincided with the shift of attention from reality to its representation, where the term “representation” refers to the social mediation of the real world through uninterrupted processes of Both authors contributed equally to drafting the contents of this introduction and writing it. However, T. Banini wrote Sect. 1.1, whereas O.-R. Ilovan wrote Sect. 1.2. T. Banini Department of Literature and Modern Cultures, Faculty of Arts and Humanities, Sapienza University of Rome, Rome, Italy e-mail: [email protected] O.-R. Ilovan (B) Faculty of Geography, Territorial Identities and Development Research Centre, Babe¸s-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_1

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meaning, between referents (geographic objects, facts and phenomena), their signifiers (narrations, discourses, images, etc.) and meanings (Vallega 2003). The representational geography has started a critical review of the conceptual categories of modernity that have been repeated unconsciously in geographical discourses, using the most diverse sources in a critical key (literature, paintings, advertising posters, films and other visual materials, but also monuments, historic buildings, places of memory) (J. Anderson 2015), with the aim of both emphasizing the polysemic nature of spaces, and deconstructing prejudices, preconceptions and implicit automatisms nestled in symbolic discourses and practices. Despite the affirmation of new theoretical approaches (e.g. non-representational, actor-network theory), which have brought attention to the practices and actions that construct places and their meaning, the interest of geographers towards representations has continued relentlessly, merging not only in the visual turn (Rose 2012; Bignante 2011), but also in the materialist turn (Anderson and Wylie 2009; Tolia-Kelly 2013), which has dismantled the limit between representation and performance, affirming the need to consider the space (and the world) as an inextricable intertwining of discourses and practices, narrations and embodied performances (Daya 2019; B. Anderson 2019). This book deals, in particular, with the theme of the representations of the identity of European places and territories, as they emerge from images, discourses and social practices. Before describing the specific contents and objectives of the book, we want to specify what we mean by “identity” and “representation”, and also why we distinguished the notions of “place identity” and “territorial identity”. As for the concept of identity, this is a complex and interdisciplinary term, which can take on different meanings, so that many definitions matured over time in geography and social disciplines (for a review see Banini 2013, 2017). For this reason, we prefer to start from a very generic meaning, but in our opinion effective: that is from the assumption that “identity” refers to a set of characteristics that connotes something/someone and that implies a difference from something else/someone else. About this Ricoeur (1990) formalized the notions of idem-identity and ipso-identity, considering them as two interacting components of identity, two sides of the same coin. The idem-identity refers to the immanent and constitutive characteristics of an entity. If we would consider only this component, we could run the risk of falling into an essentialist conception of identity, because we would assign innate characteristics to something or someone, only as such, with all the consequences that derive from it in terms of closure, opposition between an entity and the other. The ipso-identity implies instead a relational, dynamic, interactive conception of the characteristics of an entity, which emerge from the interaction with otherness, or rather, from the awareness of the self and the other. By extension, in the case of this book, we consider identity as a dynamic socialconstruction process and in constant dialectical relationship with otherness. Identity takes shape from discourses, images, practices and social activities, related to both ethnic, social or racial groups, and specific spaces, places and territories. Above all, the identity, cultural or territorial that it is, must be understood in its becoming, in its constant evolution, in its processual character; for this reason, Stuart Hall (1996)

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suggested the use of the term “identification” as an ongoing social process, instead of “identity” which implies a content of stability and a relative risk of essentialization. Starting from the cultural turn, the international geography as defined by C. Minca (2005), that is the one produced and spread through the English language, has devoted increasing attention to the topic of identity, in the triple meaning of (i) identity politics, that is to say the struggles for the recognition of the rights of social groups excluded from the great narratives of modernity (les grand récits, as J.-F. Lyotard 1979, called them) for reasons of gender, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation (Antonsich 2009); (ii) identity of the place with particular reference to conflicts over connotations attributed to places by different social groups (Massey and Jess 1995); (iii) and politicalterritorial identities, especially with reference to geopolitical aspects at the national and regional scale (Paasi 2009; Paasi and Metzger 2017). If the scientific debate in English-speaking context is based largely on space/place dialectical relationship, in other European and non-European scientific contexts, the notion of “territory” is far more used, as well as that of “territorial identity”. In Italy, for example, territorial identity is at the centre of lively interdisciplinary scientific debates, with reference to different conceptual categories (landscape, region, local system) and to different application contexts (community reconstruction, local development, social/territorial capital, sustainable and participatory inhabiting, etc.) (e.g. Banini 2017; Magnaghi 2010; Turco 2010; Bertoncin and Pase 2006; Dematteis and Governa 2005; Pollice 2005). In short, territory and territorial identity are porous notions that can be used in different areas of scientific analysis; both take shape from specific theoretical apparatuses, often different and alternative to those in use in the English-speaking context. Also the notion of territoriality takes on different meanings, for example, between the Anglophone and the Francophone-Italian context (Murphy 2012; Del Biaggio 2017). On the one hand, the idea of territoriality, promoted by Robert Sack (1986), mainly intended as the strategic actions of power (to decide rules, inclusions, exclusions, borders, regulated areas) or to establish the geopolitical strategies of control/defence of space (Elden 2010; Klauser 2012). On the other hand, based on Raffestin’s reflections (2012), territoriality is conceived as the set of relationships that human beings arrange with the space in which they act, in order to satisfy their needs. Two complete different visions, then, which lead some authors to speak about a “negative and passive territoriality”, suffered by territories and people (the Anglophone one) and a “positive and active territoriality” (the Francophone-Italian one), where people play/should play an active role in the construction of the territory (Governa and Salone 2004; Governa 2005, 2006). The latter declination is the one that has also spread in the Latin American context, especially since the 1990s (Saquet 2012, p. 82). The contributions of this book rarely make explicit reference to one or the other notion of territory, and we did not ask the authors to specify which idea of territory or territoriality they adopted, because our intention was to leave each author free to choose his/her preferred theoretical perspective. However, the idea of territory (and also of region or landscape) as the dynamic result of a process of social construction underlies many chapters of this book.

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Generally speaking, the notion of territory as a process of social construction is very close to the concept of relational space (Harvey 2006; Massey 2005). In both terms, the starting point lies in the open, dynamic, transcalar concept of space/territory (Governa 2014), conceived as a co-product of multiple, mobile and changeable relationships with human subjects, or as an ongoing social construction, to whose realization concur material entities, images, symbols, social practices. It is no coincidence that Raffestin, in the search for an ontology of the territory, understood as a relational space, identified the same theoretical references (Martin Heidegger, Gaston Bachelard, Michel Foucault, Henry Lefebvre, Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Roland Barthes and Juri Lotman), which informed the cultural and relational turn of Anglophone geography (Klauser 2012; Minca 2012). As for the concept of place, a shared way of understanding it seems to connote the international debate, at least when place is read through the semiotic perspective that informed the representational geography (e.g. Cosgrove 1993; Duncan and Ley 2013). In semiotic terms, place can be understood as a signifier space that generates continuous new meanings, giving life to an unlimited semiosis (Vallega 2003). These meanings, referable to material or immaterial referents, are produced not only by the people who live or act in a place, but also by the set of ideas, images, speeches on the place itself. Moreover, the meanings are closely linked to social practices, which they orient and to which they give sense. In other words, social and cultural practices incorporate meanings and are inextricably linked not only to the sphere of ideas and discourses, from which they find nourishment and value orientation, but also to the physical, material domain, or rather, to the spatial referent to which they are related. According to Michel de Certeau (1984), it is precisely the element of social practice that lets a physical environment become a place; in other words, a milieu becomes a place when something is implemented in/with it. The specific character of the places is no longer conceivable as a result of a closed, self-referential process, referable to a cohesive and culturally homogeneous settled community, but as a result of dynamic, transcalar, material and unmaterial interconnections (Massey 1991; Cresswell 2004). In the context of local development theories, this idea of place is perfectly coherent with that of local as a “node of global network”, that is to say a global mosaic where all nodes—although still referable to different hierarchical levels—are interconnected thanks not only to the dense network of material and immaterial communications, but also because the functional specialization tendency of the same nodes implies mutual interdependence and complementarity (Dematteis 2002). In the same way, the sense of place cannot be considered in its immanent, stable and constant qualities, but rather as the result of dynamic, polysemic and often conflicting social processes, constructed by different subjectivities (Massey and Jess 1995; Ilovan and Doroftei 2017). The notion of sense of place, born in the humanistic geography of the 70s of the last century (Tuan 1974; Relph 1976), has therefore been deeply revisited by the critical and post-structuralist currents of geography, emancipating it from the contents of temporal stability, cultural homogeneity and spatial self-reference.

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In this regard, environmental psychology has provided two notions of great interest also for geographic research at the local scale, namely the identity of place and the identity of the place. The identity of place refers to “that part of personal identity that derives from dwelling in specific places”, the identity of the place is defined instead “on the basis of the most shared representations or images, at the level of groups and communities, related to the place in question” (Bonnes et al. 2009, p. 19). This is an important distinction to be taken into account, because the geographical notion of sense of place has often confused the two planes in which identity discourse is articulated: on the one hand, that which concerns individuals and their housing experiences; on the other, that related to the connotations attributed to places. Keeping separate the two levels of discussion is useful to avoid taking for granted the identity of place of subjects and collectives with the place under investigation, which at least needs direct surveys in the field. In fact, it is a question of understanding, on the one hand, what links exist between people and the place being studied, and, on the other hand, what characteristics are attributed to the place itself by those who live/act there. Both dimensions (identity of place and identity of the place) are fundamental in the study of territorial identity, precisely in order to conceive it in dynamic, open, porous and constructive terms, and to detect it through qualitative methods and researchaction procedures that involve individuals and collective actors. And it is precisely on the basis of these notions that territorial identity—at least when understood as sustainable, responsible and participatory dwelling—can be defined as “a process of social construction, open and dynamic, through which the collectivities settled in a given territory choose the distinctive features of the territory they inhabit or where they act in, shaping shared values, solutions, actions, and future trends” (Banini 2017, p. 18). But what is the relationship between identity and representation? Discourses, images, texts create identities when they assign characteristics to something or someone. Some of these identity constructions become public opinion, often they become stereotypes or “current trends”: “Representations are like currency: they are subject to inflation and progressively lose their value. In other words, some tend to take it that reality is represented in a less and less adequate manner. This is a signal that triggers the emergence of new modes of representation” (Raffestin 2012, p. 125). Representations can be considered as an integral part of the territorialisation process, provided that it consists of three interacting domains (Turco 2010): the material (the construction/material transformation of the territory, which Turco calls “reification”); the symbolic (the assignment of meanings to the territory), the organizational (the subdivision of the territory by administrative areas, such as health districts and school districts). Territorial representations can therefore be ascribed to the symbolic dimension, given that the symbol is a sign to which arbitrary meanings are attributed, to be decoded (Vallega 2003). Starting from the idea that the territory is the result of an appropriation process acted by actors/groups to meet their needs, Raffestin gives particular emphasis to the representations when he says that: “The appropriation of the territory is also made, perhaps above all, by representation. It

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is not possible to inhabit the territorial reality without thinking of the image of this reality” (Raffestin 2005, p. 108). By extension, we can speak of symbolic appropriation of the territory not only in reference to the collective memory and symbols of a community settled in a given territory, or to the ideas, values, concepts that circulate through discourses and images, but also in reference to the social practices that connote a particular place, and which also incorporate meanings and worldviews. In other words, representation is not separated from practice and performativity (Lorimer 2005), our representations take shape from direct or indirect experiences of space/territory, just as our actions are influenced by representations, discourses and narratives, holding a revolutionary potential. As Tim Edensor (2000, p. 130) says, about urban spaces, “it is the very movement of the city-dweller through the urban landscape, inhabiting and decoding the familiar signs and symbols while simultaneously subverting and transforming them, which disrupts dominant meanings”. At the same time, the practices involved in the production of meanings are inextricably linked not only to the sphere of ideas and discourses, but also to the spatial material domain, to the physical referent. The space/territory is therefore a social construction that involves social practices, material domains and symbolic representations closely related to each other. Place/territorial representations are the manifestation of the continuous human need of producing meanings, values, symbols; they play a central role during the phases of change or crisis, since they facilitate the creation of relatively stable territorial images, capable of soliciting orientation and social awareness. The fact is that no representation (of spaces, places, territories, etc.) in any form (textual, visual, cartographic, etc.) can be neutral, since each representation creates a selected model of the examined reality, according to the author’s opinions, targets and world’s views. In this sense, each “deformation” of the concrete referent is inevitable because of the language, which is nothing more than an “oriented” reduction of the material world (Raffestin 2005, p. 17). Each representation offers a reading (interpretation) of reality linked to a specific subjectivity/rationality, as well as to specific place links. It has a “political” content, as it reflects the interests of actors who act and operate on different scales. It is therefore necessary to understand the representational modes (cognitive and affective) through which different actors perceive and process the understanding of the territory, revealing, more generally, the geographical intelligibility of the world (Turco 2010). Through representations, the image of the world is built, as well as opinions, conceptions, discourses and consents take shape, taking on a social dimension and then translated into political choices. Narrating, describing, representing is therefore an operation that is anything but innocent: visual images, languages and speeches operate as “systems of representation”, they become an integral part of what Stuart Hall has called “circuit of culture”, a complex system that involves representation, identity, production, consumption, regulation (Hall 1997). And if geographers talk a lot about the “politics of representation” (for bibliographical references see J. Anderson 2015; Vanolo 2017), it is precisely because the discursive construction of the world always carries with it a series of basic questions: who has the power to

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produce the knowledge of the world? For what purpose? How? With what tools and means? Starting from the cultural turn in human geography, qualitative research methodologies have emerged, which are effective at gaining access not only “to the language of the word”, but also to the “language of the world” (Anderson 2015, p. 256). These methodologies focus attention on the meanings inscribed by human groups in a complex set of traces, investigating how these traces are produced, transgressed and resisted. They assume that the meaning is constructed from conscious and intentional processes, which are incorporated in written texts, visual materials and social practices, and which are detectable through textual analysis, visual analysis and direct surveys (e.g. Ilovan and Doroftei 2017), just as the chapters of this book demonstrate. In particular, the focus of attention is placed on the language used to describe places and territories; language intended as a real “cultural operator” (Hall 1997) or as a “mediator” (Raffestin 2012), that is as a means through which people represent their concepts, ideas, feelings, and, in fact in doing so, contribute to the creation of meanings. In the case of this book, in particular, we want to give an answer to the following research questions: who builds the identity of the place or territorial identity? Using which concepts? Through which communication tools? What place/territorial images emerge from these representations? What explicit or implicit aims do these representations bring with them? In the face of an increasingly interconnected, complex world centred on the capillary generation and diffusion of images, information and data, we believe that the theme of the representations of the identities of places/territories is an absolutely current topic, both from a scientific and a social point of view. And despite the resurgence of a renewed interest in representations (Daya 2019; Anderson 2019), there is a lack of a research product that: (i) deals with the issue of both place representations and territorial identity representations; (ii) condenses case studies on poorly investigated geographical areas; (iii) uses different theoretical approaches and methodologies. We believe that the novelty of this book lies precisely in the fact that it constitutes a reasoned collection of original empirical researches, referring for the most part to European contexts not particularly known to the scientific community, which highlight how the theme of the representation of place/territorial identity can be conducted according to different theoretical perspectives, and using different methodological tools. If we want, the “golden thread” that unites the contributions contained in this book lies exactly in the diversity through which the theme of the identity representation of places and territories can be addressed, beyond any disciplinary mainstream. We believe that this clarification is important because the contributions contained in this book come from authors who belong to very different disciplinary traditions and geographical contexts. In this sense, we have not deliberately provided specific theoretical or methodological indications on the authors, because we wanted them to carry out their reasoning, freely drawing on their scientific and personal background.

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1.2 Theory and Practice: Presentation of Book Sections and Chapters In addition to presenting the topic of the book and its scientific, social and political relevance, the introduction will further describe the sections (and related contributions), pointing out at both the specific issues of each one, and the cross-questions between them, giving coherence to the whole volume. In this part of the introduction, we will stress: (i) the value of the book thanks to the variety of methods, theoretical perspectives and case studies, related to well-known and lesser known European locations, and, at the same time, (ii) the international appeal of the book (i.e. its contribution to theoretical knowledge, policy and practice). Despite its variety, the book is structured in four sections, each one dealing with a specific aspect of place/territorial identity representation. In the following pages, we include a description of the four sections and included chapters. The four sections of the book reflect major topics in the scientific discourse on place/territorial identities and their representations. For each chapter, we highlighted the specificities with respect to the theme of the section to which they belong and the research questions they pose. Part I, Constructing Identities: Re-Building Place-Based Relations, brings together five case studies on the topic of constructing urban identities by rebuilding place-based relations. Contributors are affiliated to Italian (Bologna, Palermo, Rome, and Udine) and Romanian (Timi¸soara) universities, conducting research on the respective urban areas or nearby. Realising studies on the representations of place/territorial identities requires that researchers be very well acquainted with the respective areas and can grasp the subtleties of the discourses, images and practices they are researching. In other words, having experienced themselves the respective spaces and places (Tuan 1977). Besides the common ground of these five chapters in Part I, reflected in representations of the urban area and the dynamic process of building and re-building placebased relations (Hayden 1995; Koch and Latham 2014; Kraftl and Horton 2009; Millington 2009; Sag‘ lic and Kelkit 2017), this book section introduces the reader into a variety of research methods, both classical (focus group discussions and interviews for collecting the data and discourse analysis for interpreting it) and innovative ones (i.e. sentiment and discourse analysis based on social media interaction). Mixedmethod approaches are present, even though the qualitative ones pervade this section, as the entire book, especially discourse analysis and visual methods. The scientific contexts of discussing the construction of identities related to rebuilding the connections between communities and places are diverse as well: marginality in the time of globalization (in Rome), gentrification and touristic images (in Palermo), music geographies (in a medium-sized town of Romania), e-participation in valorising the territory, and landscape education (the last two at the regional level in Italy). All of them bring forward the various material and immaterial assets to be found within the concept of heritage (Colavitti 2018; Munasinghe 2000) and the force of its representations in re-building place-based relations. Enhancing

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place-attachment and empowering the citizens are the overarching ideas of these five case studies (cf. Strzelecka et al. 2017), on constructing identities (both identity of place and the identity of the place) (cf. Bonnes et al. 2009, p. 19, and also the first part of this introduction). Tiziana Banini, Sapienza University of Rome, Italy, in her chapter titled “Living at the Esquilino: Representations and Self-Representations of a Multi-ethnic Central District in Rome”, discusses representations from above (i.e. the media) and from below (self-representations), advocating for the need to build an inclusive society, starting from the case of Esquiline, Rome. Arguing for its emblematic value in terms of urban history and social and cultural diversity, the palimpsest of Esquiline is explored through interviews with the locals. Results show the relational and constructive nature of the meaning of place (cf. Banini 2017), as reflected in the locals’ experiences and social practices and the power of representations upon the sense of place and belonging (B. Anderson 2019; Hall 1997, 2013a, b). The social construction of space is exemplified through Palermo city centre. Marco Picone, University of Palermo, Italy, in the second chapter titled “Shifting Imageries: Gentrification and the New Touristic Images of the Inner City of Palermo”, presents chronologically the representations of the historic centre of Palermo, discussing the factors influencing the redefinition process of the territorial identity of the inner city, within the dynamic and continuous process of space production (Lefebvre 1991). Identity of the place (Massey and Jess 1995) is negotiated by different social groups in inner city Palermo, in the context of gentrification. Representations from above and below and the shifting imagery of Palermo are discussed, using textual analysis and visual methods (Ilovan and Doroftei 2017), with focus on the last decades, characterised by urban renewal through culture-led approaches, accompanied by gentrification and touristification. The cultural value of music for urban representations and urban identity reproduction (cf. Johansson and Bell 2012) is discussed by Ioan Sebastian Jucu, from West University of Timi¸soara, Romania, in the chapter “Place, Identity and Local Music Representation in Touristic Backgrounds of Romanian Medium-Sized Towns”. In this case study, he advocates for including in local development policies the music heritage of a medium-sized town in Romania: Lugoj municipality. Like in Tiziana Banini’s chapter, who asked for rethinking the complexity and diversity of the urban area, Ioan Sebastian Jucu asks for a rethinking of the urban cultural background, where local music should have its place in the resilience of the community, as a feature of cities’ capacity to adapt to economic and overall societal change. The mixtmethod approach unveils the added value of participatory observation in studying the creation of place representations and their use in local identity formation and rebranding (cf. also Ilovan et al. 2019). Valentina Albanese, from the University of Bologna, Italy, in a chapter under the title of “Sentiment and Visual Analysis. A Case Study of E-Participation to Give Value to Territorial Instances”, points out at the increasing power of ICT in creating representations of place and representations of societal problems, finally enabling the appearance of new places and of hyper-places. The author chooses an Italian case study of digital activism for spatial justice to underline the contribution of ICT

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in reshaping relationships either among individuals or between them and places (Nicholls 2009; Potts 2015). She also focuses on the relationship among people’s self-representations, representations of space and their actions (i.e. participation). Methodology includes opinion mining and visual methodologies, foregrounding the sentiment analysis and the photo essay. In the chapter “Landscape as ‘Working Field’ for Territorial Identity in Friuli Venezia Giulia Ecomuseums Action” and in the discourse on representations, Andrea Guaran and Enrico Michelutti, from the University of Udine, Italy, introduce landscape education as a tool empowering citizens during a careful process of raising awareness about territorial identity on the community scale. For this purpose, the authors discuss the educational, ethical, and political features that landscape related activities are endowed with in the framework of ecomuseums promoted practices in Friuli Venezia Giulia (Italy). Authors advocate for understanding local landscapes as a right and collective responsibility, thus transforming them into ‘democratic landscapes’ (Castiglioni et al. 2011; Calderon and Butler 2016), at the same time, pointing out at the different subjectivities that construct the sense of place (Massey and Jess 1995). Representations of Nations and Cities: Ever-Changing Territorial Identities is the second part of the book. This includes four chapters strongly connected by an overarching topic: that of representing the nation and the urban area while building them (both materially and at the mental level). National imaginary from-above and from-below (cf. Cinpoe¸s 2010; Tîcu ¸ 2016; White 2000) is illustrated through various kinds of discourses, based on interviews and visual imagery. Imagined communities (B. Anderson 1983) at a variety of scales are analysed in the context of discourses that shape everyday representations and self-representations in Ireland (of “at-homeness”, of the nation and the city) and Romania, from the perspectives of past heritage (a socialist society for three of the presented case studies), present challenges (i.e. social, cultural and economic), and visions for future development. Qualitative and mixed-method approaches advocated extensively so far (Czarniawska 2004; Ilovan and Doroftei 2017) unravel already acknowledged and also innovative means to research representations of the nation and of the city, using less explored sources (e.g. photographs, and picture postcards) for the respective periods and places: in Ireland, through urban disadvantaged youth’s representations (i.e. on a neighbourhood in present day Dublin), in contemporary Romania, through a retrospective during the last 100 years, and in socialist Romania (identity markers of its urban area; territorial identity elements of a small industrial town). Sander van Lanen, from the University of Groningen, the Netherlands, considers the needs and desires of Ballymun youth to discuss the representations of their neighbourhood in Dublin, Ireland. The author, in his chapter titled “Sense of Place as Spatial Control: Austerity and Place Processes among Young People in Ballymun, Dublin”, interrelates two concepts: locals’ sense of place and spatial neighbourhood identity (cf. Rose 1995). He discusses the dramatic changes affecting landscape and disadvantaged urban youth during fierce austerity after the 2008 financial crisis (van Lanen 2017, 2018). The author analyses the process of disempowerment that the

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youth underwent in a neighbourhood whose regeneration trajectory was stopped by the world financial crisis, while the landscape and inhabitants’ choices within the neighbourhood were crippled, pointing out how the urban landscape and practices change its meanings continuously (Edensor 2000). National celebrations are as many opportunities to research representations and self-representations focusing on territorial identity at various scales (Kaplan 1999) and on place-attachment triggered by memory and present discourses about past events. This is the focus of a contribution by Kinga Xénia Havadi-Nagy, from Babe¸s-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania. Her chapter, titled “Place-identity Discourses in ‘Tunnel of Time: 10 × 10 Ten Decades of Romania in One Hundred Images’”, explores the visual markers of the historical discourse on the Romanian nation, on Transylvania and Cluj city, as presented in a celebratory outdoor exhibition including 100 images of the country. The discourse representing Romania was developed from above, belonging to the National Museum of Transylvanian History in Cluj. The author discusses both a fixed national identity and a more fluid urban one (cf. Terlouw 2009), using a semiotic analysis of the images and accompanying written text (Rose 2012, 2014). The next contribution belongs to Oana-Ramona Ilovan, from Babe¸s-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania. Her chapter, “Visual Discourse and Urban Spatial Identity in Picture Postcards during Socialist Romania (1948-1989)”, takes the discourse on Romanian identity, presented in the previous chapter, to the urban level, using picture postcards as research material and the timeframe is that of socialist Romania (1948–1989), showing how our knowledge of the world is socially constructed (Dixon and Jones 2004). Starting from the hypothesis that present urban identities in Romania are informed by socialist changes (Ilovan 2019; Iuga 2013; L˘at, ea 2017; Verdery 1991), the author’s objectives are to discuss the main development policies during the respective period and analyse the representations circulated in picture postcards of the period, explicitly connected to the discourse about socialist progress in a communist nation. So, the author inserts the visual narrative of urban identity into the socio-economic and cultural context provided by the Communist regime and therefore she used discourse analysis and visual analysis to identify the main themes in these representations. Kinga Xénia Havadi-Nagy and Oana-Ramona Ilovan reject the simplistic and a-problematic reading of reality (Murdoch 2006) as represented in socialist and post-socialist Romania, using visual imagery critically (J. Anderson 2015). Three colleagues from the University of Bucharest—Florentina-Cristina Merciu, Andreea-Loreta Cercleux and George-Laurent, iu Merciu—discuss the “Identification and Interpretation of the Territorial Identity Elements of a Small Industrial Town Using Postcards. Case Study: Anina, Romania”. Building upon a similar theoretical background to that of Oana-Ramona Ilovan’s chapter, the authors highlight the significant role of industry in small-sized towns of Romania, before and during the socialist period (Copilas, 2015). They picked up the case study of Anina, a small industrial town in the Romanian region of Banat, which, at the end of the nineteenth century, when the first postcards were produced in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, was part of that political unit. The authors use semiotics to explore the visual imagery

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(Crang 2010; Oldrup and Carstensen 2012) representing the industrial heritage, the cultural urban landscape and to identify and interpret elements of the territorial identity contributing significantly to people’s sense of place and collective memory. The third part, Negotiating Identities and Belonging: State Borders and Internal Migrations, epitomizes the diversity of theoretical and methodological approaches and of the geographical foci, a diversity intrinsic to the entire edited book. Representations of identity and belonging are discussed from the perspectives of borders and bordering processes (Popescu 2008, 2011; Mishkova and Trencsényi 2017; Tîcu ¸ 2016) and from that of the internal migration phenomenon, where the influence of two factors (i.e. the cultural one and personal security) is considered. The range of analysed representations varies from self-representations of territorial identities in Romania and the Republic of Moldova to the production of space and regional identities, all this in the context of decisions taken from above or influenced by official policies. Other types of borders than the physical and/or political ones are thoroughly explored in the last chapter of this section (authored by J.C. Bowstead): cultural borders and personal security ones, generating internal migration, new placeattachments, representations of home and self-representations. This final chapter presents and discusses the effects of another type of forced internal migration. This time, in the United Kingdom: of women and children seeking security, leading to resettlement and re-making of the “at-homeness” feeling, sense of place and belonging (cf. also Bowstead 2015). These contributions enrich representational geography (Cosgrove 1993; Duncan and Ley 2013), because in all three, the reader is aware of the salience of the national and policy discourses (Cinpoe¸s 2010; Tîcu ¸ 2016; White 2000), as their impact on representations and self-representations is brought into the foreground (Ilovan 2019; Zahariade 2011). In addition, spatial scales intersect within the same case study, underlining the relational nature of territorial identities and of space (Banini 2017; Governa 2014; Harvey 2006; Massey 2005). From a methodological perspective, this section is varied, comprising research data obtained through: interviews and focus group discussions, and analysis of a highly varied visual imagery (Oldrup and Carstensen 2012; Rose 2012). The first two chapters (Lisa Gohlke’s and Zoltan Maro¸si’s) explore the meanings of political-territorial identities at the national and regional scales. In her chapter, “Everyday Territorial Identities in Romania and the Republic of Moldova: A Case Study on the Impacts of Territorial Representations from Above”, Lisa Gohlke, from the University of Eastern Finland, Joensuu, Finland, shows how much of the representations in hegemonic discourses is kept at the individual or at the community level, underlining that self-representations have their roots (which one can trace) in territorial representations from above (Paasi 2003, 2009; Paasi and Metzger 2017). Lisa Gohlke embarked on field research in Romania and Republic of Moldova that allowed her to realise a comparison between self-representations in these two countries and representations from above in shaping everyday narratives about borders and belonging, as well as in shaping more contested territorial identities in everyday life than in official discourses at the regional, national and international scales.

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Zoltan Maro¸si, from Babe¸s-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania, contributes with a chapter on “Past Bordering Practices Modelling Present Representations: Transylvanian Saxons’ Administrative Units and the Chair of Rupea / Repser Stuhl / K˝ohalom Szék”. In his study, we see that place is a signifier space (Vallega 2003). Place is produced by people and their discourses (the latter closely connected to social and cultural practices, many having a material referent). The author argues that, surprisingly, very old bordering practices still impact present place attachment and representations: present territorial identity is affirmed, represented, acknowledged or contested and performed at the local level. The next contribution belongs to Janet C. Bowstead, from the Royal Holloway University of London, United Kingdom. Her chapter, titled “There Is Always a Way Out! Images of Place and Identity for Women Escaping Domestic Violence”, presents the research results of using creative groupwork and participatory photography, providing insights into the women’s experiences of space, place, belonging, home and identity during their journeys in UK, in order to escape domestic violence. Internally displaced women and children, part of forced migration, experience space and place during a period of crisis in their lives. The author discusses issues such as belief, traditions and hope, starting from the photographic production of three groups of women, with the aim to show how this social practice helps them cope with the distress of leaving home and re-making home when resettling in new places. The role of participatory action research in producing representations and a sense of belonging is underlined (cf. also Kindon et al. 2007; Pain 2004). In Part IV, Challenges and Stereotypes: Representing Rural Areas, constructions and re-constructions of identities related to some rural areas in France, Ireland, and Poland are discussed in the face of a variety of challenges (poverty reproduction, population loss, rural revival, modernisation, etc.), while considering communities’ resilience (Berkes et al. 1998; Salvia and Quaranta 2017). What is the role of place-based identity and of representations of place and community in population’s survival and/or development strategies? Authors describe how the communities’ practices and imaginations have shaped their cultural identities over time (i.e. visible or material structures and imagined spaces) and discuss their present significance, considering inhabitants’ well-being within the cultural landscape they created (cf. Havadi-Nagy et al. 2017). Rural attractiveness transmitted through representations, on one hand, and poverty reproduction on the other are connected and debated. Challenges such as the impact of policies on place-attachment and territorial identities (Markuszewska 2019) or misreading spatial features and stereotyping the rural areas are exemplified and their effects explored. The presence of a vision for the future or lack of it are presented from a variety of stakeholders’ perspectives. The methods employed for both obtaining and interpreting research data are: in-depth interviews, free-hand sketches, and participatory-photo mapping. Celia Innocenti, from Paul Valéry, Montpellier 3, France, titled her contribution “The Green Illusion: Rural Representations and Poverty in Ariège, France”. Her research foregrounds a discussion about impoverishment or the reproduction of poverty in a small rural region in Southern France: Ariège. To this aim, she started

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from a series of interviews mainly with locals and social workers in the region, enquiring about the features and problems of the respective places (i.e. villages) and about newcomers’ positive representations and misrepresentations of the rural area. C. Innocenti’s research points out to the idyllic image of rural spaces in France, often misrepresented as such (Boulineau and Bonerandi-Richard 2014); however, this is a situation to be recognized in many European countries, where urban poverty is represented as hopeless and rural area as the perfect escape to nature and peaceful living. The chapter titled “Spatial Imaginations as a Form of Rural Representation. Lessons from Poland”, authored by Marcin Wójcik, Paulina Tobiasz-Lis and Pamela Jeziorska-Biel, from University of Lodz, explores, through sketch maps realised by freehand drawing and through in-depth interviews, the changing cultural identities of 21 villages in Poland, in the context of post-socialist transition and the country’s accession to the European Union (Tobiasz-Lis and Wójcik 2017). The research material is represented by rural residents’ spatial images and spatial knowledge about their villages, authors discussing the material and social encounters that create places (Massey 1991; Cresswell 2004). Such social representations are analysed and interpreted, and during this deconstruction process, authors reveal the changing nature of nowadays villages in Poland (cf. Tobiasz-Lis and Wójcik 2017), thus challenging the stereotypical understanding of the term ‘village’ and of living in the countryside. From the National University of Ireland, Galway, colleagues Atalya Peritz and Liam M. Carr contribute with a study on “Iron Men on Wooden Boats: Connection and Isolation between Local Culture and the Sea in Coastal Donegal”. Their chapter on the rural communities in the coastal County Donegal, Ireland, presents the connection and mutual support between ecosystem services and cultural identities (cf. also Donkersloot 2010; Tengberg et al. 2012). The coastal and marine environment underwent changes inflicted by man and also the human-nature relationship changed; however, ecosystem services continue to support communities’ and individuals’ well-being, ensuring resilience, as long as decisions are made considering local needs (Banini 2017; Berkes et al. 1998). Authors underline that recent planning and management tend to be disconnected from local needs, disrupting local economies and eroding community identity and its representations. Atalya Peritz and Liam M. Carr propose a convincing study on representations from below (Paasi 2003), within the rural communities of the area, with the aim to inform more inclusive policies, and a sustainable human-environment relationship, considering environmental conservation and heritage preservation (see also Guaran and Michelutti’s chapter for a similar discussion in a different context). Concluding, this collective volume brings together conceptual and empirical contributions to the concepts of place identity, territorial identity and representation, enriching current debates and supporting the further scrutinizing of these in context, as the case study approach proved crucial to developing their theoretical and practical dimensions. The variety of representations discussed in this book is hinting at as many anchors of local, regional, and national identities. It also shows the strong interest in these concepts of both researchers and stakeholders.

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Part I

Constructing Identities: Re-Building Place-Based Relations

Chapter 2

Living at the Esquilino: Representations and Self-Representations of a Multi-ethnic Central District in Rome Tiziana Banini

2.1 Introduction Despite the affirmation of new-materialist, relational, and non-representational theoretical approaches, the geographers’ interest in the visual and textual representations of the world is experiencing renewed success (Anderson 2019; Daya 2019). Indeed, individual and collective spatial practices are inextricably linked both to the ideas, images and discourses circulating through the communication tools (books, TV, Internet, etc.), and the physical referent, that is the material domain in which they are inscribed and to which they relate (King 1996; Natter and Jones 1997; Soja 1996). In this process of sense construction, language plays a fundamental role, as a communicative practice through which the visible takes on specific characters: language contributes to the construction of place (Tuan 1991), as well as representations connect languages and meanings to culture (Hall 1997), giving sense to human behaviors and practices. These reflections concern in particular the city, a living subject made by the networks of relationships between symbols, bodies, buildings, infrastructures, machines, projects, constraints, conflicts and opportunities (Jacobs 2012; Amin and Thrift 2017), whose complex, unsettled and unsettling qualities cannot be enclosed in a single meaning, except by flattening and disregarding the many conflicting and competing visions that characterize it (Fincher and Jacobs 1998; Millington 2009). Terms such as “super-diversity” (Vertovec 2007) or “hyper-diversity” (Peterson 2017) have been coined precisely to summarize the extreme complexity of contemporary urban spaces, their contextual variability, and the consequent impossibility of giving them a unique definition.

T. Banini (B) Department of Literature and Modern Cultures, Faculty of Arts and Humanities, Sapienza University of Rome, Rome, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_2

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In this chapter, I use a social-constructivist perspective, according to which the production of knowledge is always “structured, mediated, interpreted and constructed by language” (Demeritt 1996, p. 489). Therefore, each “ontology is grounded in epistemology and […] all epistemologies are embedded in social practice” (Aitken and Valentine 2006, p. 5). In particular, I start from the assumption that the media representations of the city and the city as a material, social and symbolic universe co-construct one another (Ek 2006), generating complex synergies in the everyday social and cultural life, as well as in political choices (Craine 2016; Georgiou 2013). The representations of the city, in fact, are not simply a by-product of urban life. Rather “they are central to the very ways in which cities are ordered, managed and made sense of” (Koch and Latham 2014, p. 15); reversing the terms, “cities are ordered, managed and held together through representation” (Ivi, p. 25). The key point is to understand how representations take shape and affirm themselves, on the basis of what information, generated by whom, based on what contents, in view of what objectives. In this sense, I agree with the idea that most of the narratives and discourses conveyed by the media are built on a small number of core concepts attributable to a few persons/actors, whereas “what is needed […] are new narratives of urbanism that express the dynamism of the city, that could be able to act back upon our own embodied sensibilities, enabling us to see the city anew” (Dittmer 2014, p. 478). Newspapers and television groups, according to a “top-down” process, intervene to a large extent in the media construction of urban spaces, as well as the information, comments and opinions that run on the Internet, thanks to blogs, websites and social networks. These “bottom-up” information connect specific place facts and events with the private and public experiences of the space, through media feedback carried out more or less in real time (McQuire 2016). In this sense, the rhetoric of cosmopolitanism and inter-ethnic dialogue, spatial justice and urban regeneration promoted “from above” by institutions and decision-makers, and reproduced through media communication, are constantly subject to negotiation between different inhabitants, actors and stakeholders, or rather to different networks of relationships, objectives, priorities and needs (Warren and Jones 2018; Raco and Tasan-Kok 2019). For this reason, in this chapter, in addition to spatial media representations, in the form of newspaper articles, I also consider spatial self-representations, that is the opinions of local inhabitants and actors on the spaces under analysis. Regardless of the rhetoric of the political-institutional objectives to be achieved (which often confuse the process with the objective), doing research at the local scale and talking to those who experience the city first-hand is important in order to highlight the multiplicity of visions and practices that urban living implies. It is not by coincidence that the need to know the city starting from the micro-geographies of individuals and social groups, as well as from the images, narratives and discourses that build the meanings of the city (Kraftl and Horton 2009; Georgiou 2013), has implied a jump in scale, favouring researches focused on specific districts, neighbourhoods, streets, squares. The scientific attention on Rome has not shied away from this trend: over time, a body of researches has flourished on specific districts, with particular reference

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to those undergoing significant transformation, either due to processes of gentrification, or to the consistent arrival of immigrants (for references, see Banini 2019). This radically changed the overall idea of the city. Indeed, Rome has long been considered as an emblem of the centre-periphery model, with the peripheries historically welcoming first Italian and then global immigrants; but this model of reading the city has been often questioned (Agnew and Boiling 1993), mainly due to the growing social and cultural complexity experienced by the city, since at least the ’90s of the last century. In fact, while international migration took on global dimensions, Rome was beginning to welcome a large number of immigrants not only on the edges of the city (Cristaldi 2002; Mudu 2006), but also in its central areas, generating deep functional and relational changes. This led to a rethinking of the way of understanding and interpreting the “eternal city”. In particular, this chapter focuses attention on the Esquiline, a district located in the centre of Rome, near the Termini railway station, which is known to public opinion as a space of social degradation, almost always associated with the relevant immigrant presence. After presenting the main evolutions of the Esquiline, the essay first examines some studies on the narratives of the district offered by the periodical press, then it focuses on the self-representations that emerged during a field research, with the aim of detecting if and to what extent the image of the degraded and problematic neighbourhood promoted by newspapers corresponds to the common feeling of local inhabitants and actors.

2.2 A Long and Complex History The Esquiline was born by incorporating in its name a connotation of exclusion and marginality: the term esquilinus (adjective of esquiliae) would in fact derive from ex-colere (“living outside”) (Protasi 2010), or rather outside the Servian walls, which separated the city from the suburbium. In fact, at least since the mid-sixth century BC, the eastern part of the Esquiline was a sort of desolate suburb, a site that was used for burials and capital executions. Over time, the Esquiline has maintained its border position between the city and its outside. Still today, it occupies the eastern edge of the historic centre of Rome, and its administrative boundaries, unchanged since 1921, are well recognizable, since they are marked by three of the most important churches in Rome (Basilica of S. Giovanni in Laterano, Basilica of S. Maria Maggiore, Basilica of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme) and the railway hub of Roma Termini (Fig. 2.1). In the face of an urban configuration nearly completed at the end of the nineteenth century, what shapes the Esquiline as a space in constant change is its past and recent social history. In effect, with the rapid urban expansion of the city, the Esquiline has lost its topographical marginality, but over time it has maintained its connotation as a space of transit and frontier, not only for the presence of the Termini railway station and the commercial functions condensed in Piazza Vittorio Emanuele II, alias “Piazza Vittorio”, where an open-air market had first appeared in 1939, but above

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Fig. 2.1 Administrative boundaries of the Esquiline district (Source Author’s elaboration)

all for the migratory waves coming from everywhere, first from Italy, and afterwards from all over the world (Banini 2019). A turning point began in the late 1980s, when the historic shops of the district, those located in Piazza Vittorio and the adjacent streets, began to close, due to the well-known and generalized retail trade crisis. The closure of many shops and market stalls, which were a point of reference for the whole city and its hinterland, was not only followed by the loss of functionality of the district and its historic recognition as a commercial area, but also by the flaking of both the relational tissue and the daily practices that historically revolved around the open-air market and the shops. The lack of maintenance and regulation of the market, increasingly left to itself and characterized by dirt and disorder, contributed to causing the progressive degradation of Piazza Vittorio, which increasingly became a refuge for alcohol and drug addicts, and the homeless. In the meantime, many apartments began to be empty, also because many inhabitants decided to move to other districts. And as it was not easy to find buyers or tenants for the properties, buildings and apartments began to suffer damages from poor maintenance. The district’s multi-ethnic turn began in this degraded and problematic context. Already in the ’80s, an important arrival of immigrants, coming mainly from Bangladesh and China (Cristaldi 2012), took place and they started to rent overcrowded apartments or to find makeshift housing (in cellars, back shops, garages). But it was during the ’90s that Asian immigrants began to fill the gaps left by the natives, buying shops, apartments, market stalls (Carbone and Di Sandro 2018).

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This transformation took place very quickly and it generated a significant impact on public opinion: the arrival of so many immigrants took many Italians by surprise, Italy being a country with a long history of emigration. And above all in a city like Rome, characterized by pervasive informality (Clough Marinaro and Solimene 2020), that consistent arrival of migrants has been accompanied by the spread of subletting practices, “post-pillow”, and other illegalities. A whole series of shops, in a few years, passed into the hands of Chinese and Bangladeshis, causing a deep impact: historical commercial activities, which were hubs and catalysts of social relations, as well as of personal and collective memories, were suddenly cancelled and replaced by restaurants and shops managed by “different” people par excellence, recognizable through somatic characteristics, smells, sounds, ideograms. For this reason, beyond the rhetoric of multiculturalism promoted by the leftist governments of the city, the coexistence between in-quilini (historical residents of the district) and ex-quilini (“other” inhabitants and frequenters of the district) was rather problematic, and has repeatedly required a mediation work, especially with the Chinese community (Pitrone et al. 2012). The arrival of immigrants continued unabated during the 2000s. From 2003 to 2018, the incidence of foreigners on the total resident population increased from 19 to 31%, against an average of 13% in the city of Rome. In 2018, most of the foreigners in the district come from China (35% of foreign residents) and Bangladesh (20.5%); followed by Romania (6%) and the Philippines (4.7%) (Fig. 2.2). In the meantime, the relative low cost of the apartments (compared to other central areas of the city), together with the multicultural atmosphere of the district and its liveliness in terms of initiatives and cultural activities, has prompted the arrival of new middle-high social class inhabitants, but without triggering gentrification processes, if by gentrification we mean the process that leads to higher property prices and therefore to problems of displacement and housing affordability issues (Slater 2011). In the Esquiline, wealthier professionals live together with historical inhabitants and immigrants, creating a mix of social classes and ethnic groups within each building, just because the costs of the apartments (between 2,700 and 3,800 Euros per square

Fig. 2.2 Resident population from China and Bangladesh (left) and foreign residents by continent (2018, right) in the Esquilino district (Data source https://www.comune.roma.it/web/it/roma-statis tica-popolazione.page)

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meter) are lower than those of the other central districts (https://wwwt.agenziaentrate. gov.it). And if the costs of shops and apartments remain relatively low, it is mainly due to the media representation of the district as degraded, dirty and dangerous.

2.3 Media and Scientific Representations If tourist’s guides and websites depict the image of a dynamic Esquiline, vibrant with ventures, and where to experience the multi-ethnic atmosphere typical of the “Disneyland of the exotic” (Carbone 2019), newspapers, television programs and many websites describe the Esquiline in a completely different way. A number of studies from the perspectives of different disciplines, aimed at examining the newspapers’ representation of the Esquiline (for references, see Banini 2019), highlighted how most of the articles were centred on urban and social degradation, daily micro-crime, illegal activities, almost always associated with the immigrants. Directly or indirectly, immigrants are believed to be the main cause of the progressive degradation of the district, despite their most intense arrival, during the 1990s, occurred in a context already subject to urban and social degradation (Morelli et al. 2003): a clear example of confusion between effect and cause, or rather of what can be defined the “blaming of the different”. All this happened during a period in which Italian media developed a generalized relevant shift: from integration issues and related immigration policies, to the overexposure of news about the small or big crimes for which immigrants are accused (Sciortino and Colombo 2010). A recent research, based on the examination of 3,241 articles concerning the Esquiline published in the four main Italian newspapers between 2005 and 2015 (Garofalo 2019), confirmed that most of the articles on the Esquiline (48%) are about crime and illegal activities, almost always related to the presence of foreigners, and in particular to the Chinese one. Next to the burglaries and purse snatches by Roma/Sinti gangs, the protagonists of the criminal activities in the Esquiline appear to be the Chinese: from the counterfeiting of famous brands to the sale of expired foods, from illegal B&Bs to prostitution. In those articles, Esquilino is often called “Chinatown” (due to the significant presence of Chinese shopkeepers), “Bronx” (for the ethnic and inter-ethnic conflicts), “casbah” or “suk” (to highlight the chaos that characterizes some streets and squares). The district is therefore the object of simplified and stereotyped place representations, mainly from the newspapers on the “right”; Gypsies and Chinese are continually named as groups that bring disorder and illegality (Clough Marinaro and Solimene 2020). As for the other topics, about 10% of the articles is dedicated to the urban degradation of the district (dirt and garbage bags in the streets, building cornices and falling plaster, etc.). However, the amount of articles centred on both the artistic and cultural events (20%), and the active citizenship initiatives carried out by the many associations of the neighbourhood (10%) is also significant. Another group of articles concerns the national manifestations that usually cross the streets of the

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district (“street protests and demonstrations”) or “other topics” (historical events, curiosities, etc.) (Fig. 2.3). It is no coincidence, therefore, that the Esquiline has become a political platform, a testbed used in election rounds, both by the “right” and “left” political alignments. The two main rhetorics of the district, disclosed by the periodical press, are endlessly reproduced. On the one hand, the populist rhetoric of the “right”, centred on the degradation and crime due to immigration, which reproduces the “guilt of the different”, based on prejudicial stereotypes. On the other hand, the rhetorical position of the “left”, based on the multicultural and open neighbourhood, in the wake of the dominant narrative of Rome as a hospitable and welcoming city, which risks to flattens the intra-ethnic and inter-ethnic conflicts existing in the district (Carbone and Di Sandro 2018). The situation of the Esquiline, in this sense, reflects a more generalized trend found in the urban policies of European cities, aimed on the one hand at praising the idea of inclusive diversity as a sign of tolerance and progress (Matejskova and Leitner 2011) and, on the other, at considering it as a threat to the social order and therefore supportive of neo-assimilationist policies (Raco and Tasan-Kok 2019). If the newspapers ride the two opposing images of the degraded and the multicultural district, scientific essays talk about it above all in terms of perpetual change. The connotation of a frontier space, of transit, hovering between “inside” and “outside”, inclusion and exclusion often recurs around the Esquiline (Mudu 2006; Attili 2007); as well as, on several occasions, this particular urban space has been assimilated to a “turntable” (Seronde Babonaux 1983), that suddenly changes its face, becoming an emblematic manifestation now of local decisions, now of transcalarar processes. The Esquiline is also considered as a space of passage, crossing, transition, impossible to close in a recognizable configuration (Scarpelli 2009), as well as a frontier space, that gives a floating and indeterminate image of itself, which escapes the

Fig. 2.3 Thematic distribution of the articles on the Esquilino district published by four national newspapers (Il Tempo, Il Messaggero, La Repubblica, Il Corriere della Sera), in the period 2005– 2015 (Source Author’s data processing from Garofalo 2019)

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topographical freezing of space (Attili 2007, p. 142). Moreover, it is described as a clear spatial oxymoron, for being a marginal district despite being located at the centre of the city. In this sense, the Esquiline is considered an example of “advanced marginality” (Wacquant 2007), that is, a marginality which is no longer linked to the centre vs periphery model (as in the modern age), but to transcalar, different, contingent forms (those of late modernity), which cannot be labelled in a model of general validity.

2.4 Voices from the District But how is the Esquiline described by its inhabitants? How do they interpret the considerable foreign presence? Is it the district of urban decay or that of interethnic coexistence? What representations emerge from their words and how do they differ from each other? These are the impulse-questions that guided the semi-structured interviews conducted at the Esquiline. Considering that the theoretical saturation threshold is equal to 20–30 interviews, beyond which there would be no significant changes in the results of the research (Loda 2012), I and a collaborator of mine realized a total of 30 interviews, between January 2018 and February 2020, with inhabitants and local actors. The recruitment of the interviewees took place mainly through the so-called “on-site recruiting” (Longhurst 2012). Fifteen interviews were briefly commented on another publication (Musacchio 2019); here I focus on the other fifteen interviews and on the other information that emerged during the previous interviews. When asked “How would you define the Esquiline?”, many respondents replied that the Esquiline is a problematic neighbourhood, mainly due to the strong presence of homeless people, drunks, drug addicts, drug dealers, petty criminals. The problem of social unease is considered mainly due to the proximity to Termini railway station, as in many other cities. Also, a trader from Morocco, who has been operating in the district for a long time, speaks of social unease: I have been in the Esquiline for twenty years. I have a wholesale store. I sell clothes, scarves, objects that come from Morocco (…) The neighbourhood has changed, it is now a little degraded. There are many new immigrants who don’t know what to do. I help them when I can. But it’s not their fault. They stay there because they don’t have a job. It would be better for me that they returned to Morocco. However, I live there normally, in the evening I go out. I go to the mosque. I meet my friends from Morocco. (Kamal, 38 years old)

The attitude towards immigrants oscillates between tolerance and opposition. The shopkeepers interviewed at the Nuovo Mercato Esquilino, Italian and Bangladeshi, talk about good relations with each other, but they also recognize the problem of the many people who are on the streets of the district without doing anything or being engaged in illegal activities. On the contrary, the elderly all show a clear intolerance, because they associate the district’s problems with the arrival of immigrants. They do not tolerate the fact that the historic Italian shops are no longer there, and that the

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neighbourhood’s relations have been lost, without considering that this is a generalized trend, which concerned all economically advanced contexts, not only that of the Esquiline: I live here since 1973 … I never come back later than 8 p.m. because I am afraid. It is dirty, the Chinese, the Gypsies … the situation has precipitated towards the ‘90s-2000s, when the Italian government opened the frontiers, ever since we gave permission to come here to non-EU citizens … drug addicts, drunks, stragglers … and the problem is that they leave, wait for the police to pass, and then they come back. (Patrizia, 71 years old)

Other interviewees also showed a clear intolerance towards immigrants, but for economic issues, for example due to the competition of the B&Bs managed by Bangladeshi, as the owner of a real estate agency said: If I tell you in what condition are the houses rented by Bangladeshi … God have mercy! You enter a building, there they are on the ground floors … the smells are unpleasant … but tourists go there because they ask for 25 Euros per night, and they knock down the competition (…) and then there are the Africans, in via Giolitti, peddling drugs, everyone knows it, but they’re running that area … you have to stick to their rules, their way of life. (Andrea, 35 years old)

The main complaints are addressed to the Chinese, who are considered a closed, wary community, which integrates less than the others, and with whom it is difficult to maintain a relationship. Riccardo (54 years old), a member of a local association, tells his experience as a father of two children who attended the “Federico Di Donato” school, which is a symbol of the district for its multi-ethnic student population and for the many multicultural activities that take place there, remembering that, at every birthday party, only Chinese children did not participate. He also underlines that still today Chinese children, in addition to Italian school, attend the Chinese school every afternoon and on Saturday. However, some interviewees also told about their good inter-ethnic relationships, because they live in the same building or because the children attend the same school, showing that the barriers of ethnic bias decay when physical distances are reduced, and people share spaces, experiences and interests. I have the Chinese living next door to me and they call me grandmother … When I make a dessert, I bring them a piece. And I must say that they are kind. Every now and then they bring me a shirt, a jacket … I don’t lack money, but I have to say that they are good neighbours. And they always tell me: relax, with us nothing can happen to you. For me, they are a good family. (Nella, 82 years old) I have been living in Rome for twenty-two years, I am from Peru, I am a caregiver. I was lucky enough to find an apartment here in the Esquiline. In my building, all owners are Italian, we are the only foreigners, but we all get along. My children attended the Di Donato school … I liked it very much, so that we decided to bring over my grandchildren, too … we get along well with the other mothers. We have parties, meetings, we go eat pizza together. (Alida, 48 years old)

All respondents consider the Esquiline a nice place to live in, for its central position, its historical depth, the proximity to important places of the city, such as the Colosseum and the Basilica of San Giovanni. However, they only attend closed spaces, according

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to age or area of interest (the elderly association, the sporting centre, etc.). In other words, the public space at the Esquiline is mainly—if not exclusively a crossing space, as if the inhabitants were living in a non-place, to quote Marc Augé. The words of Silvia, president of the “Di Donato Parent School Association”, are emblematic in this regard: The courtyard of the school has become our village square for all of us, that is, we are all here, even just to meet someone, as well as to take and bring our children to school … here our children can play freely, because they are always supervised by one of us … it is a meeting place, it is our place … and if we didn’t have a courtyard I can’t imagine what we could do. I wouldn’t know in this neighbourhood where to find such a high level of sociability, friendship, closeness. (Silvia, 35 years old)

Gentrifiers, young residents, members of associations tend to downplay the rhetoric of the run-down district: the Esquiline’s problems are no different from those of many other districts of the city; the Esquiline has become an emblem of degradation only because it is a more visible and easy to recognize district compared to others. Rather, they appreciate the district mostly for its multi-ethnic connotation, and also for the vitality of the social, artistic and cultural activities: I am a lawyer… I live very well here. I think there are problems, like the dirt, for example, but as far as I know it is the same also in other districts of Rome, so this is not a problem only of the Esquiline (…) it is true that below my house there are frequently some homeless, but I don’t see them as a problem … I don’t think they are violent people or at least they have never been violent with me or with the people I know. (Giorgio, 48 years old) My parents immigrated to the United States and I grew up in central New York which is also very multi-ethnic. I love this neighbourhood; I love the Esquiline. The problems concern all of Rome not only the Esquiline (…) New York is also not so clean … I am doing very well here, with school, with the other mothers, it is really a welcoming place (…) I feel more at home here than elsewhere. (Anne, 40 years old)

Other interviewees underlined the vitality of the social, artistic and cultural activities that characterize the district, as also emerges from the words of the Councillor for Social Policies of the Municipality I (of which the Esquilino is part), Emiliano Monteverde (46 years old), who is also an inhabitant of the district: The Esquiline is full of associations and cultural activities (…) I do not deny that it is an area with a very high presence of unease, but it is also an area that produces a lot of culture, which makes network, and therefore for this reason it is a vital district.

But perhaps the most effective definition of the Esquiline was given by Silvia, the president of the Di Donato Parent School Association: How would I define the Esquiline in a few words? A neighbourhood without squares, but with meeting places defined by belonging, with a very colourful presence, which oscillates between degradation and innovative experiments. (Silvia, 35 years old)

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2.5 Conclusions If urban spaces are the strategic ground for discussing issues related to inequality, identity, rights, and social justice (Sassen 1996), the representations and selfrepresentations of places can be considered the starting point to rethink urban complexity and diversity in a constructive, relational, and progressive way. Beyond the rhetorical discourses given by the media, on which geographers continue to focus attention (Adams 2017), the negotiation on the meaning of the difference takes place at the local level, through daily experiences and encounters. In Europe, the media representation of urban spaces is often much more aggressive and negative than the social practices implemented by local communities (Raco and Tasan-Kok 2019), also with reference to the concrete construction of the multicultural society. In this regard, at least in Italy, the diffidence towards the migrants seem to be mostly related to the uncertainty and lack of transparency that characterizes the participation of foreign people at the job market (Sciortino and Colombo 2010), instead of being the result of an ethnic prejudice. The interviews realized at the Esquiline do not fully fit the two dominant media narratives: neither that of the district as an emblem of degradation, crime, and inter-ethnic conflict, nor that of an ideal place of multiculturalism and integration. What emerges from most respondents is that migrants and their ethnicities performances are not considered a problem, except for the elderly and some shopkeepers. Rather, the problem is the presence of the homeless and other socially marginalized people, which is the extreme expression of the most excluding capitalism and of its inability to offer solutions to ever wider sections of the world population (Raco and Tasan-Kok 2019). What seems to emerge from the words of the respondents is the consciousness of a crisis situation that at least since 2008 unites everyone, migrants and non-migrants, and which has exacerbated the processes of socio-economic marginalization, at least in European cities (Musterd et al. 2017). In this sense, the Esquiline can be considered a palimpsest of late-modern contradictions, that is of a global crisis shared by all the inhabitants of the district: immigrants, homeless, old residents, shopkeepers. In addition, the Esquiline has a further emblematic value, due to the temporal differences that the urban tissue embodies in the form of signs dating back to deeply distant and different historical periods. Roman vestiges and Chinese shops, monumental churches and homeless, avant-garde theatres and cultural associations, proto-historic necropolises and stumbling blocks: every corner of the Esquiline, more than in any other district of Rome or other cities, communicates an irreducible diversity and an incomparable historical depth, so as to prompt timeless questions about the meaning of the city and urban living. The strength of the Esquiline seems to be the autonomous capacity of response: associations and groups that create “communities of shared practices”, based on the solution of local and global challenges, regardless of media representations, which would seem oriented to dissuade active citizenship (Barnett 2003). Working together for the neighbourhood seems to be the road taken by groups and citizens not

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only for local urban regeneration, founded on the idea “to bring people of different backgrounds to work together in projects of common interest” (Amin 2006, p. 1017), but also for the construction of a shared territorial identity of the district (Banini 2017). The Esquiline collectivity seems to have all the preconditions for making the district a collective laboratory, where social and cultural differences constitute added value, while generating support conditions for the most disadvantaged groups. This is probably the way to affirm that progressive sense of place hoped for by Doreen Massey (1993), in which different social and cultural groups together find the way to dialogue and build a community contingent at the moment and in the context, but always open and inclusive.

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Chapter 3

Shifting Imageries: Gentrification and the New Touristic Images of the Inner City of Palermo Marco Picone

3.1 Theoretical Framework: Place Identities, Urban Imageries and Gentrification This chapter draws upon the theory of local-scale territorial identity to analyse how the urban imagery of the inner city of Palermo (Italy) has been shaped by the latest urban policies concerning gentrification and touristification. Therefore, the whole chapter revolves around three theoretical concepts that will be discussed in the following lines.

3.1.1 Place Identities The notion of place identity, or territorial identity, according to French and Italian geographic literature, has been thoroughly discussed over the last few decades. While Anglo-American scholars preferably focus on the idea of regional identity (Paasi 2003, 2010), others proposed the notion of local-scale identity “for two main reasons: first, because local is the scale where international political priorities (sustainability, production of cultural specificity, participation in decision-making processes, etc.) can be socially implemented; second, because local is also the scale where people’s knowledge, memories, values, experiences, practices make territory a space of both collective significance and possible shared social action” (Banini 2017, p. 17). However, using the word ‘territory’ calls for some caution. I agree with Stuart Elden’s claim that “territory is often assumed to be self-evident in meaning, allowing the study of its particular manifestations – territorial disputes, the territory of specific countries, etc. – without theoretical reflection on ‘territory’ itself” (Elden 2010, M. Picone (B) Department of Architecture, University of Palermo, Palermo, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_3

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p. 800). In this chapter, I will use ‘territory’ as Swiss geographer Claude Raffestin suggests in his seminal book Pour une géographie du pouvoir (1980): territory and space are not equivalent terms; on the contrary, territory is generated from space through the actions of social actors who ‘territorialise’ space. Other scholars prefer the word ‘place’ rather than ‘territory’, by distinguishing ‘space’ from ‘place’ and considering the former to be any simple location with no socially perceived relevance for human beings, and the latter as the result of the social constructions of meaning performed by those who live there (Tuan 1977). However, it is also “difficult to take a word such as place, which is in everyday use and applied in all sorts of ways, and turn it into a concept that has a precise and operational meaning” (Friedmann 2010, p. 152; see also Cresswell 2004). Regardless of the personal preferences for place, territory or other terms, most scholars concur that the “identity of the place” (Banini 2017, p. 19) is the result of long and complex performative processes, involving multiple actors for a relatively long span of time. This proves to be true both at the global and at the local scale. As Doreen Massey states, space (though in this case we could probably use the word ‘place’ instead) is the product of interrelations and must thus be recognised as “constituted through interactions, from the immensity of the global to the intimately tiny” (Massey 2005, p. 9). What matters for this chapter, essentially, is that in the case of cities one might say that place identity is the product of social, political and economic interrelations of social actors. The identity of a neighbourhood can change according to the social processes its citizens enact. This notion, which most social scientists have agreed upon over the last few decades, will prove vital for the analysis of what happened in the inner city of Palermo.

3.1.2 Urban Imageries The social construction of places is tightly connected to the way those same places are represented. “Representational strategies stem from a highly selective and politicized process. In order to build consensus among its citizenry around the dominant development strategy, urban elites confine the image of the city to monistic representations: the post-Fordist city, the postmodern city, the global and entrepreneurial city and, in more recent times, the sustainable and resilient city” (Rossi and Vanolo 2012, p. 26). One of the main points discussed throughout this chapter is the ongoing process which is slowly changing the representation of Palermo, or at least its historic city centre; this process is commonly considered a by-product of the neoliberal economic trends (Peck and Tickell 2002). In many European cities, the changing representations of the city are mostly affected by a peculiar form of culture-led regeneration (Paddison and Miles 2006). Palermo is taking advantage of its cultural heritage to promote its role in a globalised and competitive society, trying to attract an ever-increasing flow of tourists. According to David Harvey’s (1989b) ideas on entrepreneurialism, what

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has happened in many European cities (including Palermo) over the last 25 years can be interpreted as a late reproduction of the ‘economic growth through culture’ model. The ever-increasing rhetoric on the attractiveness of these cities as tourist destinations is clearly shown in several discourses that will be discussed later in this chapter. For now, suffice it to say that Palermo is not an extraordinary case at all; on the contrary, we are experiencing the (obvious) results of a late neoliberal attempt to include the city in the global economy of tourist attraction, not just as a hit-and-run destination. Several small- and medium-sized European cities have experienced the same trends and changes over the last twenty years, as is the case for Bilbao (Keating and De Frantz 2004; Gonzalez 2006), Glasgow (Tratter 2009), Liverpool (Liu 2016) and, more recently, Matera (Bianchiand Fogheri 2016). Culture-led regeneration could not exist or exert its influence, if it were not supported by the ‘politics of spectacle’ (Harvey 1989a; Minca 2005): cities organise cultural exhibitions, festivals, concerts, etc. to prove their leading cultural role in the global world (as well as to become catalysts for visiting tourists, of course). The increasing importance of the role of culture for cities is unquestionably manifest if one looks at the list of European Capitals of Culture (Sykes 2011) and reflects on the way most of these cities have shaped their urban imagery in order to achieve a better, more broadly acknowledged status as a cultural tourism destination. Several projects and initiatives around Europe prove this trend, as in the case of the Rock project, whose motto is ‘From Historic City Centre to Creative and Sustainable District’ (https://rockproject.eu). It is no coincidence, of course, that most cities that have radically improved their tourist attractiveness have also been selected as ‘capitals of culture’, but for a few significant exceptions like Bilbao.

3.1.3 Gentrification and Touristification “Since Glass coined the term ‘gentrification’ half a century ago in London, academic writing on gentrification has exploded and gentrification studies has become a field in its own right. […] academic writing on gentrification has more than trebled between 1979 and 2016” (Lees 2018, p. 2). It would be impossible to summarise a long literature review on gentrification in a few lines (for a general review on gentrification, see Lees et al. 2008; Semi 2015). There are, however, a couple of points worth addressing, in order to strengthen the theoretical foundations of this chapter. First, scholars are recently questioning the growing economic inequalities that gentrification and urban regeneration processes can produce (Smith 1996; Slater 2015): in the case of Palermo, we will analyse the social changes that gentrification is causing in the inner city and their aftermaths on the socio-economic status of the population. ‘Regeneration’ is the term that policymakers often employ instead of gentrification, as the latter seems to have a negative connotation that implies the progressive enrichment of the rich and the impoverishment of the poor, but “not only does ‘urban regeneration’ represent the next wave of gentrification, […] but the

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victory of this language in anesthetizing our critical understanding of gentrification in Europe represents a considerable ideological victory for neoliberal visions of the city” (Smith 2002, p. 446). Second, the role of art and culture in gentrification processes has been explored for several years now. Artists were considered the ‘pioneers’ of early gentrification, but more recently “the emphasis […] is on the public consumption of art, through public art and artistic events, and particularly through the creation of landmark physical infrastructure for the arts, such as galleries, museums and concert halls” (Cameron and Coaffee 2005, p. 46). Public urban policies are spurring the increase in art events, festivals and exhibitions, as noted above, and urban regeneration (i.e. gentrification) is strictly related to this increase. In fact, “over the past couple of decades, the arts have been placed in a position of privilege by city officials, development agencies, and private investors for their ability to catalyze and naturalize reinvestment in declining or underdeveloped areas of the inner city. This has resulted in the stimulation of gentrification to accelerate growth and development” (Mathews 2010, p. 672). Third, gentrification caused by—or connected to—tourism is producing several changes in our cities, especially in Europe. This phenomenon, often referred to as touristification (Ashworth and Page 2011; del Romero Renau 2018), “is particularly important in peripheral economies that rely on tourism as a factor for development and growth. In other words, in places where the lack of highly paid professional jobs offers less possibilities for the occurrence of classical gentrification but, instead, where spaces are dominated by the purchasing power of visitors. In the Mediterranean, Caribbean or the Asia-Pacific region the arrival of visitors opens up new investment opportunities in the built environment and leads to a process of tourism urbanisation that includes not only large-scale resorts and second homes but also housing rehabilitation in historic areas. From a postcolonial perspective, this geography explains why tourism has been neglected in a gentrification literature that has traditionally focused on cities from advanced capitalist economies in the North” (Cocola-Gant 2018, pp. 281–282). Fourth, touristification provokes the growth of short-term rentals and holiday rentals (Cocola-Gant 2016): a phenomenon that is now called airbnbfication due to the importance of AirBnB (Wachsmuth and Weisler 2018). Although this is happening all over the world, the increase in short-term rentals is very impressive in Europe, and particularly in Italy (Semi and Tonetta 2020). Needless to say, in the case of Palermo, holiday rentals have grown in numbers and importance since the ‘Palermo renaissance’, and though this point would require an in-depth analysis that cannot be provided in this chapter, the topic is of utmost importance and deserves further investigation.

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3.1.4 Connections The four abovementioned points prove how strong the relationships between such notions as place identity, urban representations, art and culture, tourism and gentrification are. Some of these relationships (e.g. the link between gentrification and culture) have been thoroughly investigated since the appearance of the so-called ‘third wave of gentrification’ (Mathews 2010), while others, most notably the one between place identity and gentrification, still require additional scholarly reflections. The goal of this chapter is therefore to lay down the bases for a theoretical framework that can link these notions through the empirical analysis of what is happening in Palermo today. One last word of caution needs to be mentioned, though. It would be a mistake to apply the Anglo-American models of gentrification, urban imagery and place identity to a Southern Mediterranean case like Palermo, without any adaptation. This chapter will, instead, use a postcolonial, comparative approach (Robinson 2011) and consider Southern Europe, and Palermo in particular, as a unique and diverse case (Seixas and Albet 2012; for additional details on this post-colonial, comparative, Southern European approach to the case of Palermo see Bonafede and Lo Piccolo 2010; Picone 2016; Tulumello and Picone 2016).

3.2 A Qualitative Methodology for Gentrification Studies in Palermo Choosing a specific methodology over another has a direct impact on the results of any research. Although this is true for every research in social sciences, in the case of gentrification this issue has been well addressed by sociologist Japonica Brown-Saracino: “qualitative scholars, typically relying on micro-level analyses of individual neighborhoods, tend to present gentrification as increasingly endemic, advanced, and highly consequential, whereas quantitative scholars, typically relying on macro-level analyses across neighborhoods or cities, tend to present gentrification in less dire terms” (Brown-Saracino 2017, p. 516). Since this chapter is trying to connect the topic of gentrification with urban representations and place identity, the choice of qualitative methodology is inevitable, as identity and representations belong to the qualitative domain of research in social sciences. Therefore, even acknowledging the significant information that quantitative techniques can provide, in the following pages I will present the results of qualitative analyses (DeLyser et al. 2010; Ilovan and Doroftei 2017), with very few references to the real estate market or tourist arrivals data. This may produce, at least in part, a distorted view of the gentrification trends in Palermo, but is arguably the most coherent choice that can be made. In the case of Palermo, there is still relatively little research on gentrification, as we will see later in this chapter; some studies apply quantitative

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techniques (Bonafede and Napoli 2015), while others seem much more qualitative in their nature (Jeanmougin and Bouillon 2016). The following techniques have been used so far to collect qualitative data regarding the inner city of Palermo: interviews and focus groups, brainstorming and mental maps. A still ongoing action-research experience, based on a survey of the quality of life in the inner city of Palermo, has been promoted through the use of two participation techniques: Open Space Technology (Owen 2008) and World Cafés (Vogt et al. 2003). Additionally, this chapter will employ textual and discourse analysis (Dittmer 2010), along with visual methods (Crang 2010), to discuss a couple of newspaper or magazine articles on the ‘resurrection’ of Palermo.

3.3 Portraits of Palermo: From Deprivation and Mafia to Culture and Tourism There follows a discussion of the changes that took place in the inner city of Palermo from World War II up to the present day. Considering the long time period and the complexity of the narration, we will split this story into three steps: from 1946 to 1991, from 1992 to 2017, and finally from 2018 onwards.

3.3.1 Step 1: Cortile Cascino (1946–1991) At the end of World War II, Palermo suffered from several bombings by United States Army Air Forces (USAAF) and Royal Air Forces (RAF). In 1943, most parts of the inner city were severely damaged or totally destroyed. In the following decades, there were few effective attempts to restore the historic centre to its prior status; although regeneration plans were conceived from 1947, the effects of the war damage were still visible up to the last years of the 20th century. Living in the inner city was considered the only chance for the poorest of the population, with social and economic deprivation widely spread throughout the city centre. Although the most well-known (at least to those who do not know the city firsthand) portraits of Palermo in these years is probably the Godfather movie trilogy, in this chapter I will leave popular culture behind, to stick to other, more truthful types of representation. One of the most famous portraits of the deprivation of the inner city is the documentary Cortile Cascino, released in 1962 in the United States and directed by Robert M. Young and Michael Roemer. It is interesting to point out that this documentary was actually never broadcast. NBC-TV, the distributor, deemed it too harsh for American viewers and decided to cancel it a few days before broadcasting (Fischer 2005). The documentary was inspired by field research that Danilo Dolci led in Palermo in the 1950s; see Pedone 2019 for an in-depth analysis

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of the situation in Palermo after WW2. A few scenes from Cortile Cascino can be seen on https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IutIeAeSPFQ. Cortile Cascino was one of the many courtyards in the inner city; after the extreme damage it received during the war, it was left in a very deprived state before being demolished in the late 1960s. Since we are focusing on the representations of the inner city, it is worth quoting a short description of this documentary: “The documentary begins with a train driving through the Palermo slum, and shots of children playing near the tracks. Mothers are shown supervising the kids, and doing chores like washing dishes; the men are a group apart, playing cards. Then we meet Adriana, the matriarch that anchors Cortile Cascino […]. The narrator notes that the children of the neighborhood learn about life and death ‘very early’; the images elaborate on this claim by showing boys butchering a hog, and scraping the pig’s hair off its skin with a large knife” (Fischer 2005, pp. 48–49). Cortile Cascino also appears in several pictures from the 1950s and 1960s, showing the deprivation of the neighbourhood and its inhabitants. The choice of a ‘vérité documentary’, the description of the harshest scenes, the main subjects in the foreground of the pictures are all proof of this ‘hellish’ urban imagery of Palermo after WW2. The presence of criminal organisations (the mafia), poverty and ignorance are all part of it.

3.3.2 Step 2: The ‘Renaissance’ of Palermo (1992–2017) In 1992, the death of two famous judges (Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borsellino) killed by the mafia was the landmark of the period that later became known as the ‘primavera di Palermo’ (the spring of Palermo). During those years, left-wing mayor Leoluca Orlando, who today is once again the mayor of the city after several years of administration by right-wing parties, launched the guidelines for a ‘renaissance’ of the city, with the goal of turning Palermo from the capital of crime into a capital of culture. This approach is close to the ideas on urban entrepreneurialism described by David Harvey (1989b). By exploiting the European Union’s redistributive policies, particularly those on urban regeneration, Palermo grasped the opportunity provided by the URBAN I Community Initiative (1994–1999; see https://ec.europa.eu/regional_policy/sou rces/docgener/presenta/cities/cities_en.pdf). According to the Municipality, URBAN would ‘allow the restoration of the historic centre, a fundamental step for the rebirth of the entire city’. What really matters here is the result of URBAN I: in October 2000, the rating agency Moody’s assigned an Aa3 issuer rating to the city of Palermo. Moody’s stated that “the rating is based on Palermo’s improved city administration, its growing revenue base and moderate fiscal flexibility. […] Palermo has undergone major political, cultural and economic changes during the second half of the 1990s, driven by the administration led by mayor Leoluca Orlando. […] The municipal government’s priorities have been to make the city more competitive and attractive to investors and to improve administrative efficiency. […] At the same time, the administration has focused on transforming Palermo into an attractive historic city for

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tourists and international investors alike” (https://www.moodys.com/research/MOO DYS-ASSIGNS-Aa3-RATING-TO-THE-CITY-OF-PALERMO–PR_404930). The Aa3 rating was later withdrawn in 2006, but it was a crucial step in the transformation of the urban imagery of Palermo. Several keywords in the text above (competitive, attractive, efficiency, tourists) belong to the domains of entrepreneurialism, neoliberal politics and urban creativity (Florida 2002), and paved the way for the beginning of gentrification processes in the inner city. The vast majority of urban renewal in the 1990s revolved around the Kalsa neighbourhood (Fig. 3.1). Most URBAN initiatives took place in the areas closer to the waterfront, and Kalsa was probably the best suited. The renewal of Piazza Magione, albeit slow, started to turn this deprived area—home to the poorest classes after the bombings—into a gentrified and attractive resource for the local economy. It took more than twenty years for the transformation to be completed, but its outcomes provided Palermo with a renewed and attractive representation that, for instance, increased the number of foreign tourist arrivals from 2017 to 2018 by 15.1% (https://www.comune.palermo.it/js/server/uploads/statistica/_260820190 82734.pdf). According to data collected for the Manifesta 12 event in Palermo, tourism attendance in the city went from 507,000 in 2011 to around 1,000,000 tourists in 2016 (Pestellini Laparelli 2018, p. 48).

Fig. 3.1 The Kalsa neighbourhood. Aerial picture of Piazza Magione and its surroundings (Source Google Earth)

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3.3.3 Step 3: Culture as an Urban Growth Machine (2018–) One of the key factors that explain this increase is the inscription of ‘Arab-Norman Palermo’ in the UNESCO World Heritage List (2014; see https:// whc.unesco.org/en/list/1487/), but two events in particular shaped the representation of Palermo and its historic centre: the nomination as Italian Capital of Culture (2018; see https://www.palermocapitalecultura.it/cultura-capitale/?lang = en) and the Manifesta 12 event (2018; see http://m12.manifesta.org). Manifesta is the ‘European Nomadic Biennal’ of arts and architecture and the following edition (Manifesta 13) was scheduled for September 2020, in Marseille, but the recent events tied to the pandemic spread of COVID-19 affected Manifesta, along with most festivals and exhibitions. The web site of the former provides this description: “Palermo, Italian Capital of Culture [ICoC], is a capital of Cultures, artistic culture and others, not only a full calendar of events but a vision that sees culture as a ‘capital’ around which the entire community will grow” (https://www.palermocapitalecultura.it/cultura-capitale/?lang = en); the latter, instead, shows a more bottom-up, progressive approach by stating that “Manifesta 12 in Palermo can act as a grass-root incubator supporting the local communities with cultural interventions: this will help to rethink the city in their socioeconomic and cultural structures and will use the existing informal profile of the city to act as a platform for social change” (http://m12.manifesta.org/why-palermo/). Both messages, however, stress the importance of culture for economic growth, which is the foundation of the neoliberal approach to the city (Peck 2005). The title of this section is an adaptation of the famous ‘city as a growth machine’ definition by Harvey Molotch (Jonas and Wilson 1999), but it stresses the role of culture as the main driver of urban growth. In this sense, Palermo is an interesting Mediterranean case of how culture and touristification are used to change the representation of the city. The historic centre is portrayed as a living and creative urban lab for culture and social inclusion: Fig. 3.2 is one of the many examples of how Manifesta 12 presented previously deprived parts of the inner city, now home to artists and art projects. The traditional characteristics of Palermo provide inspiration for artists and creative people and (supposedly) consecrate the ‘renaissance’ of the city.

3.3.4 Afterword: Did the Quality of Life Improve in Palermo? Palermo’s late attempt to exploit its cultural heritage for economic growth caused several consequences in the city, gentrification and touristification arguably being among the most manifest ones. There are, however, other changes also affecting the city. I have recently taken part in an ongoing action-research experience on the Quality of Life (QoL) in the inner city of Palermo. Its goal of was to question the most well-known QoL classification in Italy: the annual report on QoL in Italian cities published yearly by Il Sole 24 ore (https://lab24.ilsole24ore.com/qualita-della-vita/).

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Fig. 3.2 Manifesta12 education hub in Piazza Magione, the heart of the Kalsa neighbourhood (Photo by Marco Picone)

According to this report, Palermo has always performed badly and attained the lower rankings; in 2018, the year of Manifesta 12 and ICoC, the city reached its highest peak, but still ranked 87th over 107 cities in Italy. The research on QoL in Palermo starts with the idea that QoL cannot only be ascertained through quantitative analyses, but requires qualitative, in-depth investigations as well. To this end, the research group of ‘qualiPA’ (https://www.facebook.com/qualipa/) has organised several interviews and focus groups, and used participation techniques as an Open Space Technology meeting (Owen 2008) and a World Café event (Vogt et al. 2003) to collect data on the perceptions of the latest changes in QoL in Palermo. The results of these investigations are still unpublished but prove significant to understanding how the urban imagery of the inner city has changed so far. One of the topics discussed during the World Café meeting held on October 28, 2019 is how the neighbourhood around Piazza Magione (Kalsa) has changed over the last few years. Participants shared the idea that urban regeneration (i.e. gentrification, although they never used this term) has improved the overall quality of life in the inner city, also improving the perceived safety of the neighbourhood. Many of them stressed the importance of the ‘sense of belonging’ and community in the inner city and said that the new residents (i.e. the gentrifiers) are trying to strengthen their relations with the previous residents (i.e. the members of the poorer classes). Although these relationships are actually all but peaceful and are causing several conflicts over the use

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of spaces and resources, it is important to notice that both social groups agree upon the general perception of what has changed in the inner city, and how positive this change is. The perceived improvement of QoL is actually connected to the shifting imagery of the city, as this chapter has tried to point out.

3.4 Conclusions Before concluding this analysis of the shifting imagery of Palermo, I will return to the three theoretical concepts described above to see how they relate to what has been going on in Palermo over the last few years. I will start by discussing place identity and the territorial implications of the sense of belonging. As residents of the historic centre stated during the abovementioned World Café meeting, the inner city is experiencing an apparently peaceful but also growing conflict between gentrifiers and previous residents. Although this kind of conflict is quite common in all gentrification processes, the response to this is not the same as in US or Northern European cities. The arrival of the new residents has not (yet) driven the old residents out of the inner city, both for economic reasons and, arguably, because these processes follow different paths in Southern Europe. This involuntary coexistence is producing a new sense of identity that is still worth exploring through additional qualitative investigations. As for urban imageries, what is happening in Palermo right now is the consequence of a complex global trend: “cities become central places in the production and regeneration of cultures, symbols, fashions and meanings transgressing the physical boundaries of the city itself and exerting an increasing influence on the broader cultural and economic practices in contemporary societies” (Rossi and Vanolo 2012, p. 34). Both textual analysis and visual methods show this shift from a negative past to a presumably positive present: whereas after WW2 and before 1992 the widely spread image of the city revolved around crime, the mafia and the urban deprivation of Cortile Cascino, urban renewal initiatives are forging a new image of the city which is strategically employed to attract tourists. Palermo possesses a cultural heritage which is certainly worth visiting, but the ICoC reference to “culture as a capital” plays upon the double meaning of ‘capital’ as a geographic and economic term, revealing the capitalist and neoliberal use of culture and laying the foundations of a new representation, in which culture and arts become key elements of urban marketing processes. What will happen to the poorest in a cultural, capitalist, neoliberal and gentrified inner city still remains an open question. Considering the role of gentrification and touristification in Palermo implies evaluating the strengths and weaknesses of the unique Southern European approach to these topics. The postcolonial perspective that Cocola-Gant (2018) invokes suggests appraising the differences and similarities between advanced capitalist cities and the ‘marginal’ case of Palermo. The history of gentrification in Palermo fails to comply to the waves of gentrification described in Anglo-American literature and follows an eccentric trend. The explanation of what urban policies are trying to achieve

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in Palermo probably lies in touristification and culture-led urban renewal, but the precise characteristics of these trends should be evaluated with a mixed approach that includes both quantitative and qualitative methods. Overall, the present years are altering and shaping the image of Palermo in ways that were hardly conceivable no more than 20 years ago. The possible success of these attempts will only be assessed in the future, but these changes raise several questions related to social justice and the role of participation in empowering citizens and granting them the opportunity to decide the future of their city.

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Chapter 4

Place, Identity and Local Music Representation in Touristic Backgrounds of Romanian Medium-Sized Towns Ioan Sebastian Jucu

4.1 Introduction Music, and particularly local music, represents amongst other urban cultural values one of the key components in the formation of urban identities with relevant social and cultural implications (Milburn 2019). These identities are revealed in the lives of local communities, in local perceptions of place, and in the cultural landscapes of cities and towns. Local music can play an important role in new forms of urban analysis that examine local identities, places, spaces, and cultures. As Folkestad (2002, p. 141) pointed out, “music has always played an important part in forming the identities of individuals and groups of people. It provides a means of defining others as belonging to other groups which are separate from one’s own.” Moreover, the author continues considering that “musical identity (…) is a result of cultural, ethnic, religious and national contexts in which people live.” The close relationship between music and identity reinforces that between the local and the global (Folkestad 2002, p. 141), and helps to unveil the major cultural attributes of cities and towns. The connection between local music, place, and identity frames particular cultures, attachments, and landscapes, and these overlap in touristic sites and backgrounds that are under-recognised by the public. It is well known that major cities often have an impressive cultural heritage that includes local music, but second-tier medium-sized towns and small urban areas are also sites that can be of cultural significance, with local music being a particular feature that defines their local and global identities. Local music is a cultural resource that expresses the significance of locality and its representation highlights urban identity (Bennett 2000). Since music is much rooted in space and place (Johansson and Bell 2012), this chapter examines the strong relationship and the interchangeable processes that are I. S. Jucu (B) Department of Geography, West University of Timi¸soara, Timi¸soara, Romania e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_4

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established between music, local identity and urban space. This approach is based on the idea that “music constructs our sense of identity through the direct experiences (…) which enable us to place ourselves in imaginative cultural narratives” (Frith 1996, p. 124). The narrative in the present case focuses on the representation of local music and identity in urban areas. In particular, the chapter seeks to examine issues of place, identity and local music in a medium-sized Romanian town and to highlight how touristic resources, especially music, might be developed in light of its cultural heritage. A brief overview of the general cultural background of Romanian medium-sized towns is presented to contextualise the municipality of Lugoj. Secondly, since urban hearths are emblematic sites for cultural inventions closely connected to time and space (Blij de and Murphy 2003), the chapter highlights key moments in the history of local music and its features. The processes of cultural perception and cultural diffusion are traced, linking the local music with the wider world. The cultural touristic background features various material and non-material values in terms of local landmarks and buildings, cultural events, people, local artists and musicians with worldwide recognition, cultural and artistic products, and so on. These elements are briefly examined to show how local urban identity has been constructed through music and culture. Local music resources are examined to provide a critical, reflexive, and inspirational view of how local development could be assisted by local music, a key resource in urban development agendas. Local cultural and music tourism could be used to capitalise on both the features and processes established between the above-mentioned concepts. The following theoretical section of the paper defines the main concepts and presents briefly the main theories on local music, identity, and place. The research framework and methodological section aims to provide an overview of the investigation design, while the major part of this chapter unveils the major findings on the close connection between local identity, place, and local music representation in the touristic background of the municipality of Lugoj, our sampled case study.

4.2 Theoretical Background As a “spatial metaphor,” music is special in the context of place and identities because “it defines a space without boundaries,” being “the cultural form best able both to cross borders—sounds carry across fences and walls and oceans, across classes, races, and nations—and to define places; (…) we are only where the music takes us” (Frith 1996, p. 125). In the same vein, music is a “cultural product that has crossed (and continues to cross) boundaries and frontiers the most frequently, just as it has demarcated and consolidated local cultural spaces” (Lipsitz 1994; Frith 1996, cited by Biddle and Knights 2016a, p. 7; see also Knights 2016). Music defines identities from local to national (see Voiculescu 1999–2000), as it is an important local cultural resource with multiple significances of locality.

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Music is also a key feature in local representations of places with a local construct, determining the social world where all its identities work (Bennett 2000). Consequently, issues as sense of place, space and place, the cultural hearths exploration together with their traditions and related identities as well as the social construction of local identities, all these are approached through music and music geographies evoking the daily life and ordinary practices, thus framing particular identities from local to global (Kong 1995). Against such a background, music is an active agent in the cultural production and reproduction of the daily spaces (Kong 1995; Lull 1987) perceived in various ways. Then music appears as an active process influencing the manners in which the world with its spaces and places is seen and understood (Lovering 1998). As a social and cultural practice, it is closely connected to power and politics, evoking the local senses of a place or places (see Attali 1985; Hudson 2006; Kearney 2010; Smith 1997). The place and identity and the relevance of spaces and places in the geographical contexts are key issues in understanding the ways in which local communities evolved and emerged (Bennett 2000; Hudson 2006; Leyshon et al. 1995; Whiteley et al. 2004), tracing particular musical landscapes and landmarks expressing the local cultural norms, values, attitudes and practices (Connell and Gibson 2004). In this regard, a close connection is established between local and national identities, because, throughout time, “people have used music as a mean of expression and identification” (Folkestad 2002, p. 151). This is an argument for the relevance of local and national identity, place, and people from the local to the global, because music produced “in one place for one reason can be immediately appropriated in other place for quite another reason” (Frith 1996, p. 109). Consequently, features of local identities are diffused in other places and spaces, thus generating various musical meanings, emotions, and particular feelings. Their significance is much greater when local music representation is connected to different urban identities, because cities and towns are places where music is produced, disseminated, performed, and consumed and involve many aspects of urban geographies, from local identities to musical meanings in cultural landscapes. This highlights the links between music and urban identities regardless of the main associated issues, whose complexities are often difficult to explore or decode (see Jucu 2016, 2018). However, in terms of cultural geographies particularised for the touristic backgrounds of towns and cities, music has to be viewed through the lens of its specific meaning, its cultural capital, its cultural agents, and the major relevant landmarks of urban areas. Considering this general theoretical background, music, place, identity, and the local representations of musical cultures in urban areas are key concepts in defining both the cultural background of the cities and towns and the cultural landscapes that frame outstanding cultural heritages. This is because “music is spatial-linked to particular geographical sites, bound up in our everyday perceptions of place, and a part of movements of people, products and cultures across space” (Connell and Gibson 2003, p. 1). Since music and particularly classical music is theorised as “a way of experiencing space” (Krims 2012, p. iv), it reveals multiple implications for local or non-local identities and places, for example, the argument

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that local music representations could be used as a means of defining not only places but also specific identities. As Warwick (2007) states, between music and identity a certain connection emerges, and this can be approached in multiple ways: the national identity expressed by and through music (O’Flynn 2016; Norton 2010; Voiculescu 1999–2000); the question of cultural identities unveiled by various musical genres and performers (see Murphy 2016); cultural diffusion and music relocation from one cultural space to another (Nair 2016); the musical construction of identities (George 2016); the quest for national unity (Smith 2016); and the close connection between music and local traditions (Hudson 2016). Under globalisation, cultural diffusion and music relocation can be seen as a dissolution of national borders (Biddle and Knights 2016b). Locality has two dimensions. On the one hand, its identity can be broadly perceived, recognised and internalised, and on the other hand, it can be subsumed in global cultural traits. These two dimensions relate to the current forces of both globalisation and the consolidation of local identities in the frame of policies on the urban and cultural development of places. Considering the question of music, identity, and place in local urban representation, Connell and Gibson (2003) state that the main issues addressed in the literature are multiple and various. Music’s relationship with places remains an outstanding issue because it has the power to guarantee the authenticity of local cultures and local traditions. In addition, music is movement since in this global era, the diffusion of music is greatly increased. This is because we live in a world of flow and music, mobility, and transnational soundscapes that govern all places and spaces. A particular issue is that of the role of lyrics, which express multiple features and cultural attributes of different communities, or social groups. Cities are also scenes for the construction of particular identities through performances and specific events, in certain emblematic or iconic places (Florida and Jackson 2010). Communities are related to national identities or to various ethnicities. Music spaces are frequently transposed in local aural architecture, with iconic locations being sites of important musical performances that address specific audiences. Finally, the above-mentioned issues regarding targeted interventions in place marketing and urban identity representation transform music, and particularly local music, into a new resource for local development, and a means by which urban development and local urban identities can be continuously (re)constructed. Capitalising on the urban touristic backgrounds of cities and town using music, musical heritage, and local music representation (see Gibson and Connell 2007; Krüger and Trandafoiu 2013; Lashua et al. 2009, 2014) could be an alternative way forward in the reaffirmation of local urban identities in the context of a globalised world.

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4.3 Research Framework and Methodological Design This paper is based on a mixed-method analysis incorporating geographic methods. The aim was to decode the issues of place, identity, and local music representation against the touristic backgrounds of medium-sized towns of Romania, using the municipality of Lugoj as a case study. This approach is taken because sampling in geography is a standard method in spatial analyses of different places (see Rice 2010). In addition, the use of case studies in investigations is recommended particularly when the concepts of locality, place, and identity are being applied to music in urban areas (Bennett 2000). The starting point of the research was an in-depth and critical analysis of the existing literature in the field to unveil the main cultural attributes of urban areas through the lens of music and musical heritage. Therefore, a literature search as a specific means of investigation (see Healey and Healey 2010) involved an analysis of historical sources as recommended by Ogborn (2010), and this was followed by observations of participants and ethnographic observations of the area under study. This field approach was useful in gaining new understandings of how music is represented in the cultural landscape of cities and towns. Local diaries have also been studied to unearth specific information about local music representation relating to place and identity. Press documents are always a relevant source in searching for various aspects of everyday lives in local communities (see Latham 2010). Online local newspapers were used, as well as research from available internet resources. Specifically, historic and more recent literature, press, newspapers, and magazines were studied carefully to discover the main issues surrounding local musical representation and local identity regarding Lugoj. In this regard, as Laurier (2010) argues, participant observation conducted by the researcher is an appropriate approach in the analysis of different features, components, and processes distributed across certain areas. Participant observation was undertaken over a period of time (2016–2019) in the inner core of the town that overlapped the town’s old cultural hearth, which is synonymous with the present touristic background; it is an underused resource both in the context of recent urban development and in affirmations of urban identity in the local representation of music, especially classical music. The field research aimed to uncover places of musical significance and landmarks associated with the material and non-material features of the local cultural landscape. Special attention was paid to local musical events in terms of musical manifestations, contests, shows, and festivals that resonate from the local to the regional, and from the national to the international.

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4.4 Place, Identity and Local Music Representation in Touristic Backgrounds of Romanian Medium-Sized Towns The presence of major cultural heritage in large urban habitats is widely acknowledged to exist mainly because different political and social-cultural regimes have supported significant interventions that recognised relevant cultural landmarks and protected resources (material and non-material) of value. However, this also applies to small and medium-sized towns, with their own and symbolic resources, being similarly present in the form mainly of landmarks in the cultural landscape. There are many cities and towns where music connected to local and national identity can be traced; this cultural product remains a relevant resource in the representation of cultural identities in many places. Despite massive state socialist industrialisation and the chaos of post-socialist development, medium-sized Romanian towns remain locations with an impressive cultural heritage. In some cases, this heritage includes music as a defining element in local urban identity, and it is expressed in different ways. The municipality of Lugoj is just one example; its cultural and musical heritage has evolved over a long period of time. The following subsections show how local music represents the identity of the town, and how the nature of this representation is under-exploited in terms of Lugoj’s wider recognition.

4.4.1 A Cultural and Musical Hearth Is Born Music is at home in the town of Lugoj considers Bogdan (2016), the author evoking the long history of this union. Lugoj has since ancient times been a cultural and musical hearth is born due to the local community’s traditions, which are manifested in its daily practices, its beliefs, the beautiful landscape, and in music, whether it be folk, classical, or popular music. The authenticity of the place has been always evoked through music and related activities. It is difficult to establish when this cultural and musical centre was established, or how and when it was constructed over time, but its roots are certainly still present in the cultural landscape of the medium-sized town of Lugoj. It has been argued that music appeared in the local community when a settlement appeared, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries (Luchescu 1975). However, historical documents and specialised literature indicate that substantial development of local culture and a growth in musical activity was recorded between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, coincident with the appearance of important local leaders in both local and national cultural life. These were mainly political personalities, who were indissolubly related to and active in the town’s cultural and musical life. Others have suggested that Lugoj has been since ancient times a cultural and musical centre, based on the heritage of local musical creations, artists, events, and

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artifacts (Baiski 2015; Luchescu 1975; Luchescu et al. 1993; Popescu 1993). Regardless of genre (folk, classical, or popular) or form, music has always been an integral part of local people’s lives. Their daily activities, their customs, beliefs, ideals, and aspirations have been expressed through music, as well as in the beautiful locations of the town itself, and through their personal attributes. In addition, acknowledgements of the people’s ideals of national unity and the movements that emerged to achieve it were ubiquitous in musical creations. The town came to function as a model of interculturality and multiculturality (Jucu 2011). A wide range of musical personalities, cultural and musical activities and events, and musical formations (with the legendary “Ion Vidu” choir being emblematic of the local culture) are testimony to Lugoj’s cultural and musical heritage. At present, this musical heritage is symbolically expressed by the official coat of arms of the town, which has a lira placed in the bottom of the emblem (Fig. 4.1), next to other iconic features of the town’s cultural landscape. Cultural and musical activity has been a continuous process up to the present days, as different political and socio-cultural regimes have come and gone. The records show that a vibrant musical movement existed up to 1950, with classical and folk music being the main genres in local, regional and national representations. Under state socialism, the old inherited cultures and music continued in the town, but revealed communist influences. This was obviously less the case in post-socialist days. Local music and its heritage could Fig. 4.1 The official emblem of Lugoj (Source Guvernul României [Government of Romania] 2013)

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be viewed as a resource to assist in urban and cultural regeneration through tourism, and especially musical tourism.

4.4.2 Landscaping Music in the Urban Area of Lugoj As has been stated, the local music and cultural heritage of the town is characterised by a great number of musical and cultural personalities, events, societies, and institutions. A review of the historic documents and literature unveiled a long list of musical personalities who were also important leaders in the social-economic, cultural and political history of the city. Therefore, music could be used as a means by which this history is shared. Among the notable artists and musicians of the town, Ion Vidu (Fig. 4.2 left), Filaret Barbu, Tiberiu Brediceanu, Traian Grozãvescu (Fig. 4.2 right), Aurel Peteanu, Iosif Popovici, Timotei Popovici, Dimitrie Stan, Zeno Vancea, Iosif Willer stand out as iconic figures (Luchescu 1975; Luchescu et al. 1993; Ghinea 2013). Names from the worlds of theatre, literature, classical dance, and so on include Valeriu Brani¸ste and. G. A. Petculescu. In addition to these historical cultural personalities in local music (but with audiences in wider Romania and beyond), musicians, musicologists, artists, and singers have recently made outstanding local and international contributions (Bogdan 2016; Ghinea 2013; Luchescu et al. 1993; Popescu 2002). They include Mihai Brediceanu, Gelu Barbu, Constantin Tufan Stan, Dimitrie Stan, and Remus Ta¸sc˘au. Since music

Fig. 4.2 The statues of Ion Vidu and Traian Groz˘avescu in Lugoj (Source The author 2019)

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and local music are part of an ongoing process in Lugoj, important contemporary names should be mentioned (see Ghinea 2013). Aura Twarowska, Mirela Zafiri and Camelia Voin perform in the field of classic music, while Freddy Stauber is a local popular music artist. The first artist is one of the local artists that have performed on the world stage, for example by singing at the Vienna Opera, and has thus continued a tradition that began with Traian Groz˘avescu. The second artist was an opera star with five albums in 2009, while the third was a soprano who performed in New York and achieved world recognition. It is clear, then, that such artists diffuse local cultural values across borders; according to Ghinea (2013, p. 217), Voin stated that local classic music has now entered deepest America. What is interesting is that many of these singers began in “Ion Vidu” legendary local choir. All the artists mentioned here have helped to shape the local landscape in different ways. While the images of Ion Vidu, Filaret Barbu, Traian Groz˘avescu, and the Brediceanu family are presented through memorial houses, statues, and busts, other artists are commemorated by institutions: several colleges and schools and the municipal theatre are named after outstanding musical personalities. Advertisements for various events, festivals, and shows portray images of the living artists of Lugoj, and, in some cases, the names of the events pay homage; similarly with many of the streets in Lugoj. Although local cultural perceptions can be limited considering the town’s abundance of talent, the collective memory of the residents nevertheless retains both the figures and the names of musicians that transported the identity and image of Lugoj beyond regional and national borders. These artists form an integral part of public consciousness, and local urban identity is in turn expressed through representations of local music. The latter point is addressed briefly in the next section.

4.4.3 Music, Identity, and the Representations of Place Any discussion of music, identity and representations of place in relation to Lugoj must include the “Ion Vidu” chorus, a cultural brand of both Lugoj and Romania that appeared in 1810 and has been a cultural and musical emblem ever since. The chorus, an ambassador of Romanian music worldwide, was founded by Ion Vidu (who was not only an artist but was also of great renown in Romanian politics). The destiny of the chorus was closely linked to other emblematic cultural societies from Lugoj—the Romanian Reunion of Songs and Music and the Association of Chorus and fanfares from Banat (Ziarul Actualitatea 2017). The chorus was closely related to religion locally, and this is still the case. The connections between music and local and national politics and between music and religion are interchangeable. Since Lugoj was an intercultural settlement, with other ethnicities living in the area, the link between music and ethnicity is also clear: the chorus, in addition to its Romanian members, included singers from Germany, Hungary, and other countries.

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Fig. 4.3 The image of “Ion Vidu” choir album featured by Electrecord, Bucharest (Source The author’s vinyls collection)

The chorus is also present in the collective memory of the locals through the image of its representative album, which reveals the deep roots of the music and the extent to which it has been internalised by the people. The chorus has performed throughout Romania and in many European countries, bringing the town of Lugoj into people’s souls across the continent, and contributing to the diffusion of the local culture across national borders. At the same time, the chorus and its repertoire (as well as the repertoires of other local artists) are closely affiliated to local places (Fig. 4.3). It is important to mention just one emblematic creation—Ana Lugojana, whose message evokes the local people, and in particular the local women, who are acknowledged as hard-working persons, but who are also active in entertainment in the town. The beauty of local women is also expressed, with this aspect being unveiled by other artistic pieces, since the municipality of Lugoj has been always acknowledged in the local collective memory as a place where female population prevailed due to its social, economic and cultural urban identity formation along time (see Jucu 2009). The outstanding features of local places are also regularly unveiled in musical productions that take place against a backdrop of beautiful hills, the river Timi¸s, and the adjacent plains. The beauty of the town itself is a frequent artistic theme in representations of place. Local urban identity is reflected in the landscape. Consequently, an interchangeable and bivalent process occurs. Local places and identities are evoked through music and the local music and its representatives are revealed in the public space by anthropomorphic forms imposed on the physical landscape. The buildings are relevant here. Public institutions such as the municipal theatre, colleges, and schools are named after local musicians. To these, their memorial houses stand as proof of their existence both in the local tradition and in the cultural

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landscape of the town. The memorial houses of Traian Groz˘avescu, Ion Vidu, and of the Brediceanu family are just a few examples. The local municipal theatre is named after Traian Groz˘avescu. However, a music museum was turned into a place for the public to visit, but it has been neglected and ignored by the local community. All these local cultural brands (omitted in local strategies on urban regeneration) could offer new visions of the town for its tourist policy. Lugoj has an impressive cultural and touristic background that, together with the local musical heritage, could represent a new approach to the town’s regeneration and in the re-establishment of its cultural identity.

4.4.4 A New Touristic Approach Towards Local Identity and Inherited Musical Resources As has been suggested, the municipality of Lugoj has significant touristic potential given the richness of its cultural and historical heritage, but this has been insufficiently considered as a tool in local urban rebranding. In this regard, local music heritage could be exploited in representations of urban space. Three types of musical resources could be considered. Firstly, material musical culture, reflected in relevant landmarks and the town’s monumental buildings, remains an outstanding resource to be incorporated into tourism policies. Secondly, the town’s musical formations represent important cultural capital in local musical representations of local identity. Thirdly, the local musical events are also valuable assets for attracting tourists. At the local level, the main material musical resources are buildings and landmarks, the most important being the Traian Groz˘avescu municipal theatre (Fig. 4.4), an iconic cultural institution that has featured many famous musicians. Of these, the Romanian artist George Enescu is emblematic, as the plaque at the front of the theatre shows. The theatre was built in 1902 in a neoclassic style (Popescu 1993) and presently hosts the town’s most important cultural events. In addition, Lugoj’s cultural identity is expressed in statues and busts of local musicians. There is a statue of musician Traian Groz˘avescu, and one of Ion Vidu. The memorial houses of local musical personalities are also places of cultural and musical tourism, but could be promoted more at local level to affirm the town’s identity among its inhabitants. The “Ion Vidu” chorus represents a cultural resource of local music heritage that could be touristically exploited. With a history of two centuries, this musical formation has long evoked Lugoj’s cultural identity, and local performances have always been an integral part of its itinerary. Musical events are a quintessential part of local musical heritage and of the town’s cultural identity generally. Choral, folk, and classical music are genres that are at the centre of significant international festivals in Lugoj. Of outstanding tradition in the local culture, these musical events, though international, are not exploited touristically. In the International Festival of Choral Music, which could certainly be promoted more, “Ion Vidu” brings together choirs from Romania and abroad.

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Fig. 4.4 The municipal theatre “Traian Groz˘avescu” in Lugoj (upper side), where the iconic classic musician George Enescu performed (lower-middle section), with advertisings of various local spectacles (lower-left and lower-right sides) (Source The author 2019)

The same applies to the International Festival of Folklore “Ana Lugojana”, and to the International Contest of Canto “Traian Groz˘avescu”. These musical festivals are events that continue to highlight not only local identity but also the town’s musical heritage. Therefore, they could play a central role in local music tourism; musical heritage would be a valuable resource in any promotion of Lugoj’s (re)development. The town’s musical attributes have certainly been under-represented in the outside (and inside) world and need to be considered so that the town’s importance as a tourist venue can be further valourised. New strategies in the touristic promotion of local music heritage could include planned tourist routes that take in local places

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of musical significance. They would contribute to the reaffirmation of local urban identity in touristic representations of place.

4.5 Conclusion This chapter dealt with the issues of place, identity, and local music representation in the touristic backgrounds of medium-sized Romanian towns. It has highlighted the fact that medium-sized municipalities often have an impressive cultural heritage. Music remains an outstanding cultural feature that shapes the specific identities of these towns. In the present study, music is shown to be an integral part of local urban identity, of the local cultural landscape, and of the local community’s life. The symbolic meaning of music at the local level and local music’s representation of urban identity is firmly wedded to the town of Lugoj; its musical traditions have deep roots. Music is an integral part of the local community and landscape, and is expressed in many local landmarks, by emblematic artists, cultural formations, and events. While material musical resources reveal the role of local music in national identity, in local multiculturality and in the local representations of place, local music has multiple cultural meanings in particular places and activities, and features in many of the beliefs and aspirations of residents. Local identity appears as a central theme in many musical creations, whether they are classical, folk, or popular in style. All these features of local music are present in the cultural landscape of the town and should be more prominent in the local touristic background. Since local music heritage remains an important feature and a certain cultural value much rooted in local place, both expressed in the local cultural landscape in the local community’s life, it can be used as a specific resource in local trends of the towns’ cultural reaffirmation. In this regard, including this resource in the local ongoing urban development agenda could represent a certain alternative for rebranding the cultural heritage of the town, as well as its identity expressed through local music. Therefore, music and cultural tourism could develop new ways in the town cultural rebranding, it being a local music scene with multiple resources framing a unique identity under-valourised in the present-day touristic contexts. Such a new vision, un-discussed up to now, claims for further in-depth research to find appropriate ways in which issues as place, identity and local music representations could properly fit in the local touristic background of urban cultural redevelopment.

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Whiteley, S., Bennett, A., & Hawkins, S. (Eds.). (2004). Music, space and place: Popular music and cultural identity. Aldershot: Ashgate. Ziarul Actualitatea. (2017). Corul Ion Vidu, trecut, prezent si viitor. Recurs la memorie. Available at https://ziarulactualitatea.ro/corul-ion-vidu-trecut-si-prezent-recurs-la-memorie-12. Accessed 22 June 2019.

Chapter 5

Sentiment and Visual Analysis: A Case Study of E-Participation to Give Value to Territorial Instances Valentina Albanese

5.1 Introduction In a research article written by Sarah Elwood and Agnieszka Leszczynski in 2013, entitled New spatial media, new knowledge politics, there is a specific mention to the contribution provided by the new media to digital activism: The topics of social media and activism have received much joint press lately, with formal media outlets, bloggers and commentators debating the use of digital communication technologies such as Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr in the Iranian Green Revolution; students protesting cuts to British secondary education; the successful ousting of Tunisia’s president; the mobilisation of support for Occupy Movement protests; and mass demonstrations against the Mubarak regime in Egypt (Alexander 2011; Beardsley 2011; Goldacre 2010). (Elwood and Leszczynski 2013, p. 544)

Over time, different positions have emerged in the studies of the subject: whilst some have described both social media and social networks as instruments suitable to trigger social mobilisation, in other cases, they are deprived of their digital activismrelated meaning and regarded as an immutable phenomenon—though mediated by different tools. The presence of social media in social movement is enhanced and linked with political participation and civic engagement. There is much evidence of the increasing location-based quality for digital media and services with more applications providing geographical interfaces and supporting locational data (Elwood and Leszczynski 2013). Since geography information technologies and data available to the public increasingly permeate social movements, bottom-up organizations, citizen groups, and the local society, the understanding of different forms of activisms and V. Albanese (B) Department of History and Cultures, Alma Mater Studiorum, University of Bologna, Bologna, Italy e-mail: [email protected] Maynooth University Social Sciences Institute—MUSSI, Kildare, Ireland © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_5

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civic commitment generated by these new spatial media (Crampton 2009) and the impact produced on affected places is of paramount importance. From softer forms of democracy to participation in real protest movements, the potential of these new forms of communication has re-shaped models and practices of mobilization, self-representation and actions. Representations and narratives, which have not only widened the possibilities of democratic participation for minority groups, but for social movements, activists, and generally for local communities that, through the use of participatory tools of representation of the territory, have become interpreters and protagonists of its socio-cultural value. Through the web, these new netizens have a place to renegotiate their own needs, build narratives and mobilize new activists, by putting into question previous assumptions on which urban neoliberalism is based and laying claim, with new tools, to their right to the city and the vision of spatial justice (Graziano 2017). The concerns expressed by researchers criticizing the procedural and distribution aspects of spatial (in)justice, a highly controversial subject within the capitalist modus operandi, are clearly summarized in the concept of accumulation by dispossession (Harvey 2004, p. 64) described by Harvey as the: […] commodification and privatization of land and the forceful expulsion of peasant populations […]; conversion of various forms of property rights (common, collective, state, etc.) into exclusive private property rights […]; suppression of rights to the commons […]; colonial, neo-colonial, and imperial processes of accumulation of assets (including natural resources); monetization of exchange and taxation, particularly of land. (Harvey 2004, p. 64)

Social media forge new bonds emerging out of the new media and the computerisation of communication forms, thus giving rise to a new concept of spatiality which may be defined as an existential and virtual one, also featuring a close link to prosumers’ lives and consequently creating new relationship-based geographies. Such geographies enable social movements to improve on their connection. Virtual spatiality, however, also retains a spatial echo meant in its strict sense, as it reverberates on the web the actual multitude of movements arising from the variety and fragmentation of territories, which are sometimes located at a considerable distance from each other. Starting from the e-democracy (Macintosh 2004; Graziano 2017), there have been a lot of e-participation phenomena, with new forms of self-involvement essentially linked to the implementation of new technologies. Based upon the reflections of Jessop et al. (2008); MacLeod and Jones (2007); Leitner et al. (2008); Nicholls (2009), this shows how contemporary spatiality emerges from several, different and complex spatialities, also taking into account aspects such as scale, place, territory and network. These factors can no longer be ascribed exclusively to a single conceptual category, but, on the contrary, they should be considered as a whole, thus allowing the understanding of space as a combination of different scales and functions, as well as stakeholders and activities. Fundamentally, in order to bring together different spatial concepts and approaches within a spatial justice perspective, the present study will endeavour to investigate the (assumed) alignment between spatial and network justice. Herein lies the difference with the customary practice adopted whenever such an alignment is deemed impossible to achieve, and the various levels are examined separately, one by one, relying on blurry and unclear principles.

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The methodology used in this chapter examines hyper-place, or more precisely, counter-place (Lussault 2019), will be investigated according to an analysis of the semantic web in which digital activism unravels, as well as a visual analysis of counter-places meant as the object of the protest. The study will also determine whether the activists retain online a territorial link with the cyberplace (Wellman 2001; Meek 2012) or they simply don’t relate to the activism actions aimed at preserving the territory, which are actually taken at a local scale. The research examines the case study of the Trans-Adriatic Pipeline, or TAP, the monumental project of an underground and submarine gas pipeline also affecting one of the most scenic and touristically attractive portions of the Apulia coastline, in South-East of Italy. The methodology relies on both photo essay and Sentiment Analysis. Whilst the former is useful for understand cultural, social and ideological aspects of a community, the latter help us to understand narrative speaks about a specific place, which produces new spatial forms, its perception and image.

5.2 Spatial Justice and Activism in Hyper-places Spatial justice and the right to claim the city are the tool keys useful to critically explore the power relationships flowing through an increasingly urbanized digital information network, to the extent that Shaw and Graham (2017) renamed it urbanization of information. The conceived (mostly by technocrats) space, according to Lefebvre (1990), has to deal with anthropized hybrid spaces where immaterial elements, although undeniably real, create materials spaces (Potts 2015). Before trying to investigate the new practices of spatial claim originating from digital activism, it is crucial to think deeply about the evolution of the connection between spatial justice, social movements, new technologies and hyper-places, in their more specific variation as counter-places. In Soja (2009), spatial justice mostly refers to an equal distribution of the space, including both socially relevant resources and access opportunities to the same. However, if Soja claims that spatial (in)justice basically stems from spatial processes, according to Marcuse (2009), the same phenomenon originates from different factors, such as the economic context, financial or economic strategies, and social dynamics. In both cases, space is far from holding a neutral position towards man’s actions and justice; on the contrary, it plays an active role within socio-economic dynamics, and, consequently, justice. Here is why, as Governa points out, a close relationship between space (city) and justice is to be assumed (Governa 2014). The city, and, more generally, anthropized areas, cannot be deemed as postcards of sorts or even static aggregations of (critical) elements. They are, conversely, the result of ever changing, unstable and sometimes controversial relationships among stakeholders, practices, experiences and spaces. The city, as Isin points out (2002), generates differences and assembles identities. The space emerges from the dialogue between different groups developing strategies, mobilising capitals and claiming that portion of territory that Isin simply calls city—as we’ll do as well.

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Narration flows sweep across our contemporary cities and generate representations and imaginaries through the powerful megaphone of digital media. Digital information permeates the cities and magnifies spatial experiences, thus creating a densely digitally layered urban environment (Shaw and Graham 2017, p. 908). In most cases, the new technologies support the reallocation of the space use, enriching it with a new virtual echo that amplifies its experiential qualities; other times, such use is pushed beyond the boundaries of our planet, as Lussault remarks, thanks to the synergies between digital technologies and space. To explain that, Lussault mentions the prime example of French astronaut Thomas Pesquet, who posted daily pictures of the Earth as taken from the space station during his 2017 space mission. As any other tourist would have done, he created and shared his photobook on the social media in a perhaps unintentional attempt to turn exceptional events into common experiences. This case has undoubtedly confirmed the irreversible emergence of a new social space at a global scale. The ever-growing pervasiveness of mediated narrations necessarily implies a comprehension of the iconic and subversive essence of public spaces, and, in order to do so, a geographic approach going beyond physical boundaries is required. Citizens increasingly resort to actions of dissent to claim the city, and although actually taking place in a physical space, such actions arise from social networks. Digital activism mirrors wider-ranging geoeconomic and geopolitical dynamics linked to the growing social polarization and unequal distribution of rights that fuel more or less apparent tensions between governments, citizens and social/spatial injustice-related phenomena. Besides, digital activism actions take place in the streets and in squares, in counter-places (that will be discussed below), whether or not the main object of the protest is spatial justice and also because, as Monshipouri and Prompichai point out: Online activism alone lacks the necessary venom to put an end to authoritarianism if it is not buttressed by building trust and coalitions on the ground. […] Social media and other modern technologies alone cannot bring about democratic governance and change. […] Social media without human action is bereft of what it takes to prompt a truly revolutionary change. (Monshipouri and Prompichai 2018, p. 38)

Indeed, if, on the one hand, representative institutions struggle to adapt to the new scenario imposed by the social media generation (capability of prompt answer, continuity-proximity, flexibility, relational horizontality, absence of hierarchy, etc.), on the other one, contemporary activism is far more diversified compared to the past, including social and/or protest movements as such, as well as different forms of participatory democracy and active citizenship (Graziano 2017). The present research work is especially focused on protest venues. By taking Lussault’s categories and his conception of neo-localisms meant as hyper-places (2019) as a reference point, counter-places can be defined as the places where protests originating from digital activism actually occur. Counter-places can be regarded as variations of hyper-places, where new political forms are emerging. In the hyperplaces, we are witnessing the birth of many new communities brought to life as a result of social stakeholders’ actions. Thus, it is possible to roughly introduce the concept of

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mobile spaces, where new and diversified political dynamics apply, hindering already existing institutions and proposing new spatial forms of cohabitation based on the qualities of a specific location. The hyper-places category also includes the counterplaces, meant as those spaces where the concept of here, not elsewhere is claimed. Here is where onsite events like camps, sit-ins, flash mobs, etc. take place. Above all, apart from space use, counter-places fulfil their role as venues of protest actions, as well as space claim and land protection initiatives against major infrastructure works. Through the web, these new participants have a place to re-negotiate their own needs, build narratives and mobilize new activists and lay claim with new tools to their right to the city and to their vision of spatial justice.

5.3 The Trans-Adriatic Pipeline and Activism Counter-Places Given the above mentioned introduction, which was necessary to contextualize our methodologic framework, in order to evaluate the links between new technologies, urban activism, public spaces and democratic participation, a case study on digital activism has been selected: below, I will examine the case of the TransAdriatic Pipeline in Apulia (South-East of Italy) that, apart from having triggered a wave of online activism, has also produced a spatial and tangible impact within the protest-affected counter-places. Starting from e-democracy, there has been a flood of e-participation with new methods of self-representation using new technologies. This case study will be analysed through visual methodologies and the Sentiment Analysis. For a few years, I have firmly believed that it is essential to introduce the Sentiment Analysis Methodology in geographical research (Albanese 2017), in order to understand which narratives develop around territories, by which means are opinions and images illustrated in the territory and which Sentiment (sense of place) is generated on Social Media. The Trans-Adriatic Pipeline (TAP) is an important work financed by the European Investment Bank, for the transportation of natural gas from the Caspian Sea to the whole of Europe. The landing point in Italy is in an area known as Salento, found on the South East coast. The pipeline crosses through Azerbaijan, Turkey, Greece, Albania and Italy. First, it is necessary to indicate that this study does not delve into the economic side of the project. According to the viewpoint of the large investors who are partners in the project, the need for the TAP is due to the following: • greater demand for natural gas in Europe, both now and in the future; • to compensate for the falling of internal production; • to relaunch the growth and diversify supply. The official documents (https://www.tap-ag.it) illustrating the reasons that justify such a monumental infrastructure state that many south-eastern European Countries

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have only one gas supply, which makes them extremely vulnerable especially when the supply is interrupted, or when prices are non-competitive. Other countries such as Albania, does not even have its own gas network and therefore relies on coal and petrol to satisfy their energetic needs. Alongside the current gas lines which connect the European, Russian, African and the North Sea markets, the new Caspian Sea pipeline will reduce the need for only one supplier. The TAP meets the strategic European aims of diversification of supply and their safety. Consequently, both the European Commission and the United States support the project. The landing point of the Tap is in one of the most beautiful coastal towns of Salento (the Apulian subregion), San Foca. The underwater pipeline is about 25 km long, while the underground pipe is around 8 km (Fig. 5.1). The pipeline project has prompted much criticism across Italy, with the internet serving as a catalyst element for protestors, who organized the protest online. Reasons for disapproval are: • a non-necessary project: the gas pipelines already found in Italy use only 60% of their potential. Therefore, there is no need for a new pipeline. In addition, it will not allow a disassociation from Russia, as they are part of the project; • the TAP damages health and environment. The necessity of moving and replanting centuries old olive trees, eventual damage to marine life and tourism. More importantly, the TAP and its harmful emissions will add to the already high number of lung cancer incidences registered in the area, which is one of the highest in Europe;

Fig. 5.1 The Trans-Adriatic Pipeline route and the Italian landing point (author’s elaboration using https://www.tap-ag.it/il-gasdotto and Google images)

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• economic damage: the area will change from an area of great natural beauty to an industrial one, which in turn will ruin the tourist industry; • corruption: during the approval of the TAP, some members of the European Parliament were open to corruption during a vote of the European Council regarding 85 political prisoners in Azerbaijan, and the project’s approval was given without the Italian vote.

5.4 Visual Methodologies for NOTAP The dissent over the pipeline project and the protest organized to protect the environment have been examined according to two perspectives sharing a sensitive approach and the narrative/representative analysis of digital activism, namely visual methodologies (Rose 2016b) and the Sentiment Analysis. Visual methodologies are useful for obtaining information through images, available through the media. With this research, it is possible to understand cultural, social and ideological aspects of a community. Gillian Rose argues that the analysis of an image imposes the understanding of the subject, the way in which the image is produced and its audience. Following Gillian Rose’s research path, which started at the end of the 1990s, Elisa Bignante (2011) established four phases of understanding images: definition of the guidelines—the composition and content of the image (what you can see, what elements make up the image); shape and aspect of the image (for example what medium is used); production context (when was the image produced, etc.); meaning of the image (what is the theme or message that the authors aim to communicate); selection and classifying of the image; individualisation of specialised themes for analysis; analysis of the image, and organisation of results. From the photographs (Fig. 5.2), the theme of the environment seems to be the most effective one, as the protagonist, communicating through images, states

Fig. 5.2 Images of disapproval of the project (author’s elaboration using own pictures and Google images sources)

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its need for help and understanding. Here, the media used is photography, and sometimes, as in the case of the image of the paper note against a sea backdrop, even a photoshop retouched image. The natural element displays all its communicative power, to the point that nature’s voice is enlisted in the protest even in absence of a direct connection between the environment and the examined case. For example, mutilated olive trees images are one of the most popular and recognizable symbols of the protests. However, those pictures have nothing to do with the TAP, as they portray the consequences of Xylella, the bacterium that has caused so far the death of a great number of trees across the whole Apulia region. Although having nothing in common, the reflections of great investors on the TAP project, up to its implementation, and Xylella are more or less contextual phenomena, since they are both recent ones and have shaken up the environmental conscience both at a regional and a national scale, with the whole nation supporting in many ways the Apulian protest. The visual overlapping of the two subjects is thus one of great interest, as it has prompted a deep reflection on the protection of the environment. TAP and Xylella are portrayed in the same way because they affect the same or close-by areas, they share the same topic (the safeguard of the environment) and both phenomena occur at the same time. The pictures were taken by activists involved in protest actions in the same way as the murals’ authors are. The street artists, drawing upon the territorial and protest narrative, convey a kind of visual dissent over the project which is more effective in attracting the local people’s attention. Frequently, in the murals, images may be alternated between text, or images have a dominant role followed by brief text. Murals are used when it is deemed necessary to capture the attention of the audience (Bignante 2011). All these murals (Fig. 5.3) are located along the coastal roads where the pipeline will run, and above all, in the coastal areas which will be submitted to the greatest damage produced by the TAP. As we can see, images can be quite different in type: images which encourage non surrendering to fight for nature, subjects are often injured, monstrous or bleeding, pointed in bright colours, representing illness and other emerging themes. The content of these murals is predominantly political: in favour of democracy, participation and the environment.

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Fig. 5.3 Murals expressing disapproval of the TAP project (author’s elaboration using own pictures and Google images sources)

5.5 Sentiment Analysis for NOTAP Sentiment Analysis is a methodology for studying the semantic web. It is a method of listening the web and is useful for collecting the huge quantity of data about user opinions and preferences by systematically monitoring general social networks (e.g. YouTube or Twitter, etc.) and professional social networks (e.g. LinkedIn). This research is based on App2Check software for semantic analysis, able to understand five languages at the same time and all social networks needed for research. The research is focused on the main social networks which have talked about TAP: YouTube, Facebook and Twitter. The keywords used for the analysis is TAP. I chose the word TAP and not its negation, NOTAP, because after completing a first research stage I noticed how the keyword NOTAP was leading to answers which were too difficult to be interpreted by the software, due to polarity reason: if NOTAP receives a negative comment, how is the negation to be interpreted? In Italian, the double negation implies a negation strengthening. However, the software regarded it as a keyword negation instead. Consequently, such negation was interpreted as a hostile sentiment towards the NOTAP protest, thus leading to a misunderstanding of the post analysed. Thus, 13 virtual conversational areas, including in three social networks, managing 6,704 comments, have been examined with the keyword TAP.

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Keyword TAP has been chosen in order to remain as generic as possible and in order to collect as many comments as possible. The most discussed topics were: network, NOTAP and NOTAV (another controversial project of discussion in Italy), Taranto (the place with the highest recorded occurrences of lung cancer in Europe, really close to the landing point of Tap in Italy), Puglia, citizens. The Sentiment average is 2.8/5. It is not really low—anyway it’s a negative sentiment—because the comments are balanced due to the beauty of the coasts and landscapes. Looking at the fifteen most recurring topics, the connection between the word TAP, the most correlated words are “Taranto” and “Ilva”. So, evidently, the most important reason for protesting is linked to health. Here is why the narration by images frequently displays Xylella images when the real subject is actually TAP. And this occurs beyond what politics, association and digital activism say. In fact, a strong political link emerges between the words NOTAP, NOTAV and NOTRIV—which are other important projects much discussed in Italy. Aspects which are linked to the environment, corruption and economic damage, emerged in the visual analysis, seem to be instrumental in disseminating political ideologies as it expresses the grassroots of the people through spontaneous communication above all concentrated on health issues. Founded or not, this is the real worry of the people. For reasons already mentioned, the word NOTAP is found in sentences with a neutral to law sentiment average; the parts of the sentences with a positive sentiment are those which talk about the beauty of the land that will be damaged by the pipeline. Correlations connected to the topic network (“RETE” in Fig. 5.4) are linked to political parties and activist movement; for this reason, the discussions are more heated, and the sentiment average is lower than the previous topic. The analysis could continue focused on the topics highlighted to be amongst the most frequent ones. For this reason, the results of the analysis have been kept brief.

Fig. 5.4 Sentiment Analysis for TAP: the fifteen most recurring topics (Source Author’s elaboration using App2Check software)

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The most important problems for the local inhabitants are related to health issues. While the images express disappointment connected to the landscape, to the tourism sector in crisis and to democracy being overridden, the grass roots faction of the web speaks, above all, of political disappointment and health. The focal point is constant with Taranto and ILVA (a large but controversial steel works built in the 70s with a very high polluting impact). The words “disease”, “tumors” often appear in tag clouds. Another very interesting aspect is the important presence of the Hashtag #wearestillintime which underlines the non-resigned attitude and is still marked by the continuation of digital activism. This study pursued the objective of investigating the relationships between digital activism, public space and narratives of the territory. The dissent towards the TAP is expressed in the convergence between different profiles of digital activists, who use new technologies in order to support the organization of offline actions and, even if inserted in a global ideological network, are deeply rooted in the territory. They talk about the subject: 69 Facebook profiles, 203 Twitter profiles and 17 YouTube profiles. Identifiable to the same types of activists and online activism, the NOTAPs and citizens opposed to TAP and not directly associated with protest movements, are active in assessing the environmental, social and financial consequences of this enormous project. The offline strategy is more unified, since the protest consists of a few coordinated NOTAP associations. Disappointment is much more fragmented on the web, in fact, there are 69 Facebook profiles, 203 Twitter profiles and 17 YouTube profiles. By inserting the analysis of online discourses in a theoretical framework of the geography of social movements, it emerged that in the case study analysed, the rooting with the real/tangible territory is evident, although the strategies of protests and/or participation are different, and therefore with different types of shares, both online and offline. In all cases, therefore, the informational and communicative links associated with social media create a contemporary spatiality that is intertwined with the lives of users/prosumers, designing new relational geographies that allow social movements to expand and create new connections. A virtual spatiality, however, that is reflected on the web is the fragmentation of movement in the real dimension, in which different souls converge, but also, at the same time, the ability to anchor territorially in different contexts. The virtual multiplication of different profiles of activists reflects on the one hand the transversality of the cause that intercepts issues of a more universal nature, but on the other hand, the randomness of the web and the risk of slacktivism (proliferation of likes without real involvement) that undermines contemporary social movements. After the mobilization on the Web, the online claims were followed by street actions, nonviolent, but organized first according to the flash mob strategies, then according to the more canonical ones of a street demonstration. So, evidently, as Mólnar says:

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5.6 Conclusions In the first issue of Aether, the journal of Media Geography, Lukinbeal et al. (2007) highlight the need to fill the epistemological void concerning the media spatiality and propose to situate media and geography as mutually constituted elements, both, at the same time, representational and non-representational, lived and virtual, practiced and performed, real and imaged (2007, p. 2). As structured and well-defined information carriers, contemporary media permeate our space recreating power and knowledge hierarchies, reshaping the semiological chain of both significances and signifiers, and infusing signs with meanings, ideologies and hegemonic forces, also producing simulacrums that allow ideology to appear as fact and myth to appear as truth. The visual and semantic analysis of the NOTAP digital activism has shown how the local dimension, once again according to Lussault, is an increasingly flexible geographical scale, and should be rather deemed as a way to arrange social realities and the concept of proximity—or by which the same are arranged. Thus, as the geopolitical scale is increasingly weak, the tension between the local and global dimension escalates. As preconized by Robertson (1994) such tensions are expressed through a constant and sometimes controversial dialogue between these human spatiality systems. Digital activism elevates these dynamics to a search for counter-places, with a very specific tangible mirror, where the integrity and conservation of spaces are assumed. We are both protagonist and spectators of a new heritage shaped by ICT, which offers widespread narrative methods and depiction of the territory. The growing pervasive flow of information does not mean it takes anything away from the physical place, but instead triggers original processes, communication in the territory and the re-building of its image.

References Albanese, V. (2017). Il Territorio Mediato: Sentiment analysis methodology e sua applicazione al Salento. Bologna: BUP. Alexander, A. (2011). Internet role in Egypt’s protests. BBC News. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/ world-middle-east-12400319. Accessed 18 February 2011. Beardsley, E. (2011). Social media gets credit for Tunisian overthrow national public. http://www. npr.org/2011/01/16/132975274/Social-Media-Gets-Credit-For-Tunisian-Overthrow. Accessed 18 January 2011. Bignante, E. (2011). Geografia e ricerca visuale, strumenti e metodi. Roma-Bari: Laterza.

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Crampton, J. (2009). Cartography: Maps 2.0. Progress in Human Geography, 33(1), 91–100. Goldacre, B. (2010). Student protestors using live tech to outwit police in London. http://bengol dacre.posterous.com/student-protestors-using-live-tech-to-outwit. Accessed 14 December 2010. Governa, F. (2014). La città delle differenze e le “questioni” di giustizia (spaziale). Rivista Geografica Italiana, 4, 347–358. Graziano, T. (2017). Citizen e-participation in urban planning: Achievements and future challenges in a Mediterranean city. International Journal of E-Planning Research, 6(3), 1–18. Elwood, S., & Leszczynski, A. (2013). New spatial media, new knowledge politics. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographer, 38, 544–559. Harvey, D. (2004). The ‘new’ imperialism: Accumulation by dispossession. Socialist Register, 40, 63–87. Isin, E. (2002). Being political. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Jessop, B., Brenner, N., & Jones, M. (2008). Theorizing sociospatial relations. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 26, 389–401. Lefebvre, H. (1990). Du contrat de Citoyenneté. Paris: Periscope. Leitner, H., Sheppard, E., & Sziarto, K. M. (2008). The spatialities of contentious politics. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 33, 157–172. Lukinbeal, C., Craine, J., & Dittmer, J. (2007). Aether: A prospectus. Aether: The Journal of Media Geography, 1, 1–3. Lussault, M. (2019). Iper-luoghi. Milano: Franco Angeli. Machintosh, A. (2004). Characterizing e-participation in policy-making. Proceedings of the thirtyseventh annual Hawaii international conference on system sciences, Big Island, Hawaii. Macleod, G., & Jones, M. (2007). Territorial, scalar, networked, connected, in what sense a ‘regional world’? Regional Studies, 41(9), 1177–1191. Marcuse, P. (2009). From critical urban theory to the right to the city. City, 13(2–3), 185–197. Meek, D. (2012). YouTube and social movements: A phenomenological analysis of participation, events and cyberplace. Antipode, 44(4), 1429–1448. Molnár, V. (2014). Reframing public space through digital mobilization: Flash mobs and contemporary urban youth culture. Space and Culture, 17(1), 43–58. Monshipouri, M., & Prompichai, T. (2018). Digital activism in perspective: Palestinian resistance via social media. International Studies Journal (ISJ), 14(4), 37–57. Nicholls, W. (2009). Place, networks, space: Theorising the geographies of social movements. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 34, 78–93. Potts, J. (2015). The new time and space. New York, NY: Springer. Robertson, R. (1994). Globalization or glocalization? Journal of International Communication, 1, 33–52. Rose, G. (2016a). Rethinking the geographies of cultural ‘objects’ through digital technologies: Interface, network and friction. Progress in Human Geography, 40(3), 334–351. Rose, G. (2016b). Visual methodologies: An introduction to researching with visual materials. London: Sage. Shaw, J., & Graham, M. (2017). An informational right to the city? Code, content, control, and the urbanization of information. Antipode, 49(4), 907–927. Soja, E. (2009). The city and spatial justice. Justice spatiale/spatial justice, 1, 1–5. Wellman, B. (2001). Physical place and cyberplace: The rise of personalized networking. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 25(2), 227–252.

Chapter 6

Landscape as ‘Working Field’ for Territorial Identity in Friuli Venezia Giulia Ecomuseums Action Andrea Guaran and Enrico Michelutti

6.1 Introduction In Italy, there are today more than a hundred ecomuseums, distributed in different Italian regions (Mussinelli 2017), and founded mainly over the last twenty years. Ecomuseums are structured both as educational agencies that integrate and support educational institutions, and as cultural centres on a local scale. Their establishment follows different regional normative, which are not perfectly assimilable. On a national level there is no legislation, even though in 2014 a bill was presented in the Chamber of Deputies to ensure economic resources for the creation of ecomuseums, promoting local culture and traditions. The intent of the proposal was clearly expressed in art. 1, which specifies the importance of: […] the establishment of ecomuseums in the territory of the state, in order to recover, witness and promote historical memories, life, characters, traditions, material and immaterial cultures, the relationships between natural and human environments, the craft activities and the way in which traditional settlements have characterized the formation and evolution of landscapes and regional territories […] (Chamber of Deputies 2014)

Community identities are at the centre of ecomuseums aims and actions: in fact, territorial values, to be protected and promoted, are the core part of many activities planned and conducted by ecomuseums (understood here as specific cultural and training agencies). In this sense, a strategic core of ecomuseums action consists of the search for the main coordinates through which a community can establish a more Both authors have developed together the research activities and the writing-up phase for the chapter. A. Guaran (B) · E. Michelutti Department of Languages and Literatures, Communication, Education and Society, University of Udine, Udine, Italy e-mail: [email protected] E. Michelutti e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_6

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incisive relationship with its territory. At the same time, this search has an essential function in shaping the ecomuseum nature (Navajas Corral 2017). Territorial identity is manifested through the attention and care attitudes that people put into the contexts of life. These approaches are strengthened through the links that individuals and communities weave together and intertwine with the elements and factors which identify their territory (Banini 2009). Since the territory is revealed through the filter represented by the perception of the landscape, we understand how the landscape and educational actions (with, on and for it) are a fundamental theme and at the same time a priority and a mission for ecomuseums. This research assumes the ecomuseums of the region Friuli Venezia Giulia (Italy) as case studies to deepen the role of the landscape as an object of educational action and, at the same time, as an educational tool (Castiglioni 2011): both concepts aim to provide substance to the dynamics of identification between citizens/communities and places. Ecomuseums’ objectives and strategies of intervention (with different degrees of awareness and intensity of application from one reality to another) are placed along the theoretical path that enhances the value of the search for the sense of place and for the distinctive profile characterizing each community in relation to its context of life and direct experience (Tuan 1977). The research explores the relationships in place between communities and landscape (seen both as conceptual and analytical tool), analysing the role of landscape education in promoting scenarios of ‘democratic landscape’, where citizens can have access, make use of and determine their landscapes, in terms of conservation, promotion and transformation policies, through collective actions and co-operative processes (Fig. 6.1). This approach understands ecomuseums as promoters of landscape education activities in a bottom-up framework. Through community mapping in villages/small towns and neighbourhoods, the involvement of schools in projects

Fig. 6.1 Conceptual framework (Source The authors)

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Fig. 6.2 Analytical processes (Source The authors)

dedicated to local landscapes, the formation of educators on community environments, ecomuseums play a key role in redefining territorial identities in relation to local landscape and culture. Ecomuseums activities on landscape are analysed in their educational, ethical and political dimensions, determining both the data collection and analysis.1 The research examines the cultural change embedded in the ecomuseums educational action (development of transformative competencies, mindsets, knowledge and skills for students and participants), the role played by such action in redefining landscape values and citizens’ community belonging (landscape as factor which deepens the relationships inhabitant/territory and citizen/community) and in fostering the political awareness of citizens in relation to their responsibilities and rights in relation to landscape policy-making processes (Fig. 6.2).

6.2 Ecomuseums in Friuli Venezia Giulia: Institutional Set-Up and Practices According to the regional normative, local authorities (individually or in groups) and non-profit, cultural and/or environmental associations may set up an ecomuseum. Friuli Venezia Giulia ecomuseums have different legal characterisations: they are usually ‘mixed’ institutions, with public partners (mainly local municipalities), and third sector subjects (e.g. cultural and environmental associations, ‘pro loco’, etc.). A few ecomuseums offer membership to citizens and private companies/institutions, but the private sector rarely has an active role in proposing activities or in being an operative ‘cell’ for the ecomuseum. Within this mixed institutional framework, there are specific institutional solutions. In the case of the “Territories Ecomuseum: People and Memories between the Karst and Isonzo”, the ecomuseum institutional set-up is configured as a ‘service’ of 1 The

research included in-depth interviews to eco-museums’ directors (and co-ordinators) and an open questionnaire to the ecomuseums collaborators. Direct observations were carried out during the fieldtrips to ecomuseums involving Science of Education university students (2016–2017 academic year).

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a consortium, the Cultural Consortium of the Monfalcone municipality, which brings together nine municipalities of the territory (plus the Consortium of the Isonzo area reclamation plan, which joined the ecomuseum later). In the case of the ecomuseums that insist on the territory of a single municipality, such as “Mistîrs Ecomuseum” in Paularo, the municipality is the main subject of the ecomuseum, assisted by an ‘ecomuseum committee’, composed by associations and experts of local culture. Ecomuseums are required to meet some key requirements to be recognised as ‘regional ecomuseums’ and to have access to specific resources and calls set by the regional administration: ecomuseums have to involve homogeneous territories (in terms of culture, geography and landscape), characterized by the presence of specific ‘community assets’ (including environmental and natural elements and cultural heritage, both material and immaterial); ecomuseums must have been active for atleast three years (through a cultural project), developing exhibitions and guided or self-guided tours, etc. (including an information centre, also for documentation and research) (Friuli Venezia Giulia Autonomous Region 2006). In Friuli Venezia Giulia, there are seven ecomuseums established between 2000 and 2015. One is located in the lowland and coastal area (“Ecomuseum Territories. People and Memories between Karst and Isonzo”), while all the others concern hilly, foothill and mountainous areas of the region (Fig. 6.3). They clearly differ in territorial extension. In fact, two ecomuseums cover one municipality, the “Mistîrs Ecomuseum” at Paularo and the “Val Resia Ecomuseum”, in Resia, while the remaining ones involve several municipalities (from three, in the case of the “Val del Lago

Fig. 6.3 Ecomuseums in Friuli Venezia Giulia (Source The authors)

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Ecomuseum”, up to twenty-two for the “Lis Aganis Ecomuseum”). The extension of the operative area is not so significant on a strictly dimensional level, but it is a key factor in its capacity to capture attention and to promote the commitment of the municipal administrations, which are usually part of ecomuseum institutional bodies and have an essential role, especially for smaller ecomuseums. An extended territory is generally a positive factor, since it offers the opportunity to operate in a systemic manner, defining networked and synergic methods to design, plan and implement the various ecomuseum actions: in fact, ecomuseums can coordinate and organise activities by exploiting the plurality of links connecting the distinctive features of the different landscapes included in their area of intervention. So, for example, in the case of the “Lis Aganis Ecomuseum”, the largest ecomuseum of Friuli Venezia Giulia in territorial terms, there are three different landscapes, including mountains, with a separate group specifically referred to the Dolomites (the so-called “system four” of the Dolomites UNESCO World Heritage property), the foothills of the Alps and the “high plain”. In addition to this diversity, the rivers penetrating the mountain slopes (“Val Cellina”, “Val Meduna”, “Val d’Arzino” and other minor valleys) shape linear landscapes extending from north to south, with their specific characterizations. In connection with the geomorphological profile and other physical characteristics, diverse forms of land use have developed, progressively shaping diversified cultural landscapes. A diversification that is to some extent misaligned with the regional legislation that, among the criteria for the ecomuseum recognition, refers to homogeneity in geographical and landscape terms as a basic requirement for the territory in which the ecomuseum operates. A second distinctive element contributing to differentiate ecomuseums concerns the thematic dimension. Despite similar institutional aims (aligned to the regional regulations), ecomuseums actually achieve homogeneous goals, focusing on very different thematic areas: traditional trades to be rediscovered, the nature of a valley and its typical agricultural products, a lake as a coagulating factor for different coastal communities or the troubled history of a border territory, marked by the events of the World War One. So, an alluvial plain and its copious waters are the focus of an ecomuseum while, for another ecomuseum of the same area, the activities explore local population’s daily work habits and social life as key values to be safeguarded and made known. A thematic differentiation can also involve a single ecomuseum, with separate groups working on different topics.2 In relation to the action exerted on the territory, all the ecomuseums meet the definition set by the “Acque del Gemonese Ecomuseum”, the first to be officially recognized in Friuli Venezia Giulia: “(an ecomuseum) is a widespread and participatory museum that aims to preserve, communicate and renew the cultural identity of a community” (Tondolo 2012, p. 5). Thus, the territory, with its various landscapes, is the ‘true museum heritage’, defining values of identity and configuring the territorial identity, which is a fundamental value for each community. It is an identity 2 In

the case of “Lis Aganis Ecomuseum”, thematic “cells” focus on three macro-themes (water, stones and crafts), which are sub-divided into specific elements, relevant on the local scale.

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that cannot (and should not) risk being made into a museum, and, on the contrary, requires a process of constant renewal to accompany the unavoidable evolution of the cultural landscape, which, at the same time, is its origin and its result. In ecomuseum activities, there are four main categories of action dealing with landscape: • Collaborative mapping processes as practices which involve communities, usually on a micro-local scale, including both adults and children (through schools) (Clifford and King 1996); • Actions with primary and secondary schools developed on three levels: training for students conducted directly in schools (belonging to the ecomuseum territory); activities of reception and expert guidance (offered to schools outside the ecomuseum territory); and, only in some cases, the direct involvement of children as promoters of local territory within the frame of educational experiences with associated schools3 ; • Educational activities, involving free-lance educators and teachers,4 including workshops and seminars on local landscapes and culture; • Other various activities aiming at the involvement of communities in research processes and to a ‘participatory’ use of the cultural, social and environmental heritage (such as exhibitions, walks, shows, etc.).

6.3 Ecomuseums Landscape Education Activities as Driver for Territorial Identity 6.3.1 Educational Dimension Despite the involvement of communities (and/or social groups) with actions that usually are punctual and non-homogeneous, community mapping remains a collective experience with significant educational implications (Clifford 1996). In driving communities to the redefinition of their landscape and territory (Crouch 1996), ecomuseum operators and external professionals inform educational processes entailing participants’ knowledge, skills, transformative competencies and mindsets5 (see Fig. 6.2). Through community mapping, ecomuseums increase participants’ 3 For

instance, the “Lis Aganis Ecomuseum” has promoted workshops designed and directed by children of primary and secondary school, in the village of Vivaro, addressed to visitors (both students and adults). 4 In some specific cases, where schools are institutional partners of the ecomuseum, as for “Lis Aganis” Ecomuseum, teachers were directly involved to set up the ecomuseums activities for the school’s students, proposing and developing a topic (in that case, local stories and landscapes of the WWI), in coordination with the ecomuseum experts. 5 An analysis of these factors in a more general framework on cognitive and epistemological processes involving (mainly) students in their approach to landscape was developed by Fetzer 2019.

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knowledge of local landscapes both in a sector-based perspective (e.g. focusing on natural elements, heritage, etc.) and in more general cultural terms (e.g. rethinking the connections identity/landscape, etc.). Being part of the processes, participants acquire the capacity to read local landscapes on a micro-scale and specific skills in landscape data collection and analysis, participation and map production. Knowledge production and skills transmission in community mapping processes are dependent on the institutional set-up, the objectives and the cultural environment in which the process takes place. Usually, Friuli Venezia Giulia ecomuseums rely on professionals (mainly architects and planners) or on specific associations dealing with community mapping and this can lead to an accentuation of the ‘leading group’ role in the final restitution of the process (the ultimate production of the map), limiting participants’ experience. Recovering memories of past landscape conditions in relation to the present, evidencing local landscape key points in terms of identity6 and touristic development7 redefining landscape perceptions by specific social groups, allow participants to situate themselves in front of changing landscapes. In the case of the community map of Dobbia, Staranzano and Bistrigna, the action of mapping was developed by children of a local primary school, who were accompanied by a team including neighbourhoods and associations (the Ecomuseum “Territories”, the school, the local civic library and a theatrical company), both in the exploration of the territory and in the reconstruction of its memory. At the same time, community mapping processes provide tools to ‘operate’ in the local landscape, without necessarily having a formal role in local landscape planning and design. Individual and collective actions can have very different natures, from driving touristic flows (e.g. the use of the Panzano community map and the promotion of walks to discover the architecture and planning of the 1900s, which shape the neighbourhood) to monitoring landscape transformations. In the best cases, where community mapping is organized in a deep, medium-long term process, participants acquire an ‘active’ relationship with landscape. This is part of a more general re-discussion of their mindset, in which citizens define their actual responsibility in relation to landscape. It becomes an ‘interest’ involving them directly and an instrument to rethink their political role as a community. The training actions for teachers and ecomuseum operators8 focusing on landscape are one the main activities for almost all the regional ecomuseums and involve

6 For instance, the exercise developed in Godo consisted of defining symbolic places, which showed

the relationships between community and territory. Panzano, the structure and the graphic layout of the community map intended to focus on the architectural and planning legacy, which shapes the material identity of the neighbourhood, defining both its ‘internal’ perception and the ‘external’ vision for the people living in the rest of the territories and for visitors-tourists. The project is connected to a more general action on the neighbourhood, called “Atelier Panzan—Storie di famiglia di ieri e di oggi”, implemented by the “Territories Ecomuseum” and the cultural association “Kallipolis”, http://atelierpanzano.it/. 8 These professionals can belong to the same ‘category’, as for example where schools are also ecomuseum cells, and especially in educational activities concerning territorial values. 7 In

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a transfer of messages and suggestions that invest educational values and their translation into daily practices. Training and professional development opportunities organized by ecomuseums aim to achieve awareness of the highly educational function that the landscape occupies. In fact, in order to learn to read and interpret the landscape in its characters and dynamics (and to effectively transmit these contents to adults and/or children), it is essential to provide knowledge, cultivate skills and trigger competences, which are necessary to relate to different landscape contexts and to understand transformative processes and sustainable approaches to them. Whether a ‘real’ awareness is achieved or not, training activities in landscape education have the key characteristic of bringing out the educational element that the landscape holds, for all and at all ages. Considering educational actions in schools, young students living in territories where an ecomuseum is located are systematically involved and, in the best cases, are the central protagonists of such actions. The focus on local natural environments and different signs of territorialization processes operated by people over the years and the identification of the most suitable and expressive ways to narrate local landscapes (including the construction of products useful for the narration) are evidence of educational paths that synergically mobilize knowledge, skills and competences, in order to structure mental models suitable to interact with the landscape and its values. The path of knowledge and maturation of original communicative skills by the primary school students (“San Giovanni Bosco” in Campagna, “Istituto comprensivo Margherita Hack” in Maniago) is significant (Peressini et al. 2017). Through the story of an agana (mythical being of the wetlands of the mountains, witch and fairy at the same time), the children, using skills of creative writing and illustration through images, have deepened their knowledge of the local territory and developed interpretative skills. These skills helped them to rethink their own ideas of landscape and to express them in relation to their way of reading the elements that ‘give life’ to landscape. The educational path around the Minisini lake (Gemona del Friuli), relict of the last glaciation, realized by the students of the local primary school for the other peers who follow it within the ecomuseum educational initiatives. A similar experience refers to the initiatives of the pupils of the preschool and primary school of Alesso (Trasaghis) for the safeguarding and valorization of the Tre Comuni lake. The twoyear project, promoted by the “Val del Lago” Ecomuseum, is clear testament to how the very young generations can (and know how to) take care of landscape in the respective territories of life. This is possible thanks to the stimulating and guiding functions assumed by the ecomuseums.

6.3.2 Ethical Dimension Community mapping is a fundamental “exercise” to address territorial identity at the local level. Mapping their territory, communities make an auto-analysis of their present condition in relation to landscape and environmental issues, but also look

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into their history and evolution, re-defining in a critical way community socio-spatial assets and their meaning for individuals and specific groups inside the community. The construction of the map pushes participants to establish a dialogue on/within the community and to overcome individual understandings of landscape: the preparation of the map requires the reaching of a synthesis, embedded in shared values for participants. Despite the attempt to be as inclusive as possible, in Friuli Venezia Giulia community mapping suffers from the lack of participatory culture and socio-political divisions at the community level. Thus, the exercise of community mapping is frequently a vision of the community made by a part of it. Some community mapping exercises are structured to involve a priori only a part of the population with specific objectives (e.g. a vision by the young generations, etc.). In the best cases, the community map can be seen as a material visualization of landscape values, as understood by the participants, referring mainly to aesthetics and memory.9 Ecomuseums usually prepare the institutional set-up for the community mapping process (providing the logistical support to the activities in cooperation with the municipality, facilitating the first contacts between the community and the community map working team, etc.), leaving the practical implementation of the activities and definition of the map to experts (e.g. ‘professionals of participation’, associations dealing with community planning, etc.). In this way, the quality of the map (as final product of the process) increases, but the introduction of an outsider into the community (leading the activities) questions the pure grass roots process, which is in the ecomuseums formal aims. Community mapping becomes a ‘spot experience’ rather than a continuous process of introspection for the community: there is usually no follow-up and the possibility of enlarging the debate to the rest of the community is limited. Ecomuseums activities with schools develop specific educational paths communicating landscape values and implementing exercises, which enable children and students to reflect on their approach to landscape and to rethink the meaning of the territory as part of their identity. These actions imply an ethical change in relation to landscape: it comes from a direct contact with the elements of their local context (e.g. the environments of the lake in Cavazzo, the peat bogs in Lestans, etc.), from ‘material’ outdoor experiences (mainly explorations and walks), from being part/aware of the narratives of the place (‘listening’ and learning from professionals and local experts). Taking care of landscape, being aware (and responsible) for the local biodiversity, recognizing citizens’ roles in the evolution of the territory constitutes behaviours and processes (driven by ecomuseums), which form a fluid set of ethical values. Despite flirting with old and new ‘green agendas’ or community-based identity legacies, ethical aspects of ecomuseums’ action do not purely belong to any specific ethical 9 In the case of the community map of Panzano, the focus was on the perception and valorisation of

the 1920s working class neighbourhood connected to the Monfalcone docks. In the area of Gemona, community mapping exercises focus on the memory of the 1976 earthquake and the current condition of local landscapes.

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traditions and cannot be easily categorized10 : in this sense, Friuli Venezia Giulia ecomuseums reflect the complexity and the contradictions of the entire local society in relation to landscape. As in the educational and political dimensions, activities with schools open to ethical paths in particular through extended projects/experiences, mainly developed with local (primary and medium) schools in the ecomuseums territory, while spot experiences for visiting students do not allow specific processes in this direction. A similar trend can be extended also to the activities with teachers and professionals/educators: a medium-long term activity allows an increasing dialogue between ecomuseums and educational institutions and the co-presence of different values in the set proposed to children/students, while punctual seminar and conferences propose frequently unidirectional values and ethical interpretations of landscape. An example comes from “Lis Aganis” Ecomuseum, where the creation of an activity on the ‘landscapes of memory’ related to the WWI deeply involved teachers and ecomuseum staff, who actually played as facilitators in allowing the maturation of the project idea by teachers (and their values).

6.3.3 Political Dimension Ecomuseums landscape-focused practices, although with diversified intensity, intentionality and plurality of destinations can be examined in political terms. In this sense, the messages that ecomuseums actions transmit (or would like to transmit) are, on the one hand, strongly innervated with political meanings and, on the other hand, act as a stimulus for the local political environment. The political role assumed by ecomuseums is connected to the ability to foster the sense of citizenship, increasing awareness, identification of feelings, care and promotion of the landscape and its assets. In recognising this fundamental task for ecomuseums, it would be important for local policy makers to “increase their political commitment in the promotion of ecomuseums […]. It is not so much a question of increasing resources for activities and projects, rather to activate subsidiarity paths, promoting the characteristics of the territories and their relations in favour of self-sustainable development” (Reina 2014, p. 46). Recognizing that the landscape is the product of complex interactions of different subjects in continuous transformation (Baratti 2014), it is necessary to see the landscape as the result of community political actions. In the framework of representative democracy, the logic based on the principle of delegation appears to be central. This principle guides social relations and the management of common goods (including the landscape). Entrusting choices and intervention on landscape to political decision-makers is considered right and proper, 10 Both

interviewees and questionnaire respondents found it extremely difficult to approach the ethical dimension of their work at the ecomuseum. Even the answers to direct questions on the issue were frequently re-addressed to other (practical) spheres of interviewees’ activities and the capacity/will to deepen the topic was very limited.

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but also convenient and appropriate. Within this superficial (and/or scarce) political culture, ecomuseums operate outside or against the mainstream, even if, with a lack of a convinced awareness of their role, misaligned in relation to dominant ideas. In fact, only sometimes do the values (and their actual application) on which the ecomuseums structure their activities have the intentionality to subvert representative logics, introducing partial forms of direct decision-making for citizens, at least encouraging them to assume a broader responsibility in the definition of different local landscapes. Thus, for instance, despite the community map still being seen as a result rather than a process of knowledge and self-recognition for a local community, this participatory and collaborative activity (understood as a tool enabling communities to read landscape conditions in the territories in which they live) has the capacity to witness an unusual vision of politics, built on the confrontation of ideas and on the expanded protagonism of citizens (Bianchetti 2013; Magnaghi 2010; Maggi and Murtas 2004). At the same time, in political practices, the map becomes a positive and successful ‘object’ through which to communicate a territory, but often within a marketing logic, resizing and obscuring its real value as an opportunity for political actions from the bottom, without any delegation. Landscape education with schools provides significant examples in the activation of a civic sense, having a high political value. These activities work on students’ awareness and responsibility in relation to places that need attention and care, in a circular logic of direct experience, study and knowledge, commitment and involvement, protection and promotion, and then renewed experience. The reality of the ecomuseum cell of the Vivaro primary school, in the context of the “Lis Aganis” Ecomuseum, probably is the most effective example in the region. Being an ecomuseum cell located in the area, thus acting as an ‘engine’ for the ecomuseum local strategy, the school (including teachers and students) is a fundamental element for the political culture of the community. Over the years, teachers have created the educational conditions to put the landscapes of the ‘Magredi’, which significantly characterizes the entire municipal area, at the centre of didactic and learning paths, favouring intense links between young citizens and their territory. The cultural vitality of the cell (permanently monitoring the flora and fauna of the Magredi) has its roots and finds new resources in the action of primary school children, who continue to be promoters of their territory by collaborating with ecomuseum initiatives once they graduated school, in some cases as ecomuseum operators. Potentially, the educational action promoted by such schools has an extremely important political significance. In fact, it outlines a model of management for the landscape thought as a common good (in this case the ‘Magredi’), which comes from the bottom and involves residents from the first years of school, creating the pre-conditions for the development of a political culture and practice, as an expression of territorial citizenship (Guaran 2016). Ecomuseum activities have a ‘values-oriented matrix’, which does not fit into the classic logics of political action. In the case of the “Valle del Lago” Ecomuseum, the politicians of the three municipalities have not been always committed to the issue of landscape because landscape values and their community significance do not seem to be among their priorities, or are even alien to the local political culture. Even in the

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absence of significant forms of interference by local politicians in the choices made by the ecomuseum, this total disinterest negatively affects the ecomuseum action, if only in view of the lack of presence of representatives of the three municipalities in the work of the coordination group. However, having the municipality as associates and funders, at least in part, affects ecomuseum in the strategic choices to achieve the statutory goals. The risk is that ecomuseums can be identified by the local political world as agencies able to organize cultural events, simply satisfying a touristic demand. The research shows a generally diversified relationship between ecomuseums and local political decision-makers. In some cases, in this relationship, there is a commonality of ideas, programs and perspectives (even in the long-term and regardless of the composition of the municipal council). However, in most situations local administrations show a certain disinterest in relation to ecomuseum values and its mission. The collaboration is frequently built up only around specific activities, precisely those most attractive for the territory (and for those who temporarily administer it). Participatory approaches (which are fostered from the bottom), informing knowledge processes and management of landscape heritage, in any case give room for delegation mechanisms to implement political actions. But at the same time the delegation system limits a full manifestation of democratic rights to landscape.

6.4 Conclusions Despite a contribution to the maturation of awareness, to the growth of the sense of belonging and the ability to participate at multiple levels and in favour of many categories of recipients (de Varine 2016), this research has shown how ecomuseums are in a condition of risk, which cannot be underestimated. On the one hand, the care of identity values can be translated into the application of a self-referential model, which is not very permeable to the outside world, reinforcing aspects of ‘closure’ and the inability to consciously accompany territorial and landscape changes. On the other hand, an improper policy of openness, built almost exclusively on the search for an immediate economic return (generally based on touristic activities), can undermine genuine values of identity and lead to a ‘sale’ of the most authentic features of the landscape. In both hypotheses, the supposed realization of the principles of ‘democratic landscape’ runs the risk of being stuck in demagogic dynamics, which weaken local territorial identities. While facing this condition of risk, the ecomuseum action in Friuli Venezia Giulia contributes to the actualisation of citizens’ territorial identity and its changing meanings in relation to landscape. Ecomuseums work on the complexity of the citizencommunity-local landscape relationships through educational activities, which overcome the pure educational dimension, including the ethical and political spheres embedded in such relationships. The research shows how, in spite of several limitations, ecomuseums foster citizens’ community belonging through the recognition of the deep meaning of landscape in shaping communities as complex subjects in/for

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the territory and a political awareness of the role played by grass root groups in conserving and promoting local landscapes. In their educational action on landscape, ecomuseum have territorial identity both as ‘working field’ to develop educational processes and as a final objective for the participants. The research analysis shows how educational paths towards the rethinking of territorial identity meanings entail the re-discussion of community values, rebuilding individual/group’s approach to territory and/or through landscape. Despite avoiding a direct political engagement or mission, ecomuseum activities on landscape put participants in front of the need to take their responsibility in the decisions related to local landscape and, in the best experiences, to provide an awareness of the political role of communities in orienting local policies on landscape and in opposing superficial consensus logic.

References Banini, T. (2009). Identità territoriale: verso una ridefinizione possibile. In T. Banini (a cura di), Identità territoriali: Riflessioni in prospettiva interdisciplinare, « Geotema » , 37 (pp. 6–14). Milano. Baratti, F. (2014). Ecomusei e pianificazione in Puglia. In G. Reina (a cura di), Gli ecomusei: Una risorsa per il futuro (pp. 143–154). Marsilio: Venezia. Bianchetti, A. (2013). Conoscersi, riconoscersi, rappresentarsi: le mappe di comunità. In T. Banini (a cura di), Identità territoriali: Questioni, metodi, esperienze a confronto (pp. 76–91). Franco Angeli: Milano. Camera dei Deputati. (2014). Proposta di legge n: 2646 su Disposizioni in materia di istituzione degli ecomusei per la valorizzazione della cultura e delle tradizioni locali. https://www.camera. it/leg17/995?sezione=documenti&tipoDoc=lavori_testo_pdl&idLegislatura=17&codice=17P DL0025970. Castiglioni, B. (2011). Il paesaggio, strumento per l’educazione geografica. In C. Giorda & M. Puttilli (a cura di), Educare al territorio, educare il territorio: Geografia per la formazione (pp. 182–191). Carocci: Roma. Clifford, S., & King, A. (Eds.). (1996). From place to place, maps and Parish maps. London: Common Ground. Clifford, S. (1996). Places, people and Parish maps. In S. Clifford & A. King (Eds.), From place to place, maps and Parish maps. London: Common Ground. Crouch, D. (1996). Making sense of our place: A critical review of Parish map. In S. Clifford & A. King (Eds.), From place to place, maps and Parish maps. London: Common Ground. de Varine, H. (2016). L’ecomuseo come strumento di partecipazione. http://www.ecomuseodelleac que.it/ecomuseo/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/Relazione-de-Varine.pdf. Fetzer, E. (2019). Landscape education: Our path towards responsible citizenship. In L. Gao & S. Egoz (Eds.), Lessons from the past, visions for the future: Celebrating one hundred years of landscape architecture education in Europe: ECLAS-UNISCAPE Conference. Ås, Norway: School of Landscape Architecture, Norvegian University of Life Sciences. Friuli Venezia Giulia Autonomous Region. (2006). Regional Act n. 10 Establishment of the Friuli Venezia Giulia Ecomuseums. www.regionefvg.it. Guaran, A. (2016). Geographical education/territorial education for citizenship. In M. E. Dulam˘a & O.-R. Ilovan (Eds.), Territorial identity and values in geographical education (pp. 31–58). Cluj-Napoca: Presa Universitar˘a Clujean˘a Publishing House. Maggi, M., & Murtas, D. (2004). Ecomusei: Il progetto. Torino: IRES Piemonte.

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Magnaghi, A. (2010). Il progetto locale: Verso la coscienza di luogo. Torino: Bollati Boringhieri. Mussinelli, E. (2017). Innovation perspectives in ecomuseal project. In E. Riva (Ed.), Ecomuseums and cultural landscapes: State of the art and future prospects (pp. 23–31). Santarcangelo di Romagna (RN): Maggioli. Navajas Corral, Ó. (2017). New common perspectives for ecomuseums, community museums, and cultural landscapes. In E. Riva (Ed.), Ecomuseums and cultural landscapes: State of the art and future prospects (pp. 38–40). Santarcangelo di Romagna (RN): Maggioli. Peressini, L., Massaro, G., & Alunni classe 5ˆ A della Scuola primaria di Campagna. (2017). L’agana del Colvera. Tipografia Menini: Maniago. Reina, G. (2014). L’ecomuseo tra territorio e comunità. In G. Reina (a cura di), Gli ecomusei: Una risorsa per il futuro (pp. 20–88). Venezia: Marsilio. Tondolo, M. (2012). La mappa della comunità di Godo. In Ecomuseo delle acque (a cura di), Mappa della Comunità di Godo (pp. 5–9). Ecomuseo delle acque: Gemona del Friuli. Tuan, Y. F. (1977). Space and place: The perspective of experience. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.

Part II

Representations of Nations and Cities: Ever-Changing Territorial Identities

Chapter 7

Sense of Place as Spatial Control: Austerity and Place Processes Among Young People in Ballymun, Dublin Sander van Lanen

7.1 Introduction Phenomenological geographers have widely accepted the vital role of place for individual and communal identities (Casey 2009). Against this essentialist understanding of place, critics maintained that place experience is relational to cultural and politicaleconomic structures (Cresswell 2004). Employing Seamon’s (2018) place processes, this chapter provides a sort-of critical-phenomenological exploration of place in the context of austerity through narratives of young adults from Ballymun. These processes illuminate that austerity affects sense of place negatively through a loss of control over lived neighbourhood spaces. This chapter contributes to an agenda focussing on the processuality of place and its interactions with multi-scalar political-economic transformations. The impacts of austerity suggest sense of place develops relationally (Massey 1991), and confirms that place is relational and existential. This chapter introduces the six place processes—interaction, identity, release, realisation, intensification and creation— and applies them in the context of austerity narratives of Ballymun youth. It concludes that the deterioration of sense of place under austerity is ultimately a loss of spatial control.

7.2 Austerity and Place The impacts of the 2008 financial crisis were felt far and wide. Triggered by the collapse of US subprime mortgages, the crisis spread globally through collective debt obligations and financial networks (Aalbers 2009; Martin 2011). Amidst fears of S. van Lanen (B) Faculty of Spatial Sciences, University of Groningen, Groningen, The Netherlands e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_7

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systemic collapse, governments around the world opted for bank bailouts and monetary injections to prevent acute liquidity problems and bank runs (Aalbers 2013). The resulting budget deficits became soon managed through austerity programmes intended to ‘rebalance the books’ through public spending reductions and tax increases (Kitson et al. 2011). Together, austerity programmes and the slump in the global economy resulted in job losses, wage reductions, and downward pressure on social welfare and public services (Donald et al. 2014). The consequences of these measures particularly hit poorer and younger populations (Verick 2009; Peck 2012). Since 2008, global and national inequalities rose and especially the poor, whether working or not, increasingly struggle to make ends meet (Zucman 2019). There was a distinct geography to the crisis (Aalbers 2009). Within Europe, a clear core-periphery structure revealed itself as especially the so-called PIIGS— Portugal, Ireland, Italy, Greece, and Spain—were hit hard (Hadjimichalis 2011; Perez and Matsaganis 2018). In these countries, unemployment rose far above the EU average. EU unemployment figures increased from 7.0% in 2008 to 10.5% in 2012, and from 6.8 to 15.5% in Portugal and from 7.8 to 24.5% in Greece in the same period (Eurostat 2019). These figures were exacerbated for youth in those countries. Youth unemployment rose from 10.0% (2008) to 31.2% (2012) in Ireland (CSO 2019), and Greek youth unemployment was 59.0%—up 38.5 percentage points since 2008 (Cholezas 2013). Spatial variations of crisis and austerity continue on national and local scales. Peck (2012) argues austerity particularly ‘bites’ in cities as they house concentrations of public sector employees and populations dependent on public spending dependent population groups. Within cities, poorer people and locations are again more vulnerable (Donald et al. 2014). It is clear that the financial crisis scarred people. In Ireland, population levels living in multiple deprivation increased from 11.8% in 2007 to 25.5% in 2015 (Callan et al. 2014; CSO 2018). The amount of homeless individuals living in emergency accommodation tripled between 2014 and 2017, even quadrupling in Dublin (Hearne and Murphy 2018). Certain public services fell to inadequate levels. In the UK, life expectancy fell for the first time recent in history (Dorling 2019). Mental health issues steadily increased, and suicide numbers in Ireland and Southern Europe rose sharper than expected (Antonakakis and Collins 2015; Corcoran et al. 2015). Beyond this scarring of people, the geography of austerity provokes the question whether places too can be scarred. Austerity and crisis undoubtedly affected physical places. The need to balance budgets resulted in a lack of infrastructure maintenance ranging from the critical to the mundane (Shaw 2019), from disinvestment in social housing to reduced upkeep of flowerbeds (Raynor 2017). In Ireland, unfinished and uninhabited housing estates became a powerful and enduring symbol of the boom-and-bust economy (O’Callaghan 2013). Such new ruins, from rural estates to the dramatic Central Bank on the Dublin quays, became the physical scars inserting the financial crash within the background of everyday life. Beyond the spectacular, infrastructure and social housing cuts meant both are falling into disrepair, sometimes at breaking point (Byrne 2017). In poorer neighbourhoods, falling income meant disappearing private businesses, from supermarkets to embroidery stalls (van Lanen 2017a), while

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public and community service struggled for shrinking and increasingly competitive funding (Harvey 2012). Crisis and austerity leave their spatial imprints and affect the liveability of cities and neighbourhoods. Austerity is ultimately a political-economic process. Geographers explored the everyday geographies of austerity and their interactions with specific sites (Hitchen 2019), relationships of care (Hall 2018), and the background spaces of everyday life (Raynor 2017; Shaw 2019). But what about place in an existential sense? How do crisis and austerity impact on the phenomenology of space and place? As experience shapes perceptions of austerity and neoliberalisation (van Lanen 2018), this chapter considers place experience amidst crisis and austerity to reveal how politicaleconomic developments imposed from ‘outside’ affect sense of place on a neighbourhood scale. To understand these impacts, the next section introduces Seamon’s (2018) six place processes.

7.3 Place Processes In “Life takes place”, David Seamon (2018) introduces six place processes that can sustain and transform place positively or negatively, that is, they either strengthen or undermine place. These processes consist of so-called ‘triads’ where affirming impulses, receptive impulses, and reconciliation impulses interact in various ways. Applying these impulses to place, Seamon sees people-in-place as the affirmative impulse, as their actions act or initiate processes contributing to the creation or relinquishing of place. The ‘environmental ensemble’ is the receptive impulse, the physical and social environment within which people-in-place act—although this active/receptive relationship between people-in-place and environmental ensemble is sometimes reversed. Finally, the spatial reconciliation impulse is ‘common presence’, the “material and lived ‘togetherness’ of a place impelled by both its physical and experiential qualities” (Seamon 2018, p. 87). Common presence encapsulates concepts like ‘environmental atmosphere’ or ‘sense of place’. It provides, according to Seamon (2018, pp. 87–88), the “London-ness of London” and the “Istanbul-ness of Istanbul”. The first place process is ‘place interaction’, where users of a place conduct their everyday lives and, while doing so, provide place with character or ‘environmental presence’. Place interaction is often common and unspectacular, but it is of critical importance to the existential foundation of place. Nonetheless, it presents itself as “the typical goings-on in a place” (Seamon 2018, p. 94) connecting humans, through their actions, to their environment and people around them. In terms of the spatial impulses, people-in-place are connected to the environmental ensemble through their action if that action is somehow place specific. For example, I walk home on a sunny day with some spare time. I pass a people-filled park and decide to settle down on a bench to enjoy the lively atmosphere. The affirmative impulse is my response to the lively park, while the vibrancy of the common-presence of people in the park

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provides the environmental ensemble in which I enjoy this liveliness. Thus, people-inplace (me) and the environmental ensemble are connected through the reconciliation impulse of me soaking up the park’s atmosphere. Becoming part of the common presence, my sitting down contributes to its spatio-temporal atmosphere. If this is a facilitating interaction, an action or process disrupting the atmosphere of place would be an undermining place interaction creating distress or discomfort. The second process is ‘place identity’, which embeds a certain place as part of a group or individual identity (Seamon 2018). It contains personal actions in place that facilitate the internalisation of place in their identity. Alternatively, people act in a certain way because of this internalised place identity. In terms of spatial impulses, people interact with the environmental assemble to attune their common presence to their identity, or the identity of place. It proposes a deeper emotional connection between actions-in-place and those carrying them out. For example, every night I stroll through the local park. As I get familiar with the park and other strollers, I grow attached to it. The common presence, my regular being in the park, facilitates a bond between me (people-in-place) and the park (environmental ensemble). The park becomes part of my identity, and my regular presence becomes part of the park’s identity for other strollers. The main difference with place interaction is emotional attachment, positively or negatively, attached to a place. An undermining example of place identity involves a severe negative encounter in the park which disrupts my positive attachment. The third process is ‘place release’, where common presence initiates actions. This means the more-or-less being together of people and their environment provides coincidental or unexpected phenomena (Seamon 2018). Common presence initiates a relationship between the environmental ensemble and people-in-place. For Seamon (2018), third places often depend on place release, as their surprising encounters contribute to their exciting qualities. The common presence of people within an environmental ensemble provides the opportunity for the coincidental to be experienced. For example, as I walk through town, I hear my favourite song from a passing car. The common presence of me and the car initiates an experience which transforms that place into a place engrained in my memory, at least temporarily. Such experiences contribute to pleasant places where people get happily surprised, and the occurrence of place release contributes to for spatial well-being. Facilitative place release makes places enjoyable. Undermining place release could be an unexpected event that creates a negative place experience, for example an accident or an uncomfortable personal encounter. The fourth process is ‘place realisation’, where common presence again initiates action. Contrary to place release, place becomes a “unique phenomenal presence greater than its environmental and human parts” (Seamon 2018, p. 128). Place realisation contributes to the consistency of place through time by conscious or unconscious actions. Common presence plays a significant role in how people-in-place interact with the environmental ensemble, it shapes personal actions to solidify the place qualities. An example is the silence coupe in Dutch trains, where people remain silent to rest, read, or work while traveling. The people joined within this marked coupe (common presence) remain quiet, and, when necessary, remind people on the

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phone (people-in-place) about the silence coupe (environmental ensemble). As such, the spatial identity of the silence coupe is sustained through the common presence of the train, its markers, and the passengers, thus enacting the wagon’s identity as a silent place. An intrusive element, a source of sound, is addressed to maintain this identity. It thus facilitates place. Undermining place realisation destroys this spatial identity, for example when a restauration wagon is placed next to the silence coupe, which undermines the silence coupe as resting place. The fifth process is ‘place intensification’, underlining the “importance of the physical environment in place making” (Seamon 2018, p. 138). Here, the environmental ensemble confronts people-in-place to reinforce a common presence. The physical aspects of place allow people-in-place to act in a way that maintains their physical and social harmonious presence. For example, a car-free street with plenty of greenery (the environmental ensemble) invites inhabitants into the street on summer days (people-in-place). They get to know each other and enjoy their pleasant co-presence, so they co-contribute to sustaining the street’s greenery (common presence). In this facilitating example, the vibrancy of the street becomes self-sustaining. The car-free, tree-lined street facilitates the lively street compared to a busy car-dominated street. This latter example would be undermining place intensification; inhabitants stay indoors and do not develop a place connection. Without co-management of the greenery, they become less likely to sit outside and the spatial qualities progressively deteriorate. The sixth process is ‘place creation’, initiated by “dedicated individuals who … envision improvement in that place’s environmental ensemble that, in turn, strengthen common presence” (Seamon 2018, p. 151). The focus is on conscious physical spatial interventions to improve the character of place. Imagine a woman living on a neighbourhood square (people-in-place), placing a picnic table on that square (environmental ensemble). This woman and her neighbours increasingly sit and meet at the table (common presence). The woman’s physical intervention increases the sense of place for all square inhabitants. Place creation is undermining when someone removes the table as unauthorized object in public space and reduces the square’s social atmosphere.

7.4 Research Context After 2008, the Irish government rolled out a severe austerity programme (Whelan 2014), including cuts in social welfare spending, heightened public service fees, privatisation, and tax increases (Fraser et al. 2013). This chapter draws upon a project into the experiences of crisis and austerity by disadvantaged urban youth Ireland (van Lanen 2017b), which explored austerity experiences through in-depth interviews with youth aged 18–25 in disadvantaged urban neighbourhoods. For simplicity, this chapter builds solely upon the interviews carried out in Ballymun, Dublin. According to 2011 deprivation figures, it was among the most deprived areas of the country in 2006 and 2011 (Haase and Pratschke 2012). Since the mid-2000s, a large-scale

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regeneration programme had drastically transformed the physical environment from Ireland’s only high-rise social housing estate into predominantly terraced housing. The simultaneity of crisis and regeneration meant several plans never materialised, including a new shopping centre and cinema. In total, 20 Ballymun youth were interviewed during 2015, discussing their personal experiences of austerity and everyday life, including their neighbourhood, their household, work, and education. The next section studies these narratives of Ballymun youth to assess how austerity and crisis affect youth’s experience of place.

7.5 Austerity and Place Processes Seamon groups the place processes according to the position of common presence as reconciling impulse. In place interaction and place identity, common presence moderates the interaction between people-in-place and the environmental ensemble. In place release and place realisation, common presence, as initiating impulse, strengthens, or dissolves, place. Finally, in place intensification and place creation common presence is the outcome of the people-in-place and environmental ensemble interaction. This grouping is applied to the discussion of the place processes in Ballymun, in the context of austerity.

7.5.1 Common Presence as Moderator As place interactions concerns the “everyday goings-on of a place” (Seamon 2018, p. 91), the interviews with Ballymun youth contain many examples. However, this chapter is specifically interested in place processes affected, directly or indirectly, by the implementation of austerity. Rather than to identify any examples of place interaction, I focus on day-to-day occurrences mediated by austerity. Two themes stood out as they occurred in at least half of the austerity accounts; (1) there being ‘nothing to do’ in Ballymun and (2) the facilitating role of public and community services in place interactions. The constant reoccurrence of Ballymun as a place with ‘nothing to do’ for youth signifies its limited ability to facilitate various ‘goings-on’ in place. Youth, as peoplein-place, and their environmental ensemble, the neighbourhood, are not meaningfully connected through their common presence. … there’s nothing for the older young fella’s, like, like there’s no football pitches around where we live, they knocked all down, there’s nothing, like, there’s a playground with one swing or something, so there’s nothing for us now, like. Then the police are stopping us twenty-four seven and giving out about us having nothing to do, there’s no jobs for us or anything … (Ian, 18)

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I don’t know, ‘cause, like, can’t really think of anything else to do, like, everything just involves money, like if you go to the pictures, that’s money, if you go swimming or something, that’s more money, so, you can’t really go in like. (Orla, 18)

The absence of things to do in their neighbourhood, especially for youth of lower socio-economic status, is not new and surely predates austerity (Kelleher 2013). Nonetheless, spending cuts for public, community, and voluntary services reduced the services and amenities available to Ballymun youth. Both professional and leisurely amenities disappeared as government spending diminished sharply (Harvey 2012), as Ian indicates. Beyond physical access, Ballymun youth with low spending power, exacerbated by austerity, was financially excluded from facilities. Together, spending reductions and a fall in disposable income reduced the opportunities for a variety of place interaction within Ballymun to the point that it reduced youth’s sense of place. The negative impacts of austerity on the possibilities for place interaction are confirmed when participants discuss the value of not-for-profit and affordable services. Speaking of the Ballymun Regional Youth Resource (RECO), Tessa says: … this is really the only place that young people can come to, […] you could have something to eat, and play a bit of pool, or whatever like, and they do for the younger kids […], they go out and do activities and all, like. But it seems like, when you hit around fifteen or sixteen, like, where it’s hard for young people especially as you’re coming home from school and then there’s nothing … (Tessa, 23)

In a neighbourhood with hardly any activities available, the presence of the services like the RECO gain in importance for activities and place interactions. As such services are valued by participants, but operating in ways that do not fully serve the Ballymun community, it becomes clear that austerity reduces the possibility for positive place interactions of Ballymun youth. Place identity, as a place process, applies to such interactions of people and place that incorporate place in the identity of people-in-place. Nearly all participants expressed that they identified Ballymun as home and felt deeply connected to it through their histories, experiences, and personal networks. … my footprints will always be here, always, I wouldn’t, like, the one thing I thank this place for is for making me who I am. (John, 22) … it’s not even the area I feel attached to, it’s the community that’s in it … (Callum, 21)

Although the place and the people of Ballymun contributed to the homely experience of Ballymun, some of these qualities were affected by austerity in the experience of participants. In particular, this occurred in relation to the absence of either employment or affordable housing for inhabitants (van Lanen 2017a). … if you’re walking into the shop and, there’s fifteen employees and you know them all personally from being around the area, then you’re gonna respect that place more, ‘cause it’s, it’s just part of your home. (Josh, 21) But, like, it’s not home, […] I was homeless there for, like, nearly a year, and I still would not call it, […] it is not a place to raise a child, like, it just wasn’t suitable … (Tessa, 23)

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According to Josh, the general fall in employment during the recession impacts the opportunities of parts of Ballymun, such as a shop, to become home. As a feeling of home comes close to identifying with a place, less local employment in the area thus reduces part of the processes that make Ballymun a part of his identity. Nonetheless, his connection and identification with Ballymun remain strong. When Tessa was interviewed, she just found a house after almost a year of homelessness. Her identity was so connected to Ballymun, that even in homelessness she could not accept a house elsewhere. As access to affordable housing diminished during the recession (Hearne and Murphy 2018), Tessa associated her experience with austerity. Nonetheless, her connection to the neighbourhood, based on previous experiences, remained so strong she made it into a house into the area. Austerity, thus, seems to affect place identity in limited ways, while overall feelings of home seem strong enough to weather any negative consequences.

7.5.2 Common Presence as Initiator Place release pertains to unexpected occurrences, whether ordinary or extraordinary, initiated by common presence. Such occurrences were not directly discussed during the interviews, so the following excerpts cover neighbourhood experiences where the presence or absence of potential unexpectedness play a role. In the austerity context, both facilitating and undermining examples of place release concern neighbourhood vibrancy and the street as place of trouble. The abandoned shopping centre and lack of services was regularly mentioned as a source of reduced public activity. These disappearances impacted common presence in Ballymun, as it weakened the vibrancy of their activities and customers. This shift in place ballet (Seamon 1979) impacted negatively on the possibility of positive chance experiences. [The weekly market] used to have a lot, a lot more stuff, like, they used to have not just, like, crochet blankets, or cakes, or cards, they used to have foreign foods as well, which was great, because they used to have this little stand that did this Turkish delights, which are my favourite sweets, and I used to love going there, but they don’t have it anymore … (Hannah, 19) … like a couple of times I’ve kind of stumbled by and there’s been big gatherings outside even the Axis, or across the road, like of people just lighting candles and coming together and going on a walk just to, eh, to promote suicide prevention … (Josh, 21)

As Hannah indicates, the weekly markets once boasting a wide diversity of stalls had been shrinking. She admired the variety of market encounters, more or less predictable, as a weekly highlight. This rhythmic common presence of buyers and sellers in Ballymun disappeared, transforming Hannah’s place experiences. Of course, the neighbourhood is not suddenly devoid of activities and, as Josh indicates, unexpected encounters still exist. As with place identity, the local community spirit is highly valued through positive encounters with community activities. Although

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suicide awareness activities could result from suicides under austerity (Corcoran et al. 2015), this cannot be concluded from these interviews. Place release can also undermine place. Chance encounters made several participants avoid public space, often conceptualising the street as ‘place of trouble’ (Kelleher 2013), a spatiality with potentially uncomfortable encounters. … when I was living out here it was like nearly every day, or every second day, like, I was coming into the police and stuff like that … (Timothy, 20) I get very paranoid in Ballymun, yeah, there’s just a few dodgy people, like walking around you, like, you do be in fear, like. But you just don’t know who’s like on drugs or who is out of their head or something … (Alice, 25)

These narratives indicate potential trouble in public space which interferes with place experience, although originating from different actors. Timothy remembers regular police harassment when being on Ballymun streets with his friends, reducing their sense of appropriation and belonging in their neighbourhood’s public spaces. Other inhabitants cause Alice’s source of trouble, especially intoxicated people, reducing her at-easiness especially in the evening. Together, extensive policing of disadvantaged neighbourhoods and concentration of unemployment and substance abuse contribute to undermining place release (Wacquant 2007). It is hard to tell whether austerity contributed to increased ‘trouble’, but spending cuts reduced safe leisure spaces for youth. While place release is unexpected, place realisation maintains the qualities of place through common presence. … so trying to stay in [school] while everybody else dropped out, that would have been, would have had an effect though when it came to me finishing secondary school, […] so then I left school and the recession hit … (Sophie, 25) … you just notice people have less money as time goes on, you see it more in certain shops, there’s less people there, […] I’ve gone to the pub a fair few times with my dad, playing pool and stuff like that, and you notice that it is nowhere near as full as it used to be … (Owen, 20)

These narratives illuminate place realisation under austerity, focussing on individual effects of common presence and on austerity’s impact on common presence. Sophie recalls how the values of her local social circle did not encourage educational achievements which made her unprepared for the recession. After she dropped out of school, which she expressed as normal among Ballymun youth, she believed better education would have relieved her personal consequences. The common presence of Sophie and her environment inspired her to perpetuate the economic vulnerability of disadvantaged neighbourhoods. Later, her participation in the Irish Youth Guarantee pilot in Ballymun resulted in employment. She was eligible because of her common presence; unemployed in Ballymun. Owen, alternatively, experienced austerity as a discontinuation of place. Lower local disposable income, caused by falling employment and welfare rates, affected space interactions. The leisurely qualities of Ballymun reduced as pubs were empty, making Ballymun less pleasurable for Owen. Austerity and place realisation interact

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in various ways, it is continuous in not-preparing inhabitants to economic shocks, produces beneficial attention to vulnerable communities, and significantly affects local place ballets.

7.5.3 Common Presence as Outcome For the final two processes, common presence is the outcome of interactions between people-in-place and environmental ensemble. Place intensification starts with environmental ensemble, describing how physical environments shape behaviours of people-in-place. … when it first hit, it didn’t affect me, but it affected the area, […]it ripped the heart out of the area, ‘cause all the lovely things that were promised didn’t come about. (Michael, 24) … that’s just an eyesore in itself, so just level it and just put something nice there for the people. And it’ll generate jobs, like, if they could give people jobs, from Ballymun, if the new shopping centre goes in … […] get that construction done, quicker so it’s out of the way … (Josh, 21)

Michael and Josh reflect upon the relationship between Ballymun’s physical environment and its inhabitants. Initially unaffected, Michael felt austerity through its neighbourhood effects and the unrealised regeneration plans. Closing shops and the decaying shopping centre aggravated austerity’s impacts on sense of place. Physical closure of shops further aggravated local unemployment, initiating a spiral of decline affecting the common presence of inhabitants experiencing austerity amidst its spatial scars (Storm 2014). This experience was thus engraved in the background of everyday life in Ballymun. Place creation is initiated by people-in-place, rather than the environmental ensemble. No participants discussed conscious interventions in the environmental ensemble. However, they regularly discussed attempts by others, failed or successful, by predominantly local government and community organisations. And then the towers been taking down, […] now it’s just all busses and roundabouts and fields, like, there is nothing anymore. I know, people probably say, ‘is it not better without the flats’, but no, it wasn’t, the flats was what made Ballymun … (Tara, 18). … it’s like an outreach group, it’s to help people around my age, it’s for the older group to stay of the streets, to stay, don’t be doing stuff you shouldn’t be doing and stuff like that. (Callum, 21)

Interrupted by crisis, the Ballymun regeneration failed on many of its promises, including a new shopping centre, cinema, and improved public transport. Most iconically, the seven Ballymun towers were replaced by terraced housing. Many participants missed the towers. They realised their inadequacies, but the idea they ‘made Ballymun’, as Tara expresses, was common. Their demolishing is a form of undermining of place creation, exacerbated by the improper completion of the regeneration project.

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Other mentions of place creation referred to community activity within the neighbourhood. Callum, for example, took part in a RECO professional outreach group. Most participants highly valued such interventions, considered them active contributions to a ‘better Ballymun’. Although not necessarily physical interventions, they provide the socio-cultural environment to better youth’s socio-economic prospects and a more pleasant environment. With not much to do in the neighbourhood, these initiatives provide activities to enhance place experience. Through interruptions in regeneration and community services, austerity facilitates or undermines place intensification by disrupting the environmental ensemble, or encouraging interventions in Ballymun’s environment.

7.6 Afterthought Studying the six place processes identified by Seamon (2018), in the context of austerity, illuminates austerity’s impacts on the impulses involved—people-in-place, the environmental ensemble, and common presence. First, austerity affected environmental ensemble in two major ways. One, the interference of crisis with the Ballymun regeneration resulted in an incomplete and, in the eyes of Ballymun youth, unsuitable physical landscape. Two, spending cuts for public and community services drastically transformed the cultural environment and service landscape. Although many participants praised the work of educational, professional and leisurely services, these often struggled to maintain sufficient service levels. Austerity’s impact on the environmental ensemble, thus, reshaped the neighbourhood landscape away from the needs and desires of Ballymun youth. Second, austerity reduced the opportunities for people-in-place to engage with their environmental ensemble. Private and public services disappear and falling disposable income erects financial barriers towards the remaining facilities. ‘Peoplein-place’ that consciously act, predominantly the regeneration project, are perceived as implementing unwanted transformations and reneging on promises made. Together, these affect the common presence experienced by Ballymun youth. Amidst continuing spatial identity, they progressively feel there is nothing to do in an environmental mismatch with their needs and aspirations. Among service reduction and deprivation, desired place ballets (Seamon 1979), such as the weekly market or vibrant pubs, are no longer sustained within Ballymun. Austerity thus results in declining spatial appropriation, as inhabitants lose control to use and shape the neighbourhood as they see fit. The reduction of sense of place under austerity is thus largely a question of power and control. Ballymun youth, the people-in-place, are disempowered through personal developments and the neighbourhood trajectory. Deterioration of sense of place follows a decline in power over what to do with their lives and time, less influence over neighbourhood appearance, and minimal leverage over local facilities and interactions. Instead, Ballymun youth feels their conditions of place imposed by spending cuts, falling incomes, and environmental dilapidation. This relation

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between austerity and sense of place provides space for a constructive dialogue between Seamon’s phenomenology (1979, 2018) and its social constructionists critics (Cresswell 2004). It suggests that the phenomenological study of place processes can reveal the power relations forming variegated individual and collective space experiences. Sense of place is, partly, facilitated or undermined by political-economic power structures and experienced in specific places. A critical phenomenology of place can reveal the consequences of political, economic, and cultural structures on people, place and people-in-place. This is not a full phenomenology of the six place processes (Seamon 2018). Nevertheless, it employed these processes as a framework to understand the relation between austerity and sense of place in a disadvantaged urban neighbourhood. It demonstrates the capacity to investigate sense of place as a set of processes sensitive to political-economic transformations. The specific focus on austerity’s consequences for people-in-place, the environmental ensemble, and common presence, reveals the importance of cultural and political control over place for sense of place. It confirms that austerity has severe consequences for everyday life in general, and in-place!

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Chapter 8

Place-Identity Discourses in “Tunnel of Time: 10x10 Ten Decades of Romania in One Hundred Images” Kinga Xénia Havadi-Nagy

8.1 Introduction In 2018, Romania celebrated 100 years of existence as a country. Countless events honouring the occasion offer a generous opportunity to study representation and self-representation of identity, sense of place, place-attachment and its territoriality on different scales. Emotional bonds people experience and their actions in various environments confer meanings and values to a place (Foote and Azaryahu 2009; Kristersson 2013; Rose 1995). Their relation to the places they inhabit can be part of the spectrum of elements of self-definition and identification (Taylor 2009; Qazimi 2014), reaching from local over regional and national to supranational level. The meanings of a place can be determined by its particular history, cultural elements or natural features. Thus, people may feel also united through shared history, culture and norms (Kristersson 2013), which convey a sense of belonging. Sense of place refers to the feelings, emotions, experiences, dreams, imaginations, memories, expressions and knowledge a place evokes (Cele 2006; Qazimi 2014; Trell and Van Hoven 2010). These meanings can be individual, connected to distinct experiences of life, or they can be shared, collective and social (Rose 1995). Shared senses of place are based on mediation and representation (Cresswell 2009). Meanings are seldom settled and inflexible, but rather exposed to change and even opposite senses, generated by other representations and interpretations. In the Identity process theory of Breakwell (1983), places are significant sources of identity elements. Distinct features of identity are produced by places we belong to, because places have figures and images that are meaningful and relevant to us. Places represent individual and community memories because they are positioned in the socio-historical matrix of intergroup relations. Identity in this perspective addresses K. X. Havadi-Nagy (B) Faculty of Geography, Babe¸s-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_8

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the way in which heritage, language, religion, ethnicity and shared perceptions of history create inclusion and exclusion that constitute communities (Bohland and Hague 2009). According to Proshansky et al. (1983), place identity is a “potpourri of memories, conceptions, interpretations, ideas and related feelings about specific physical settings, as well as types of setting” (Proshansky et al. 1983, p. 60). Two types of elements constitute place identity: memories, values, thoughts, ideas and settings, and the relationship between different settings, like home, neighbourhood and school. With other words, not only physical components determine the identity of place, but also the sense and association unfolded between individuals and places. Concomitantly, cultural attributes unite with the individual’s affective perceptions and functional needs, and establish place identity (Bott 2003 in Norsidah 2012). Place attachment is defined as the unfolding of affective ties or joints among collectives of people or among individuals and certain places (Hidalgo and Hernandez 2001), manifested through the interaction of affects and emotions, knowledge and beliefs, and behaviour and actions (Proshansky et al. 1983). It influences people’s identity and support continuity of life and socio-cultural values (Norsidah 2012). The celebratory outdoor exhibition called 10x10 Zece decenii de România în o sut˘a de imagini (10x10 Ten decades of Romania in one hundred images), staged by the National Museum of Transylvanian History (MNIT) in Cluj-Napoca, was chosen as primary source for this survey as it mediates collectively shared senses of place (Fig. 8.1).

8.2 Methodology Applying quantitative content analysis complemented by a semiotic analysis of the photos, the survey intended to identify which elements the authors of the exhibition consider as representative for a multi-layered territorial identity statement. Further on, the paper surveyed the contribution of the selected historical events and related images to the creation and support of a place-based identity and to their impact on a sense of ownership and place-attachment, the assessment of the exhibited images and messages triggering storytelling and sharing moments. Applying elements of discourse analysis, the survey intended to correlate the images with the prevailing political discourse. Considered to be an adequate method to manage a large bulk of images with some degree of consistency (Lutz and Collins 1993, in Rose 2007), we conducted quantitative content analysis on the sample of the 100 exhibited photographs and collages, which facilitated the identification of patterns and topics within the sample of images, following the recurrence of particular visual elements. Photographs are not neutral presentations of the world, but they interpret and display the world in very particular ways. According to Rose (2007), both what is seen and how it is seen are culturally predetermined. Hence for a more in-depth analysis of the images, the content analysis was complemented by a semiotic analysis

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Fig. 8.1 The poster of the exhibition (Source https://www.mnit.ro/mnit-aniverseaza-centenarul-cuo-expozitie-inedita-%E2%80%A8care-aduce-trecutul-in-centrul-clujului/; permission granted by MNIT)

of the photos, the main goal of which was to elucidate the meanings those images carry and their effects mediated by the social context of their use and their embeddedness in particular cultural practices and certain ways of seeing. For the interpretation of the visual images, we assessed the three situations at which the meanings of an image are created: the site(s) of the production of an image, the site of the image itself, and the site(s) where it is seen by various audiences (Rose 2007). Further on, visual objects being always part of a series and multitude of other texts, some of which are visual and some of which are written, but which intersect with each other (Rose 2007), elements of discourse analysis complement the quantitative and semiotic analysis of the photographs, to depict how images construct specific perceptions of the social world, and to assess the dominance of certain discourses.

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8.3 Results and Discussions 8.3.1 Source and Audience The celebratory exhibition organized by the National Museum of Transylvanian History (MNIT) is an outdoor exhibition called 10x10 Zece decenii de România în o sut˘a de imagini (10x10 10 decades of Romania in one hundred images). The official statement of the MNIT describes the event as “intended to be a virtual time travel to bring visitors a suite of significant events for this dynamic and tumultuous century: moments of everyday life, personalities that have marked the city’s life, and the metamorphosis the city has undergone” (http://www.mnit.ro/mnit-aniverseaza-centenarul-cu-o-expozitieinedita-%e2%80%a8care-aduce-trecutul-in-centrul-clujului/). The tunnel of time is a collection of 100 images, 10 images depicting key moments of each decade after the 1st of December 1918, respectively. Each image has a caption, a short text, which completes the information delivered by the photo, but also gives explanations and further details about the situation. According to the director of the museum, the authors “wanted the information accompanying each image to objectify the message” (http://www.mnit.ro/mnit-aniverseaza-centenarulcu-o-expozitie-inedita-%e2%80%a8care-aduce-trecutul-in-centrul-clujului/). They are aware about the fact, that the exhibition they “are proposing not only brings simple images, but all the symbolic and emotional load they bear, especially that we are talking about a recent past, a living history. That is why we hope that the information will be relevant to the concerns of those who choose to accept our suggestion and that each one will find a moment, which arouses his or her interest” (http://www.mnit.ro/mnit-aniverseaza-centenarul-cu-o-expozitie-ine dita-%e2%80%a8care-aduce-trecutul-in-centrul-clujului/). The wooden installation, with panels exhibiting images and short captions for fiveyear periods each, was temporary assembled in a central pedestrian area (Fig. 8.2), with large exposure due to brisk traffic. The organizers intended to bring the museum closer to the citizens, and the setting of the exposition in the city centre assured open access. Originally intended to last one month, November 2018, the exposition stood until April 2019. Modern communication technologies and social media assured even a larger audience, the public taking pictures and sharing their impressions on the world wide web. Local televisions and local newspapers also dedicated space for the event. The main sources of the chosen images for each year are: (1) the collection of the MNIT (34.57%), (2) the archive of the AGERPRES news agency (23.36%), (3) the online photograph collection of the Romanian communism (Fototeca online a comunismului românesc) (10.28%), and (4) Minerva press photograph archive (10.28%), but 21.49% of the images are (5) items from private collections, (6) assets of Babes, -Bolyai University or even (7) Wikipedia and (8) the Facebook account of institutions. Some of the years are illustrated by a collage of images, this is why there are actually 107 individual photos.

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Fig. 8.2 The open-air wooden installation (Source https://www.facebook.com/ NisteOameniOrg/photos/a. 1603001226647035/223946 8879666930; permission granted)

The selection process of the exposed photographs was directly influenced by the nature of the objects, photos and documents in the museum’s patrimony or in the possession of the project partners. In addition, much of the chosen events mainly focus on the local history, which is closely linked to the museum’s collection.

8.3.2 The Images: Place and Identity The images are black and white or colourful reproductions of: (1) artefacts substitutes for events or personalities (scarf in the Romanian national colours, ordinul Steaua României (order Star of Romania), painting …), (2) documents (passport, official documents, extract of the constitution, newspapers, maps, and posters), (3) historic postcards, and (4) photographs from various events and personalities. Totally 107 images plus one booklet for own contributions and impressions (Table 8.1). Graham (2010) regards places as palimpsests, where the present is continuously being built upon the foundations of the past, making places into layers of brick, steel, and concrete, but also memory, history, legends and myths. The countless horizons of any place join in specific times and spaces and impact the cultural and

116 Table 8.1 Content of images in the celebratory exhibition

K. X. Havadi-Nagy Content of the images

Percentage (%)

(Press) photos from the epoch

75.7

Documents

14.95

Objects

5.6

Historic postcards

3.73

Booklet for present viewers’ impressions

0.93

economic features, interpolations, and meanings of place (Graham 2010). The time travel trait of the exposition, which depicts 100 years of history, focuses on events and personalities of national relevance, the position of Romania in international context, but also on the history and development of Cluj-Napoca city, or on the history of its various institutions of major importance, such as the university, and the museum itself. The numerous breaking points of the last 100 years radically shaped the history of Romania: the two world wars, followed by the cold war and over 40 years of communism, the fall of the iron curtain, first steps in the new democracy, and the country’s accession to and membership in international organizations as NATO (2004) and the European Union (2007), each of these events causing political, social and economic turmoil and transformations. Some of the contributions encompass various layers of place: such as the 1st of December national event, incorporated in an international level of the post-World War I peace treaties and delimitation of new state borders, but illustrated by an element of a rather regional (Transylvania) or local (Cluj-Napoca) importance (Fig. 8.3). Looking at the layers, the exhibition works with identities on various geographical scales. Aiming at the celebration of 100 years since the state formation, the overlay level is the national identity, a set of cultural features with explicit political objectives and tied to the territory that helps define it (Kaplan 1999). Celebrating 100 years since the creation of the Romanian national state, the event itself refers to a traditional and stiff notion of identity as a result of beliefs about nationality, heritage and ethnicity. So, the exhibition works partially with symbols, myths and facts, historical events, and personalities which are well-established elements in the historiography and mainstream national discourse used in the last century to induce an ideological place-attachment and a sense of collective identity among the citizens. Such historical reminders (artefacts, personalities, monuments, events) were deployed in time by various governments and public administrations to legitimize their power, and argue that the history of Romania as a country and a nation had a certain continuity and ideals in time which the Romanian society should defend. These images include mainly political symbols, as well as economic and cultural capital, regarded as relevant for the state and its self-presentation. Well-established and defined elements of the official identity shaping narrative receive space in the exhibition: the Latin and Dacian origins of the Romanian nation; the moment of the unification of the three historical Romanian regions, linked symbolically to the date of the 1st of December 1918, which is also the celebration of the Romanian national day; Avram Iancu, national hero; the Orthodox religion. These instruments

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Fig. 8.3 Representation for 1918, the first image of the exposition (Source Object nr. M7499 of the collection of MNIT; permission granted)

of defining, maintaining and strengthening national-identity propagate a rather thick identity (Terlouw 2009), more fixed and rooted in culture and history, and “often religiously and magically tabooed, coercive tradition” (Zijderveld 2000, p. 128, in Terlouw 2009), with a normative aspect. Secondary is the well-defined substate unit of the historical region of Transylvania and, finally, the local level in the shape of Cluj-Napoca city. On the local level, meanings and identity of physically present urban elements (like the neighbourhoods, representative buildings, old town, etc.) and individual activities or major collective events (e.g. movie or music festivals) taking place in these settings, as well as related meanings and perceptions contribute to self-identity, sense of community and sense of place (Hull 1994, in Norsidah 2012). Looking at the elements which belong to the representation of the local and place attached, more tangible identities, they communicate a rather thin identity, “more voluntary, more open” (Zijderveld 2000, p. 128, in Terlouw 2009), more practical and utilitarian, more fluid and based on dialogue (Delanty and Rumford 2005, in Terlouw 2009), more profane and demystified. The beginning of the synopsis of the last century is defined through the moment of the constitution of the Romanian state (the Large National Assembly in Alba Iulia, in 1918; the Peace Conference of Paris in 1919, where the incorporation of Transylvania into Romania was sanctioned; adoption of the new Constitution in 1923), which also has local consequences, such as the establishment of new institutions (Dacia Superior University of Cluj-Napoca in 1920; inauguration of the orthodox cathedral in Cluj-Napoca, in 1933), just to name a few.

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The evoked personalities can be grouped in the following categories: (1) national and international politicians, (2) the Romanian royal family, (3) cultural personalities (Octavian Goga, I.L. Caragiale, Lucian Blaga) and (4) sports(wo)men (Ilie N˘astase, Nadia Com˘aneci, Smaranda Br˘aescu). Manifold references are dedicated to the royal family, especially in the first half of the century, and Nicolae Ceaus, escu related images and events appear most frequently for the period of 40 years of communism. In the exhibition, relatively much space is given to the Romanian Royal Family and its destiny linked to the history of Romania in the last century. Even though the beginning of the royal history of Romania dates to mid-nineteenth century, its first decades were of major importance in the establishment of Romania as a modern state and put the basis for the later history (i.e. after 1918). The Kingdom of Romania (Regatul României), formed at that time by the union of the two historical principalities of Wallachia and Moldova, was a constitutional monarchy, ruled by the royal family that was a branch of the HohenzollernSigmaringen dynasty. Carol I of Romania was proclaimed king in 1881. The kingdom existed until 1947, when the last king, Michael I (Mihai I) of Romania was forced to abdicate and the parliament proclaimed Romania a republic. The most important accomplishments of the first king were not only the development of the railway infrastructure, the enforcement of the army, or the improvement of the educational system, all efforts in creating a modern state, but also the independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1877 and the promulgation of the first constitution in 1866 (https://fam iliaregala.ro/). 10th of May became Romania’s National Day between 1866–1916 and 1918–1947, and it is loaded with lots of moments related to the Romanian royal family and Romania´s story as a kingdom: in 1866—Carol I pledged his oath to the country, in 1877—independence from the Ottoman empire, in 1881—the coronation of Carol I and proclamation of the Kingdom Romania as independent and sovereign state, internationally recognized in 1878. The exhibition includes the following moments: 1922—the coronation of the successor of Carol I, King Ferdinand I; his death in 1927, illustrated with images of his successor Carol II and details regarding the royal funeral and commemoration events also in Cluj-Napoca; 1947—the last celebrations of the National Day on 10th of May, before the forced abdication of the then King Mihai I. Later references show Mihai I of Romania in 2003, being honoured with the title of honorary doctor of the University of Babes, -Bolyai, Cluj-Napoca, and the last one in 2017, depicting images from the royal funeral of the last ruling king of Romania. 10th of May, the former national day, was proclaimed national holiday in 2015, confirming the importance of this period for the Romanian history and identity as a nation. The 40 year of communism are reflected also in the numerous images related to this period; the persecution of those who fought against it, the changes in the cityscape of Cluj, major moments in the evolution of the country and related to Nicolae Ceaus, escu. The press photographs included in the sample for this period are a very good example for the web of complex relations between visual images, visual consumption and power. Due to the myth of neutrality surrounding them and to their perception as unquestionable facts, photographs were significant instruments in the dissemination, enforcement and irrevocable naturalization of ideology, absolving

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their particular interpretations of the world from critical scrutiny (Brito-Henriques 2014). However, “a depiction is never just an illustration” (Fyfe and Law 1988, in Rose 2007, p. 1) and the way we look, see and perceive the images depends on our visual culture, the social conditions and effects of visual objects (Rose 2007). So not simply the image itself is important, but also how it is seen by particular spectators who look in particular ways, as “we never look just at one thing; we are always looking at the relation between things and ourselves” (Berger 1972, p. 9 in Rose 2007). Ian Heywood and Barry Sandywell (1999) consider visual culture as being a sociohistorical compilation of interpretative procedures; where the historically special visuality produced a particular “way of seeing” (Berger 1972 in Rose 2007), both on individual and on collective level. This way, press photographs, produced according to the communism ideologies, these historical representations of representations may induce nowadays, in the post-communist context, other effects than originally intended. The current discourse exerts critique towards the communism era, in the analysed sample also reinforced by the caption of certain representations. Hereby, I would like to illustrate it with two examples. For 1971, we have a picture of the meeting of Nicolae Ceaus, escu with Mao Tzedun, representation originally realised with propagandistic purpose for the celebration of the meeting of the two great leaders, the good relationship in which the nations are, but the caption of the text mentions this event as inspiration for the new ideological program of the Communist Party, the beginning of the consolidation of the dictatorship and the personal cult of Ceaus, escu, which had terrible consequences for the Romanian society. So we look at this picture with the knowledge about what happened and we do not interpret this representation as a glorious moment of the great leader that Ceaus, escu was supposed to be and the propaganda intended to create this visual culture, but it awakens directly lived or heard memories and stories from those decades of a totalitarian regime. Another good example displaying the discordance between the realities and the political propaganda of the socialist era, which these images were created to communicate, is the one selected for 1979 (Fig. 8.4 left). The picture shows a working visit of the Ceaus, escu couple at the dockyard in Constant, a, in 1977, representation which should demonstrate progress, modernisation, great successes of the industrialisation, as economic achievements were supposed to support the political ideology (Ilovan 2019), but the caption of the photo mentions the greatest catastrophe and disgrace of the national naval fleet, the sinking of the fully loaded oil tanker in November 1979, two years after its official launching. Images are also abundant in stereotypes, in this sample with the representations of residential areas of the cities and towns in Romania concentrated in press photographs or in picture postcards. These documents, such as the press photographs chosen for 1964, 1967 and 1970, showing the construction of socialist neighbourhoods in Cluj-Napoca, were presenting Romania as a flourishing and developing socialist country, and this era is part of the identity of an entire generation, urban landscapes in post-socialist Romania even currently defining people’s place attachment (Ilovan 2019).

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Fig. 8.4 (left) Discrepancies between image and text (Source of the image used in the exhibition: Photo No. LA477, Online Photo Collection of the Romanian Communism, Archive No. 95/1977; permission granted); (right) Smaranda Br˘aescu, women in the collection (Source of the image used in the exhibition: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smaranda_Br%C4%83escu#/media/File:Sma randa_Braescu.jpg)

As Ilovan (2019) points it out in her research about picture postcards from the communist period in Romania, these representations confronted the people visually with particular features strongly promoted on the urban development stage: “They did not expose critical issues but enhanced the mythologizing ones. They gave the impression of telling real, truthful or authentic stories as tangible as the landscapes, objects or beings represented” (Ilovan 2019). However, the people were able to see beyond these manipulated representations, as they noticed in their everyday life and were involved in what was happening. The audience’s “way of seeing” these images in 2018 probably does not acknowledge the “preferred meanings” which that time “institutional/political/ideological

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order imprinted on” (Hall 1980, p. 134, in Rose 2007), but see either an affordable modern urban way of housing and living, or awakes maybe sentiments of uprooting, as thousands of people were relocated from rural to urban areas to ensure the work force needed in the large industrial plants. It can trigger pleasant memories of neighbours, friends or children playing in the neighbourhood, but also the shortages suffered in the 1980s, the regular and long lasting energy supply interruptions, the cold because of lack of heating or the shortage of hot water, the every days of the urban way of life experienced in the last years of communism. Most of the images used for the period between 1947 and 1989 are press photographs originally employed for the socio-communist propaganda of the regime in constructing an identity of the “new man” and modern society. Though, in this sample of images, assembled for the celebration of 100 years of Romania, these press photographs and their captions unveil the deficiencies of the “Golden Age”. The exhibition puts the representations in a larger context in space and time and looking now at these images can awake a large spectrum of emotions defined by the personal or collective memories they trigger. The political change of 1989 and the first years that followed, are loaded with political content, events and personalities that shaped this early post-communist period full of turmoil, changes, as well as political, social and economic transformations. Representations of the ambiguous fall of the communist regime in December 1989 are etched in the collective memory of an entire generation who participated directly at the events or watched the “televised Romanian revolution”. The protest movements, demonstrations and street conflicts which occurred in December 1989 in Romania led to the fall of Nicolae Ceaus, escu and to the end of his communist regime. Even though the events and its follow ups raised more questions than answers about the controversial revolution, Petrovszky and Tichindeleanu ¸ (2018) considers it is a significant moment in the global history of the post-cold war era, and the ignition point of the post-communist cultural history of Romania. Other elements included in the sample of the exhibition are important steps in the process of democratization, like the referendum for the new constitution in 1991, the local and presidential elections of 1992 and 1996, and international recognition of the new Romania, like the association agreement with the European Community in 1993 or the official visit of the then president of the USA, Bill Clinton, in 1997. Religion, faith related events appear in nine moments, in the context of inauguration of churches (Orthodox and Protestant) and in relation to religious leaders. Whereat worth to mention is an inclusion of other religions besides the Orthodox, most of the Romanians have. Engaging also other beliefs, the exhibition gives space also to minorities, as certain religions are connected to ethnic groups. The Hungarian and German national minorities, as well as the Jewish community receive attention in the context of political events and decisions, such as the agreement with the German chancellor Helmuth Schmidt in 1978, regarding the emigration of the German community members or the arrest of the Catholic bishop Márton Áron, an opponent of the communist regime, in 1949. Further mentions of minorities are in religious context, like the inauguration in Cluj-Napoca of a Protestant Hungarian church in 2008, or related to landmark buildings of Hungarian origin and symbolic

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load (renovation works on the birth house of the important Hungarian king Mathias Rex, based upon the plans of the Hungarian architect Kós Károly, in 1942, also in ClujNapoca). The Jewish community is mentioned in relation with a commemorative event of the deported Jews in 1944, as the representative moment for 2014. Women are scarcely evoked in the collection of 100 historical moments of the last century, and they are introduced related to personal achievements in sports, like the parachute jumper Smaranda Br˘aescu (1932) (Fig. 8.4, right) or like the internationally acclaimed Romanian gymnast, Nadia Com˘aneci (1976). A further category where women are mentioned is politics, with Elisabeta Rizea (1950), as symbol of the anti-communism movement, and Doina Cornea (1988), a political dissident. Scattered curiosities and technical innovations confer certain playfulness to the rather political retrospective: centennial of the introduction of the metric system in Romania (1966), first Romanian in space (1981), first flight of an airplane of Romanian production (1983), the inauguration of the Radio Station in Cluj-Napoca (1967); on one hand, events of national resonance, and, on other hand, with local significance. Natural (earthquake 1977) and men induced disasters (Chernobyl explosion 1986) or political events of global significance (New York 9/11) are included in the retrospective. The destructive earthquake of 1977 (with 1,500 casualties) had a major resonance on national level, and is a significant shared memory of the generation which experienced it, as it was felt strongly not only in the capital, but almost in the whole territory and many people have personal stories related to this event. The nuclear explosion from 1986 is considered the worst nuclear disaster in history, part of the collective memory of a whole continent, which endangered many lives also due to the delayed public acknowledgement and announcement. Open air 1st of May celebrations and large sports competitions took place also in Romania a few days after the accident, despite possible exposure to contamination and radiation. Personal testimonies show that missing or controlled public information, rumours and misinformation by the regime, created a situation where the population oscillated between concern, fear, panic, paranoia and ignorance (Moldoveanu 2019), and the actual consequences of the disaster sank in only later. Not only mainstream national identity endowing myths, but also profane moments of recent history, which shape the present and the national and international perception of Cluj-Napoca complete the review: Untold music festival, mentioned in relation with 2015, as Cluj-Napoca was the Youth Capital of Europe, TIFF (Transylvanian International Film Festival) celebrating its first edition in 2012, Cluj Arena sport stadium and similar prestige projects. All these accomplishments are major elements of the official discourse of present achievements, modernization, internationalization of a dynamic, open minded, youthful university city. During the last century, the urban tissue of Cluj suffered various extensive changes, some of them displayed on the panels. The references before 1989 address rather the development of socialist residential areas, as we concluded before, and those after 1989 rather to the restauration of historic, long time neglected buildings, turned into centres of cultural and civic activities (Turnul Croitorilor/Tailor’s Tower,

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Cazino/Casino) or large prestige projects (stadium), foundation of museums and inauguration of monuments. The University receives a large share of space in the exhibition with references to the foundation of the Romanian university (1919), or to celebrations with the occasion of conferring honorary doctor titles to international personalities. The exhibition evokes important moments of the museum’s history as well: foundation (1919), broadening of the collections and departments or even the death of its director and eponym. The exhibition fulfils also certain edutainment function, an alternative history lecture. Many instants to which also the younger generation can relate make the exhibition appealing to a broader audience. On the other hand, the relevance of the selected moments as representative for a certain year is succumbed to subjective judgment. Similar is also the estimation of which cultural elements (like the Roma population) or political topics, or even personalities or events are missing from the exhibition. The booklet representing 2018 facilitates own individual contributions to this exhibition. The entries thank for the initiative, compliment the exhibition or share personal notes, like joy about passing final exams or receiving the drivers permit and this way personal memories becoming part of a collective event.

8.4 Conclusions The main results of the analysis show that the exhibition appeals to the public memory and confronts the viewers with a suite of more or less significant events of the last century with local, regional, national or even international coverage. Applying visual methodologies, the chapter concludes that the representations used symbols that the target public understood. The employed visual imagery, supported by the short texts of each image, comply with the main historical discourse, reinforce myths and ideologies (like national unitary state, Latin origin and Orthodox faith) which define the Romanian national identity and continue to shape the traditional culturally based and historically grown broad and stable identity fixed to the given territory (Terlouw 2009). On the other hand, on the regional and local level, it allows a more inclusive representation of sense of place, including defining identity and place attachment elements of minorities and further beliefs. The images highlight the stories of places employing iconic visual markers. The representations aggregated in the exhibition capture moments, sites, settings that awake emotions, memories, meanings people give to the places, and boost local and regional place-attachment. This enforces the symbolic value of a place as a container for emotions and relationships that give meaning and purpose to life and reflects the sense of belonging (Proshansky et al. 1995 and Shamai 1991, in Norsidah 2012). Further on, we can notice that the introduction of more profane elements and references to everyday life loosens the solemnity of the images related to the state grounding moments and the strongly emphasized consolidated elements of national

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history and identity. In the contemporary modern times, when collective identity is replaced by a chosen, more fluid and temporary individual identity (Bauman 2004, in Terlouw 2009), the exhibition enabled discussing and communicating identities, also in the context of a more heterogeneous city population. The identity of the place is defined by the people’s positive appropriation of the places, the feeling of content, joy and security. The constructed visual discourse contributes to the creation and support of a place-based identity and a sense of ownership and place-attachment of the citizens, the assessment of the exhibited images and messages triggering storytelling and sharing moments.

References Bohland, J. D., & Hague, E. (2009). Heritage and identity. In R. Kitchin & N. Thrift (Eds.), International encyclopedia of human geography (Vol. 5, pp. 109–114). Oxford: Elsevier. Breakwell, G. M. (1983). Identities and conflicts. In G. M. Breakwell (Ed.), Threatened identities (pp. 189–214). Chichester: Wiley. Brito-Henriques, E. (2014). Visual tourism and post-colonialism: Imaginative geographies of Africa in a Portuguese travel magazine. Journal of Tourism and Cultural Change, 12(4), 320–334. Cele, S. (2006). Communicating place, methods for understanding children’s experiences of place. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International. Cresswell, T. (2009). Place. In R. Kitchin & N. Thrift (Eds.), International encyclopedia of human geography (Vol. 8, pp. 169–177). Oxford: Elsevier. Foote, K. E., & Azaryahu, M. (2009). Sense of place. In R. Kitchin & N. Thrift (Eds.), International encyclopedia of human geography (Vol. 10, pp. 96–100). Oxford: Elsevier. Graham, M. (2010). Neogeography and the palimpsests of place: WEB 2.0 and the construction of a virtual earth. In Tijdschrift voor economische en sociale geografie. Journal of Economic and Social Geography, 101(4), 422–436. Heywood, I., & Sandywell, B. (1999). Introduction: Explorations in the hermeneutics of vision. In I. Heywood & B. Sandywell (Eds.), Interpreting visual culture: Explorations in the hermeneutics of the visual. London and New York: Routledge. Hidalgo, M. C., & Hernandez, B. (2001). Place attachment: Conceptual and empirical question. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 21, 273–281. Ilovan, O.-R. (2019). Visual imagery and propaganda during communist Romania (1948–1989): Picture postcards as a tool. In Connections: A Journal for Historians and Area Specialists. www. connections.clio-online.net/article/id/artikel-4767. Kaplan, H. D. (1999). Territorial identities and geographic scale. In H. H. Guntram & H. D. Kaplan (Eds.), Nested identities: Nationalism, territory and scale (pp. 31–48). Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers. Kristersson, T. (2013). A home for the excluded? A study about identity and belonging in Kibera slum. Lund University. MNIT. http://www.mnit.ro/mnit-aniverseaza-centenarul-cu-o-expozitie-inedita-%e2%80%a8careaduce-trecutul-in-centrul-clujului/. Last accessed 18 Oct 2019. Moldoveanu, I. (2019). Panica s, i ignorant, a prin care a trecut România la accidentul de la Cernobîl. https://www.vice.com/ro/article/ywye87/ce-s-a-intamplat-in-romania-in-timpul-dez astrului-de-la-cernobil. Norsidah, U. (2012). Place attachment and continuity of urban place identity. Procedia—Social and Behavioral Sciences, 49, 156–167.

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Petrovszky, K., & Tichindeleanu, ¸ O. (Eds.). (2018). Revolu¸tia Român˘a televizat˘a Contribu¸tii la istoria cultural˘a a mediilor. Cluj-Napoca: IDEA Design & Print Editur˘a. Proshansky, H. M., Abbe, K. F., & Kaminoff, R. (1983). Place-identity: Physical world socialization of the self. Journal of environmental psychology, 3(1), 57–83. Qazimi, S. (2014). Sense of place and place identity. European Journal of Social Sciences Education and Research, 1(1), 306–310. Rose, G. (1995). Place and identity: A sense of place. In D. Massey & P. Jess (Eds.), A place in the world? Places, cultures and globalization. Oxford: The Open University. Rose, G. (2007). Visual methodologies: An introduction to researching with visual materials. London: Sage. Taylor, A. (2009). Belonging. In R. Kitchin & N. Thrift (Eds.), International encyclopedia of human geography (Vol. 1, pp. 296–297). Oxford: Elsevier. Terlouw, K. (2009). Communicating thick and thin regional identities. Studies in Ethnicity and Nationalism, 9(3), 452–464. Trell, M. A., & Van Hoven, B. (2010). Making sense of place: Exploring creative and (inter)active research methods with young people (pp. 91–104). Helsinki: Fennia 188/1. TVR Cluj. https://www.facebook.com/tvrcluj/videos/362829220957679/UzpfSTE1ODk1MTk 4ODEzMjg1MDM6MjI0MTQyNzg4OTQ3MTAyOQ/. Last accessed 18 Oct 2019. https://familiaregala.ro/. Last accessed 18 Oct 2019.

Chapter 9

Visual Discourse and Urban Spatial Identity in Picture Postcards During Socialist Romania (1948–1989) Oana-Ramona Ilovan

9.1 Introduction Civil and industrial architecture as a propaganda tool in everyday life of socialist Romania was present due to its representations circulated through a multitude of mass media channels. In this chapter, I analyse the key role that picture postcards were given in creating a visual discourse that was coherent internally and in relation to the official discourse of the Communist Party propaganda about Romania’s territorial identity as a nation and reflected in the urban area. In addition, this study contextualises the visual discourse by using the development discourse in Romania (i.e. as emerging from written texts starting with 1948 up to present) which is part of an extensive interdisciplinary scientific literature (Geography, History, Economy, Sociology, Architecture, etc.). I started from the hypothesis that the urban area in Romania, at present, is characterised by territorial identities informed by the socialist period transformations. My research question refers to the features of the Romanian state’s official discourse about urban territorial identities from 1948 to 1989, as rendered by picture postcards. The research objectives are (1) to discuss the key development policies impacting the territory of socialist Romania, and (2) to analyse the postcards with pictures of the Romanian towns and cities, postcards which were produced and circulated in socialism. These two are interrelated. This study complements the little research in Romania on visual discourse informed by picture postcards, considering that they were used as a means of communication which was more accessible and reliable than telephones (cf. Ilovan and Maros, i 2018, pp. 137–138).

O.-R. Ilovan (B) Faculty of Geography, Territorial Identities and Development Research Centre, Babe¸s-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_9

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I considered three characters that played relevant roles in Romanians’ life and relation to the urban landscape—the city, the architect, and the user. These actors were radically transformed from 1948 to 1989, because erasing in a systematic manner symbols and markers of an inconvenient past from an ideological standpoint and creating new ones heavily impacted the urban image and people’s lifestyle. First, I explored critically the ideological context in which the urban identities, cityscapes, and urban representations were built, and, secondly, I visited the visual narrative of urban identity. The concepts of identity and heritage intermingle, and one may conclude that the present research is tributary to the complicated scientific discourse on territorial identity (cf. Paasi 2011, p. 11). “A sense of community and identity” (Paasi 2011, p. 9) was formed through picture postcards. In this context, I considered Romania as a region, which was institutionalised during the Communist regime.

9.2 State of the Art In this section, I refer to research with picture postcards and landscape. Photography, an icon of modernity, appeared around 1830, postal cards were first introduced in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, in 1869 (Purcar 2019, p. 150), and later became a mass media in the form of picture postcards (1889). Images such as photographs were considered to mirror reality, to be a “model of veracity and objectivity” and therefore, they had the “central role in authenticating” cultural and political messages (Vibha 2009, p. 63). Landscape photography created a discourse about societal changes (Purcar 2019, pp. 149–150). The study and collection of postcards is known under the name of deltiology, which also has a documentary function at present. From the end of the nineteenth to the beginning of the twentieth century, developed a period considered the Golden Age in producing picture postcards worldwide, also representing a boost in collecting postcards. Beside their features as a means of communication that was both cheap and fast (Ferguson 2006), those postcards, due to the pictures on their front side, were a tool in producing visual discourses on a variety of themes. The cheap production and the popularity of picture postcards is explained through the technological progress of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and the societal changes that they represented. Thus, their Golden Age overlaps the development process until World War I (Conradie 2009, p. 5). As a “reservoir of high memorability”, “picture postcards reflect and shape particular discourses about place and identity” (Vibha 2009, p. 57; cf. also Ferguson 2006; Laakso and Östman 1999, 2001; Winiwarter 2008). They assume representative functions. From a methodological point of view, research with postcards benefitted from image/photography research (Albers and James 1988; Edwards 1996; Pritchard and Morgan 2003). A series of recent studies discuss the topic of image and representations in picture postcards as a tourism media (Markwick 2001; Milman 2012; Van Eeden 2009).

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In former studies on representing development and landscape changes, the strong “relationship between the political ideology in Romania, the discourse on economic development and the representation of societal development through industry” (Ilovan and Maro¸si 2018) was proved and discussed (Ilovan 2019a, b). My study on picture postcards draws on the constructivist paradigm/approach to defining territorial identities (Banini 2017; Havadi-Nagy and Ilovan 2018; Paasi 1986, 2003, 2009, 2010) and their use for the planning and development of cities and regions (cf. Raagmaa 2002); my research is also informed by studies on landscape representation as a container of memory and nationalism (Schama 1995), as well as by studies on picture postcards, on representations, and on visual methods and visual imagery (Belting 2011; Moldovan and Purcar 2012; Rose 2014a, b). This research explores the landscapes represented in picture postcards from the perspective of landscape-as-text, an approach that D. Cosgrove (1998), among others (Agnew 2011; Antrop 2015), advocated for in his rethinking of the reading of cultural landscapes. I have chosen the emotional geography promoted by state propaganda through representations in picture postcards and therefore landscape as visual ideology will be analysed for the urban area. Arguing that the urban memory is an archive that is made of the physical proofs and of social significances, Popa-Florea (2017) defines the urban landscape as “a palimpsest, [which] preserves information about spatial experiences” (p. 94), at the same time reflecting how the process of spatial meaning was produced and transformed by social and historical factors (Paasi 2011, p. 9).

9.3 Methodology (on Doing Research with Picture Postcards) The lens I have chosen to interpret the representations in my selection of picture postcards shapes this entire analysis and discussion process. I refer especially to the constraints and openings given by the communist and socialist ideology and how they impacted the Romanian society and, implicitly, the urban areas and their landscapes. Nonetheless, the cultural meaning of the represented places is highly textured. The subjectivity of working with picture postcards is induced by the fact that our interpretations “tell us as much about ourselves and our cultural assumptions as about their original significance” (Cosgrove 2008, p. 184). Part of this subjectivity is reduced by interpreting representations in their geographical and historical context. The importance of contextuality for this type of research has been discussed thoroughly by Paasi (1986, 2003, 2009, 2011): “identities are historically and spatially contingent” (Paasi 2011, p. 9). As a result, I decided to use visual methodology (for interpreting images in picture postcards) and discourse analysis (for scientific texts on the development of socialist Romania).

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A. Paasi’s works were useful to study territorial identity and the concept of structures of expectations (Paasi 1986, 2003, 2009), shaped through visual propaganda.

9.3.1 Research Material. Data Collection Visual imagery was collected from commercial websites which sell picture postcards printed during socialist Romania (1948–1989), but also from before and after that period. My collection of the research material for this part consisted of downloading the scanned postcards; downloading was free of charge. My criteria used for selecting picture postcards were the following: representations of development; representations of changes in the urban structure and landscape; representations of political power in the urban landscape. I collected this material on features of the Romanian urban area in July–September 2018 (more than 200 picture postcards), and on industrial landscape in October– November 2018 (about 150 pieces). Another source was the IfL Archive in Leipzig, Germany (more than 100 pieces), collected according to the above-mentioned criteria in June–July 2018 (cf. Ilovan 2019b). To sum up, around 450 pieces were collected and analysed. Many were dated when printed or used, that is why landscape changes are possible to be identified. So, the research material consisted of digital visual material and other complementary sources contextualising the contents of the respective images (cf. Ilovan 2019a). For this chapter, I considered the following types of picture postcards: representations of power (104 pieces), of industrial landscape (about 150), of civic centres (8), of Syndical Houses of Culture (11), of universal stores (20), of hotels (10), of mass-housing areas (more than 30). The civic centre, the factory, the syndical house of culture, the universal store, the hotel, and the residential areas with blocks of flats were repetitive elements in the representations of most towns/cities.

9.3.2 Methods. Data Analysis and Interpretation I consider images as part of contemporary narratives about identities, and images as influencers of decision-making (cf. Ilovan et al. 2018). In this context, firstly, a de-constructivist perspective was considered to approach the picture postcards representing the urban landscape, to identify the features depicting the hegemonic political, economic, social, and cultural discourse in socialist Romania. I used qualitative content analysis. Secondly, semiotic analysis is used for analysing the photographs in picture postcards: “the link between the symbol (called the ‘signifier’ in linguistics) and what it represents (the ‘signified’) is neither natural, nor unchangeable. Rather, it is socially

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constructed, and as such, it can be contested and changed” (Oakes and Price’s Introduction to Cosgrove 2008, p. 177). Therefore, this visual imagery was interpreted using discourse analysis and visual analysis.

9.4 Results and Discussions Results and discussions include two parts, according to the above-mentioned objectives: (1) to discuss the key development policies impacting the territory of socialist Romania, and (2) to analyse the postcards with pictures of the Romanian towns and cities, postcards which were produced and circulated in socialism. So, the results in the second part are presented in the framework of development policies and the creation of the socialist nation (1948–1989) (cf. Ilovan and Maro¸si 2018, for a study on socialist industrial landscape in picture postcards). For the first part, in the beginning, I discuss from the political and economic points of view the processes of industrialisation, urbanisation and systematisation. Secondly, I present how the above-mentioned policies were promoted and enhanced by the Romanian Communist Party ideology and were implemented through certain architectural products. Thirdly, I discuss the role played by Party propaganda in representations of development and development per se, to show how it re-enforced the key territorial development policies in socialist Romania. In the second part, I present the intrusion of political power in picture postcards representations of the urban.

9.4.1 Industrialisation, Urbanisation, Systematisation Reflecting Socialism and the Romanian Communist Party’s Ideology The discourses analysed are part of the official discourse of the communist regime, which is one about modernising the society through industrialisation and urbanisation. The strategy for urban development, the social policy, and Romanians’ lifestyle were planned by the Romanian Communist Party and reinforced though the propaganda of its ideology (Copilas, 2015). In this manner, the working people were constructing new urban identities, undergoing a process of (re)educating their lifestyles under Party supervision. The topics of the socialist construction were the following: heavy industry, taming nature through technology revealed in large hydro-technical and electrification projects, building an industrialized nation, homogenisation of space (no differences between towns and villages, centre and periphery) (Zahariade 2011, p. 137). The worship of industry was specific to the communist project: “By 1978, over 500 industrial units had been built” (Zahariade 2011, p. 42). Intensive industrialisation

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Fig. 9.1 Syndical Houses of Culture: (left) in Roman, (right) with façade decoration, in Oradea (Source Oana-Ramona Ilovan)

and the resulting forced urbanisation changed the social landscape (Copilas, 2015; Ilovan and Maros, i 2018; Popovici and Popescu 1984; Urucu et al. 1984). Former peasants were being brought to live and work in the new or sanitised and overall modernised urban area, in permanent expansion. This change was answered through new architecture, usually observing as low financial costs as possible. The creation of the new cityscapes was a process that considered closely the political ideology. Large constructions sites (Fig. 9.1, left—a cultural objective represented with cranes and blocks of flats in the background) were part of everyday life for many communities. In 1965, Nicolae Ceaus, escu was appointed General Secretary of the Romanian Communist Party. His appointment was a result of Gh. Gheorghiu-Dej’s death, the former Communist leader. 1968 brought about the new administrative reform. There were 15 regional capitals and Bucharest before 1968 and 25 more county capitals after this year (R˘aut, a˘ 2012, p. 253, note 9). The investment was directed to the new county seats, as new towns and areas gained relevance at the national level (Tulbure 2017, p. 58) and their built fabric underwent major transformations (R˘aut, a˘ 2012, p. 236). The law on systematisation that regulated rapid urbanisation processes in Romania was the 1974 Systematisation Law (Vais 2012, p. 434). Triumphant images of systematisation of the urban area, including seaside resorts appear on picture postcards. Urban development was shaped mainly by demolition and reconstruction, the two processes favoured by the Party’s systematisation programme: “‘Territorial systematization’, large-scale planning, had a devastating effect on Romania’s built heritage, razing city centres and entire villages” (Vais 2012, p. 435). There was no surprise that the year 1977 meant the disbandment of the Direction for Historical Monuments (Greceanu, quoted by Iuga 2013, p. 169) and no other institution would be officially in charge with the protection and restoration of the built heritage. From 1965 to 1989, during the regime of N. Ceaus, escu, the architectural development of Romania was heavily influenced by two trends: the focus on (a) typification and prefabrication of constructions, and (b) the discourse on national specificity

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(Vais 2012). These were supported both by the authoritarian character of the political regime and by economic reasons (efficiency and low cost). Therefore, hard modernisation was at the basis of the “development discourse” (Vais 2012, p. 433). Power altered space and the meaning of places, as well as people’s attachment to place. Population control and a specific type of governance were reflected in the way space was organised in the city, while the civic centres (their symbols, general image, and functions) shaped social relationships. This national specificity was to be integrated within the harmonious development of the Romanian territory, where systematisation and multilateral development ensured the decrease and even effacing of disparities. However, there was not enough time to create a long-term vision about the images of different cities. Aesthetic concerns were mostly ignored in a society promoting utilitarianism. Part of the urban memory was erased by certain actions of territorial planning and reorganising characteristic of the socialist period (Giurescu 1989; Novac 2015; Pascariu 2010–2011). The motivation of the Party in changing the urban landscape had been advocated to have diverse facets: it was practical, political, patriotic, and moral (among the most important ones). As a rule, the political discourse governed economic development and as a result the architectural and urban one: “The whole country was a building site: demolitions, absurd projects, increasingly similar towns and villages, architectural confusion …” (Zahariade 2011, p. 87). The architects’ discourse was articulated by standardisation and repetitive elements, using concrete as a result of industrialised technology, but also as a proof of glorifying the undergoing industrial development (Moraru 1979, quoted by Vais 2012, p. 446). Façade collages conveyed local and national specificity that was ideologically approved (i.e. the adoption of the folk motif) (Fig. 9.1, right). Specificity was related to the Party’s discourse on nationalisation in Romania, but architects embraced this because of the localist turn, the key trend of the Western postmodern thought at that time (Vais 2012, p. 445). Standardised city centres have certain identity markers and one is the Syndical House of Culture (e.g. Focs, ani, Sibiu, Lugoj, Roman, Râmnicu Vâlcea, Buz˘au, Suceava, Bac˘au, Buzias, , Sf. Gheorghe, Bârlad, Lugoj, Ploies, ti). Syndical Houses of Culture appear as single images mostly and sometimes is collages. The Party’s reading of the landscape was promoted in two ways: (1) through its involvement in constructing the landscape, and (2) through its involvement in representing it. Party conferences and congresses informed the laws on the development of the country: “The representatives of the Romanian Communist party drew up the ‘principles of systematisation’, at the National Conference of December of 1967, at the Tenth Congress (August 1969), and, once more, at the National Conference of July 1972” (L˘at, ea 2017, p. 112). The Romanian urban planners were the architects and the engineers (Zahariade 2011, p. 23). Their endeavour was to adapt the city, developing at a very fast pace, to modern life. “The state institutionalisation” of architecture as a profession (Popescu 2009, p. 110) was realised at the beginning of the 1950s and eventually this ensured the intermingling of politics and aesthetics in the production of culture (Popovici

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2014, p. 30). The creation of architectural landmarks was a common aim of politicians and architects, while their reasons differed: the first aimed to convince the working people that they adhered to the same values, while the latter had to survive professionally (although regime favourites existed). Romanian society was defined as “a neo-Stalinist centralised system based on a symbolic-ideological mode of control” (Verdery 1991, p. 102). As the State was the exclusive investor, those images and projects reflect the official discourse/position on development. Social renewal was intended through architecture (Zahariade 2011, p. 102). Romania was a huge building site and its achievements were a fertile ground for formal or informal education of the working people: “The type-apartmentbuilding was certainly convenient for the political rhetoric of ‘the new’ and equality among people sharing a standardised and controlled lifestyle” (Zahariade 2011, p. 49). To sum up, my research focuses on the building of place and urban identity through propaganda-conveyed visual discourse. The set of values promoted by the Party through propaganda are the result of moral judgements. As our multisensory perception of places is fundamentally visual, reading the urban landscape was prescribed; experiencing visually places was offered a “correcting” lens. This actioned through products of the construction activity and then through their representations.

9.4.2 Represented Urban Spatial Identity in Picture Postcards During Socialist Romania In this part, I present two interrelated points: (1) political power represented in picture postcards, and (2) old and new markers of urban territorial identity introduced in the representations on picture postcards. I correlate the dominant discourse on development with its representations. My aim is to show that the hegemonic discourse was ubiquitous in representations of the urban area. People needed to belong to certain imagined communities (Anderson 1983) and the visual discourse helped them restructure their attachment to place, with direct involvement from state institutions (Paasi 1986, p. 137). The urban promises were enhanced through such representations. And the political system’s promises, too. These images were consumed by the “working people” masses. These representations actioned on Romanians’ perceptions, opinions, set of values, on their Weltanschaung, and finally adapted and renewed individuals’ structures of expectations (cf. Paasi 1986, 2003, 2009). Picture postcards articulate a visual discourse that shows how the symbolic order of the urban was reshaped together with its physical reshaping. They convey representations, emotions, interpretations within which certain privileged associations of meanings and symbols are obvious (i.e. Romania, as a region of the world and prosperous nation).

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Picture postcards are part of the public visual discourse on urban identity. Although each reading is a private one, due to the use of repetitive visual stimuli (i.e. iconic representations), it is part of collective structures of interpretations, inhabitants become emotionally and intellectually engaged, relating jointly to the historical reality. Symbols of Party’s involvement in urban landscape transformations are the monuments of the personalities the Party approved of, or the buildings hosting political institutions. Through repetitive exposure to the same discourse elements, the viewer’s eye is disciplined and controlled, especially if this is conveyed through the medium of photo-realism. Here are several examples of power representations, when the intrusions of the political were common into people’s spare time: Casa Scînteii [House of Scînteia] (Fig. 9.2, left), part of the official discourse on architecture and representations, alluding to the Soviet heritage of Romanian communism. This politically and ideologically charged building, “which directly alludes to the 7 high-rise buildings of Moscow” (Mutic˘a 2013, p. 133), was built between 1952 and 1956, in the Stalinist style of Socialist Realism (Popovici 2014, p. 35) (a resemblance of the main building of the Moscow State University). Initially having the name of Combinatul Poligrafic Casa Scînteii “I. V. Stalin”, it hosted “Scînteia” [“The Spark”], the official newspaper of the Romanian Communist Party. Between 1952 and 1966, Casa Scînteii was on the backside of the 100 lei banknote (highest currency at that time). It was the tallest in the city between 1956 and 2007. Nowadays it is Casa Presei Libere [The House of the Free Press]. Doubling of the old city centre in Zal˘au (Fig. 9.2, right) with amenities of the new functionalist city grouped in its core is another example of representing state power and development: (1) Political-administrative palace and “Porolissum” Hotel, (2) “Porolissum” Hotel and Restaurant, and (3) Syndical House of Culture. The hotels, the universal stores, the Houses of Culture, and the meeting squares were supposed to increase people’s quality of life especially in industrial towns. Postcards with images of institutional power focus on the city centres, while political power is ubiquitous

Fig. 9.2 (left) Full view of Casa Scînteii dominating the scenery of Park Her˘astr˘au (publ. in 1976); (right) Greetings from Zal˘au (publ. in 1978) (Source Oana-Ramona Ilovan)

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(Fig. 9.2, left). These picture postcards were a showcase of the successful putting into practice of Communist ideology. Headquarters of the Communist Party or of other associated institutions were hosted also in buildings built before this period. This shows the presence of political structures in the territory, “contaminating” the architectural heritage. Picture postcards featured old buildings and new ones with headquarters of the Communist Party or reminding of it (Bucharest. Headquarters of the Central Committee of the Romanian Communist Party; Municipal Headquarters of the Romanian Communist Party County Committee; Bucharest—The Heroes’ Monument for the liberty of the people and of the country, for socialism (for a detailed analysis see Ilovan 2019b) and museums (Museum of the Romanian Communist Party). “[T]he camera’s view was always partial” (Lindstrom 2007, p. 261), most of the picture postcards representing the supremacy of the secular in socialist architecture. These iconic images form and transmit an encomiastic discourse within the Golden Epoch of Ceaus, escu, being just one of the many sources of such messages. Picture postcards reflect in an idealised manner the key products of Romanian forced urban development: mass housing districts, industrial objectives and facilities, overall urban modernisation and reconstruction of urban centres. Mass housing was more visible partly because it was placed in the civic centres of the city and because of the ideological stake (Fig. 9.3). Communist Party policy was mirrored by industrial architectural production. Many picture postcards represented the grand-scale industrial architecture (cf. Ilovan and Maros, i 2018), part of the modernised Romania. They were representations from the inside, mostly for Romanians: Turda. Industrial architecture and landscape; Oradea. The Alumina Factory; Bucharest. “Gh. Gheorghiu-Dej Garment Factory”; “Vitrometan” Medias, , etc. Hunedoara was one of the cities where industry had a significant role in its development as it was designed in 1947–1948 as a “Labour City” (Popovici 2014, p. 25) (Fig. 9.4, left). The castle in this collage comments on Iancu of Hunedoara, the father of the most famous and loved king of Hungary, Matia Corvin. The postcard of Deva (Fig. 9.4, right) is featuring the statue of the Communist leader Dr. Petru

Fig. 9.3 (left) Baia Mare—“George Cos, buc” Boulevard; (right) Aiming at monumental civic centres: new development as collective housing in Piatra Neamt, (Source Oana-Ramona Ilovan)

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Fig. 9.4 (left) Hunedoara—Heavy industry as the priority of socialist development; (right) Deva. Ideologizing the landscape (Source Oana-Ramona Ilovan)

Groza, prime minister during the regime of Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, in the upper left corner, and the Statue of Decebal, leader of Dacian tribes in the first century AD, in the lower left corner. A universal store and blocks of flats on the right half side. The Communist ideology shaped profoundly the national landscape, the latter reproducing symbols of significant events or political figures, selected by the Party as significant in re-writing the national history (Fig. 9.4, right). Picture postcards were vehicles of civil and industrial architectural icons legitimating power, providing for mass consumption images of diverse institutions (with new headquarters) that were part of the civic centres: grandiose or solemn buildings for state administration (e.g. the seat of the political-administrative power); for economic activities epitomising thriving and fast development (e.g. factories, hotels, universal stores) and official cultural establishments (e.g. Syndical House of Culture). Alongside new residential areas with blocks of flats, these were the new markers of urban territorial identity introduced in picture postcards.

9.5 Conclusions The main territorial development policies during socialist Romania were industrialisation, urbanisation, systematisation, complying to Communist Party ideology. The role played by propaganda in representations of development and development itself resulted in political power being represented in picture postcards, in a rather stereotyped manner, in place memory and community building. Visual imagery was a pedagogical device widely and intensely used by Party propaganda. As I.C. Popovici (2014) remarks, “in a socialist system, reflection of ideological principles, performance in the framework of planned economy and the immediacy of concrete results are paramount” (p. 28). These Party-produced images subsumed to the politics of authenticity and therefore influenced inhabitants’ relation to places.

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Picture postcards of the period reflect the intensity of the activity in the construction sector, rendering the processes of modernising Romania, mainly through its urban area, as well as the brisk pace of these processes. The transformation of the urban area was a radical one and its physical component was strongly imprinted in the urban landscape. At the same time, visual propaganda of the political and economic ideology “help people adapt” to and read “correctly” this fast metamorphosis. During socialism and national communism in Romania, place memory and various symbolic or iconic representations were constructed, thus shaping public space, as well as collective and individual imaginations. Therefore, statues, busts, edifices celebrating the significance of events and people were highly significant in constructing new memorial landscapes and their representations. Nonetheless, the key representations circulated in picture postcards proposed several main topics: urban systematisation, industrial development, new residential neighbourhoods with mass housing type architecture, blocks of flats also in the city centres, political-administrative institutions present in new or old edifices hosted in the city centres, cultural institutions (i.e. especially the Syndical Houses of Culture promoting official culture), commercial areas (universal stores), etc. Ideological-driven architecture is reflected by the visual discourse in picture postcards; they point out at the promoted levelling vision about modernisation, development, and the Romanian nation. During the Romanian socialism, past images and symbols of towns and cities were enhanced and reinterpreted through recirculation, together with the new ones. Their function was to legitimise the new political and economic system and to advertise the progressive and triumphant vision upon socialist construction. Picture postcards represent the Romanian cities through ideologically-correct images, besides other sources (school textbooks, TV broadcasts, newspapers, magazines, etc.) enabling the “forging” of place images.

9.6 Policy Implications for Present and Future Development This research may inform how the recent past and its integration in Romanians’ territorial values can contribute to the contemporary practice in and knowledge about the urban area. Present and future projects should not keep silent about the recent past, but integrate it, either through fragmentary reconstruction or within an articulated project (Colavitti 2018). Built traces of the socialist construction programme dominate the urban landscape and shape people’s interactions with space. Therefore, documenting these using picture postcards and the connected visual methodology is new in the Romanian Geography context and useful for the policy decision-making process in urban regeneration projects, in participatory processes, in territorial identity/place-based projects, in cultural heritage projects, etc.

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Solutions include reinserting vernacular architecture, not demolishing, but revalorizing architecture from previous periods through urban acupuncture (Lerner 2014) or strategic planning. Cultural-sensitive planning refers to connecting the transformations in the city to people’s narratives about space. Therefore, this subject should be further researched so that present people’s voices about past representations in visual imagery are heard. General, all-encompassing solutions are not welcomed, but tailor-made ones. In addition, psychological well-being is among the strategic factors for sustainable development. It is important the people identify with their community for local-based development. Belonging to a community was a type of identity strongly linked to a territory, which was specific of Romania during a period when mobility outside the country’s borders was restricted. Images determine how we perform and reproduce the urban area, and these are historically contingent. The identity discourses today carry the legacy of socialist representations. Iconic images are cultural markers to be recognised and to adhere to through generations. Power structures and development representations of the period shape how Romanians relate to the national, regional, and local space.

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Chapter 10

Identification and Interpretation of the Territorial Identity Elements of a Small Industrial Town Using Postcards. Case Study: Anina, Romania Florentina-Cristina Merciu, Andreea-Loreta Cercleux, and George-Laurent, iu Merciu

10.1 Territorial Identity—A Key Element for the Revival of Industrial Towns Cultural identity is built along the evolution of a community that lives and interacts in the adjacent territory, formed from its natural continuity with the past (Tomlinson 2003, as cited in Metzingen 2006, p. 1). The identity of the territory is defined not only by reference to fixed objects and vestiges to the past (Terlouw 2016), but it also includes social characteristics (Dumitrache and Nae 2013; Kaymaz 2013; Munasinghe 2000), due to the fact that territory is a relational space (Banini 2017, p. 17). All these elements characterise a territory that becomes a coded frame that can be decrypted based on symbols (Munasinghe 2000). “Different aspects of cities (formal, spatial, social, economic) converge in reflecting the city’s distinctive characteristics that define the place identity” (Gospodini 2002, p. 19).

Authors’ contribution: Merciu F.-C. and Cercleux A.-L. wrote the introduction, Merciu G.-L. researched the economic and social evolution of the town of Anina, Merciu F.-C. contributed to the methodology, analysis of results and designed the structure in the discussion section, Cercleux A.-L. contributed to the text improvement. F.-C. Merciu (B) · A.-L. Cercleux Faculty of Geography, Interdisciplinary Centre of Advanced Research on Territorial Dynamics, University of Bucharest, Bucharest, Romania e-mail: [email protected] A.-L. Cercleux e-mail: [email protected] G.-L. Merciu Faculty of Geography, University of Bucharest, Bucharest, Romania e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_10

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Each city has particular features of the urban fabric (urban morphology, the arrangement of the elements of natural environment, elements of built heritage, architectural styles) (Beyhan and Çelebi Gürkan 2015; Gospodini 2002; Sag‘ lic and Kelkit 2017). To these are added a specific atmosphere built by socio-cultural activities, unique traditions, life models, prominent personalities of the city and the relationships between community members and place (Dumitrache and Nae 2013; Munasinghe 2000); the territory is considered as the content of relations (Law and Mol 1994, as cited in Banini 2017, p. 17). The industrial urban centres are highlighted in a detached way from other functional types of cities through architectural specificity (Ronchetta and Trisciuoglio 2008; Merciu et al. 2012), conferred by the industrial buildings that dominate the urban landscape. Some industrial buildings are characterised by high representativeness (Montalcini 2008), especially the buildings constructed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (Dus, oiu 2018; Merciu et al. 2012), which are arranged in the landscape by architectural value, size and even aesthetic values (Cercleux and Merciu 2010; Jucu and Pavel 2018). The houses of workers, which are considered social attractions, also belong to industrial heritage (Edwards and Llurdés 1996). In the post-industrial period, when industry ceases to be a dominant economic activity, the cultural heritage of industrial cities is communicated through the language of signs, of architectural forms and even old images (picture postcards and photographs), the only ones reminiscent of the glory era of the industry in the territories where this activity profoundly marked not only the local economy, but the social-cultural framework. The abandonment and demolition of the industrial units are activities that lead to the dissolution of particular elements of territorial identity. Industrial heritage buildings that have multiple values associated (historical, architectural, social, symbolic) are the most visible elements of territorial identity, particularly in the case of small and medium-sized industrial towns. In traditional industrial areas, the local culture is perceptible through intangible elements that preserve the social connection between community members. Referring to the history of industrial buildings and of postcards (the oldest dating from the second half of the nineteenth century), we can see that they have undergone an important development during a period of profound technological and societal change. The Industrial Revolution of the nineteenth century had a positive impact on the different sectors of society, including stimulating the production of postcards. From that moment, postcards became a means of written communication as a result of the increased speed and frequency of mail distribution from the middle of the nineteenth century due to the use of trains for lengthy distance mail transport from 1830, in the USA (Ferguson 2006). The genesis of the postcard was very much based on another invention of the Industrial Revolution: photography (1830) which stimulated the interest of the general public for ‘real’ images, thus boosting the continuous development of print production, the emergence of photo studios and the creation of new products (‘carte de visite’, photolithography in the late nineteenth century; Cercleux 2015; Ferguson 2006). During this period, a large middle class was formed, which used postcards

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and made them one of the popular communication devices. Thus, from the beginning, postcards were developed and received within a variety of practical activities; they have contributed to personal and collective memories and continue to contribute to social memory (Ferguson 2006). Subsequently, postcards expanded worldwide; colonies contributing to their spread since most postcards in colonised countries were created for consumption by Western colonists (Geavy and Webb 1998, as cited in Ferguson 2006). Over time, postcards have had many uses, as a means of communication from holiday areas (Ferguson 2006; Jaworski 2010; Stolte 2014), as a propaganda tool (Ilovan and Maros, i 2018; Ilovan 2019; Sturani 2013), and as a tool to promote tourist destinations (Jaworski 2010; Milman 2012; S, tefan 2017; Thurlow et al. 2005). At the same time, postcards are material traces of the historical past (Stolte 2014; Ferguson 2006), as sources of sociological historic evidence (Ginzburg 2015). In this context, postcards and photographs are representations of places, reflecting and building specific discourses of place and identity (Pritchard and Morgan 2003); they also provide to the illustration of sense of place (Rose 1995, as cited in Jaworski 2010) or spirit of place (Doroftei 2016). The representations of urban space generate visual identifications (Batuman 2015, p. 21). Postcards represent an effective tool to create visual identification for a certain urban space which often represents political decisions (Batuman 2015). Since the postcard is a communication tool, the representations can be found at the level of the significant elements in the formation of the subject which means identification with the presented image (Batuman 2015). At the same time, the photographer’s decision to select certain elements of a territory is also important (Batuman 2015), a decision sometimes based on subjectivity related to their particular aspirations regarding the past (Ferguson 2006). In Lefebvre’s conception, visual representations are a major component of our space experience (as cited in Batuman 2015). It can be appreciated that the visual representations associated with postcards and the topics addressed can be the result of the influence of political factors, of the socio-cultural and of the economic ones. In this situation, there are representations in several postcards of economic units, including industrial ones, of working class neighbourhoods, of different means of transport, especially since they supported the industrial activity, ensuring the transport of resources from the operating areas in the production areas (Bala 2018; Fisher Mancine and Mancine 2004; Gerodetti and Cornejo 2005; Rundell 1978; Thissen 2013). The postcards were also used as a tool for analysing abandoned industrial sites (Do˘gan 2019) or to highlight industry as a process of territorial planning during the communist period (particularly for countries in South-East Europe; Ilovan and Maros, i 2018; Ilovan 2019). The present study aims to extract and analyse relevant information about the territorial identity elements of a small Romanian industrial town (Anina), using visual methodology (old postcards and photographs).

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10.2 Case Study The town of Anina is in the southwestern part of Romania, in Caras, -Severin county, in the Banat historical province. The location of the town in the Anina Mountains favoured its socio-economic development, which, for a period of about 200 years was built on the exploitation of coal and wood. The area in which Anina is located has been known as “forest land” since the mid-nineteenth century (the forest area is predominantly composed by a species of tree from the order of Fagales, the Betulaceae family, that usually grow on the water’s edge: anini/arini (in English alders, in Latin alinus); the alternation of the two terms is a result of a dissimilar form; the name of anini is more often used in the area of Banat Mountains (Satmari 2009, p. 19). Thus, the name of the town of Anina comes from anini. Initially, Anina town was constituted in 1773, by the Germans colonised in Banat province from Styria (Austria), who were exploiting the area for wood for the manufacture of charcoal. The locality was renamed Steierdorf for the village of people from Styria (Satmari 2009, p. 55). Steierdorf had a slow evolution until 1790, when the coal resources were discovered. The exploitation of coal resources strongly influenced the development of the small rural locality and transformed the landscape into an area of intense coal exploitation (in the territory of Anina, there were 13 extraction wells; Mosoroceanu 2010), industrial buildings, and waste dumps, concomitant with the creation of new worker colonies and civil buildings with socio-cultural roles (cultural house, hospital). The discovery of the coal resources at Anina was extremely opportune because the metallurgy was already developed in Banat (Bocs, a, Res, it, a and Ciclova). In 1855, the industrial units from Banat were sold by the Austrian Imperial Court to the company Kaiserliche und Königliche Privilägierte Österreichische StaatsEisenbahngesellchaft (STEG), a consortium of Austrian and French shareholders, the contract being ratified by Emperor Franz Josef I, on January 03, 1855 (Mosoroceanu 2010, p. 31). STEG made the decision to diversify the local industry and Steierdorf experienced building growth, by creating both new neighbourhoods and new industrial units: a screw factory, an oil factory (by distillation), a central thermoelectric plant, a steel plant (with its own furnaces), etc. At the same time, a railway was built that connected the town of Anina with the town of Oravit, a (inaugurated on December 15, 1863; Mosoroceanu 2010, p. 32), to transport a significant part of the coal production to Austria. In the communist period, Anina is declared to be a town (in 1952), which meant the expansion of industrial activity in support of urban development, an extension marked by the construction of a larger power plant that operated with bituminous shale. After 1990, due to the economic context in Romania that was marked by deindustrialisation, the coal mining activity in Anina registered a significant decrease, and in 2006 the Anina mine was closed (Merciu 2015).

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10.3 Methodology Since the middle of the twentieth century, postcards have been used as a valuable source of documentation for researchers from various fields (history, planning, tourism, geography, archiving and museography; Rundell 1978; Ferguson 2006; Hall 2009; Oldrup and Carstensen 2012; Cleave 2014; Batuman 2015; Ilovan and Maros, i 2018; Do˘gan 2019). Historical illustration also is useful in understanding local characteristics, in detecting the elements that make a place unique and recognisable (Doroftei 2016, p. 59). This new approach to visual imagery is included in the qualitative methodology and serves as a tool for interpreting information (Do˘gan 2019; Maros, i 2018; Ilovan and Maros, i 2018), as part of the indirect observation (Maros, i 2018). Their importance also results from the fact that, in some situations, when other historical documents are not available, historical illustrations provide substantiation and veracity to the research (Maros, i 2018). Over 100 historical illustrations (picture postcards, old photographs) were collected, sorted chronologically and analysed, to highlight the stages of the economic and social-cultural evolution of Anina. The visual research material was obtained from the personal collections of people interested in the history and culture of Banat province. Based on the old illustrations (from the first half of the nineteenth century, the inter-war period and the communist period), the authors highlighted the evolution of the urban landscape of Anina, paying attention to the visual representations of the elements of territorial identity. The authors also conducted field campaigns to capture the presence of the elements of territorial identity in the current landscape of the town, creating a photographic archive. The analysis of the picture postcards represented a well-defined stage of the study to which the authors attached particular importance to identifying and interpreting both the visual representations and the other elements that the postcards contain. For example, linguistic elements may provide additional details about the subject represented: period, name of localities written in different languages (Jaworski 2010; Ilovan and Maros, i 2018), illustrating the changing linguistic landscape (Jaworski 2010).

10.4 Results and Discussions The visual representations of old picture postcards are dominated by the main industrial objectives in Anina (13 perimeters of underground operation were functional at the beginning of the twentieth century; Mosoroceanu 2010). The large number of operating perimeters indicates the presence of rich coal resources. The main extraction shaft tower, named after its age (it was the second pit dug in Anina, in 1874; Mosoroceanu 2010, p. 38), had the largest operating perimeter and was also called the central well. This extraction well is most found in collected

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historical images from the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Fig. 10.1a, c, d), or on the illustrations of the communist period (Fig. 10.4c). The importance of the central extraction shaft tower justifies the frequency of the visual representations from different periods. Based on the analysis of historical illustrations, frequent name changes occurred, most often due to the influence of political factors: the main shaft tower, the central shaft tower, Anina (Fig. 10.1a, c, d), “Ronna” (name established during the Austro-Hungarian occupation period) (Fig. 10.1c),

Fig. 10.1 The principal extraction shaft tower of Anina mine. Published with permission. a Central extraction shaft tower (1919) (source M. Olaru). b Extraction shaft tower (2014) (source C. Merciu). c, d Postcards: the site of the central extraction shaft tower and nearby houses of miners (late nineteenth century) (source M. Olaru). e Extraction tower house and central shaft tower (2011) (source G. Merciu). f Central extraction shaft tower and the house of the extraction machine (2011) (source G. Merciu)

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“Ferdinand 1”, “Gheorghe Gheorghiu Dej” (name given during the socialist period, from the name of the first communist leader in Romania) (Mosoroceanu 2010, p. 38). The central extraction shaft tower is represented within its site which forms an entire industrial area (Fig. 10.1a, c, d), classified as a historical monument that includes several buildings (house of extraction tower, extraction tower with wheels; 1876), a lamp hall, a house for the steam extraction machine, the extraction machine, equipment for the technical circuit and for employees (Ministry of Culture, Historical Monuments List 2015). All the mining site buildings from the nineteenth century were built by Italian craftsmen in limestone, brought from the Br˘adet area (Fene¸san et al. 1991, p. 92). Determining the exact date of some illustrations in which the main extraction shaft tower is represented was difficult, especially in the case where no information was found on their front or back. However, on the picture postcards that were circulated, the year could be identified by the mentions indicated by the sender, although it is very likely that the historical illustration had been printed previously (Fig. 10.1a). The main extraction shaft tower has been and is still a visible landmark that dominates the urban landscape of Anina as it is noticeable from the entrance to the town (Fig. 10.1b) and from several points around the town (Fig. 10.1d). A comparison of an old postcard (Fig. 10.1a) and a recent image (2014) of the central extraction shaft tower (Fig. 10.1b) allows us to highlight some common elements that have been preserved over time. For example, the extraction machine house and the extraction tower with wheels (left side of the image). The recent figure also shows new buildings constructed during the communist period (the coal washer, coal sorting and preparation station on the right side of the recent image (Fig. 10.1b). For the construction of these buildings, cement was used, and it can be observed that their architecture is different from that of the other buildings within the mining site that were built in the nineteenth century (Fig. 10.1a, c, d). The analysis of picture postcards allows the identification of other elements specific to the industrial landscape, such as the tailings dumps, located at the mouth of the coastal galleries and near the extraction tower, an example of one of the negative effects of the mining activity (Satmari 2009), which cover the slopes in the form of prominent spurs (Fig. 10.1a–d). Moreover, careful examination of the old images in which the central extraction tower is represented allows for the observation of one specific sign of the mining industry: the two cross hammers applied on the main gate of the mining site or even on the house of extraction tower (Fig. 10.1e). The diversification of the industrial activity in Anina by the STEG company led to new industrial units being added to the landscape (e.g. the ensemble of the Anina Iron Plants; Satmari 2009, p. 150) (Fig. 10.2a–d). Particularly noteworthy is the thermoelectric power station (Fig. 10.2b–d), built in 1897, with features later added (Ministry of Culture, Historical Monuments List 2015). The Anina Iron Plants is a representative ensemble for the industrial architecture of the late nineteenth century. The industrial complex is classified as a historical monument and was built between 1858–1927 (Ministry of Culture, Historical Monuments List 2015).

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Fig. 10.2 Anina Iron Plants ensemble. Published with permission. a The industrial landscape of the early twentieth century in Anina (source M. Olaru). b Anina Iron Plants in the twentieth century (source M. Olaru). c Anina Iron Plants ensemble (2011) (source G. Merciu). d Thermoelectric power station (2014) (source C. Merciu)

This industrial ensemble comprised several buildings (thermoelectric power station, turbines, screw factory, rolling mill, storage room for ammonium sulphate, refractory brick factory, and mechanical workshop) (Ministry of Culture, Historical Monuments List 2015). The thermoelectric power station building is notable from an architectural point of view and for its higher degree of conservation compared to the other buildings within the ensemble (Fig. 10.2d). Numerous old postcards illustrate the architectural heritage elements, most notably being the Steierdorf neighbourhood (Fig. 10.3a, g), also known as the ‘neighbourhood-town’ (Satmari 2009, p. 65). Most of the time, the Roman Catholic church, around which the socio-cultural life of the small mining town gravitated, was also illustrated next to the workers’ houses (Fig. 10.3a, b). Steierdorf is a neighbourhood consisting of individual family-type properties (Fig. 10.3g, h), with annexes and gardens, with architecture specific to Upper Austria (Satmari 2009), where the first settlers came from. The new waves of migrants arriving in Anina to work in mining led to the expansion of the built space. The architecture style was preserved, but duplex dwellings were built for the masters miners (Satmari 2009) (Fig. 10.3e). After 1990, a redivision of the duplex houses took place, which is marked in the landscape by the use of different colours in the two distinct parts of the houses (Fig. 10.3f).

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Fig. 10.3 Representation of Anina miners’ houses in old illustration and recent images. Published with permission. a, b Panoramic images of Anina (late nineteenth century) (source M. Olaru). c Panoramic image of Anina (2011) (source G. Merciu). d Miner house located on the ‘Colonie’ (Colony) II street (Steierdorf neighbourhood) (source G. Merciu). e Duplex workers’ houses, in the background: industrial units (twentieth century) (source M. Olaru). f Current compartmentalisation of colonist-mining duplex housing (source G. Merciu). g Steierdorf neighbourhood (twentieth century) (source M. Olaru). h Steierdorf neighbourhood (2011) (source G. Merciu)

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Most of the housing in Anina includes colony houses for workers which is also indicated by the street names: Colony I, Colony II (Fig. 10.3c, d, g, h). The workers’ houses represent a particular element of the urban landscape of Anina, with deep rural valences that give it an obvious aesthetic character. Linguistic elements also appear on postcards illustrating the workers’ houses (Ilovan and Maros, i 2018). The name of the town appears frequently on old postcards, transposed into different forms: in German (‘Steierdorf’; Fig. 10.3a), in Hungarian (‘Stájelark’; Fig. 10.3a, g), or Romanian (‘Anina’; Fig. 10.3a, b, e, g). It is also notable that in comparison with the old illustrations, in which the industrial units appear, the representation of the civil buildings is realised in a stylised manner, while reflecting a greater emotional load. This fact is explained by the illustration of a distinct category of buildings (workers’ houses) that represent an element of territorial identity of Anina. The particular aspects of the workers’ houses, the Roman Catholic church, and other buildings with a socio-cultural role impact on the perception of the industrial landscape of the town of Anina, even in the present period, through the harmony of the insertion of both civil and industrial buildings. The alternation of the mining areas with the living zones is gradually realised, explained by the arrangement of the built space in stages. This situation is a direct result of the landforms. Anina is located in an intramountainous depression. We observe the arrangement of the mining site on the higher level, while the houses are predominantly on the lower levels. The postcards highlight the rigorous systematisation of the built space, especially the German influence on dwelling construction. The systematisation was based on a rigorous layout of the street, the houses oriented linearly with the main façade on the road, the perfect alignment known under name of households “drawn to the line” (To¸sa 1984, p. 16) (Fig. 10.3e–h). The authors have identified numerous old or recent photographs related to local traditions, in which miners are represented participating in socio-cultural activities. Music is a constant cultural component in the lives of the workers, especially through the fanfares, which were in the spirit of the German tradition (Mosoroceanu 2010). Over time, each mining town also had a fanfare. The fanfare ceremony was an occasion to celebrate an event (traditional balls) or a feast (St. Barbara’s day, the local church’s feast). The fanfare from Anina is confirmed to have occurred in 1865 (Mosoroceanu 2010, p. 33). The oldest photographs in which the fanfare is represented date from the late nineteenth century (Fig. 10.4a, b). During the communist period, the fanfare was a propaganda tool, used on days with political significance (for example, May 1st—Labour Day, and August 23rd which marked the transition to the communist regime, the liberation from the fascist yoke). Thus, the day of August 23rd was considered the national day of Romania (Cora 2014; Report of the Presidential Commission 2006); the Day of the Soviet Miner was also celebrated for the first time in Romania on August 29, 1948, the year of the nationalisation of all economic units (Boboc 2018, p. 1). Through propaganda, the aim was to promote the idea of the development of the Romanian industry through which the economic growth of the country would be ensured and implicitly the improvement of the standard of living. The myth of the working class was thus created (Report of the Presidential Commission 2006,

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Fig. 10.4 The miners’ fanfare from Anina. Published with permission. a, b Fanfare members from Anina—nineteenth century (1880, 1889) (source M. Olaru). c, d The fanfare ceremony in the communist period used as a propaganda tool (source M. Olaru). e Fanfare from Anina (1990s) (source M. Olaru). f Fanfare from Anina (2000s) (source M. Olaru)

p. 16). In this context, the worker in industry, due to their large numbers, represented an exponent of the working class to the leaders of the communist regime, resulting in the desire to retain them. Articles were published in the written press one day after nationalisation about increasing production in nationalised enterprises and telegrams were printed in which the workers made commitments to exceed the capacity of planned production (Scânteia newspaper 1948, no. 1145, p. 3, as cited in Cora 2014, p. 481). In Anina, the ceremony of the miners’ fanfare on May 1 started from the central extraction shaft tower (on which the main gate was written “Live the Romanian Communist Party”—Fig. 10.4c) and crossed the town to the civic centre, followed by the entire population of the town gathered in the stands to ‘praise’ the

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industry workers who contributed to the development of the country (Mosoroceanu 2010). The Anina fanfare continues to perform through the goodwill of its members, who consider it to be very important to preserve the cultural traditions of the former mining town (Fig. 10.4e, f). The long history of Anina, strongly marked by industrial activity, justifies the presence of the elements of territorial identity being represented by coal mines, but also by a rich architectural heritage that preserves the original construction elements of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Many postcards illustrate the background of the architectural heritage of German influence, grouped in urban assemblies, which due to the architectural characteristics and seniority, are currently historical monuments. Industrial landscape is rich in symbolism, reflected by the multiple approaches from a geographic, environmental, social or cultural perspective: the impact of industrialisation on ecosystems, the history of social processes transformation and the relationship between social conflicts and environmental processes (Cárdenas 2016, p. 109). The industry contributed to creating a familiar setting: the industrial buildings form the environment in which the community performs its activities on a daily basis, while also being an archive of memories storing the lives of ordinary people (Trifa 2015, p. 49). Historical illustrations have an important place in the recording of the collective memory, offering significant information about the industrial culture animated by the population that further transmits its symbols, even when the industry has disappeared. Due to the nature of the difficult work, but also to the great number of industrial employees, it can be stated that the presence of workers in most postcards, whether grouped around industrial objectives, or participating in socio-cultural activities, also reflects the collective memory, the pride of belonging to a socio-professional group (Semi 2018). By commemorating the industrial workers, their condition, their work environment and the inter-human relations defined by solidarity are presented (Merciu and Stoian 2012, p. 44). In the current socio-economic context marked by deindustrialisation, small industrial towns are the most vulnerable, registering demographic and economic decline (Cercleux et al. 2018; Jucu and Pavel 2018), as well as identity crises (Lazzeroni 2019). The analysis of the territorial identity elements of small industrial towns is a necessary action correlated with the identification of solutions regarding their redevelopment that could be oriented on the valorisation of the local culture elements.

10.5 Conclusions To elaborate the study, we used an interdisciplinary analysis, based on information extracted from postcards and old photographs, which were interpreted from a semiotic perspective, by referring to signs and symbols reflected in the social, cultural

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and urban aspects (civil architecture, morphology of production sites, intangible heritage). We collected a significant number of old postcards about Anina, most dating from the second half of the nineteenth or beginning of twentieth centuries, when the Banat province belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. We used historical illustrations to identify relevant information about the territorial identity elements of a small former mining town. The analysis of the visual representations of the cultural landscape of Anina facilitated the identification of the elements of territorial identity and their division on several layers (economic, socio-cultural, territorial planning). The most frequent representations in the postcards are of industrial units (the main extraction shaft tower, Iron Plant ensemble) and civil constructions (the miners’ houses, the Roman Catholic church). To these are added the visual representations of the elements of intangible cultural heritage, such as the miners’ fanfare, which represents an element of the local culture in the urban mining centres. Most of the historical monuments in Anina are related to industrial activity, whether they are industrial sites or civil buildings. The selected postcards are representative for highlighting the most important elements of territorial identity that give Anina the uniqueness attribute and place it in the category of small towns with high potential for the valorisation of cultural heritage. Acknowledgements This work was supported by a grant of the Romanian National Authority for Scientific Research and Innovation, CCDI-UEFISCDI, project number 69/2017 COFUND-ENSUFBRIGHT FUTURE, within PNCDI III.

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Part III

Negotiating Identities and Belonging: State Borders and Internal Migrations

Chapter 11

Everyday Territorial Identities in Romania and the Republic of Moldova: A Case Study on the Impacts of Territorial Representations from Above Lisa Gohlke

11.1 Introduction The stories we tell each other in our everyday lives help us to make sense of our experiences and to invest them with meaning, by adjusting them to our values and worldviews. As stories enable us to align our everyday experiences with our understanding of ourselves, they are essential for the construction of our personal, social, and collective territorial and other identities (Somers and Gibson 1993). In this chapter, territorial identities are defined as identities that are grounded in a shared sense of “we-ness” among a group of people because of specific real or imagined features of a territory and its inhabitants (Banini 2017; Snow 2001). They are socially constructed through intertwined processes from below and above. Territorial identities are constructed from below, because every individual and group have the capacity to select specific territorial features and invest them with meaning, with the assistance of individual experiences, imagination, and knowledge (Banini 2017; Yuval-Davis 2013). As meaning is assigned through the sharing of stories, territorial identities can be analysed based on people’s presentation of themselves and the territory they inhabit (Banini 2017). Yet territorial identities are constructed from above through a territory’s popular representations, specific features, and inhabitants in the media, books, movies, etc. (Banini 2017; Paasi 2003). Consequently, as conceptualised by the national research group “Territorial Identities” of the Association of Italian Geographers (Banini 2017), this paper argues that territorial identities can be approached from below and above, by analysing people’s self-representations and territorial representations at the regional, national, and international scales.

L. Gohlke (B) Faculty of Social Sciences and Business Studies, University of Eastern Finland, Joensuu, Finland e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_11

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Following this line of argumentation, this paper aims to examine the territorial identities of people living in Romania and the Republic of Moldova (in the following, RM), with the assistance of everyday self-representations and representations from above related to the Romanian-Moldovan state border. A study of the impact of territorial representations at the regional, national, and international scales on people’s everyday self-representations in Romania and the RM is relevant because the Romanian-Moldovan state border is today embedded in a multitude of territorial representations from above. Due to the frequently changing demarcations of the Romanian-Moldovan state border in the past and its location in a geopolitically contested area, (geo)political actors at different scales can today refer to a wide range of past and current territorial representations to gain support for their (geo)political goals and strategies. Representations of the state territory of the RM as the territory of the Moldovan nation or as part of the territory of the Romanian nation, for example, have fuelled identity politics in the RM and in Romania since at least the beginning of the twentieth century (Baar and Jakubek 2017). Similarly, plans regarding the RM’s future EU accession have been supported by representations of the Moldovan state territory and its citizens as part of a Europe to which Romania and its inhabitants also belong. At the international scale, this latter territorial representation has been opposed by representations of Eurasia, which maintain that the RM and its citizens constitute part of the Eurasian territory and its inhabitants. Moreover, the membership of the RM in the Eastern Partnership and European Neighbourhood Policy has resulted in the assignment of the Moldovan state territory to Wider Europe or its portrayal as a borderland between Europe and Russia, in contrast to Romania as part of “EUEurope”. To underpin their claims, many of these current territorial representations refer to portrayals of past territories. Representations of historical Greater Romania (“România Mare”), for example, support the claim that both Romania and the RM form part of the historical territory of the Romanian nation. All these partly overlapping, mutually confirming, or contradicting representations from above, of territories related to the Romanian-Moldovan state border, assign different cultural, socioeconomic, and political attributes to the respective territories and their inhabitants. This chapter seeks to examine the extent to which people living in Romania and the RM incorporate those attributes into their self-understanding, and how representations from above thus influence their territorial identities. The focus is therefore on the following research question: how do representations of territories related to the Romanian-Moldovan state border at the regional, national, and international scales shape the everyday self-representations of people living in Romania and the RM? To answer this general research question, the paper is grounded in the constructionist approach to representation and self-representation elaborated by Stuart Hall (2013a, b). Accordingly, as conceptualised by Anssi Paasi (2003) and Tiziana Banini (2017), territorial identities are understood as social constructs. Since our socially constructed identities can be defined as narrative types of the self and its boundaries (Yuval-Davis 2013), territorial identities related to the Romanian-Moldovan state border are examined with the assistance of qualitative narrative research methods.

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While territorial representations of the regional, national, and international scales are identified based on narrated representations in the scientific literature, the selfrepresentations of people living in Romania and the RM are analysed with the assistance of the narratives people share with each other in their everyday lives. These everyday narratives were gathered in the form of semi-structured interviews and written narratives during the author’s field research in the autumn of 2017. Their content analysis focuses on the identification of territorial identities and their key features in everyday life, which are compared with those spread through territorial representations at the regional, national, and international scales. Hence, following the example of territorial identities related to the Romanian-Moldovan state border, this paper aims to show that qualitative narrative research methods and the analysis of everyday narratives allow in-depth insights into the impacts of territorial representations from above on self-representations in everyday life. The most important territorial representations incorporating the Romanian-Moldovan state border at the regional, national, and international scales are therefore outlined first.

11.2 Territorial Representations at the Regional, National, and International Scales As the Romanian-Moldovan state border is subject to numerous territorial representations at the regional, national, and international scales, a brief overview of the most important representations is given in this chapter. A more detailed account of the territorial representations related to the Romanian-Moldovan state border can be found in the work of Gohlke (2018). Territories can be defined as portions of space that are limited and separated by defined physical geographical borders (Paasi 2003). As such, the RomanianMoldovan state border can either represent one of the physical borders of a territory at the regional, national, or international scale, or it can be bridged by it. At the national scale, the 684-kilometre Romanian-Moldovan state border, from Criva in the north to Giurgiule¸sti in the south, has represented the official state border between Romania and the RM since the RM’s independence in 1991. Accordingly, it is on the one hand depicted by the Moldovenist national narrative as dividing the territory of the Moldovan nation in the form of the current Moldovan state territory from that of the Romanian nation living in today’s state territory of Romania (Tîcu ¸ 2016). On the other hand, the state border is portrayed as dividing the Romanian nation living on both sides of the border (Tîcu ¸ 2016). The latter Romanian or pan-Romanianist national narrative maintains that the historical territory of Greater Romania (“România Mare”) represents the territory of the Romanian nation, having covered between 1919 and 1940 today’s Romanian state territory, the whole of Bukovina and Dobruja, the Hert, a region, the Ukrainian Budjak region, and the western part of the RM up to the river Dniester, or between 1941 and 1944, the entire Moldovan state territory, including Transnistria (Cinpoe¸s 2010; White 2000).

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In turn, official representations refer to the historical region of Bessarabia and the Moldavian Principality at the regional scale. Between 1349 and 1812, the Moldavian Principality covered the territory stretching from the Dniester in the north and northeast to the Black Sea, Dobrogea and Walachia in the south, and Transylvania in the west (Eagles 2014; Petrovszky 2012). This territorial representation thus serves to delineate today’s Romanian region of Moldova and the western part of the RM, as well as their inhabitants. As such, it is also often linked to representations of the historical region of Bessarabia that can refer to at least three different territories: (1) the southernmost subregion within the Moldavian Principality until 1812; (2) Bessarabia as a province of Tsarist Russia between 1812 and 1918, or as part of Greater Romania between 1919–1940, when it roughly covered the territory of today’s RM between the Prut and the Dniester, and the Ukrainian Budjak region; or (3) Bessarabia, covering the entire current state territory of the RM and the Budjak region under Greater Romania, between 1941 and 1944 (Cu¸sco 2012; Cu¸sco and Sarov ¸ 2012). Since these historical territories emerged from the frequently changing border demarcations in the past between the Moldavian Principality, Romania, and (Tsarist) Russia, they also contribute to presentations of the territories on both sides of the Romanian-Moldovan state border as borderlands. Gabriel Popescu (2011) states that borderlands can range from narrow strips of land to entire countries that are crossed and shaped by one or more state border. They are often portrayed as spaces of gradual transition from one territory to another, resulting in a perceived mixing of populations and cultural and economic hybridity (Popescu 2011). To mitigate these defining impacts of the Romanian-Moldovan state border and to foster cross-border cooperation between the territories adjacent to the border, current territorial representations also refer to the EU’s cross-border regions. Since 2002, the Lower Danube (Dun˘area de Jos), Upper Prut (Prutul de Sud), and Siret-Prut-Nistru Euroregions have covered the entire Romanian-Moldovan state border. According to representations at the international scale, the goal of these Euroregions is to diminish the barrier role of the Romanian-Moldovan state border as one of the EU’s external borders (Popescu 2008). The Romanian-Moldovan state border has represented one of the external borders of the European Union since Romania’s EU accession in 2007. Several territorial representations at the international scale have since distinguished between the territory and inhabitants of an EU member state in the form of Romania and the RM as a non-member state. These representations are often accompanied by ideas of EU-Europe, in contrast to Wider Europe. Accordingly, Romania is portrayed as part of EU-Europe, surrounded by a ring of neighbouring countries which are to a significant extent economically and politically integrated into the EU and the process of gradual “Europeanisation” (Scott 2005). These countries of Wider Europe are often represented in the form of the member states of the European Neighbourhood Policy and the Eastern Partnership such as the RM, thus converting the RomanianMoldovan state border into the border between EU-Europe and Wider Europe. Similarly, the state border can form part of further intra-European distinctions, such as those between Eastern Europe, Southeast Europe, or the Balkans and Western or

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Central Europe (Schenk 2017; Mishkova 2017). Moreover, with the RM having been part of the Soviet Union until 1991, in contrast to the Socialist Republic of Romania (1947–1989), the border is also portrayed as the western border of Eurasia or as the geopolitical border between “the West” and “the East” (Berger 2017; Laruelle 2001). All these representations at the regional, national, and international scales assign different real or imagined cultural, socioeconomic, and political attributes to territories and their inhabitants that are limited by or bridge the Romanian-Moldovan state border. As such, they can also shape the worldviews, values, and goals of people living within the respective territories, and thus their territorial identities.

11.3 The Social Construction of Territorial Identities Through Representation and Self-Representation Territorial identities can be shaped by such representations from above, because they are multi-scalar social constructs. They are grounded in a group’s shared sense of “we-ness”, due to the perceived shared cultural, socioeconomic, and political features of a territory and all its inhabitants, thus providing people with an understanding of who they are and to whom and where they belong (Snow 2001; Paasi 2003). Due to their varying functions, purposes, and the large number of actors involved in their construction at different scales, territorial identities are always time- and placespecific, and subject to change. They are constantly in the process of becoming and can vary from person to person, because every individual can have mutually constitutive or contradictory territorial identities that fulfil different personal and collective needs (Snow 2001). Depending on their defined purposes, origins, nature, and key features, territorial identities can take different forms, such as regional, national, ethnic, or civilisational identities (Paasi 2003). A territory can, therefore, be perceived as being inhabited by different “imagined communities” (Anderson 1996) that can range from small neighbourhoods to nations, ethnic groups, or entire civilisations (Snow 2001). Moreover, territorial identities are constructed through the meanings we attach to things, as well as through the distinctions we make between “me”/“we” and “them”/“others” to define who forms part of our “own” perceived group and who does not (Yuval-Davis 2013). By defining who belongs to the “own” group and who does not, we stipulate the ways in which we resemble and differ from others, which is at the core of our self-identification (Yuval-Davis 2013). The physical borders of a territory can thus serve to define who is considered to share the same characteristics and belong to the “own” identity group, namely all the inhabitants living within the same territory, in contrast to “others” living outside the physical borders of the “own” territory (Storey 2018). This function of distinguishing between “us” and “others” can be assigned to territorial borders from above and below, representing a common example of a specific territorial feature that is invested with meaning for the construction of territorial identities.

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Stuart Hall (2013b) maintains that the assigning of meaning is central to the construction of our identities. We attach meaning by representing them through language in the form of stories, images, and feelings: “It is by our use of things and what we say, think and feel about them – how we represent them – that we give them a meaning” (Hall 2013a, p. xix). Representation through language refers in this case to language in the broadest sense, including body language, images, fashion, or movies (Hall 2013a, b). Accordingly, for the construction of territorial identities the specific features of a territory, such as territorial borders and the real or imagined cultural, socio-economic, and political characteristics of its inhabitants, can be invested with meaning by representing them through language. Through the circulation of media, books, or movies at the regional, national, and international scales, territorial features can be chosen as points of orientation and identification for the inhabitants of a territory (Banini 2017). At the same time, every individual and group of people has the autonomy to attach meaning to chosen territorial features based on personal experiences, knowledge, and imagination (Yuval-Davis 2013). The assignment of meaning to territorial features from above and below for the social construction of our identities can therefore be studied through territorial representations and self-representations as elaborated by the “Territorial Identities” national research group of the Association of Italian Geographers (Banini 2017). Territorial representations in the form of portrayals or descriptions of a specific territory in books, newspapers, or movies reveal which territorial features are invested with meaning for the construction of territorial identities, for whom, how, and why. Self-representations in turn illustrate which territorial features and borders are considered relevant and meaningful by the inhabitants of a territory for their self-identification (Banini 2017). As representation and self-representation work through language and identities can be understood as narrative types for the self and its boundaries (Hall 2013b; Yuval-Davis 2013), territorial identities can be studied with the help of qualitative narrative research methods.

11.4 Qualitative Narrative Research Methods In general, narratives can be defined as spoken or written texts that provide chronological accounts of events or actions (Czarniawska 2004). In the context of identities, narratives can be understood as communicated and shared ideas about the self and its boundaries (Yuval-Davis 2013). The narratives we share with each other allow us to fit our everyday experiences into our understandings of ourselves, our worldviews, and values and are therefore central to the construction of our identities (Somers and Gibson 1993). Because such identity narratives reveal how we see the world, our role in it, and ourselves, they allow the study of which territorial features individuals and groups consider meaningful (Paasi 2003). Both territorial representations from above and self-representations can therefore be studied through shared narratives.

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In this chapter, narrated representations of territories related to the RomanianMoldovan state border at the regional, national, and international scales were identified using the scientific literature (see Sect. 11.2). To examine how these representations from above shape the territorial identities of people living in Romania and the RM, they are compared with narrated self-representations of people living in both countries. As Stuart Hall (2013a) suggests we attach meaning to things by integrating them into our everyday practices, these narrated self-representations were collected in the form of the stories people share with each other in their everyday lives. To understand their perceptions of themselves and the territory they inhabit, these narratives are the stories that people from Romania and the RM tell about their experiences of crossing the Romanian-Moldovan state border, their stays in the respective neighbouring country, or the rumours they have heard about people living in the neighbouring country. The examined everyday stories were collected in the form of eight individual semi-structured interviews and nineteen written narratives, gathered with the help of two request sheets in Romanian, English, and German in September and October 2017. They were narrated by students and professors living in four different areas of Romania and the RM: in the cities of Cluj-Napoca and Ia¸si, in Romania; and in the district of Ungheni and the city of Chi¸sin˘au, in the RM. These cities and districts were chosen for their geographical locations, with Cluj-Napoca and Chi¸sin˘au being situated in the centres of their respective countries, and Ia¸si and Ungheni being situated next to the Romanian-Moldovan state border. Gathering narratives in these four areas enabled an analysis of whether the self-representations of people varied depending on their place of residence in Romania and the RM. Moreover, these four areas were chosen because they offered the largest number of potential narrators through non-random snowball sampling before the beginning of the field research. To discern how territorial self-representations are shaped by representations from above, the content of the gathered everyday narratives was analysed in two steps. To define the specific characteristics of everyday territorial identities, the narratives were first analysed based on three guiding questions: (1) Which geographical, cultural, socioeconomic, and political features are invested with meaning, for whom, and why? (2) Why do certain geographical borders serve to distinguish between “us” and “others”, and which are they? (3) Who is presented as “the Other”, by whom, why, and how? Second, the territorial identities mentioned in everyday life thus defined were compared with the symbolic territorial borders, features, and “others” found in official representations of territories related to the Romanian-Moldovan state border at the regional, national, and international scales.

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11.5 Research Findings The analysis of everyday narratives and their comparison with representations at the regional, national, and international scales reveals that people living in Romania and the RM refer in their everyday lives to a multitude of territorial identities in which the Romanian-Moldovan state border is embedded. As the following table shows (Table 11.1), and as elaborated in more detail in the work of Gohlke (2018), these numerous territorial identities can be arranged along two axes: (1) They can be distinguished between territorial identities that (a) clearly state the Romanian-Moldovan state border as one of their symbolic physical boundaries; (b) bridge entirely or partly the Romanian-Moldovan state border, but not comprise the whole state territory of Romania or the RM; and (c) bridge the Romanian-Moldovan state border completely and comprise the state territories of both countries. (2) They can range from narrowly defined identities (e.g. linguistic identities) to broader identities, with various real or imagined shared characteristics of their members (e.g. cultural identities incorporating features of linguistic identities). Though more numerous than in official representations from above, these everyday territorial identities are differently shaped by representations at the regional, national, and international scales. First, in everyday life, many self-representations refer to territorial identities that are supported by representations from above, such as a European identity, or a Romanian or Moldovan national identity (Gohlke 2018). However, the precise geographical positioning of the physical borders of these territorial identities can vary from person to person. Their physical borders may be located on the Romanian-Moldovan state border, in other parts of Romania or the RM, or outside both state territories. Second, these self-representations follow patterns of representation at the regional, national, and international scales in the form of inter- and intra-national Nesting Orientalism (Gohlke 2018): to distinguish between the “own” group of people and “others” living outside the stipulated territorial borders, people tend to portray western neighbouring states or regions within their own country as more progressive than the eastern neighbouring countries or regions, which are perceived as less progressive (Baki´c-Hayden 1995; Segnini 2016). Moreover, the influence of representations from above is perceptible in territorial identities that merge key ideas of several territorial representations at the regional, national, or international scale (Gohlke 2018). The described Romanian-Moldovan borderland identity, for example, combines the idea of the RM as a borderland between the EU and Russia with the portrayal of Romania as part of Eastern Europe instead of “core-Europe”. Both countries and their inhabitants are therefore considered to be in the process of gradual “Europeanisation”, exhibiting “European” and diverging “Eastern” features, and as situated at the peripheries of the EU and Russia (Gohlke 2018). However, every person’s autonomy in constructing his/her identity means there are also territorial identities to be found in everyday life that differ from territorial

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Table 11.1 Territorial identities in everyday life (Gohlke 2018, p. 48) Types of territorial identities

Territorial identities with the state border as a symbolic boundary

De-/re-bordering Bridging territorial identities territorial identities (applying to Romania and the (applying to some parts of RM) Romania/RM)

Civic identities (1)Romanian vs (spatial rights, Moldovan civic etc.) identity Linguistic identities (language)

(2)Romanian vs Moldovan linguistic identity

Religious identities (Orthodoxy, canonical territory)

(3)Romanian vs Russian Orthodox religious identity

(Post-)socialist (4)Non-Soviet vs and/or post-Soviet (post-)Soviet identity identities (cultural, economic, political traits) Cultural identities incl. ethnic identities (traditions, language, religion)

(5)Romanian- vs Russian-Moldovan cultural identity

Regional identities incl. narrow borderland identities (cultural, economic and political traits)

(6)Romanian Moldovan borderland identity (7)Narrow Moldovan borderland identity (8)Bessarabian borderland identity

(1)Hyphenated Romanian-Moldovan-European identity (1)Southern Muntenian vs (2)Romanian linguistic identity Northern Moldovan identity (2)Pan-Latin/Francophone linguistic identity (3)Slavic-Orthodox religious identity

(3)Post-socialist vs Soviet (4)Post-socialist identity identity

(5)Romanian cultural identity (6)Romanian ethnic identity

(4)Regional Romanian Moldovan-Chi¸sin˘au or lowlands (Tara ¸ de Jos) identity (5)Narrow Romanian-Moldovan cross-border identity (6)Regional Moldavian identity (continued)

representations from above: in everyday life, people first refer to territorial identities that contradict orientalising forms of representation at the regional, national, and international scales. In the case of the previously mentioned Romanian-Moldovan borderland identity, for example, people reject the perception of Romania as the superior western neighbour of the RM, in contrast to official representations of Wider Europe (Gohlke 2018). Alternatively, as the Western European identity illustrates

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Table 11.1 (continued) Types of territorial identities

Territorial identities with the state border as a symbolic boundary

De-/re-bordering Bridging territorial identities territorial identities (applying to Romania and the (applying to some parts of RM) Romania/RM)

National identities (culture, territory, ancestry, history, etc.)

(9)Romanian vs (7)Moldavian national Moldovan national identity identity (8)Pan-Romanianist national identity

(7)Extended pan-Romanianist national identity

European identity and European sub-identities (culture, value system, history, European mesoregions, etc.)

(10)European vs non-European identity

(8)European identity

(11)(Eastern) (10)Balkan identity European vs Wider European identity

(9)Wider European identity (10)Eastern European identity (11)Western European identity

Eurasian identity (culture, political traits, history, etc.)

(12)European vs Eurasian identity

(12)Eurasian identity

Borderland identities (cultural, economic and political hybridity)

(13)Romanian non-borderland identity vs Moldovan borderland identity

(13)Romanian-Moldovan borderland identity

(9)Extended European vs non-European identity

(see Table 11.1), people living in both countries claim to be as progressive as their western neighbours, in contrast to official representations of Western Europe, Eastern Europe, and Wider Europe (Gohlke 2018). Second, everyday self-representations differ from representations from above, because they contain territorial identities that are absent in representations at the regional, national, and international scales. For example, people living in both countries refer to their perceived Southern Muntenian/Northern Moldovan identity or Moldavian national identity (Gohlke 2018). In the latter, the cultural and historical origins of what can be termed the “Moldavian nation” are imagined as dating back to the historical Moldavian Principality, thus affording a distinction between the Moldavian nation and both the Romanian nation and today’s inhabitants of Transnistria (Gohlke 2018). With the Moldavian nation perceived as inhabiting a “Greater Moldavia” roughly covering today’s Romanian region of Moldova, the western part of the RM between the Prut and the Dniester, and the Ukrainian Budjak region up to the Black Sea Coast, this everyday territorial

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identity does not correspond to any official territorial representation at the regional, national, or international scale.

11.6 Conclusion Overall, the analysis and comparison of the self-representations of people living in Romania and the RM with representations from above reveal that considerably more contested territorial identities are to be found in everyday life than in representations at the regional, national, and international scales. A multitude of communities is therefore imagined today as living within the state territories of Romania and the RM. These imagined communities exhibit differing real or imagined territorial features and can range from relatively small linguistic groups, living in certain regions of Romania or the RM, to civilisations inhabiting entire continents. They are thus perceived as inhabiting territories which are either limited by or bridge the RomanianMoldovan state border, resulting in the accumulation of depicted territorial borders within and outside the Romanian and Moldovan state territories. Moreover, findings indicate that everyday territorial identities are nevertheless the outcome of personal experiences, knowledge, and imagination, because every individual can incorporate either completely or partly the territorial features of representations from above, combine and alter them, or create new individual territorial identities. Yet, in everyday life, territorial identities also tend to be shaped by dominant representations of territories at the regional, national, and international scales. They either incorporate features of certain representations from above completely or partly or follow inter- and intra-nesting orientalising patterns of representation at higher scales. In considering these research findings, I argue that the study of territorial representations and self-representations, as well as the use of qualitative narrative research methods, allows for deeper insights into the multitude and variety of territorial identities in everyday life. Everyday stories revealing the specific characteristics of territorial identities and their chosen cultural, socioeconomic, and political features, as well as territorial borders and perceived “others”, make it possible to trace their roots and features to territorial representations from above. However, to explain why certain features of specific representations from above are accepted by some people and rejected or altered by others, further theoretical concepts are required to analyse the interplay between representations from above, on the one hand, and personal experiences, imagination, and knowledge on the other.

References Anderson, B. (1996). Imagined communities: Reflections on the origins and spread of nationalism. London and New York: Verso.

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Baar, V., & Jakubek, D. (2017). Divided national identity in Moldova. Journal of Nationalism, Memory & Language Politics, 11(1), 58–92. Baki´c-Hayden, M. (1995). Nesting orientalisms: The case of former Yugoslavia. Slavic Review, 54(4), 917–931. Banini, T. (2017). Proposing a theoretical framework for local territorial identities: Concepts, questions and pitfalls. Territorial Identity and Development, 2(2), 16–23. Berger, S. (2017). Western Europe. In D. Mishkova & B. Trencsényi (Eds.), European regions and boundaries: A conceptual history (pp. 15–35). New York and Oxford: Berghahn. Cinpoe¸s, R. (2010). Nationalism and identity in Romania: A history of extreme politics from the birth of the state to EU accession. London: Tauris Academic Studies. Cu¸sco, A., & Sarov, ¸ I. (2012). Bessarabien im russischen Zarenreich (1812–1917). In K. Bochmann, V. Dumbrava, D. Müller, & V. Reinhardt (Eds.), Die Republik Moldau: Republica Moldova: Ein Handbuch (pp. 38–53). Leipzig: Leipziger Universitätsverlag. Cu¸sco, A. (2012). Bessarabien in den Jahren 1917–1918. In K. Bochmann, V. Dumbrava, D. Müller, & V. Reinhardt (Eds.), Die Republik Moldau: Republica Moldova: Ein Handbuch (pp. 54–58). Leipzig: Leipziger Universitätsverlag. Czarniawska, B. (2004). Narratives in social science research. London: Sage. Eagles, J. (2014). Stephen the great and Balkan nationalism: Moldova and Eastern European history. London and New York: I.B. Tauris. Gohlke, L. (2018). “People believe in what they want to believe.”: Myriad ways to embed the Romanian-Moldovan state border in collective identities in everyday life. UEF ePublications [Online]. Available at . Accessed 24.08.2019. Hall, S. (2013a). Introduction. In S. Hall, J. Evans, & S. Nixon (Eds.), Representation (pp. xvii–xxvi). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Hall, S. (2013b). The work of representation. In S. Hall, J. Evans, & S. Nixon (Eds.), Representation (pp. 1–47). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Laruelle, M. (2001). Le néo-eurasisme russe: L’empire après l’empire? Cahiers du Monde Russe, 42(1), 71–94. Mishkova, D. (2017). Balkans/Southeastern Europe. In D. Mishkova & B. Trencsényi (Eds.), European regions and boundaries: A conceptual history (pp. 143–165). New York and Oxford: Berghahn. Paasi, A. (2003). Region and place: Regional identity in question. Progress in Human Geography, 27(4), 475–485. Petrovszky, K. (2012). Das Fürstentum Moldau. In K. Bochmann, V. Dumbrava, D. Müller, & V. Reinhardt (Eds.), Die Republik Moldau: Republica Moldova: Ein Handbuch (pp. 25–37). Leipzig: Leipziger Universitätsverlag. Popescu, G. (2008). The conflicting logics of cross-border reterritorialization. Geopolitics of Euroregions in Eastern Europe. Political Geography, 27, 418–438. Popescu, G. (2011). Bordering and ordering the twenty-first century: Understanding borders. Plymouth: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Schenk, F. B. (2017). Eastern Europe. In D. Mishkova & B. Trencsényi (Eds.), European regions and boundaries: A conceptual history (pp. 188–209). New York and Oxford: Berghahn. Scott, J. W. (2005). The EU and ‘wider Europe’: Toward an alternative geopolitics of regional cooperation? Geopolitics, 10, 429–454. Segnini, E. (2016). Orientalism within Europe: Introduction. Journal of European Studies, 46(3/4), 214–220. Snow, D. (2001). Collective identities and expressive forms. Irvine: CSD working papers [Online]. Available at . Accessed 28.08.2019. Somers, M. R., & Gibson, G. D. (1993). Reclaiming the epistemological “other”: Narrative and the social constitution of identity. University of Michigan: CSST working papers [Online]. Available at https://deepblue.lib.umich.edu/bitstream/handle/2027.42/51265/499.pdf?sequence=1&isAllo wed=y. Accessed 01.02.2018.

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Storey, D. (2018). Territory and territoriality. In A. Paasi, M. Harrison, & M. Jones (Eds.), Handbook on the geographies of regions and territories (pp. 34–43). Cheltenham, UK and Northampton, MA, USA: Edward Elgar Publishing. Tîcu, ¸ O. (2016). Borders and nation-building in post-Soviet space: A glance from the Republic of Moldova. In I. Liikanen, J. W. Scott, & T. Sotkasiira (Eds.), The EU’s Eastern neighbourhood: Migration, borders and regional stability (pp. 50–65). Abingdon and New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. White, G. W. (2000). Nationalism and territory: Constructing group identity in Southeastern Europe. Lanham, Boulder, New York, and Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield. Yuval-Davis, N. (2013). A situated intersectional everyday approach to the study of bordering. working paper 2 [Online]. Available at . Accessed 20.01.2018.

Chapter 12

Past Bordering Practices Modelling Present Representations: Transylvanian Saxons’ Administrative Units and the Chair of Rupea /Repser Stuhl /K˝ohalom Szék Zoltan Maro¸si

12.1 Introduction Despite the dominant discourse about the reduction of borders in a globalized world, in the past twenty years, many authors remained sceptic about how a borderless world could function, as they had a key role in the normal functionality of human societies (Gilmartin et al. 2018, p. 11). The same authors are showing how the recent migrant crisis of Europe resulted in strengthening EU’s external borders and how the Brexit politics raised tensions between United Kingdom’s constituent countries (Scotland and Northern Ireland—which are pro-EU) are clear signs that bordering practices at present are still important, but applied in uneven and inconsistent ways (Gilmartin et al. 2018, pp. 12–24). D. Trump’s intention to build a wall along the US–Mexico border is also part of the same right-wing populism trend, through which nations are opposing globalization (Gilmartin et al. 2018, p. 14). At local levels, as a legacy of the turbulent past and politics of Europe, different nations can be scattered way beyond the mother country’s borders, as a good example, being the Hungarians living outside Hungary’s borders, in the Carpathian Basin. These ethnic communities are minorities within other states and can form ethnocultural enclaves, with informal borders, as these borers are not usually recognized by the “adoptive” states—the case of Székelys and Székely Land in Romania (Kocsis and Kocsis-Hodosi 1998, pp. 130–134). In these cases, the nations can be divided into ‘people within the borders’ and ‘people outside the borders.’ Preyer and Bös (2002, pp. IX–XVIII) are also showing that the globalization, as a social process, leads to new forms of differentiation (or distinction) of the social, economic and political systems and of the ethnic and even religious communities, which encourages the Z. Maro¸si (B) Centre for Research on Settlements and Urbanism (CCAU), Faculty of Geography, Babe¸s-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_12

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mechanisms of selection and intrinsically creates new borderlines and new frontiers. Madsen and van Naerssen (2003, p. 62) consider that borders are an integral part of dynamic identities and show how migration is related to the formation of national identities, of “where and how one belongs.” In addition, Paasi and Metzger (2017, p. 20) also demonstrate that in the globalization process of the society, in the social sciences but not only, the discussion about regions, regionalism, and several subcategories like city-region, mega-region, micro-region, resilient region, etc., have reborn with “attached new meanings to the abstract idea of regional processes of identity formation.” Considering all these general tendencies, formed as a response to globalization, the current chapter will focus on the present bordering practices of sub-nation level regions, initiated by local communities. A particularly interesting phenomenon, which has attracted much attention lately, is the case of an old autonomous administrative unit of the historic Transylvania, created for the Saxon population (early Germanic people, speaking a very distinct dialect of German) in the 13th century. This old administrative unit, even if it was officially dissolved in 1876, is nowadays mentioned again in many different sources of information, in touristic promotion brochures, cultural events, informative panels of different monuments, on public social media pages and even on official governmental websites. A more interesting fact is the recent rise in popularity of the long forgotten administrative unit, in the absence of the Saxon population (which emigrated massively after the Second World War). Many causes can be attributed to this phenomenon, however, in this chapter, the highlight will be on the territorial identity of the present population, in correlation with the present representations of the material heritage (inherited from the Saxons, in their absence). In this case, the hypothesis of the study is to determine in which manner the territorial identity of a collectivity can influence the representations (as productions of meanings, significance) and how the built heritage, as cultural artifacts, can influence the people’s sense of belonging to the place, and therefore the community’s territorial identity. I traced the existence of a link constituted on the base of past and present representations of the material heritage, which connects different ethnic groups, from past and present, each with a strong and distinct culture. Therefore, the main objective of this chapter is to provide an overview of an extraordinary phenomenon, analysed by the author in many different contexts (Ilovan and Maro¸si 2015; Maro¸si 2017; Maro¸si 2018), in which isolated communities, in a specific hilly landscape, through isolation and poverty, managed to keep alive (informally) the Chair of Rupea. Studying how the population relates to a foreign built heritage remains highly relevant in urban development, as in present days, the decaying historic buildings and monuments in Romania constitute a real problem. People being proud of their local built heritage is the first step towards preserving the local heritage, part of an intrinsic, bottom-up planning and sustainable local development. Answering the following questions is also an objective of the current research: (1) How many territorial administrative reforms existed after the dissolution of the medieval Saxon Chairs (in 1876)? (2) To what degree did the many administrative borders correspond with the former Chair of Rupea? (3) How did these borders

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affect the people’s sense of place? (4) Why are people still referring to the old Chair of Rupea? (5) Which are the representations of the material heritage in place, contributing to the revival of a long dissolved administrative unit? and (6) How can we interpret the phenomenon within the current administrative context? These questions will be answered generally in the selected case study from the geographical perspective, highlighting the relevance of the above-mentioned aspects for territorial planning.

12.2 Representations of the Material Heritage and Territorial Identities Territorial identity, roughly, is about how a person relates to one territory, his or her sense of belonging to that local territory, with its specific natural and/or cultural characteristics. The increasing emphasis on meaning and interpretations in cultural studies and cultural geography, during the last few decades, showed both a desire and a necessity to understand the connections among communities or groups (and even individuals) and the places, territories, histories and geographies they share (Claval and Entrikin 2004, p. 42). According to T. Banini (2017, p. 17), territorial identity should be an open-dynamic social construction of the territory, created from the individual or group level and not from the decision-making or the political levels. The same author defines territorial identity more exactly, as a process of social construction, “through which the collectivities settled in a given territory choose the distinctive features of the territory they inhabit or where they act in, shaping shared values, solutions, actions, and future trends” (Banini 2017, p. 18). In this case, collectivities must develop a sense of belonging, which involves not only the territory, but also the group of people being in similar relations with the same territory, a group that has distinct tradition, culture, language/dialect, built heritage and so on, often all these together, are named as shared cultural geographies (Claval and Entrikin 2004, p. 42). The sense of belonging is also involved in the process of place-making (with significance for the population) from the space (which is more abstract and has no substantial meaning, as space can exist even without people). Therefore, it is about this sense of belonging to a territory and about creating places from the cold space, a process that involves, among many other complex aspects, the ways in which significance is created, transmitted, enhanced and even attached to cultural artefacts, objects with meanings created by man. Stuart Hall (1997, pp. 1, 16) describes even a circuit of culture, in which the meaning is produced by mental representations of objects, people, events, symbols, etc. The same author mentions why the following representations (the production of meanings) is important, mainly because meaning is not inherent in things, in the world, but is produced by the population, in groups or individually, bearing a high level of subjectivity (Hall 1997, p. 24).

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The representations based on these meanings have a common trunk when they are made by people belonging to the same culture, for example, dialects or the symbols of an emblem, are perceived and interpreted in similar ways by individuals belonging to the same group. Representations are linked, in this way, to the identity of the group, and the identity of the group influences the production of meanings. Language is the most privileged channel to attribute sense to things, but there are other media too, much more durable and sometimes very expressive, like architecture, sculpture, paintings, etc. (i.e. Art). The material heritage, like historic buildings or monuments, is full of symbolic meanings and therefore it encourages the process of cultural representations. Feilden (2003, p. 1) described a historical building as a structure which arouses one’s interests and has an emotional impact on individuals, producing a desire to understand and know better the people and the culture which gave birth to it. The same author considers that each historical building (if older than one hundred years, then it might be called historical) bears a complexity of ideas and the culture which produced it can be well reflected in that building (Feilden 2003, p. 1). For modern buildings, it is harder to find the traces of a distinctive culture, as vernacular architecture (which was, to some degree, determined by the local resources, the environment and the skills of the people) has been gradually replaced by neutral standardized buildings, made from the same materials, in the same manner and with appropriate aspects all around the world. A dominant concrete, glass and steal environment raised. In this way, territorial identity is an attribute of the collectivities, more exactly, how individuals value the features of the territory they inhabit, and how they feel that territory as their home (an aspect that encourages many sustainable aspects of the local development). In the case of Rupea, the Saxon population, which created the chairs as administrative units, emigrated from Transylvania in the last eventful century of instable Romanian administration, but the built heritage they left behind remained intact and survived not only the communist systematization, but also many years of neglecting. The Saxon collectivities developed during the last eight centuries in Transylvania and they imported many specific ways of life, being a distinguishable group through living style and their buildings (Opincariu and Voinea 2016, p. 282). A more interesting aspect is that, even with the communist political strategy of homogenization of the multicultural population of Transylvania, mainly by distributing the population or by encouraging migrations towards regions with large minorities, the “newcomers” (Hungarians, Romanians, Gypsies and other) have adopted the Saxon culture, but without leaving theirs, creating a regional (multicultural) identity, as Transylvanians. The built heritage (with distinguishable architecture of houses and public buildings, imported from the West by the 13th century colonists), influenced the newcomers’ culture. Therefore, even if the Saxon communities almost disappeared in Transylvania, their left behind built heritage managed to preserve a small part of their rich culture and developed a new sense of place and significance for other ethnic communities and many younger generations.

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12.3 Revival of an Administrative Unit Dissolved a Century and a Half Ago Very close to the geographical centre of Romania, a former territorial administrative unit created by the Saxon population, in the Late Middle Ages and dissolved a century and a half ago, reappeared in the local population’s memory and even mentioned during several cultural or touristic events. The administrative unit is one of the seven (or considering the merged ones, ten) former Transylvanian Saxon Chairs (named also Seats), locally known under the name ‘Scaunul Rupea’ (in Romanian), ‘Repser Stuhl’ (in German) and ‘K˝ohalom szék’ (in Hungarian). The Saxon chairs, were historical administrative units, in Transylvania, existing from the 13th century until 1876, as part of the Königsboden (Latin: Fundus Regius), created by the people of early German ethnicity who colonized South East Transylvania (Borcoman 2010, p. 18; Cercel 2012) in that period, the south-eastern border regions of the former Kingdom of Hungary (Fig. 12.1). The Saxon colonization of the border regions was encouraged by the Hungarian kings, starting with King Géza II, who granted the privilege for the colonists (Saxons but also the Székelys—Hungarian-speaking people) to organize themselves and to submit to no one else but to the kings (reason why the land received the name, “domains of the kings” or Fundus Regius). In exchange, the colonists needed to defend themselves and the borders of the kingdom from invasions and to build fortifications to this aim: fortified cities, fortresses, castles and, above all, the specific and numerous fortified churches—today inseparable parts of the Transylvanian cultural landscape (Schuster and Mure¸sianu 2014; Cercel 2012). The resulted chairs (or seats) could be considered as former territorial enclaves, with administrative and religious autonomy within the now extinct Kingdom of Hungary and more exactly within the short-lived Principality of Transylvania (1526–1691). These Saxon chairs, as medieval administration units, coexisted with many other forms of territorial administration, like the comitatuses of the Hungarian Kingdom, and were preserved even during the Habsburg Empire’s administration, although, major administrative reforms were needed to modernize the empire in the 18th century. The administrative unit “Chair of Rupea” is still visible on the Josephinian Land Survey 1769–1773 maps (Section 225). After the establishment of the AustroHungarian dualist empire (Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867), the administrative reforms were applied in 1876 and the chairs lost their status (the chairs lost a part of their status already in 1784, but informally they continued to exist due to the Saxon population). The abolition of the chair’s autonomy could not be made quickly, without dealing with a strong resistance from the Saxon and Székely populations, which felt their privileges threatened, running the risk of uprisings. Beginning with that moment, officially, the administrative units were only the comitatuses (in Hungarian: Vármegye), which were grouped in bigger counties (Megye), respecting the traditional administrative model of the Hungarian Kingdom. After the First World War and The Treaty of Trianon in 1920, Transylvania became part of the newly formed Kingdom of Romania. In the last century, there were at least ten administration reforms, from

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Fig. 12.1 Territorial administrative units in which Rupea was included between 13th and 20th century (Source of the coats of arms: Agnethler [2015])

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which at least six affected the administrative borders of the former Chair of Rupea. The reforms can be considered a consequence of the unstable administration, coordinated mainly by the oscillation between centralism and regionalism, adopted by different governments raised to power (democratically or not). However, even with the turbulent past and the instable administration, in the isolated case of Rupea town, the collective memory and the territorial functionality has not been completely altered and there are many tendencies, in present days, to regroup the surrounding villages, into the former Chair of Rupea. These tendencies are more visible in the tourism promotion activities of the micro-region. Even maps for tourists started to present the names and borders of the “Chair of Rupea”—as a culturally distinct micro-region within the present Bras, ov County of Romania. The entire informal micro-region “The Chair of Rupea” is gravitating around the small town, dominated by the old Fortress of Rupea—the formal administrative centre of the chair. Rupea Town was in constant decline since the beginning of the 90 s, when the entire socialist artificial system collapsed. Nowadays, Rupea Town has a population of around 5,000 inhabitants (in demographical decline) and because of this, even Rupea’s status of town is threatened with a demotion to a village (Rupea became a town in 1950, under the Soviet model administration, and kept that way because the rural area lacked an urban centre—with facilities).

12.4 Past Bordering Practices: Administrative Instability After the Dissolution of the Medieval Saxon Chairs The answer to the first question—(1) How many territorial administrative reforms existed after the dissolution of the medieval Saxon Chairs (in 1876)?—can be short or long; avoiding details, the answer is that too many, more than half a dozen of major administrative changes, traceable through the administrative laws of Romania in the past century, affected not just Rupea Town, but the entire state. After the dissolution of the seats /chairs—as administrative territorial units, Rupea Town has been successively part of the following administrative territorial units: 1. The Comitatus of Târnava-Mare (in Hungarian, Nagy-Küküll˝o vármegye), within the Kingdom of Hungary. The Comitatus of Târnava-Mare was formed on the river basin of Târnava-Mare River, having Sighis, oara (Segesvár) as its capital city. This administrative unit functioned beginning with 1876 and remained functional even after the union of Transylvania with the Kingdom of Romania (in 1918), until 1925. The Saxon Chairs, officially dissolved, still existed informally for several decades. 2. In 1925, after the administrative reform of the Romanian Government, Rupea town became part of Târnava-Mare County (with minor changes of the borders). This new county was subdivided in so called “nets” (groupings of several villages). Rupea Net was one of the four nets that existed as subdivisions of Târnava-Mare County. Therefore, Rupea Town regained a minor role, as main

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(and only) town of the Rupea Net (grouping many villages, most of them from the former Chair of Rupea). The capital city of the county remained Sighis, oara. Between 1929 and 1931 there were the Directorates of Romania, which grouped many counties, according to the historic regions of Romania (as short-lived efforts towards decentralization). In 1938, under King Carol II of Romania (during the Royal Dictatorship), the 71 counties of Romania, as main administrative units, lost their legal status and 11 Lands (in Romanian, “t, inuturi”) were formed. Târnava-Mare County (and its subdivisions, including Rupea Net) became part of Mures, Land, with the capital city Alba Iulia (very far from Rupea Town, almost 200 km). After 1942, a new counter-reform re-established the former counties as the main administrative units of Romania, but this time, with major territorial losses of Romania, as consequences of the Second World War. Târnava-Mare County has been restored partially one more time and kept functional until 1950. During this period, the county was part of the administrative district of Sibiu (in Romanian, “Circumscript, ia administrativ˘a Sibiu”), with Sibiu as its capital city. During the Hungarian occupation of North Transylvania (September 1940–1950), Rupea Town was very close to the new national borders of Romania and Hungary, becoming a border /peripheral settlement again (as during the former Kingdom of Hungary). Rupea Town withing the Romanian states, always occupied a central position, however, still peripheral within the administrative subdivisions. In 1950, although it did not meet the minimum criteria, Rupea received the rank of town, as the rural area, on a radius of 40 km lacked an urban centre. Under the Soviet occupation, the Soviet administrative model started to be applied nation-widely (respecting only economic principles). Between 1950 and 1952, Rupea was part of Sibiu Region, Rayon Sighis, oara, as improvements were made for the artificially created Soviet-model administration. Between 1953 and 1960, Rupea was part of Stalin Region, Rayon Rupea (Rupea obtaining again administrative functions within its own rayon—as a subdivision of the region, observing in general the borders of the former Rupea Net. In 1960, the name of the Region was changed to Bras, ov, but the administrative borders remained almost the same, not affecting Rupea Town. The current 41 counties of Romania are the main administrative territorial units, equivalent with the NUTS III level in Europe. The counties were founded in 1968, under the communist regime, each of the 41 counties having an average of 5,500 km2 and a population around 450,000 inhabitants. Each county has a municipality as its capital. The communist regime shaped the counties mainly according to economic and socialist principles, not considering the ethnic factor. Rupea Town lost any administrative role in the region and was included in Bras, ov County (Fig. 12.2). At present, after 30 years since the Revolution of 1989 and the communist regime dissolution, the economic realities of each county have largely changed; however, the counties remained unchanged, as further administrative instability was avoided. Romania joining the European Union in 2007, resulted in adopting the eight development regions, equivalent with NUTS II-level in Europe. These eight regions, without administrative status, have a role only in

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Fig. 12.2 Rupea Town within Bras, ov County in the present territorial administrative borders

development projects and in statistics, as the main inherited problems of the many administrations can be felt mainly through the unmatched statistical records, during statistical research, as the records were made for the numerous different administrative units existing in the past, with variable surfaces (i.e. it is difficult to use statistics for the area, which, in various periods, was Stalin Region, Târnava Mare County, and Bras, ov County, and their surface varied). Rupea Town, was part of many changes in the last century. From a peripheral to a central position within the state or within the state’s subdivisions, with or without micro-regional administrative functions (Figs. 12.1 and 12.2). The answer for the second question—(2) To what degree did the many administrative borders correspond with the former Chair of Rupea?—is included in Figs. 12.1 and 12.2. The answer will show the possible continuity or discontinuity of the local administration and, therefore, the present perceptions of the former Chair of Rupea. In 1876, after dissolving the Chair of Rupea, the new Comitatus of TârnavaMare included four former chairs (visible also on the coat of arms of the comitatus, Fig. 12.1), the Chairs or Rupea (K˝ohalom /Reps), Sighis, oara (Segesvár /Schäßburg), Medias, (Medgyes /Mediasch) and Cincu (Nagysink /Großschenk). Rupea Chair corresponded just partially (less than 50%) with the new subdivisions of the Comitatus of Târnava-Mare. After the First World War and the union of Transylvania with the Kingdom of Romania, the Târnava-Mare County and its subdivision, the Rupea Net, corresponded less than 30% with the former Chair of Rupea (the administrative

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borders of the Net developed towards East, away from the original borders of the Chair). During and after the Second World War, any kind of continuity was completely lost (as many kinds of political regimes emerged and administrative instability increased). After the Second World War, the Saxon population was expropriated, accused to be supporters of the defeated Axis, as German ethnics and the Saxon workforce were deported to Soviet labour camps in Ural regions. This event marked the decline of the Saxons in Transylvania as, after the falling of the communist state, the remained Saxon population emigrated massively from Romania (Poledna 2001, p. 80). Therefore, the answer to the second research question is that an ethnic and administrative continuity of the Rupea Chair is not feasible in this situation. In this case, it is desirable to trace the source and origin of the present perceptions of the former Chair of Rupea, more exactly, how the present community relates to the past. The following research questions remain to be answered: (3) How did these borders affect the people’s sense of place? (4) Why are people still referring to the old Chair of Rupea? and (5) Which are the representations of the material heritage in place contributing to the revival of a long dissolved administrative unit?

12.5 Present Perceptions of the Former Chair of Rupea and Representations of the Material Heritage The instability of the territorial administration and the migration of the borders affected on long term the economic development of Rupea. As one of the smallest towns in Romania, from the demographic perspective (having only around 5,000 inhabitants instead of the minimal legal condition of 10,000 inhabitants for the town status), Rupea is threatened with demotion to the village rank. In any case, Rupea Town remains the only urban settlement (with medical, educational, cultural and administrative services) on a radius of 40 km. All the villages within this area are depending, to some extent, for their good functionality, on the services provided by the town of Rupea. The following public services are considered attractors of population towards Rupea (causing daily, weekly or at least monthly commute): 1. The Town’s Hospital with the Emergency Room, the clinics, the pharmacies and other health care facilities are serving the area on a radius of 40 km. Since 1969, when The Town’s Hospital was inaugurated, people have been commuting to Rupea for general medical services (Maro¸si 2018, p. 14); 2. S, t. O. Iosif High School, placed symbolically nearby the Fortress of Rupea, on the same hill, was built under the patronage of King Ferdinand and Queen Mary of Romania. The building was started in 1921, but inaugurated only in 1952, because of the Great Depression and the Second World War (Maro¸si 2018, p. 16). Rupea also had two middle schools, two primary schools and several kindergartens, until recently, where teaching was in Romanian, Hungarian and German. On

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each school day, around 500 students are commuting from the rural areas to the town and back; Rupea also has a Court of Justice, Notary /Advocacy offices, attracting people to solve their conflicts; Rupea is hosting a weekly fair, taking place on Fridays, which attracts many peoples from all the nearby villages, and making Rupea overcrowded once a week. This weekly event contributed to the current configuration of the town. Transformations of these marketplaces during the last century and a half, have been analysed using postcards (Maro¸si 2018); Rupea is hosting an annual Medieval Festival dedicated to the Fortress of Rupea; Rupea also hosts the subsidiaries of regional public utility companies, and people are usually paying their bills for electricity, gas, water and sewage services in the town; The banks and the two supermarkets are also attracting a large number of people daily. It is necessary to mention that even if Rupea Town has only 5,000 inhabitants, the functions of the town are serving the entire population of the area (almost 20,000) within a radius of 35–40 km around Rupea; The Fortress of Rupea is dominating the town from the basalt cliff for centuries and became both a local landmark and a regional touristic attraction since its inauguration in June 2013. I have already described the restauration process in a previous paper (Maro¸si 2017).

These pendulum-like commutes, existing between Rupea Town and the nearby villages, are very relevant in demonstrating how daily commute can influence the inhabitants’ perceptions of their home places and, therefore, their representations of the material heritage in situ. From early ages, commuting towards the small town, for specific services or just for the weekly fair, shaped the inhabitants’ perceptions of the area and, most of all, of the town’s cultural role within the area. One should notice how the non-Saxon inhabitants managed to take over a small but enough part of the Saxons place /cultural identity and how they developed their own sense of belonging to the places built and formerly inhabited by Saxons. As showed before, the many border changes and the highly instable administration had a destructive influence on the economy and on many cultural aspects of the communities, contributing to the decline of the local identity. However, the built heritage and several cultural events “taken over” from the Saxon population managed to transmit continuously the essential aspect of the territorial identity: the sense of belonging to the highly specific area (with typical landscapes and culture). People are proud of their home place and hometown, and this aspect is the most visible through their representations. The local representations of the material heritage include both the Saxon and the Romanian parts. One of the most important representations are those of the Fortress of Rupea, which is recognized as the universal landmark of Rupea (accepted by all ethnic groups). The town of Rupea, as a cultural centre of the micro-region /Chair of Rupea, was the beneficiary of a project called “Rupea Chair—promoting its touristic potential”, financed by the 2007–2013 Regional Operational Program (ROP) and whose main aim was to restore the fortress and to develop a considerable advertising

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program (Ilovan and Maro¸si 2015, p. 67). The fortress was reopened for the public on the 15th of July 2013, being followed by a true cultural revival of the impoverished and declining town, leading to an increase in the inhabitants’ morale. The Fortress of Rupea, built on a basalt cliff with a height of 120 metres above the town’s level (582 metres above the sea level) is a true definition of a highly visible landmark, always visible from any side of the town and for anyone traveling towards or from the town (Maro¸si 2017, p. 36). The landmark is rightfully considered the symbol of the entire area, being represented not just on the packaging of locally produced products, but also on posters of cultural events, touristic or informative brochures, maps, information panels, school projects and many others (Fig. 12.3). As the Saxon population emigrated massively and Rupea remained almost completely without the population that shaped it, the Romanian, Hungarian, Gypsy and other ethnicities developed their own perceptions, not always related to the Saxon population’s perceptions. However, the fortress became very soon a symbol of the entire population, something worth to talk about with other people and something to include in the answer to the question “where are you from?” Starting with the restoration of the fortress—the former administrative centre of the Chair of Rupea— the following aspects contributed towards reshaping the inhabitants’ perceptions of their hometown and the micro-region (named as the former unit, the Chair of Rupea): • online social networking platforms, mainly Facebook, but also Instagram and Pinterest, contributed massively in sharing the image of the photogenic fortress, in many different ways and with different occasions, from local to national level, sometime with the involvement of mass-media (Fig. 12.3.I.); • tourism promotion of the micro-region, under the mysterious old name “The Chair of Rupea,” through tourism exhibitions, tourism information centres (recently build in all the nearby communes), and by distributing brochures, flyers and calendars with the image of the fortress; the most important aspect of these refers to the inserted maps, associated with the name “The Chair of Rupea,” awakening people’s imagination and interest to learn about the local history (Fig. 12.3.II); • information panels in every village of the micro-region “The Chair of Rupea” (Fig. 12.3.II); • the cultural events, taking place annually, inherited from the Saxon traditions (inside or near the fortress) or having as a theme the local built heritage, such as: (1) The Days of the Fortress—with open gates for visitors, medieval weaponry and lifestyle exhibitions, with many other attractions, being a good occasion for the population to celebrate the local heritage, (2) Haferland (Rye Land) Week Festival, taking place in Crit, Village but also at the Fortress of Rupea (Fig. 12.3.II), (3) Fosnic (Fosnicht)—a yearly winter celebration of all the married people, in all the former Saxon villages, (4) The Grapes’ Ball—mainly organized by the Székelys in September, (5) The Heroes’ Day, (6) The Ball of the Folk Costume, (7) The Wreath Fest (Kronenfest)—a typical Saxon celebration, still held in the famous village of Viscri, and other religious and cultural celebrations specific to Transylvania;

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Fig. 12.3 Present representations of the Chair of Rupea oriented towards tourist and cultural activities. 1. Picture of Rupea Fortress by János Gáspár (Gáspár 2020); 2. Picture of Rupea Fortress by Dragos, Petcu (Petcu 2020); 3. Picture of Rupea Fortress by Mihai Laurent, iu F˘atu (F˘atu 2019); 4. Rupea Turistic˘a 2017; 5. Transilvania Shop 2020. Pictures published with permission

• the weekly fairs which take place in Rupea Town and the daily commutes, as described above; • souvenirs and local products, proudly promoting the local history and culture (Fig. 12.3.III).

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12.6 Conclusions. Interpreting the Analysed Phenomenon in the Current Administrative Context The following conclusions were reached: 1. Even if the former Saxon chairs, within the Königsboden, existed almost nine centuries, as autonomous territorial units within the historic Transylvania, after 1876, the units were dissolved and existed only informally, starting to gradually fade away; 2. The Saxon population’s massive emigration in the last century (causes well detailed in Poledna 2001) took away the remaining collective memory of the former Saxon chairs, causing a discontinuity within their informal existence (emigrated Saxon people are still returning as visitors of their homeland— “Heimat”—especially for celebrations or charitable events); 3. The Chair of Rupea, as one of the Saxon chairs, was followed by administrative instability, with at least ten territorial administration reforms since 1876, from which six have modified the administrative borders of the town and /or the administered area; Rupea Town occupied both, a central location (within the Kingdom of Romania) and a border-peripheral location (within the Kingdom of Hungary and, for a short time, within the Kingdom of Romania); Rupea Town was always situated at the periphery of the superior ranked former and current administrative units; all these affected the local development and dismantled the development of a sense of belonging to a region or another; all these changes did not affect the relations between Rupea Town and the nearby villages (which remained somehow functionally linked to the services in the town); 4. Culturally, the location of Rupea Town, close to the Carpathian Mountains, as natural borders of the West and East (and the Western and Oriental cultures), can be considered as both an advantage and a disadvantage, for the formation of a vivid multicultural region, but also taking the disadvantages of a periphery of both the West and East, aspect detailed by Cercel (2012). 5. Between a big part of the villages of the former Chair of Rupea and the town of Rupea, developed a daily, weekly or at least monthly commute, which influenced the local population’s perceptions of the town (perceiving it as a local urban centre, which provides minimal urban services); the most important is the weekly fair of Rupea, which gathers people from all the surrounding villages; 6. The restauration of Rupea fortress and the associated touristic advertising (through brochures, flyers, calendars, information panels, etc.) inspired the population and produced a reinvention of the former Chair of Rupea; however, the present perception of the Chair of Rupea (with a touristic aim) does not preserve the original borders and it is much smaller in surface than the original unit; social media platforms and mass-media contributed massively in transmitting images everywhere, popularizing even more the fortress and with it, the micro-region “The Chair of Rupea.”

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7. It can be also concluded that the analysed phenomenon in the current administrative context shows a necessity of establishing smaller territorial units, as subdivisions of the current existing counties, with limited powers in self-administration, encouraging people to be part of a bottom-up development, initiated and sustained by the local population (in this way, the last question of the research was answered). The analysed subject remains open for future research, as the phenomenon is still ongoing, it is dynamic, similarly to place/territorial identities and their representations.

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Maro¸si, Z. (2017). Representations of local identity through landmarks: The rehabilitation of Rupea Fortress, Romania. Territorial Identity and Development, 2(1), 31–46. http://doi.org/10.23740/ TID120173. Maro¸si, Z. (2018). Functional reconversion of central squares as shown in postcards: Rupea / K˝ohalom / Reps Town, Romania. Territorial Identity and Development, 1(3), 5–23. http://doi. org/10.23740/TID120181. Opincariu, D. S., & Voinea, A. E. (2016). Cultural identity in Saxon rural space of Transylvania. Acta Technica Napocensis: Civil Engineering & Architecture, 58(4), special Issue—International Workshop in Architecture and Urban Planning: Sustainable Development and the Built Environment. Paasi, A., & Metzger, J. (2017). Foregrounding the region. Regional Studies, 51(1), 19–30. https:// doi.org/10.1080/00343404.2016.1239818. Petcu, D. (2020). Photograph of Rupea Fortress published in ‘Rupea in Cluj’ group on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=3090212804371095&set=gm.165805049435 8147&type=1&theater. Accessed 25 April 2020. Picture published with permission. Poledna, R. (2001). Sint ut sunt, aut not sint? Transform˘ari sociale la sas, ii ardeleni dup˘a 1945. O analiz˘a sociologic˘a din perspectiv˘a sistemic˘a [Social transformations of the Transylvanian Saxons after 1945. A sociological analysis from a systemic perspective]. Cluj-Napoca: Presa Universitar˘a Clujean˘a. Preyer, G., & Bös, M. (Eds.). (2002). Borderlines in time of globalization: New theoretical perspectives. In G. Preyer & M. Bös (Eds.), Borderlines in a globalized world (pp. IX–XVIII). Social Indicators Research Series, 9. Dordrecht: Springer. Rupea Turistic˘a. (2017). Photographs published in ‘Rupea Turistic˘a’ Group on Facebook. https:// www.facebook.com/pg/rupeaturistica/photos/?ref=page_internal and Rupea Turistic˘a Website, http://www.rupeaturistica.ro/galerie-foto/. Accessed 25 April 2020. Picture published with permission. Schuster, E., & Mure¸sianu, M. (2014). The settlement of the Saxons in the historic region of Unterwald, Transylvania. Studii s, i Cercet˘ari, Geology-Geography, 19, 53–59. Transilvania Shop. (2020). Pictures with souvenirs representing the old Siebenbürgen. http://www. transilvaniashop.ro/catalog/produse-recente. Accessed 25 April 2020. Pictures published with permission.

Chapter 13

There Is Always a Way Out! Images of Place and Identity for Women Escaping Domestic Violence Janet C. Bowstead

13.1 Introduction Many women relocate to try and escape domestic violence. The abuse and threats from an intimate partner are characterised by being more than just incidents of violence, and by being typically within a context of constant coercion and control (Davies et al. 1998; Stark 2007; Pain 2014). Women often try to use civil and criminal law, and the support of services, to enable them and their children to remain safe; but relocation—temporary or permanent—is frequently a part of their strategies for safety and freedom. Such relocation journeys have been under-recognised in research, policy and practice; not least because women themselves often need to keep the details secret. However, research is beginning to engage with the scale and processes of these journeys in the United Kingdom (Bowstead 2015); and with individual women’s practices and tactics en route (Bowstead 2017), leading to complex trajectories over time and geography (Bowstead 2016). Rather than just considering individual journeys in isolation, the causes and consequences, and the scale, indicate that this is a forced internal migration—creating tens of thousands of internally displaced women and children in the UK. Violence against women is recognised internationally as a human rights violation (UN Human Rights Council 2018), therefore forced migration across internal administrative boundaries as a result of this creates Internally Displaced People (UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs 2004). Researching these journeys of forced displacement is difficult, but the wider research on which this chapter is based includes the use of administrative data from services to quantify and map the journeys, and investigate the characteristics of the places of leaving and arrival (Bowstead 2019b). Data on over 140,000 journeys over eight years enable analysis also of the demographic characteristics of the women J. C. Bowstead (B) Department of Geography, Royal Holloway University of London, London, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_13

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and children on the move, indicating an age range of 16 to over 80 and women from all ethnic origins. This analysis is brought together in an integrative logic (Mason 2006), with evidence at the individual scale, from group discussions and creative participatory work with women who have been forced to relocate due to domestic violence. It is these data of images and words that are the focus of this chapter, and what they can reveal in terms of women’s experiences of being forced to leave home, in temporary homes on their journeys, and as they begin to resettle in a new, unknown place. Women’s narratives highlight practical, emotional and legal issues for these women on the move; but also the impact on their sense of displacement and identity for themselves and their children. Their images and captions enable understandings of their senses and meanings of home, identity and belonging in their experiences of displacement and resettlement. The next section provides more detail on the methodological issues in this research, in terms of participatory research, and ethical issues of safety, confidentiality and voice. Focusing on the journey stage of resettlement, the next section discusses the specific issues raised by the hidden nature of women’s domestic violence journeys and the potential of participatory photography as a method to enable women to communicate their insights on place, relocation and identity. This is followed by three sections on themes identified from the analysis of images and captions: beliefs, traditions, and hope. The chapter concludes with reflections on method, and what is achieved with photographs in this research.

13.2 Methodology of Creative Participatory Groupwork All research with people involves their participation, but ‘participatory research’ or ‘participatory action research’ engages with issues of power and inequality in research practices, and works towards greater social justice in the process and outcomes of research (Kindon et al. 2007; Mason et al. 2013). The groupwork in this research was therefore arranged via the specialist domestic violence service provider Solace Women’s Aid to ensure ongoing support for the women, irrespective of their participation in the research. Groupwork sessions were arranged at suitable venues in three different areas of London, with women who had relocated due to domestic violence. Two groups were held in women’s refuges, so women would face at least one more relocation journey when they left the refuge; and one was held at a women’s centre, with women who were more settled in terms of their accommodation. Groups were for a maximum of six participants, and over a total of six sessions, facilitated by the researcher to use a range of exercises and activities to explore women’s experiences of journeying, and arriving and settling in a new place. Participants were given digital cameras to use between sessions, or used their own cameraphones, and received prints of all their images, whether or not they wanted to put the images into the research. The group methods therefore aimed to enable women’s voices and images to document and communicate their experiences at a range of scales from the individual

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to the wider public. Firstly, their images were for themselves: some women had rarely taken photographs before, and others had lost photographs through their forced moves of relocation. In addition, the visual language and technology of photography enabled the participation of women who had limited English language. They could take photographs of whatever they wanted, including often their children, for themselves and to share with friends and family. Beyond this, they could share images during the group sessions; talking about their experiences, and sharing practical information about local places and useful shops, parks and services. The groups combined their images and captions into posters and displays for the refuge or centre, using this process to share their insights with women who they imagined in those services in the future. They added messages to this future imagined community of women, to inspire them to be strong on their journey, and know that previous women had been through similar experiences. All these outcomes were within the timeframe of the groupwork, and within those settings; however, participants also put hundreds of photographs into the research. Some, for safety or privacy reasons, are not for wider dissemination; but most are for wider presentation and are the data for the analysis presented in the rest of this chapter. Such ethical issues of safety, confidentiality and voice are at the heart of this type of research, with participants often still at risk from their abusive ex-partners, and in secret locations—including in women’s refuges. It is a methodological challenge to balance the exploration of identity and the enabling of women’s voices in the research (Wiles et al. 2008, 2010), when women are in hiding because of the ongoing risk from abusers.

13.3 Making Visible the Invisible Images can be a particularly disclosive way of exploring place and identity, but they can also be a way of making visible the previously invisible. The distinctive nature of domestic violence migration journeys (Bowstead 2017) mean that women are hiding in plain sight in every area of the country. Women often have little control over where they go and arrive in a new area that is often unchosen and unknown. In fact, it can be safest to go to the least likely place or type of place, so that the abuser (who knows a lot about you) is least likely to be able to track you down. However, if you are accessing support services such as refuges, you do not know how long you can stay in an area; or whether you will be moving on to further services or accommodation. This raises particular questions as to whether to get to know the new area—whether to start to lay down roots for yourself and your children—because you lack control over your journey stages. In addition, women’s experiences of abuse in an intimate relationship, and within the home, often changes a sense of what ‘home’ means, and whether to believe in a positive home where you can belong. As women and children experience multiple moves, they may feel they are just existing in the day-to-day and cannot really resettle.

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The ease of taking digital photographs provides a method to communicate experiences that may be difficult to articulate in words. Rather than being asked about their practices of resettlement, and their experiences of the place where they currently find themselves, they can take photographs of buildings and streets as they go about their day-to-day lives. Initial group sessions focused on taking photographs—and taking photographs between the sessions—to build up the visual materials for use in later group sessions. Postcards, magazines and books of photographs were also used in the sessions to consider the norms and codes for photographic practice (Oldrup and Carstensen 2012). Sweetman (2009, p. 504) discusses how images can help reveal the previously unarticulated thinking to ourselves: examining a photograph can help us see differently and think differently about what is portrayed. The medium of photographs further facilitated engagement and communication amongst the group during the session. Photographs taken by one woman and discussed in a session might stimulate a different participant to explore that type of place or theme in her photographs the following week. Beyond the groupwork space, the images have gone into displays, posters, presentations and the research publications: making visible the previously invisible domestic violence journeys. Concerns of safety and confidentiality remain at each stage of the research, so that the photographs that are shown do not include any identifiable people or places that could risk security (Dickens and Butcher 2016). However, the participants manage issues of safety through, for example, images that may show hands or feet, rather than identifiable people (Crow and Wiles 2008). Women’s insights on place, relocation and identity are thereby made available to a wider audience, through their images and captions. In an iterative process, as part of the wider research analysis (Bryman and Burgess 1994), thematic analysis of the images generated themes relevant to issues of place and identity. As women who had been forced to relocate to new unchosen places, there were themes which clustered around the issue of what you can take with you when you move. Examples of women’s images are presented here, with their consent, on the themes of beliefs, traditions and hope.

13.4 Beliefs The theme of being able to take your beliefs—including religion—with you on your forced journeys featured in all three groups. Beliefs are central to identity: they may be challenged by women’s experiences of abuse, but they may also be a vital source of strength and support. Lulu1 contributed images and captions drawing on her Peruvian culture and her Roman Catholic religion. These included images of religious celebrations and friends, priests and nuns from the congregation in London where she now worshiped. Her photograph (Fig. 13.1) of a table in her room in the women’s refuge shows several religious figures and symbols which created an important space for her to focus on 1 All

participants are named with pseudonyms they chose.

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Fig. 13.1 Lulu’s image of her room in the women’s refuge (© Lulu/Solace Women’s Aid/Janet Bowstead)

her beliefs. The items are a mixture of objects she had been able to carry with her on her journey, and new items she had from more recently. Other images across the women in the groups included Carol’s photograph of her copy of the Koran, and Shalom’s photograph of her bedside table in the women’s refuge; which included a Bible alongside a vase of flowers. Their religious items were pictured as close to them, and important in what they wanted to communicate. Religion also provided an important way of connecting to a new unknown area. Arriving in a place—for example when coming to stay at a women’s refuge—women could look for the local church, mosque, temple or other place of community and worship. A friendly welcome at such a place, with the shared beliefs, had been vital in helping several women begin to settle. Marilyn included many photographs of church, and of friends from the congregation, and talked about how “My week isn’t complete unless I’m going to church—that’s been like my solace”. Within most areas of London, there will be a wide range of religious groups and communities which women can connect to. This will not be the case in some other areas of the UK with less religious diversity; and some women may find it harder to settle in such areas as a result. Many women have no religion, but created similar spaces of calm and self-care within their rooms at the women’s refuge. Kate provided photographs of her bedside

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table which included scented candles, and significant objects for her and her children. She said, “I’ve got all my bits and pieces on there—it’s nice, and it’s all lit up at night time. My little cosy corner”. Similarly, Qiana took a photograph of her windowsill with a rainbow effect of colourful perfume and make-up bottles; which provided a focus and a sense of beauty. All these spaces, whether or not specifically religious, were like an oasis of self-care within the stresses and pressures of women’s domestic violence journeys.

13.5 Traditions In addition to the traditions and culture of religion, a theme throughout the groupwork was that of the traditions and culture of food. Again, food and drink are often central to identity and culture: shared by families and communities. Women could bring their knowledge to be able to continue to make familiar food and drink; and sourcing the ingredients was often an early part of settling into a new area. Women took photographs of specialist shops and market stalls that they had found, and the groups produced maps and posters for display in the refuges and women’s centre to pass on this information to women in the future. The multicultural diversity of London means that all kinds of food and drink are available, but there was useful sharing of knowledge about where the cheapest or the best quality of ingredients could be found. Photographs from many women show food they have cooked themselves, as well as visits to cafes or restaurants as a celebration or treat. Amy provided photographs of enjoying Bubble Tea with her son: something she had sought out in London as familiar from her growing up in Canada. Figure 13.2 shows examples of different traditions of food. At the top, Sarah shows food she has cooked from her Albanian culture: “Home-made with love and passion – Albanian dish ‘Byrek’ – spinach and feta cheese pastry”. At the bottom, Lee shows her meal of meat pie, potatoes, beans and gravy. Different food traditions were also an important theme of women’s experiences of living in a women’s refuge. In the UK, refuge residents are generally responsible for their own cooking and meals. There may be shared communal kitchens for women to use, or residents may have self-contained accommodation with their own kitchen area. These different kinds of shared or self-contained spaces affect women’s experiences in refuges (Bowstead 2019a), affecting how much women get to know the other residents. Bringing women together for the groupwork provided further opportunities to share information and insights; and interest in each other’s cultures and experiences included comparisons of food and drink traditions. Shalom took a series of photographs of preparing and sharing a seafood meal with several of the other refuge residents. The women went shopping together at a local market and bought mackerel and crabs. There had been a donation to the refuge of a range of vegetables; and the women added rice and cooked together in the communal kitchen. The photographs showed the enjoyment of the whole process, as well as the spread

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Fig. 13.2 Images of traditional food by Sarah (top) and Lee (bottom) (© Sarah/Lee/Solace Women’s Aid/Janet Bowstead)

of food on the table. Shalom said there was “A lot of singing and dancing! – while we were cooking – it was a lot of fun!!” Food was also provided as part of the research groupwork sessions, recognising the value of sharing meals together.

13.6 Hope Whilst women in the groups recognised and represented what they had lost through their forced journeys, they also emphasised what they had gained. Whether this was practical or emotional, it was often central to their developing autonomy and freedom as they escaped the abuse. Most were still on the move—facing further relocations—and used the photography to communicate their experiences and insights metaphorically as well as literally. The theme of hope was presented both in terms of women’s own experiences, and in terms of what they wanted other women to know if they were facing or escaping domestic abuse.

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Daisy took a photograph of a heart-shaped leaf on the pavement, and Kelly took a photograph of a path through an avenue of trees in the local park, showing the bright blue sky at the end of it. Carol was doing a college course and presented a photograph of her college ID badge with the neck lanyard shaped into a heart-shape. Amy took many photographs on the London Underground, including an arrow pointing to the station exit saying “There is always a way out!” For mothers, many images were about starting again in a new area with your children. This included a sense of how far they had come: Favour presented an image of her and her son’s knapsacks, in which they had had to carry all their possessions when they first left their home. Lucy pictured her daughter in silhouette in front of a tank in the London Aquarium: behind the glass the sharks were circling… but her daughter was safe! In Fig. 13.3, Sarah has combined her and her two sons’ hands and shoes to show how they are strong together as a family; and how they have escaped the violence and abuse. She captioned it with a message addressed to the abuser, “You can’t walk over us no more – we’re in power because 3 Beats 1!” Women often saw signs of hope in the everyday. Shalom and Marilyn were in different groups, but both presented images of trees they had discovered in their local areas; and how they saw hope and resilience in how these trees refused to give up. Figure 13.4 shows these trees. Shalom’s, on the left, is in the local park and has been struck by lightning. Parts of the tree were burned, but other branches continued to grow, and she saw this as a metaphor for her and her daughter’s lives. They had been hurt by the abuse, but they were recovering and growing. Marilyn’s tree was Fig. 13.3 Sarah’s image of her and her two sons (© Sarah/Solace Women’s Aid/Janet Bowstead)

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Fig. 13.4 Images of trees by Shalom (left) and Marilyn (right) (© Shalom/Marilyn/Solace Women’s Aid/Janet Bowstead)

also one she often passed locally. She said, “I love this tree – it’s been chopped down but all the shoots are growing again!” Again, she was taking inspiration from the tree as she thought about how she was building her life again after abuse.

13.7 Conclusions Methods of participatory photography have been used in a wide range of settings, including around issues of gender-based violence, safety and forced relocation (for example, Frohmann 2005; Giritli-Nygren and Schmauch 2012; Munt 2012). In this research project, on women’s domestic violence journeys, it has proved an effective method to explore issues of place and belonging, space and identity, practicalities and emotions for women on the move due to domestic abuse. Despite the fact that some participants had little or no experience of cameras or photographs, the group exercises built confidence over time. The digital cameras were straightforward and accessible to use, and the sessions provided opportunities to go further technically in terms of producing montages and collages. Participants spoke of the pleasure (and surprise on occasions!) when they saw their photographs and felt that they had ‘worked’ how they wanted. Images, whether or not women added captions, could provide communication of insights, including for women with little English language.

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The group and collective processes were also important in developing ambition and motivation in what women wanted to communicate. Some expressed initial uncertainty as to whether they would take photographs between the sessions; and yet ended up taking many images, and increasingly going places deliberately to take photographs. Their lives were therefore extended spatially during the groupwork, as they planned images they wanted to put into the research, or went to explore a place they had first heard of from another participant. As trust built up over the weeks, images and exercises prompted women to share their feelings and senses of identity. They also worked together to plan maps and posters using their photographs which then went on display in the women’s centre and refuges. This gave them a sense of communicating messages to the women who would come to those services after them. Not all the photographs could go into the research or be presented more widely: the participants were still hiding from the abusers. There are ongoing ethical considerations (Wiles et al. 2010) and an ongoing balance between safety and recognition (Dickens and Butcher 2016) as women’s creative work is only credited here with pseudonyms. However, a lot can be achieved by participatory photography in terms of the method, the object and the representation. The method enabled an exploration of place and identity, visualising these interrupted lives as women and children are forced into multiple relocations. It also engages with power and reflexivity through the groupwork participation (Mason et al. 2013). Photographs as objects enable images to travel beyond the time and place where they were taken. Women took images for themselves and their friends and families, as well as for the research; and produced collages, albums and gifts. This is in addition to the photographs going forward as research illustrations and data (Rose 2008). Photographs were produced through the exercises and activities of the groupwork—as a social performance (Oldrup and Carstensen 2012), as well as towards generating knowledge. The chapter has shown how the visual enables women to narrate their experiences and insights, exploring some of the implications for women of their journeys, and the meaning for them of the places they have been and where they now find themselves. Acknowledgements Thanks to the specialist domestic violence service provider Solace Women’s Aid, which assisted with arranging and carrying out the group work; and to all the women who shared their experiences, insights and images, including the ones quoted in this chapter: Amy—Age 44, one son age 13. Canadian Pakistani ethnic origin. Carol—Age 27, pregnant. Mixed White and Black African ethnic origin. Daisy—Age 53, adult children. White British ethnic origin. Favour—Age 36, one son age 9. Black African ethnic origin. Kate—Age 31, one son age 3. White British ethnic origin. Kelly—Age 33, one son age 6 months. White Polish ethnic origin. Lee—Age 39, one daughter age 5. Mixed ethnic origin. Lucy—Age 28, one daughter age 3. White British ethnic origin. Lulu—Age 67, adult children. White Peruvian ethnic origin. Marilyn—Age 48, adult son. English/Irish Traveller ethnic origin. Qiana—Age 40, three sons and two daughters age 14-19. Black Caribbean ethnic origin. Sarah—Age 25, two sons age 4 and 7. White Albanian ethnic origin. Shalom—Age 31, one daughter age 2. Black African ethic origin.

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This work was supported by the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) (grant number ES/I903275/1) and by a British Academy Postdoctoral Fellowship (grant number PF160072).

References Bowstead, J. C. (2015). Forced migration in the United Kingdom: Women’s journeys to escape domestic violence. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 40(3), 307–320. https:// doi.org/10.1111/tran.12085. Bowstead, J. C. (2016). Women on the move: Theorising the geographies of domestic violence journeys in England. Gender, Place and Culture, 24(1), 108–121. https://doi.org/10.1080/096 6369X.2016.1251396. Bowstead, J. C. (2017). Segmented journeys, fragmented lives: Women’s forced migration to escape domestic violence. Journal of Gender-Based Violence, 1(1), 43–58. https://doi.org/10.1332/239 868017X14912933953340. Bowstead, J. C. (2019a). Spaces of safety and more-than-safety in women’s refuges in England. Gender, Place and Culture, 26(1), 75–90. https://doi.org/10.1080/0966369X.2018.1541871. Bowstead, J. C. (2019b). Women on the move: Administrative data as a safe way to research hidden domestic violence journeys. Journal of Gender-Based Violence, 3(2), 233–248. https://doi.org/ 10.1332/239868019X15538575149704. Bryman, A., & Burgess, R. G. (1994). Reflections on qualitative data analysis. In A. Bryman & R. G. Burgess (Eds.), Analysing qualitative data. Routledge. Crow, G., & Wiles, R. (2008). Managing anonymity and confidentiality in social research: The case of visual data in Community research (08/08; NCRM Working Paper). ESRC National Centre for Research Methods. www.ncrm.ac.uk. Davies, J., Lyon, E., & Monti-Catania, D. (1998). Safety planning with battered women: Complex lives/difficult choices. Sage. Dickens, L., & Butcher, M. (2016). Going public? Re-thinking visibility, ethics and recognition through participatory research praxis. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 41(4), 528–540. https://doi.org/10.1111/tran.12136. Frohmann, L. (2005). The framing safety project: Photographs and narratives by battered women. Violence Against Women, 11(11), 1396–1419. https://doi.org/10.1177/1077801205280271. Giritli-Nygren, K., & Schmauch, U. (2012). Picturing inclusive places in segregated spaces: A participatory photo project conducted by migrant women in Sweden. Gender, Place and Culture, 19(5), 600–614. https://doi.org/10.1080/0966369X.2011.625082. Kindon, S., Pain, R., & Kesby, M. (Eds.). (2007). Participatory action research approaches and methods: Connecting people. Participation and Place: Routledge. Mason, J. (2006). Six strategies for mixing methods and linking data in social science research (4/06; NCRM Working Paper). ESRC National Centre for Research Methods. www.ncrm.ac.uk. Mason, K., Brown, G., & Pickerill, J. (2013). Epistemologies of participation, or, what do critical human geographers know that’s of any use? Antipode, 45(2), 252–255. https://doi.org/10.1111/ j.1467-8330.2012.01049.x. Munt, S. R. (2012). Journeys of resilience: The emotional geographies of refugee women. Gender, Place and Culture, 19(5), 555–577. https://doi.org/10.1080/0966369X.2011.610098. Oldrup, H. H., & Carstensen, T. A. (2012). Producing geographical knowledge through visual methods. Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human Geography, 94(3), 223–237. https://doi.org/10. 1111/j.1468-0467.2012.00411.x. Pain, R. (2014). Everyday terrorism: Connecting domestic violence and global terrorism. Progress in Human Geography, 38(4), 531–550. https://doi.org/10.1177/0309132513512231. Rose, G. (2008). Using Photographs as Illustrations in Human Geography. Journal of Geography in Higher Education, 32(1), 151–160. https://doi.org/10.1080/03098260601082230.

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Stark, E. (2007). Coercive control: How men entrap women in personal life. Oxford University Press. Sweetman, P. (2009). Revealing habitus, illuminating practice: Bourdieu, photography and visual methods. The Sociological Review, 57(3), 491–511. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-954X.2009. 01851.x. UN Human Rights Council. (2018). Report of the Special Rapporteur on violence against women, its causes and consequences on online violence against women and girls from a human rights perspective (A/HRC/38/47). UN Human Rights Council. http://undocs.org/A/HRC/38/47. UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. (2004). Guiding principles on internal displacement: 2nd edition. UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. https://www. brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/GPEnglish.pdf. Wiles, R., Coffey, A., Robison, J., & Heath, S. (2010). Anonymisation and visual images: Issues of respect, ‘voice’ and protection (07/10; NCRM Working Paper). ESRC National Centre for Research Methods. www.ncrm.ac.uk. Wiles, R., Prosser, J., Bagnoli, A., Clark, A., Davies, K., Holland, S., & Renold, E. (2008). Visual Ethics: Ethical issues in visual research (No. 011; NCRM Methods Review Papers). ESRC National Centre for Research Methods. www.ncrm.ac.uk.

Part IV

Challenges and Stereotypes: Representing Rural Areas

Chapter 14

The Green Illusion: Rural Representations and Poverty in Ariège, France Celia Innocenti

14.1 Introduction This chapter presents results of a research study on poverty in rural areas of France. This research project is at the crossroads between rural geography and social geography. Rural geography is characterised by the acknowledgement of the specific features of rural spaces and of the dynamics that build them. Social geography, on the other hand, assumes that space is not just a set for social phenomena, but a dimension of these phenomena (Smith et al. 2010). When addressing the question of poverty, a social and rural geography approach implies—beyond the question of spatial repartition of poverty—an interrogation of the role of rural areas in the production and reproduction of poverty situations. In geography, similarly to others disciplines, there are three main approaches to describe poverty (Ribardière et al. 2014): the substantial approach tries to determine the social, economic, demographic features which translate poverty situations; the institutional approach defines poverty by the relationship between the poor and society; the subjective approach describes and defines poverty according to lived experiences. None of these approaches is flawless.1 However, the three of them can be combined in order to understand poverty: on the one hand, poverty is a personal situation, experienced by an individual, which is inscribed in a life trajectory, and can be seen as a lack of assets, knowledge and power; on the other hand, poverty is a collective and social fact, which is the result of society structure, the social system based on unequal relationship, and of local and microlocal processes, which 1 The substantialist approach focuses too much on presumed reliable indicators, such as monetary poverty. The institutional approach does not consider the ones that society does not want to acknowledge as poor people. And the subjective approach can only function with a consensus about what counts as a poverty situation and experience.

C. Innocenti (B) Paul Valéry University, Montpellier, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_14

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can be social, economic, demographic, spatial, etc. In a geographical study, it is the spatialised relations we are interested in. Representations of rural areas are not an unknown object of research. On the contrary, they have fulfilled an important role in rural geography (Yarwood 2005). Indeed, through spatial representations, spatial features and their transformations can be studied (Mathieu 2004). Researches have highlighted how representations of rural space is for most part positive (Cloke et al. 2006), so positive that rural life and rural space are described as an idyll (Woods 2005). The idyllic features that characterize rural spaces in these representations change according to countries, but similarities can be found, such as tranquillity, proximity with nature, etc. (Urbain 2002). These positive representations are not only images, but also social conducts (Abric 2003) and explain the demographical attractivity of rural spaces (Boyle and Halfacree 1998). Due to positive representations, rural spaces are considered as migration spots where life would be better: the links between rural representations and demographic revival have been studied by different researchers, in different countries such as France or the United Kingdom (Hervieu and Viard 2001; Boyle and Halfacree 1998). Our aim is to go further and to study what happens after the migration and how these idyllic representations of rural spaces and rural life affect poverty mechanisms and can produce impoverishment. Only a few studies take interest in what happens after immigration (Halfacree and Rivera 2011). Research has been conducted on connections between rural representations and middle class (Bell 2006). But the poverty subject has been less studied, while rural poverty is often described as hidden (Bonerandi-Richard 2014). With this new angle of poverty studies, we will see how rural representations are simulaneouly a reason of attractivity in the countryside and one of the impoverishment mechanisms or of poverty reproduction. The aim of this chapter is to study how rural areas can affect an individual path in Ariège, France, and produce impoverishment and poverty reproduction mechanisms. By focusing on representations and on the misreading of rural features, we will question the interrelations between poverty and rural areas.

14.2 Ariège, an Attractive Place Despite Its Poverty Ariège is one of the thirteen department of the region “Occitanie”. Located in the South-west of France (Fig. 14.1), Ariège shares borders with Spain and Andorre. The department is mainly rural and has a weak urban frame, which consists mostly of the unique urban pole of Pamiers, the administrative centre, Foix, and the subprefecture, Saint-Girons. The Pyrenees cross the department: high mountains and plains shape the landscape and human activities. Ariège is a department of rural spaces and small towns. The French country planning Delegation, DATAR, has designed a typology of French rural spaces. In this typology, only the municipality of Pamiers is assessed as an urban item, since it is the only one in the department with more than 10,000 jobs. Twelve other municipalities

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Fig. 14.1 Location of Ariège, a peripheral department in Southern France (Source The author)

can be designated as small towns, which means they have more than 2000 inhabitants. They are all situated along the main roads of the department (see Fig. 14.1). The rest of the department consists of rural spaces and is divided by the DATAR in three categories: old countryside with low density, which represents the majority of the municipalities and is characterized by an aging population and a difficult employment situation; agricultural and industrial countryside, which characterized the municipalities where industrial—and to a lesser degree agricultural—activities are dominating and where unemployment rate is high and medium incomes are low; urban countryside, which designates the municipalities under the influence of towns and which undergo demographic growth (DATAR 2012). At the scale of the French metropolitan territory, Ariège is a small department and counted only 152,000 inhabitants in 2018. However, it is an attractive department and, between 1982 and 2018, its population increased by 14,000 inhabitants. According to the pattern of Rural Revival, theorized by B. Kaiser,2 the demographic growth of the department is mostly caused by the arrival of new inhabitants. The demographic growth has started in the 1970’s, with the “back to the land” phenomenon, and has continued since.

2 By

studying the French censuses, B. Kayser finds that some rural spaces, after decades of rural exodus, have stopped the population loss and even won some throughout migrations (Kayser 1996). First limited to the rural spaces near the cities, the demographic revival spread to more remote rural spaces.

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Ariège is also a department marked by the poverty of its population. In 2016, the poverty rate3 of the department was 18.5%, when the average of the French metropolitan territory is 14.2%, which puts Ariège among the thirteen poorest departments in France (INSEE 2016). Other indicators of the economic situation also show an impoverished department. For example, according to the fiscal data, 55% of the households in the department are not submitted to the income taxes, and, on average, their annual income is 9500 euros per year, when the average annual income of nontaxable households in France is 13,600 euros (INSEE 2016). By looking at the rate of unemployment, while having a job can be seen as the main obstacle to poverty, the department situation is also not so bright: the unemployment rate is 15.7%, against 11% for the rest of the French territory (INSEE 2016). However, Ariège is perceived as an attractive department and newcomers continue to choose Ariège as a place to live. Since the Rural Revival, started in the 1970s, researchers have tried to understand the reasons behind location choices. They have demonstrated the crucial part of rural representations (Kayser 1996). Despite their economic situations, rural spaces can still benefit from a positive image, even an idyllic one. They are often considered as a sort of sanctuary, where life is better (Bonerandi-Richard 2014). It also appears that a few features of rurality, such as the closeness to nature or the alleged cheapness of life, are highlighted. If studies show how rural representations can lead people to come to rural spaces, they do not take an interest in what happens next: how do they affect the newcomers’ situations? By focusing on selected topics, such as housing and mobility, we will question the interrelations between rural representations and poverty, not only on the newcomers’ scale, but at a more collective scale, with a study of the social workers’ representations.

14.3 Methodology In order to study rural representations, their interpretations and their impacts, this research is based on a qualitative approach and is related to guiding interviews with social workers, associations, and people in a situation of poverty. Meet and discuss with all the actors in Ariège who work with general public in a poverty situation is not a realistic and practical operation. The actors have been selected. The first step of this selection has been to make an inventory of all the actors who fight against poverty in Ariège. Three main groups have been identified among them: urgency actors, who have to cope with emergency situations, such as night shelters; rehabilitation actors, who are in charge of social and professional integration; and alarm actors, who work on specific issues such as mobility, housing, education, etc. Ten interviews were conducted (Table 14.1), following a four topics table: the structure organization, the general public, the aids and the specific problems about rural spaces and specificities in Ariège. 3 The

poverty rate is counted in France by the French Institute of Statistics and Economic Studies, INSEE. It includes the proportion of people who lives with less than 60% of the average income.

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Table 14.1 Interviews with actors who fight poverty and with people in a poverty situation Category

Title/Name

Identity Characteristics Date

Urgency Actors

Charitable Association

NGO

Pamiers, February 2018

Night Shelter

NGO

Pamiers, March 2018

Solidarity Departmental Direction against Housing Eviction

Public worker

Foix, April 2018

Association for social and professional integration

NGO

Foix, February 2018

Social worker in Saint-Girons

Public worker

Saint-Girons, February 2018

Social worker in Foix

Public worker

Foix, February 2018

Social worker in Lavelanet

Public worker

Lavelanet, February 2018

Rehabilitation Actors

Municipal Public worker Direction of Aid in Couserans

Saint-Girons, February 2018

Housing Departmental Service

Public worker

Foix, March 2018

Solidarity Departmental Direction

Public worker

Foix, March 2018

Character no. 1

A.

Male, more than 50, in a night shelter

Spring 2018

Character no. 2

K.

Male, 35 years old, in a Spring 2018 night shelter

Character no. 3

X.

Male, under 18, in a night shelter

Spring 2018

Character no. 4

Y.

Male, 47 years old, born here

Summer 2019

Character no. 5

D.

Male, 45 years old, back to land 4 years ago

Summer 2019

Character no. 6

B.

Female, 60 years old, arrived 40 years ago

Spring 2019

Character no. 7

N.

Female, 35 years old, arrived 7 years ago

Summer 2019

Character no. 8

W.

Male, 50 years old, newcomer

Summer 2019

Alarm actors

(continued)

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Table 14.1 (continued) Category

Title/Name

Identity Characteristics Date

Character no. 9

C.

Female, 44 years old, arrived 10 years ago

Spring 2019

Character no. 10

J-F.

Male, 70 years old, back to land 20 years ago

Summer 2019

Character no. 11

A.

Male, 35 years old, son Summer 2019 of newcomers

Character no. 12

G.

Male, 40 years old, newcomer

Spring 2018

Character no. 13

F.

Female, more than 80 years, back to land 30 years ago

Spring 2018

Interviews about individual trajectories with people in a poverty situation were conducted, too. These interviews permitted to obtain new data that social workers could not have given, such as experienced poverty situations. Factual information was gathered about the interviewed people, such as their identity, their familial situation, their employment situation. Then, the interviews followed selected items, such as residential trajectory, professional trajectory, territory and spatial practices, interpersonal network. Thirteen interviews were conducted, all over the department.

14.4 The Idealization of Rural Spaces In the collective mind, rural space, through specific features, and despite the ways of life urbanization,4 and the transformations they have known, are invested with some qualities that make them attractive. A survey concerning the French inhabitants’ lifestyle points out that 81% of the respondents consider life to be more enjoyable in the rural areas than in the urban ones and represents the ideal life. It is explained by the amenities, such as green and nature, simple life and tranquillity, which are considered to be countryside qualities (IFOP 2018). All the people met spoke about the differences between city and countryside and praised the conditions of life in Ariege, by comparison with alleged conditions in cities: Sure, life in the city, when you’re living in ghettos, with drugs, harassment… Life in the countryside changes things, that’s for sure. And if you want to raise your kids right, you choose the countryside.5 (Interview with the head of a charitable association, February 2018)

4 Nowadays, the rural way of life in France, such as in other countries, is not different than the urban

one to such an extent that some French geographers do not think it is pertinent to distinguish urban and rural spaces anymore. 5 All the interviews were conducted in French and translated into English.

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This opposition between city and countryside is strong and enables a hierarchisation of rural spaces: the small towns in Ariège are not comparable with the real cities, in which life is ruled by the refrain “work, sleep, repeat”, but they are not as good as the small villages, which themselves are less desirable than small hamlets (Interviews with newcomers about the spatial organisation of the department). Rural spaces, in comparison with cities, are idealised and praised for the good conditions of life that they allow by their specific features, which are seen in a positive way. As a result, a low density, which particularly characterises rural spaces in Ariège, is synonymous with peacefulness and acquaintanceship with neighbours. And with that acquaintanceship comes solidarity: Well, in rural spaces it is true: we live better. Solidarity means something. You’ve got eggs, you share them. You’ve got potatoes, you share them. You’ve got cherries, you give them. No one will go to the market without asking first if someone wants to go. (Interview with the head of charitable association, February 2018)

Specific rural features are thought highly. The closeness with nature, the available space are advantages that promise a better life: Will we earn less money in the countryside? So what? There poverty is less difficult than in the city. We will grow our vegetables and raise a few hens. We will always have something to eat. And good food! Maybe we will do organic! (Perriot 2013, p. 13)

Rural spaces are not only a better place to live, they are also supposed to offer people in a poverty situation a way to escape poverty, or, at least, to ease its effects, renewing the image of rural spaces as a place to go in times of crisis. Rural spaces are often seen as refuge spaces where relationships are easier, poverty marks less visible and painful (Bonerandi-Richard 2014), because life is cheaper, because there is more help: There was an article. I don’t know when … Two years ago, I guess. In La Dépêche [a regional newspaper]. There was an article that wrote that at Saint-Girons, and in the villages around, you lived very well with R.S.A [a minimum income of 500 euros per month for a single person, given by the departments in France, reserved to people who can prove really low incomes]. Because you can find a home. And every day there is a charitable association which opens to give out alimentary aid. (Interview with a social worker at Saint-Girons, March 2018)

More generally, poverty is conceived with difficulty in rural spaces. Poverty in rural spaces is less seen, less shown, less thought, and less studied than urban poverty (Séchet 2014). The “low density effect” (Bonerandi-Richard 2014), can explain this lower interest: the reflection does not naturally incline towards these spaces where poor people are less numerous than in urban territories. Some researchers point out that this lower interest in rural poverty also comes from a hiatus between rural representations and poverty representations6 : 6 2018

was affected, in France, by a social movement started in rural spaces and periurban areas before it happens in the urban places. French media and commentators have been surprised that a social movement based on revendications about poverty and economic difficulties has for origin rural spaces.

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Because there is less people, because poverty is more dispersed and less visible, because they do not riot, and so, they draw less attention, and rural spaces are the great absentees of poverty studies. (Séchet 2014, p. 253)

According to the met newcomers, the idea of better life conditions that you can find in the countryside plays an important part in the choices of moving to rural spaces, even the most important one. For some of them, the qualities of rural spaces, the alleged advantages that one can find take precedence over other considerations, and rural spaces are seen as a homogeneous block without differences between places: For us, Massat was more random than not. We knew we wanted to go to the countryside, the mountains. For the kids and for us too [the couple have two children under 10]. Massat kind of fit [Massat is a small town nestled in a valley close to the Col-de-Port, 1,250 meters above sea level pass]. That’s actually what convinced us. (Interview with N., who arrived in Massat in 2012, with her husband and their children)

Social workers, who are in touch with general public and newcomers in a poverty situation also mentioned that hope that poverty is less difficult into the countryside (Interview with a social worker at Foix, March 2018). All advantages of rural spaces and the reason of their attractivity do not consist of representations of a better way of life or of expectations of what rural society can offer. The rural attractivity is also based on more pragmatic requirements. One of them is the housing. Whereas housing is a more and more important item in the households’ finances, especially for low incomes (DREES 2014), housing prices in rural spaces in Ariège are affordable: In Ariège, we have a rental sector that’s not expensive. You can rent a house for nothing: a house with a big garden for 300 euros per month. (Interview with a member of an association for social and professional integration, Foix, February 2018)

The housing stock, in Ariège, counts more than 100,000 units. It does not distinguish itself from the perceptible tendencies in French rural spaces: lack of social housing, great age of the stock, even dilapidation, and important rate of house owners. The French Notary Barometer—a database which collects and inventories property transactions—classifies Ariège as a department where selling prices and renting prices are low. With a small budget, it is possible to find a place to rent, or even buy: Here [at Tartein, a small hamlet of the municipality Biert], we live in a big house. For the kids, there is a 7 hectares garden. And it costed me only 20,000 euros at the purchase in 2000. You don’t find this somewhere else. I know. (Interview with G., Spring 2018)

These low prices are consistent with the population resources, as we can see in the Departmental Plan for Housing: In Ariège, the housing entrance is constrained by the weak resources of the inhabitants. More than 3/4 of the households can pretend to social housing and near the half of them to a ‘really social housing’ (only open to population with less than 60% of the social housing income limits). (Plan Départemental pour le Logement des Personnes Défavorisées 2015, p. 4)

These low prices are, for some people, prevailing requirements in their residential trajectory. The low prices of the housing take precedence over other considerations,

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such as location or job access. Some people even choose Ariège for these really low prices: Then, we have a few families from Le Bon Coin [a website for advertisements between individuals]. So, Le Bon Coin families come from the other side of the country because the rent is cheap. And, of course, we have those who just wrote on the web ‘the cheapest rent in France’. They come from Ardennes, North, PACA [regions remote from Ariège]. (Interview with representative of the Solidarity Departmental Direction, March 2018)

Rural attractivity can be partly explained by positive representations and real advantages. But the amenities idealised or sought in the countryside can hide some of the other aspects of rural life conditions. And some rural features, when misread, can become part of impoverishment and poverty reproduction mechanisms.

14.5 Misreading Rural Features and Poverty Situations: The Confrontation with Reality A social worker, met at her office in Lavelanet, who works with the population of 24 municipalities around and is used to work with newcomers, regrets the fact that housing choices are often based on the representations of what a rural house should be: Precisely, for the housing, people with difficult situations, people who benefit from social security, most of them, when they come, they want a remote house, with a garden. But, precisely, it is an additional difficulty they add to themselves: there is the mobility issue … It is better to be close to services [shops, public transportation, social workers, etc.] And yet, most of the demand is for this kind of house. Except that they are not always appropriate. And this kind of liberty that they seek, a remote house, this tranquillity, it can add difficulties. They are not well accommodated, and in winter, they are lonely. All winters7 are not the same, but here you can have a real bad weather and you can’t go out. (Interview with a social worker in Lavelanet, February 2018)

According to her experience, location choices of the new inhabitants, and especially the ones in difficult situations, are not often based on pragmatic facts and do not really match the reality of rural features. Ignoring the consequences of a remote house is an illustration of a rural feature misreading: by only seeing positive qualities, such as tranquillity and peacefulness, the consequences on mobility for example are not well estimated. Indeed, with a low density of people, services, jobs, equipment, which generally characterise rural spaces, come remoteness and the necessity to be able to reach them. But, Ariège, such as many others rural spaces in France, is characterized by a low public transportation offer: there are only seven intercommunal lines in the department which connect less than 30% of the municipalities. Living in a remote house shrinks even more the mobility possibilities. In Ariège, being mobile often means having a car, which produces regular expenses, and can create some problems. 7 The

winter reference is not only anecdotal. In the mountains, and about newcomers, people used to say that they have to live here an entire winter in order to see if they can fit.

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It is the case of C., who tells the vicious circle in which she is trapped with her partner: they moved in Ariège eight years ago and chose to live in a hamlet, far from everything. It is not the hamlet itself that seduced them, but a house, an old farm, with soil for their dreamed vegetable patch. They did not find jobs, and finally they had to get rid of the car because they could not afford it anymore (insurance policy, gasoline, maintenance) if they wanted to keep the house. Nowadays, without a car, they feel trapped in the hamlet: they cannot move to find a job, they have to hitchhike to go get groceries, and they walk to the nearest village (a 1 h 30 min trip) to keep social life. Both wish they could leave Ariège, but they cannot save money to find a new house and pay a move. Beyond the misreading of the importance of house location, the ignorance of housing rural realities can also be a problem. If the low prices can be attractive, it is often because of hidden flaws. One of the most usual is thermic isolation and the energy precarity that results. In Ariège, according to the Regional Energy Observatory, 12,000 households experience energy precarity, which means they spend more than 10% of their disposable income for energy bills (ONPE 2015). This energy precarity is caused by the house state, which is often of disrepair,8 and can be increased by external aspects: a remote house is harder to heat up than a flat which benefits from the other flats heat. This situation is often unknown to the newcomers, especially the one who used to live in a city, and it can impoverish them by expenses they had not anticipated: People, they don’t see it. They don’t know. They don’t look at the energy bills. They see a low rent for a big house. It’s enough for them. They’re happy. (Interview with a social worker at Foix, February 2018)

And for those who come just for the cheap rent, they sometimes must face their own ignorance of local realities: These families, they have dreamt about a cheap rent, a big house with a garden, Southern France. And Southern France, in their mind, it’s good weather. But here, it’s not. We’re in the Pyrénées. This kind of people, we have a few. (Interview with a social worker at Lavelanet, February 2018)

The energy precarity is a problem that does not only concern newcomers. But, according to social workers, they suffer from it more because they did not anticipate it, and they do not know adjustment strategies: 60% of the exceptional aids we give are for energy bills. They can’t get through it alone, especially the first years. Then, they find some ways: which type of heating system is the best, how to maximise the heat by reducing the costs, etc. (Interview with a social worker at Saint-Girons, February 2018)

The consequences of rural realities misreading can happen with other topics. It is particularly the case with the unemployment topic. A lot of newcomers, after an unsuccessful job search, want to develop their own economic activity, without a real knowledge of the economic landscape: 8 In

Ariège, 25% of the housing stock is considered as unworthy, and 12% of the tenants live in a bad quality house.

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Here, a lot of people want to create activities based on tourism. But it is not working. We have a little tourism here, with Montségur [Montségur is what remains of a castle in which the last Cathars took refuge before their defeat]. But it is already covered. It is not a bad idea to want to create your own activity, there aren’t enough jobs here. But not in tourism. It doesn’t work. (Interview with a social worker at Lavelanet, February 2018)

Indeed, rural spaces are a place where numerous microenterprises are created— the French state has created a new status, ‘auto-entrepreneur’, which facilitates the creation of microenterprise—, but really few of them generate profits (INSEE, Filosofi 2016). Most of them collapse because of a misreading of rural economic realities (Interview with a social worker at Lavelanet, February 2018). The misreading of rural features or of their adequation with one’s personal situation is not the prerogative of newcomers. It can also be found in the decisions of public actors. In this way, in Ariège, the reception of migrants fleeing from Syria shows how public actors do not consider local realities and the characteristics of this specific situation: Indeed, we had Syrians put at Villeneuve-d’Olmes. It is quite far from the town [Villeneuved’Olmes is a village at 20 minutes by car from Lavelanet, with less than 1,000 inhabitants, without public transportation, and without a supermarket]. So, they are put there by the Housing Public Office because they had two flats, two social houses that nobody wanted. But everything else has to be done. They brought two families. At first, they had a little reaction … They explained that, at first, war began in the countryside in Syria. They thought it was a dangerous place. And they had no car. So, they left. It is not possible here without a car, for the groceries, searching for a job, etc. (Interview with a social worker at Lavelanet, February 2018)

This example is not unique. In order to have the best use of some tools or structures, the spatial realities of rural spaces and the specificities of the population are sometimes ignored by social policy. Social housing supply does not match demand in Ariège. Some of the social houses are in remote municipalities without public transportation and are very often unoccupied. In order to avoid their vacancy, they are offered to disadvantaged people who cannot afford refusing. They are offered to people who receive an allowance for disability. But this is complicating their situation even more. They are now living in a small municipality without a doctor or health centre (Interview with a social worker at Foix, February 2018).

14.6 Conclusion Rural representations do not speak a lot about poverty and impoverishment. Compared to the conventional image of agricultural poverty, the poverty production and reproduction mechanisms induced by rural spaces and rural features are not really highlighted. As we have seen, this situation can be explained by how rural spaces are perceived by newcomers, urban inhabitants, social workers, media and even some politicians. The rural spaces complexity is often unrecognized, in aid of an idyllic representation. But this situation also tells a lot about something else: how

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poverty is perceived. If poverty is unseen in rural spaces, it is also because poverty is mainly thought as an urban phenomenon. We can wonder how an effective poverty prevention policy can emerge in rural spaces.

References Abric, J.-C. (2003). De l’importance des représentations sociales dans les problèmes de l’exclusion sociale. In J.-C. Abric (Ed.), Exclusion sociale, insertion et prévention (pp. 11–19). Toulouse: ERES. Bell, D. (2006). Variations on the rural idyll. In P. Cloke, T. Marsdent, & P. Mooney (Eds.), Handbook of rural studies (pp. 149–160). London: Sage. Bonerandi-Richard, E. (2014). La pauvreté masquée des espaces ruraux français: analyses locales en Thiérache dans l’Ain. In E. Boulineau & E. Bonerandi-Richard (Eds.), La pauvreté en Europe, une approche géographique (pp. 101–102). Rennes: PUR. Boyle, P., & Halfacree, K. (1998). Migrations into rural areas: Theories and issues. Chichester: Wiley. Cloke, P., Marsdent, T., & Mooney, P. (2006). Handbook of rural studies. London: Sage. DATAR. (2012). Typologie des campagnes françaises et des espaces à enjeux spécifiques. Territoires en mouvement, 7. https://www.observatoire-des-territoires.gouv.fr/observatoire-des-territ oires/fr/typologie-des-campagnes-fran-aises-et-des-espaces-enjeux-sp-cifiques-littoral-et-mon tagne. Accessed 17 October 2017. DREES. (2014). Trente ans d’évolutions des dépenses de logement des locataires du parc social et du parc privé. https://drees.solidarites-sante.gouv.fr/IMG/pdf/dss55.pdf. Accessed 24 February 2018. Halfacree, K., & Rivera, J.-M. (2011). Moving to the countryside … and staying: Lives beyond representations. Sociologia ruralis, 52(1), 92–114. Hervieu, B., & Viard, J. (2001). Au bonheur des campagnes et des provinces. La Tour-d’Aigues: L’aube. IFOP. (2018). Territoires ruraux: perceptions et réalités de vie. https://www.ifop.com/publication/ territoires-ruraux-perceptions-et-realites-de-vie/. Accessed 12 December 2018. INSEE. (2016). Revenus et pauvretés des ménages en 2016, Dispositif Fichier localisé social et fiscal, (Filosofi). https://www.insee.fr/fr/statistiques/4190004. Accessed 30 June 2017. Kayser, B. (1996). Ils ont choisi la campagne. Paris, Editions de l’Aube. Mathieu, N. (2004). Relations ville-campagne: quel sens, quelle évolution? Pour, 182, 64–70. ONPE. (2015). Les chiffres clés de la précarité énergétique. http://www.onpe.org/sites/default/files/ pdf/tableau_de_bord/chiffres_cles.pdf. Accessed 15 July 2018. Perriot, F. (2013). De la ville à la campagne. Le choix d’une vie. Paris, Edition de la Martinière. Plan Départemental pour le Logement des Personnes Défavorisées. (2015). http://www.ariege.gouv. fr/content/download/2596/15608/file/PDALPD09_2010_2015.pdf. Accessed 6 October 2017. Ribardière, A., Bonerandi-Richard, E., Martin, M., & Merchez, L. (2014). La pauvreté dans l’espace européen, grille de lecture. In E. Boulineau & E. Bonerandi-Richard (Eds.), La pauvreté en Europe, une approche géographique (pp. 17–32). Rennes: PUR. Séchet, R. (2014). Explorer la diversité de la lutte contre la pauvreté dans les pays européens. In E. Boulineau & E. Bonerandi-Richard (Eds.), La pauvreté en Europe, une approche géographique (p. 259). Rennes: PUR. Smith, S. J., Pain, R., Marston, S., & Jones, J. P. (2010). Introduction: situating social geographies. In R. Pain, S. Marston, & J. P. Jones (Eds.), The Sage handbook of social geographies. London: Sage. Urbain, J.-D. (2002). Paradis verts: désirs de campagnes et passions résidentielles. Paris: Payot.

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Woods, M. (2005). Rural geography: Processes, responses and experiences in rural restructuring. London: Sage. Yarwood, R. (2005). Beyond the rural idyll: Images, countryside change and geography. Geography, 90(1), 19–31.

Chapter 15

Spatial Imaginations as a Form of Rural Representation. Lessons from Poland Marcin Wójcik, Paulina Tobiasz-Lis, and Pamela Jeziorska-Biel

15.1 Introduction In human geography, the concept of space is attractive for various reasons. The most important ones are related to its use as a reference system (the location) and a frame for social life (Thrift 1996). Geographical considerations about the space are part of the discussion emphasising that it is socially created (see Berger and Luckman 1966). The concept of creating space and its geographical interpretations referring to different ways of spatial practices and representations have evolved over time (cf. Harvey 1989; Lefebvre (1991 [1974]); Gregory 1994; Soja 1999; Dear 2002). The issues currently addressed by rural geography are closely related to researchers’ interest in theories of social change. This is, among others, the reason for expanding the cognitive field beyond traditional functional and structural concepts. The areas of interest are currently social issues, including studies on spatial ideas and values (Woods 2011). Halfacree (2004) and Cloke (1997; 2003) prove that new theoretical concepts in rural geography explain in a better way social and economic

Authors contributed equally to drafting the contents of the section on Research Goal and Methodology. However, M. Wójcik wrote Introduction and Final Remarks, P. Tobiasz-Lis wrote the part of Results section on Rural settlements represented in sketch maps, whereas P. Jeziorska-Biel wrote the part on Valorisation of village space. M. Wójcik · P. Tobiasz-Lis (B) Faculty of Geographical Sciences, University of Lodz, Łód´z, Poland e-mail: [email protected] M. Wójcik e-mail: [email protected] P. Jeziorska-Biel Faculty of Economics and Sociology, University of Lodz, Łód´z, Poland e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_15

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processes occurring in rural space. Halfacree attempted to present a multidimensional description of the village in geography (e.g. 2004). The concept of rural space was based on the theory of H. Lefebvre and is a combination of three approaches:s 1. rural locality, i.e. practices (behaviours, activities) of a local nature; 2. social representations, i.e. construction of village images, mainly institutionalized; 3. everyday rural life, i.e. forms of colloquial discussion about the village and experiencing the rural space. In post-socialist countries, such as Poland, this concept is well adapted as it is addressing new issues, especially social issues and reaching for new approaches and methods for the research in rural spaces and places (see Tobiasz-Lis and Wójcik 2017; Wójcik et al. 2019). This article deals with the problem of rural images in a specific period, when rural space and the people living in it experience dynamic structural and cultural changes due to both global and local trends. Attention is also paid to the possibilities of inherent approaches derived from the “reflexive turn” (cf. Woolgar 1988; Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992; Cloke 1997; Archer 2007). This way of conducting research is based on searching for answers in individual facts, in the world of human values, feelings and emotions. Such research is also conducted in the field of “rural studies”, which makes it possible to reach yet undiscovered spheres of understanding “places” created by social groups in various conditions and contexts of change (Riley and Harvey 2007; Price and Evans 2009). Rural residents, functioning in a specific cultural environment and living in a specific “place”, constantly interact with each other, resulting in the image of space as one of its forms of representation.

15.2 Research Goal and Methodology The main research goal was to present and interpret the spatial knowledge and spatial images of rural residents during the period of changes related, among others, to the social experiences of post-socialist transition and accession of Poland to the European Union in 2004. The study describes how the inhabitants of selected villages perceive their living space, i.e. what importance they attribute to specific places. The subject of the research was, therefore, social valorisation of the village space. In this chapter, we aim to check whether it is possible to indicate any general regularities within the process of imagining, when space transforms and acquires the characteristics of a “place” (Tuan 1977). The procedure for examining the social valorisation of rural settlements was a multi-stage process. The work was carried out between May and September 2017, in twenty-one Polish villages selected from a list of nearly 200 settlements listed in Atlas Historyczny Wsi w Polsce [Historical Atlas of Rural Areas in Poland] (Szulc 2002) due to significant landscape values of clearly preserved and legible historical spatial systems, yet being different in terms of their genesis, development and functions. The

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selection was guided by the principle of representing cases from different historical periods and from different cultural regions of Poland. The first part of the research was conducted using the semi-structured interviews on a sample of 189 residents. In each case, the selection of people participating in the study was quota-specific. Attempts were made to maintain the proportions of the basic demographic and social characteristics of the population of chosen villages, such as age, gender and education. It is argued that due to the qualitative approach undertaken in this research, a small number of interviewees in each settlement is acceptable. It was decided to use the technique of semi-structured interviews because of the many advantages it brings, the most important of which is the standardization of the received answers. The same information is obtained from all participants in the study, which gives the possibility to generalise the conclusions (Babbie 2007, p. 276). The interview questionnaire used in this research consisted of 21 basic questions, concerning the residents’ perceptions and evaluations of the village area (associations, ratings, the most important features, a sense of uniqueness, knowledge of history, the existence of central, characteristic, important places, as well as customary borders). Then, interviewees were given the same instructions to sketch their settlement: “Please, draw a map of your village as if you were to describe this place to a stranger. Please consider all the characteristic features of the place in your opinion”. When the sketches were being made by the individual interviewees, the interviewers took notes of the reactions and the order and sequence of the elements drawn. As a result, 172 sketches were obtained, with ten people refusing to perform this task, and seven sketches rejected because of an insignificant number of elements, which made them impossible to analyse. This article is based on the approach to spatial knowledge, assuming that the sketch maps analysed here are processual and representational, i.e. they are never complete or fully remembered, but are filled with new content with subsequent spatial experiences of people (Downs and Stea 1977; Kitchin and Dodge 2007). Space imaginations have been introduced for the first time in behavioural geography and psychology. They are understood as an expression of how people shape and experience space and, in a broader frame, as an image of the relationship between people and their living space. The contents of the sketches obtained were analysed according to 21 components that can be grouped under the following categories: (1) Mechanics of Method: the order of the drawn elements; number of items drawn; use of word labels, abbreviations and acronyms; referring to the place of residence; the method of using a sheet of paper; (2) Drawing elements: centre, borders, symbols, key; the scale of drawn elements; sketch orientation; way of mapping space; (3) Narratives of space: elements of natural and cultural landscape; areas, nodes, edges, paths, landmarks; (4) Personalisation: elements with personal meaning; elements without personal meaning; first selected element; neighbourhood. An interesting example of sketch maps classification, especially in the perspective of the analysis of village sketches, was presented by Ladd (1970), who asked participants of her study in urban areas to sketch the area in their closest neighbourhood.

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What she obtained in effect were much more detailed drawings, when compared to those presenting whole cities, of a small spatial range—a street, an estate. Ladd (1970) distinguished four types of sketch maps as social representations of the neighbourhood: (1) pictorial drawings, presenting the landscape along the street; (2) schematic drawings, with a quite general view of the presented area, but including names of streets or important landmarks; and on the contrary (3) drawings resembling a map with a small number of elements with indicated names, but detailed network of streets and open spaces; (4) maps with the highest level of accuracy and details about spatial organisation of the area which could be helpful for in-field orientation. A simplified version of this classification, which at the same time refers to two basic strategies for drawing sketch maps, namely: a “taxi driver perspective” and an “airplane pilot perspective”, described by Rand (1969 after: Mordwa 2003), was used in the analysis of Bolivian tropical forest landscape sketches (Wartmann and Purves 2017). The authors identified three different perspectives used by the people participating in the study: (1) a bird’s eye view, similar to aerial view photographs, (2) a “street” view, called sideways perspective or street view, and (3) a mixed perspective, i.e. a blend of aerial and sideways perspectives. The results of the analysis and interpretation of sketch maps of selected villages in Poland were presented by referring to the above-mentioned analytical components to the classification of neighbourhood sketches proposed by Wartmann and Purves (2017).

15.3 Results 15.3.1 Valorisation of Village Space The interviewees were first asked about their associations with their village. Among the first associations connected with the evaluation of the village, the terms emphasizing personal identification with the place predominated: “my home”, “place of residence”, “my place on earth”, “I live here”, “family home”. Secondly, looking for the associations, the inhabitants of the village explained the origin of the place name. Attention was also paid to their general location in relation to cultural and historical regions, development and agricultural functions, as well as natural values and good social relations. In the case of the most important features, the focus was primarily on ecological and aesthetic values: clean, nice, well-kept, beautiful views, fertile soil (37%) and natural, landscape (25%), as well as on social values: hard-working, friendly, nice people, socially coherent (15%) and functional values: agriculture, orchards, wellconnected, well-equipped with services and infrastructure, safe (9%). The inhabitants see the uniqueness of the village in their topographic location, landscape, history, monuments and social relations.

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Fig. 15.1 The meaning of the term ‘village’ in the interviewees’ opinions (Source Own study)

When asked about what ‘rural’ means to them, people very strongly pointed to natural values, peace and quiet, and agriculture (Fig. 15.1). To a lesser extent, they referred to traditional values and close relationships. However, it should be noted that the combination of the answers “I totally agree” and “I agree” makes all these categories strongly felt as the attributes of the village. This is proof of the still dominant, traditionally conceived image of the village and the attributed advantages that result from living in the countryside. At the same time, the relatively largest percentage of interviewees were in favour of the answer that the concept of “village” should definitely not be equated with close relationships and traditional values. The weakening position of the category of close relations and traditional values attributed to the concept of “village” may confirm the thesis about the progressing atomisation and individualisation of society as problems affecting also rural areas. Participants of the study were also asked about how they assess their village in terms of contrasting terms: ugly—beautiful, neglected—well-kept, dangerous—safe, not developing—developing, loud—quiet, uninteresting—interesting, ordinary— exceptional (Fig. 15.2). As the chart below shows, their answers were positive. Half of the interviewees declared their village as a safe and quiet place very clearly, 42% described it as a beautiful place, 40% as an interesting place, 38% as a well-kept place, 35% as a developing place, and 32% as a unique place. However, if one also considered the answers that were not completely unambiguous, but still positive, then the interviewees draw a picture of their own village as a beautiful (80%), safe (78%), quiet and well-kept (75%) space. Nonetheless, at the same time, 29% of participants of the study definitely considered their town to be ordinary (a negative category). However, taking into account all answers, and the fact that interviewees constitute a very favourable reception of the village by the inhabitants, the relatively high rating of their own village as an ordinary place may suggest that people tend not to be aware of the importance and meaning of various valuable resources. During the research, a number of interviewees did not understand the interest in a particular village as a

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Fig. 15.2 Place evaluation by interviewees (dichotomous scale) (Source Own study)

research case, and they did not see anything unique or noteworthy in it. It happens that everyday contact with resources, even the valuable ones, makes people indifferent to them, which, in turn, makes them ordinary and universal in reception. It often deprives them of their uniqueness. In view of the above, their social valuation seems to be as important as the condition and preservation of the resources themselves.

15.4 Rural Settlements Represented in Sketch Maps 15.4.1 Mechanics of Method Sketches of all villages began with the main road along which the settlement developed. In addition, every fourth sketch contained the names of neighbouring villages or towns to which the road led. In those cases, villages were shown in a broader perspective of the local settlement network, and while a sketch was being made, the connections between residents and specific villages or towns were discussed. After drawing one or several roads constituting the “structural axis” of most sketches, people focused on places important because of their social functions: i.e. churches, small roadside chapels, cemeteries, educational facilities, bus stops and voluntary fire department buildings. These are the main elements of imaginations that people have about their villages. In addition to the road network and important landmarks, the sketches also comprised residential areas, including the interviewees’ own houses or houses belonging to their relatives. What seems interesting, especially in the perspective of the contemporary socio-economic changes in the Polish countryside, is the fact that the people drew very few sketches including arable land, which appeared only in every tenth sketch of those villages where agricultural functions dominated. Forests located in the vicinity of the drawn village were included more often by

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participants of the study as a “reference point”, which helped in the correct spatial orientation of the sketch. In each of the 172 analysed sketch maps of 21 villages, from two to 14 elements were included such as: roads, railways, rivers, lakes, drainage ditches, ponds, residential houses, housing estates, public facilities, industrial zones, forests, arable fields, small roadside chapels, bus stops, railway stops, playgrounds, football pitches and neighbouring villages. In each sketch, repetitive elements (e.g. houses, roads, public facilities) were counted only once. On average, five elements were included in the sketch, with a fairly high standard deviation from the average, amounting to 2.14. In most sketches (137), labels were used in the form of names or road numbers, names or descriptions of geographical objects such as: river, lake, or individual places, objects or parts of the village (Fig. 15.3). All people participating in the study made sketches on an A4 sheet of paper and this area turned out to be sufficient, although it should be noted that every third sketch

Fig. 15.3 Sketches of villages made with the use of the ‘bird’s eye view’ perspective a; ‘street view’ perspective b and a mixed perspective c (Source Own study)

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presents only a fragment of the village chosen by the participants—most often it is a central place or another significant place in the village (e.g. a playground or church). In 87 sketches, the entire page was filled, with 29 sketches covering 75% of the drawing area, 54 sketches covering 50% and only two sketches covering no more than 25%.

15.4.2 Drawing Elements The authors identified three different perspectives of sketch maps of villages that participants at the research chose for their creation: (1) the “bird’s eye view” perspective; (2) “street view” perspective, and (3) “mixed” perspective. Most of the sketches (125) were made using the first perspective, similar to aerial photographs or professional maps. The use of the ‘bird’s eye view’ perspective made it possible to reflect entire villages, and even to identify and name neighbouring areas. Sketches made in this perspective are more abstract and internally integrated (Fig. 15.3a). Only 14 sketches were made from the “street view” perspective, presenting small fragments of the village in which important objects are located—a church, school, chapel, i.e. places where residents meet, spend time together, establish and cultivate neighbourly relations (Fig. 15.3b). The remaining 33 sketches were made in a mixed perspective—combining both ways of presenting the village, where two strategies should be distinguished: the first—in which a fragment of the village (usually the centre) was presented in the “street view” perspective, and the surroundings (arable fields, forests)—in the “bird’s eye view” perspective; and the second—where the village was presented from a “bird’s eye view” and the surrounding area in the form of a perspective drawing (Fig. 15.3c). Instead of a geographical scale, the scale of the elements included in the sketches of the villages might be interpreted as a reflection of perceived significance of some areas: places, for various reasons important for participants of the research, were located in the centre of the sketch and often over-scaled, while elements considered less important were smaller or not included in presented images. For the same purpose, different line thickness was also used, depending on the rank of the mapped roads, as well as the diverse nature of labels (upper case letters, lower case letters, underlining). Similar regularities were described by Sletto (2009), who highlighted the fact that in his research, the participants rescaled in their sketches those areas and objects with which they had positive memories. Kitchin and Freundschuh (2000) also argued that instead of making comparisons of sketches with standard cartographic maps and interpreting discrepancies as “distortions” of real space, they should be treated as representations that are socially constructed, embedded in a certain context, where the selection of a specific scale of objects or non-Euclidean distance indicates their meanings for individuals and whole local communities. The centre of the village was clearly marked in 140 sketches by the abovementioned scaling of objects, their accumulation or placing in the middle of the drawing. At the same time, in an interview, the participants identified the village

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centre through social infrastructure facilities such as: churches, schools, shops, local community centres, voluntary fire department buildings, playgrounds. The village boundaries included in 81 sketches were defined by signs and signposts, as well as by characteristic objects—“the last object in the village”, rivers, railway tracks, along forest and field lines—“where the fields end”, or through a characteristic road system, e.g. Długowola—“a village between roads”. None of the participants included a map key in their sketches, which should be explained by the fact of describing the included elements in the drawing itself, as well as by the use of sufficiently legible symbols for the objects depicted (e.g. crosses for sacred places—churches, chapels, cemeteries; trees for woodlands, avenues of trees, orchards; squares or house symbols for residential buildings). The diversity of geographical orientation of village sketches results from several factors that were also emphasised in numerous studies on spatial perceptions based on analysis of sketch maps, conducted in urban areas (Mordwa 2003; Tobiasz-Lis 2013), including: 1. characteristic elements in the organisation of the villagespace, facilitating its geographical orientation within the wider settlement network, e.g. churches, roads, rivers, railway lines, ponds; 2. the spatial scope of the drawings—the larger the area covered by the sketch is, the more often it includes characteristic elements of the spatial structure and is oriented northwards; 3. the house and the nearest neighbourhood presented in sketches drawn by the study participants affects the perspective and directions, corresponding to the individual, everyday spatial experiences. The sketch maps of the villages analysed in the article were mostly oriented northwards (90 sketches in total). Southern orientation, or “reversal” of directions by the participants most often resulted from the adopted strategy of drawing the village from the perspective of their place of residence. When living in the northern part of the village, they started to draw their own house “at the bottom” of the page, and then continued to sketch the rest of the village above, along with objects significant from the perspective of everyday experiences. Eastern orientation occurred in the case of villages where the first object included in the sketches was a church, traditionally oriented to the east.

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15.4.3 Narratives of Space Rural space is characterized by a much smaller complexity of forms, functions and meanings than cities, and yet, in the structure of sketches being a form of subjective images of this space stored in the minds of residents, one can distinguish the elements described in the pioneering work of K. Lynch (1960), on the imaginations of American cities. The basis for the construction of village sketches are paths (4.5 on average, in each sketch). These are the channels along which people move. In the case of villages, these may be streets, pavements and bicycle paths. This is often the element dominating in these perceptions because people observe the village as they move along the paths, while the other elements are added to the sketches and remain in close spatial relation with the paths. Landmarks (3.5 on average, in each sketch) are reference points used in everyday space experiences. They are usually buildings, signs or architectural details characteristic of their form or function, but also elements of a wider scope, like fishponds, which fill the imaginations of most residents. Some of them might be interpreted as the perceptual dominant and become a symbol of the village— especially if due to their size they tower over the other buildings in the village, e.g. a church in Ksi˛ez˙ e Pole (see Fig. 15.3). Nodes (on average 1.5, in each sketch) are places that can be accessed, and which can be significant on a way along paths; hence, there is a strong reference between nodes and paths distinguished by K. Lynch (1960) as main elements of the linear perceptions of urban space. At the same time, they are often associated with the central parts of the village, which is why their role in the structure of sketches is very important. Nodes can be village squares, playgrounds, road crossings, roundabouts, bus and rail stops. Edges (included on average in every second sketch) are most often a kind of barrier, space limitation or gap between areas, although it also happens that they connect with each other. In the case of the village sketches analysed in this work, the edges were rivers, railways, expressways, or motorways (e.g. Holendry Baranowskie, Grz˛eska). Areas (on average 2, in each sketch) are easily distinguished parts of villages with a specific character and function, e.g. arable fields, orchards, meadows, forest areas. In the case of large, urbanized villages, sketch maps also included housing estates, which, as has been mentioned above, makes it possible to compare them to sketch maps of cities. Areas are important element of spatial images and similarly to paths they can dominate sketches made by the participants of the study. The shape, content and the structure of elements included in the sketch maps of villages can be interpreted from two main perspectives. The size, socio-economic development and the functions of the village, resulting in the quality of social infrastructure and the quality of life affects the diversity of elements included in the sketch, complexity of presented forms, functions and meanings. The more diverse is the spatial structure of the village, the richer are its imaginations, taking the shape of extensive sketches which are not significantly different from these of towns and cities. Sketches of the inhabitants of urbanized villages (e.g. Miłoszyce, Nowoskłoniec, Złotogłowice), in which the disappearance of the agricultural function and the

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dynamic development of non-agricultural activities was noticeable, were similar to sketches of branch-type cities, in which participants take into account their area of residence. However, not less important is the strategy of drawing a sketch adopted by individuals. The elements considered by participants of the study in the sketch maps of their villages clearly show the rural landscape (agricultural landscape) as a type of cultural landscape resulting from human socio-economic activity. This is evidenced by the proportion of natural landscape elements such as rivers, lakes, hills, forests, meadows, individual trees, compared to the human-made elements of the cultural landscape such as roads, arable fields, orchards, developed areas, which is 73–753 respectively in all the analysed sketches of the selected villages in Poland.

15.4.4 Personalisation The analysis of the presented sketches of the 21 selected villages in Poland confirms that the spatial perceptions consist of recognising the components of the environment and distinguishing some elements from others, their structuring, i.e. determining the spatial relationships between the components of the environment and evaluation, i.e. determining the meanings of individual elements for the perceived entity. A specific space or the object within this space as a subject of spatial perception must “mean something” to the user to be able to enrol in his consciousness in the form of a cognitive map, which may be read, for example, on the basis of a sketch map. Only a few sketches clearly indicate a very personal attitude to places by the terms “my /mine”, yet it may be concluded, on the basis of the interviews, that the residents strongly identify with the space around them, e.g. based on their first associations, such as: “my place”, “my house”. The elements that were included in the sketches are definitely more often an expression of perceiving places as “our /ours”, i.e. common, built over generations. The village sketch maps presented in this article represent both individual and collective relations of the inhabitants with the place where they live and one of the aspects of the triple rural space described by K. Halfacree (2004), i.e. social representations of the village. An analysis of the content of these representations also allows for a discussion on the other two aspects of rurality, i.e. rural locality—behaviours and activities taking place on a local level, and everyday lives—specific, rural experience of space. In addition to the common elements, associated primarily with the local social infrastructure, which were drawn in all sketches of villages, regardless of their morphological type or the nature of their functions, there were sketches in which local stories were recorded, stories important for the formation of the local community. For instance, old cemeteries (Czerwona) and war graves (Miłoszyce) were included. Below, an example of a sketch of the village of Marszowice, where Karol Wojtyła (later the Pope John Paul II) kissed the land on the way to the first parish in Gdów, next to the roadside chapel (Fig. 15.4).

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Fig. 15.4 Local history of the village written on a sketch map (Source Own study)

15.5 Final Remarks The image of space is one of the forms of its social representation. Adopting such a perspective of looking at rural areas, allows not only to analyse social practices related to a given space and its evaluation, but also to search for the less obvious meanings that the village itself or its individual parts (places) have for the inhabitants. There is still a stereotypical understanding of the meaning of the term ‘village’. The traditionally understood image of the village dominates, with specific advantages attributable to living in the countryside. The interviewees very strongly pointed to natural values, peace and quiet, as well as to agriculture as specific and characteristic features of the village. These aspects appeared before such categories as traditional values and close relationships. The perception of important places in the space of villages is also relatively predictable and indicates a certain typicality of the answers received along the undertaken study. Research shows that social infrastructure facilities are meeting places, places where local development may be seen, beautiful and characteristic places and those where time passes fastest. Sacred objects have been assessed as places where people “escape to”, beautiful places where time passes slowest. The elements of the natural environment appear in social perception as characteristic, beautiful places, those where time has stopped, as well as the oldest places—somehow inalienable attributes of the village. As regards old buildings, they fall into the categories of ugly places and those where crisis is visible, but, at the same time, places where time has stopped

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and the oldest places. The road infrastructure is perceived by the village residents primarily as a hazardous space, but also as ugly and crisis-related; however, it is also considered as a space in which development is visible, i.e. subject to investment and renewal. The category of home appears quite clearly, but ambiguously as a place where time passes fastest and slowest at the same time, as well as a place of escape— safe, familiar and tame. New buildings naturally fill the places where the process of development may be seen. Sketches of spatial imaginations of the village appear as very important in the study of individual human-environment relations. Freehand drawing as a form of structuring the world created in the human mind has both cognitive as well as practical functions, expanding the perspectives of research with the issue of subjectively perceived space. Village sketches make it possible not only to determine the form of images, but also—through the content they include—describe the modern nature of “village” and its manifestations. The cognitive function primarily refers to the interpretation of the village as a certain territory in which social processes take place, which is reflected in the types of institutions considered in a symbolic way. The main difference in the formation of the rural social environment when compared to the urban perspective is the crucial role of neighbourhood in shaping interpersonal, local relations. In the case of rural settlements presented in this chapter, the scale is of greatest importance, referring to individual and collective perceptions of the material structure (morphology, i.e. spatial organisation of the village) and the relation with the environment, (resulting from functional and social relationships between the “centre”, most often associated with a family home) and subsequent environmental zones, (corresponding mainly to the closer and more distant spaces). The institutions included in the sketches should be interpreted as emanations of the community life in rural areas. They give information about the ways of social communication, and thus provide knowledge not only about the subjective ways of reflecting space, but also about the drawers and their relationship with the village. The practical outcome of examining contemporary villages with the use of subjective spatial imaginations is strongly related to local planning, especially when referred to recent changes such as a rapid deagrarisation of rural areas. Sketches provide social perceptions on the process of the progressive disappearance of the productive function of rural areas, and thus proper local planning should re-consider the role of nature in the creation of rurality. The traditionally perceived harmony of the rural environment results from human relationships with nature, based on various production and nonproduction aspects. In order to preserve this character of rural settlements offering specific living conditions, planning in open areas that should serve the modern society in the same way as former farmhouses in maintaining the economic and social needs of rural residents. Sketches may help in this process, especially to identify main inhibitors of local planning related to the issue of weakening social relations, or the image and legibility of particular elements of the villages’ spatial organisation, which well-reflect dynamic changes of contemporary rurality. We obtain information on the quality of everyday living space of individuals, places important both from

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the perspective of individual experiences as well as of the collective experiences of entire local communities. Acknowledgements Presented research is a part of the National Science Centre funding scheme, “Spatial representations of rural settlements in Poland”, conducted by the Department of Regional and Social Geography, University of Lodz since the beginning of 2015 to the end of 2019.

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Tobiasz-Lis, P., & Wójcik, M. (2017). Representations of rural settlements in the debate of multifunctional countryside. Example of Poland, Bulletin de la Société Géographique de Liège, 69, 29–39. Tuan, Y. T. (1977). Space and place: The perspective of experience. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Wartmann, F. M., & Purves, R. S. (2017). What’s (not) on the map: Landscape features from participatory sketch mapping differ from local categories used in language. Land, 6(79), 1–16. Wójcik, M., Jeziorska-Biel, P., & Czapiewski, K. (2019). Between words: A generational discussion about farming knowledge sources. Journal of Rural Studies, 67, 130–141. Woods, M. (2011). Rural. London and New York, NY: Routledge. Woolgar, S. (1988). Knowledge and reflexivity: New frontiers in the sociology of knowledge. London and Beverly Hills: Sage.

Chapter 16

Iron Men on Wooden Boats: Connection and Isolation Between Local Culture and the Sea in Coastal Donegal Atalya Peritz and Liam M. Carr

16.1 Introduction The existence of humans on earth has carved an impression so deep as to qualify as its own geological epoch, aptly named the Anthropocene (Lewis and Maslin 2015; Zalasiewicz et al. 2017). According to Boivin et al. (2016), evidence of human impacts can be traced back 195,000 years. Further, they have suggested that there are no remaining places on Earth unaffected by human activity, making it unrealistic to strive to return the planet to some previous, pristine conditions. Instead, they suggest that historically informed management is needed to support the well-being of humans and other species within these dramatically transforming ecosystems, in order to prevent further irreversible damage. Meeting demands of modern consumers, while ensuring the functionality of the necessary ecosystem services which support a sustainable, healthy relationship between humans and the environment, remains a delicate balance (Pretty and Ward 2001; Braat and de Groot 2012). Science-based management is borne of a view that with proper—often “top-down”—control of human behaviours, ecosystem services can be exploited for human enrichment. Such management approaches separate humans, and their activities, from their surrounding environment, in a manner that “turn[s] an unpredictable and ‘inefficient’ natural system into one that produces products in a predictable and economically efficient way” (Holling and Meffe 1996, A. Peritz led the principal drafting of this chapter, including results, figures, and discussion. L. Carr contributed in the theoretical design and research objectives, methodology, and comprehensive review and editing of the initial draft. A. Peritz (B) · L. M. Carr School of Geography, Archaeology and Irish Studies, National University of Ireland Galway, Galway, Ireland e-mail: [email protected] L. M. Carr e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_16

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p. 330). Where management institutions are unable to recognize that human activities both affect, and are affected by, environmental responses to those activities, overexploitation (Clark 1973), resource collapse (Stanley 1995), and management failure result (Holling and Meffe 1996). Instead, management efforts should focus on how human and natural systems interlink as social-ecological systems, or SES (Berkes and Folke 1998). Community well-being represents a straightforward way to monitor SES functionality and resilience (Armitage et al. 2012), as well as assess management efforts. Community viewpoints can be utilized to examine underlying power dynamics that play a role in environmental decision-making (Berbés-Blázquez 2012). Questions regarding “who profits and who suffers” are critical, because “benefits and burdens resulting from environmental management are unequally distributed in society, across geographical regions and through time” (Berbés-Blázquez 2012, p. 863). This study focuses on how such community viewpoints can be leveraged to improve management outcomes in line with SES theory (Folke et al. 2005; Hummel et al. 2011; Ostrom 2007, 2009).

16.2 Theoretical Framework Four parallel concepts underlie the theory behind this study and account for its chosen participant-led methodology: SES, cultural ecosystem services (CES), sense of place theory and well-being. They help to illustrate the interconnectedness of the socio-cultural character (i.e. human elements) within the environmental space. Participatory methods were used to assess SES functionality and existing policy structures at both the individual and community level. Included in this assessment were considerations on how individual and community views toward stewardship might contribute to more effective policy decisions. Based on Ostrom’s framework (Ostrom 2007, 2009), SES structures “relationships between human and ecological components as part of a complex system with multiscale feedbacks and dependencies” (Virapongse et al. 2016, p. 84). This recognition that policy should seek to embrace, rather than reduce, system complexity (Folke et al. 2005), creates space for the inclusion of local knowledge into policy discussions (Folke 2006), as individuals and communities present diverse knowledge bases and practices not easily described through scientific methods (see Fig. 16.1a). Further, providing avenues for local knowledge to contribute to policy discussions helps to redress power imbalances in how SESs are viewed and managed (Bennett and Gosnell 2015; Ostrom 2007). The contemplations involved with linking social and ecological systems are not meant to romanticise about traditional societies (Berkes and Folke 1998). It is meant to stimulate research efforts and collaboration in order to improve policy and management in favour of an adaptive approach to the inevitable changes that face interdependent social-ecological systems for the purposes of resilience and sustainability (Berkes and Folke 1998).

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Fig. 16.1 a SES framework figure adapted from Hummel et al. (2011). b Cultural Ecosystem Services framework adapted from Bryce et al. (2016) and Fish et al. (2016)

CES represent non-material, place-based services (Bryce et al. 2016) that arise from relationships between humans and ecosystems (Chan et al. 2012). These include sense of place, cognitive development, recreation, social values, aesthetic values, knowledge systems, cultural heritage, and spiritual enrichment (Bryce et al. 2016; Plieninger et al. 2013). This research further refines CES as “the contributions that ecosystems make to human well-being in terms of the identities they help frame, the experiences they help enable, and the capabilities they help equip” (Fish et al. 2016, p. 212, emphasis added). Figure 16.1b conceptualizes CES through subjective indicators for identities, experiences, and capabilities that may strengthen (i.e. encourage the human-environment connection) or weaken (i.e. encourage disconnection) an individual’s sense of well-being. Analysed as such, CES reveal contextualized interaction between environmental spaces (e.g. a beach) and the cultural practices that

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occur within it (e.g. beach walking). As such, CES are co-created through the interaction between humans and their environment, rather than simply emerging for human benefit from an ecosystem (Fish et al. 2016). Further bringing CES in from the periphery of research interest, the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment (MA) defines cultural identity as “the current cultural linkage between humans and their environment” (MA 2005, p. 457). Donkersloot (2010) emphasizes the importance of “current”, arguing that articulations of place and identity should always be considered incomplete and impermanent. Cultural identity is not merely a static expression of “heritage”, formed by the lives and times of past generations. Cultural identity is also actively (re)defined and (de)valued as communities and societies evolve (Dervin 2012). Cultural identity is a driving motivation in the development of management policies and conservation practices (Tengberg et al. 2012). As a result, current literature argues that conservation efforts must be sensitive to the natural as well as to the cultural environment (Milcu et al. 2013). The subjective, highly personal indicators of identities (i.e. symbolic associations with a place), experiences (i.e. encounters within a place), and capabilities (i.e. the acquisition of knowledge, skills, and health) provides a window into the influence of CES in strengthening or weakening a sense of well-being (Fish et al. 2016, see Fig. 16.1b). Yet in most ecosystem services studies, CES are related to human wellbeing least frequently. CES can feel ambiguous and intangible compared to other ecosystem service types. In attempts to establish analytical rigor, researchers may apply generalizations which over-simplify and limit the breadth and influence of CES, or simply exclude them in their analyses (Bryce et al. 2016). Where CES have been incorporated into studies, the gathering and measuring of evidence is by necessity participatory, where individuals are encouraged to self-report their perspectives of occupancy and attachment to a place (Plieninger et al. 2013). CES link community values to their natural environment through sense of place. These values make substantial contributions to well-being, often able to evoke moral concerns within the community to protect what is “theirs”; the ecosystems they gain these benefits from (Klain and Chan 2012). CES are thought to inspire “deep attachment” in communities (Chan et al. 2011, p. 206), with resulting concern and engagement in matters concerning the environment (Fish et al. 2016). These services may not provide the practical necessities linked directly to well-being that may be afforded via economic means, however their values are considered by communities to be irreplaceable (Plieninger et al. 2013). Humans anchor their existence to place, which includes tangible aspects such as objects or features of the landscape that people depend on and are connected to, as well as intangible aspects (i.e. CES) such as stories and knowledge systems (Tengberg et al. 2012). Changes in the place’s social or physical features may have an impact on its character, which then may affect symbolic meanings that local people value (Masterson et al. 2017). This gives sense of place cognitive-emotional characteristics, influencing how communities perceive and adapt to change, resolve associated conflicts in how their place is lived in and used, and attempt to influence policy related to place.

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16.3 Methodology This research focused on answering the following questions: 1. Which aspects of their coastal and marine environment do the people of coastal Donegal consider to be important to the shaping of their cultural identity? 2. How does this environment and its shaping effects (if applicable) affect their well-being? 3. How are these things impacted by change and policy? County Donegal, Ireland, was the location for this research. The study site included Donegal’s four coastal municipal districts, as described in Fig. 16.3 and shown in Fig. 16.4: Region 1 (Inishowen), Region 2 (Letterkenny/Milford), Region 3 (Glenties), and Region 4 (South Donegal). Largely rural, with a population density of only 33 people per square kilometre, Donegal (4,861 km2 , pop. 159,192) lies at the northwest corner of the island of Ireland, sharing an extensive 153-km border along the east with Northern Ireland, UK. Donegal itself is connected to the rest of the Republic of Ireland only by a 9-km wide border with neighbouring County Leitrim to the south. It has Ireland’s longest coastline, at 1134 km, and many communities are sustained by working the seas. Their long-held ties to the sea are reflected in local myths, legends, and songs (Wild Atlantic Way 2018), and activities that shape cultural identity. Commercial fishing, aquaculture, and tourism and hospitality are the main economic drivers of Donegal’s coastal areas (Donegal County Council 2016). Donegal’s commercial fishing industry has historically been of great importance, economically and socially. Since their entry into the European Union in 1973, fishing effort in Ireland’s Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) has been shared among EU member states, governed by licensing and quota allocation levelled by the EU’s Common Fisheries Policy. Today, approximately 30% of fish caught (by weight) in the Irish EEZ is done by the Irish fleet (Carr 2019). The growing aquaculture industry poses another challenge to policymakers as well as to local communities, due to associated controversies and conflicts of interests. While commercial fishing and aquaculture has a positive economic impact, concomitant environmental damages related to those sectors potentially impact not only Donegal’s coastal and marine ecosystems, but also other sectors that share the space. Since 2014, the growth of the tourism industry in Donegal has been strengthened by the 2500-km long Wild Atlantic Way, a planned touring route that follows the entirety of the west coast of Ireland. Finally, with sectoral growth and increasing levels of conflict over access and shared use of coastal and marine areas in Donegal, there are further concerns on how such impacts from various sectors might also affect the well-being of locals. The interdependencies that define and shape the human-environment relationship were examined through community interviews, participatory photo mapping (PPM), and comparative analyses. Situating the study in the rural communities of coastal County Donegal, Ireland, this research applied SES, CES, and sense of place theory to reveal locally valued cultural constructs and establish concepts of identity in relation to community attachment to their shared coastal and marine environment. Local

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engagement allowed for the critical examination that top-down policies have had on rural, coastal communities, and ultimately, how well-being and SES resilience is being maintained. A guiding principle of PPM is that one’s “lived experience” cannot be described by a single aspect alone (Dennis Jr. et al. 2009, p. 467). This guiding concept is based on social theories related to how individuals understand, interpret, and navigate their environments (Kearns and Moon 2002; Matthews et al. 2006). For this reason, it is important to examine the full suite of SES factors simultaneously and in relation to each other. Because community members have the “most immediate and comprehensive knowledge of their own particular contexts” (Dennis Jr. et al. 2009, p. 467), their active involvement in a place-based study is critical. Their engagement leads to the mutual exchange of knowledge between researchers and the community, rather than being researcher-driven. Cognition of location, remembered images and visual representations of them, along with storied narratives reinforce access to sought-after knowledge about lived experiences. In offering this freedom of expression to participants, PPM can bring the lived experience of participants to light in novel and affirmative ways. PPM and subsequent interviews over contributed images provide necessary contextual knowledge, presenting issues that are important to communities. In turn, PPM results can capture the attention of policymakers by illuminating in very tangible ways issues that may otherwise seem intangible or difficult to define. PPM calls for participants to produce photographs in response to a question, so as to relate abstract concepts that are often difficult to communicate using words alone. Photographs can help focus discussions, giving participants greater comfort to engage on potentially difficult subjects, and even to enjoy the experience of involvement. The photo-based interview was the first part of the interaction with participants. The second was a series of questions designed to provide some continuity between interviews in order to help organize and focus back to the research question, in case certain things did not arise naturally in the free-form photo interview. Participant information was gathered and analysed using an SES-based framework. The importance of the content discussed was gauged through word frequency analysis using NVivo 11 Pro. Interview transcripts were coded, concepts organised as ‘nodes’, and links were created to establish relationships. In this way, NVivo processed queries for further analysis and interpretation. For the NVivo analyses, the content of Part I and Part II of the interviews were analysed separately, and the interviews were analysed in their entirety as well, looking at and comparing the answers of all participants together. Words associated with emergent themes were connected to those respective themes and coded. A keyword analysis was done first, in order to identify common themes, so that a value could be ascribed to a sentiment or concern, according to the frequency of words used to express these sentiments or concerns. Content analysis was taken further to provide more in-depth information through thematic analysis, looking at these words within their context (i.e. within larger phrases). The frequency with which thematic categories were raised by participants was assessed.

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Positive and negative thematic associations were also assessed, more formally linking community well-being to how well the sea meets their various SES needs. These results, in final form, offered guidance for practitioners considering more holistic, locally focused policies, against top-down approaches meant to achieve short-term economic outcomes. Concepts supporting the production and maintenance of community well-being were aligned to SES (Fig. 16.1a) and CES (Fig. 16.1b) theory, taking into particular consideration sense of place and the interconnectedness experienced by the human-environment relationship. Location points were taken for each shared photo and then mapped so that accompanying interview data could be attached to those locations. Spatially linking themes that arise from photo-based interviews provides a geographical dimension to the articulation of their lived experience (Dennis Jr. et al. 2009). Mapping perspectives can help exhibit the spatial heterogeneity of stakeholder concerns or experiences in different areas, which is often lacking in valuation studies, as well as expressing place-based ecological knowledge (Turnhout et al. 2012). Each photo contains critical information (i.e. where and when the photo was taken, the subject matter, individuals included, symbolic meaning) that contextualizes the human-environment relationship as a cultural expression. Together, it is through critical examinations of the full set of shared photos and participant narratives that reveals how local environments shape and reinforce the cultural foundations of communities.

16.4 Results The theme of “Connection” represents the positive ways participants relate their cultural connection to the sea to their well-being. Nearness to the sea, a sense of fondness, and other various benefits they gain from this connection, be it for health, livelihood, or social benefits. Following Fig. 16.1b, CES expressed by participants were sub-categorized through language indicators under “Identities”, “Experiences”, and “Capabilities”. These CES also shape and are enabled by the suite of environmental spaces and cultural practices within which they occur. Depending on the context within which they are expressed, they can lead to positive benefits (i.e. connection) or losses (i.e. disconnection) in well-being. Almost as prevalent as the very proud and positive characteristics ascribed to the Donegal identity is an underlying melancholy. Such sentiments and words represent negative realities related to their cultural connection to the sea that affect well-being. These sentiments recurrently emerged across all the interviews. They express how job loss, emigration, migration, isolation and family scattering, as lived experiences, weaken or even rupture their close connection to the sea. The imposition of policy on communities, as well as the knock-on effects of those policies on communities was also expressed. Participants were able to lament lost traditions and rights, as well as feeling marginalized by government authorities—itself a cultural identity so entrenched as to give Donegal its county nickname as the “Forgotten County”. Participants feel largely forsaken and exploited by others, while their own needs

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Fig. 16.2 The intertwined dynamic within a SES that results in a disconnection in the form of themes depicted, shown in circles to represent the continuity of crossovers between them

and well-being are neglected. From this sense of “Disconnection”, three sub-themes that best reflected these sentiments were derived (Fig. 16.2). They are aligned with the CES themes but represent a distancing and disconnection from CES themes attributed to improved well-being. Therefore, these sub-themes represent a decline in well-being. Ultimately, these results illustrate that a decline in well-being can often be instigated by a loss of connection between humans and their environment. This in turn negatively impacts the cultural form and identity of affected communities. Moving outward (Fig. 16.2), perceived political unfairness and neglect gives way to a feeling of ‘us vs. them’, thus promoting a feeling of loss and ultimately disconnection. Alternately, the dynamic can be described by moving inward from an initial disconnected position where an individual senses that disconnection through feelings of loss, exclusion (‘us vs. them’), and unfairness. The theme “Loss” is with regards to livelihood, sense of community and belonging, loss due to emigration, of traditional uses of the sea and way of life. The “Us vs. Them” theme includes feelings of disregard, isolation and marginalization, as well as frustration with “outsiders”, who exacerbate a lost sense of place. For example, a boom in the early 2000s led to the construction of holiday home neighbourhoods in many parts of coastal Donegal. Empty for much of the year (a reality that itself negatively affects community identity and cohesion), these homes house visitors, many who hail from beyond Donegal, with their own culture, expressions, interests, and habits that may be at odds with those that locals hold. Additionally, foreign-owned industry and distant governing bodies are seen as Outsiders, given their relatively low level of engagement and interest in becoming a part of the community. Many participants shared the feeling that these ‘outsiders’ have a tendency of “taking what’s good and leaving scraps for the locals to deal with.” The ‘Political Unfairness’ theme often applies within the first two but specifically addresses impacts of neglectful top-down policy on small rural coastal communities. This sense of unfairness is felt through policy knock-on effects on seemingly unrelated parts of communities, the governmental prioritization of well-established areas

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over more rural, often more impoverished communities along the policy periphery, and perceived hypocrisy related to uneven governance. The photos presented by Figs. 16.3a–b visually represent participants’ sense of cultural (dis)connection to their coastal and marine environments, thematically categorized by CES benefit types (Fig. 16.1b) and subjective interpretations on how wellbeing is either strengthened or weakened. For example, in Fig. 16.3a (vi), a participant shared a photo of seaweed harvesting. Viewed as a “Connection”, the participant was able to express positive feelings of belonging and rootedness to Rutland Island. The act of seaweed harvesting represents “Capabilities” (e.g. knowledge and skills required to harvest successfully as a livelihood), “Experiences” (e.g. a connection to nature, and the freedom with which they could pursue seaweed harvesting), and “Identities” (e.g. responsibilities of stewardship). Conversely, Fig. 16.3b (iii) shows community outing to Gola Island as a disconnection. This is because the outing itself is highly ceremonial, symbolizing community loss. As the day concludes and the community returns to the Glenties’ mainland, families leave food and tea behind on tables, and cottage doors are left open. The day is meant to remind the community of a past way of life that no longer is experienced, as well as memories of forebears lost. Other photos can be contextualized similarly within perceptions of (dis)connection through accompanying interviews. It is worth noting that participants were only asked to provide photos that represented their cultural connection to the sea. That so many chose to include photos with disconnection themes, unprompted, shows its relevance in their minds and realities, a very prominent hindrance to their well-being. Figure 16.4 shows spatial representations of PPM information gathered from the interviews. Hierarchy charts for each region show the weight and dominance of different themes compared to one another. “Political Unfairness” key words were included under the “Loss” and “Us v. Them” themes, allowing for the entire “Disconnected” to be visually represented. All three of the “Connection” themes are also represented by CES on the charts. While there are minor variations in responses across all the regions, the results show that the people consider CES to be of high significance to their cultural connection to the sea, their sense of identity, and to overall well-being. The importance of factors that disrupt “Connection” is also very high, only being slightly lower than CES elements. The close influence of both positive and negative themes suggests that disconnecting factors are challenging the well-being of coastal communities in Donegal by strongly competing with their CES. According to data (Fig. 16.4), the ‘disconnecting’ elements that detract from wellbeing are almost as strongly represented as the cultural elements that connect people to the sea and improve well-being.

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Fig. 16.3 a Photos depicting Connections to CES, and positive Sense of Place and Well-Being Indicators across Donegal, as expressed through participant interviews, following Bryce et al. (2016) and Fish et al. (2016): (i) Priest blessing a new wooden boat near An Bhráid, Glenties (Belonging, Heritage, Inspiration, Spirituality); (ii) 10th generation traditional local boat builders in An Caisleán Nua, Inishowen (Knowledge, Livelihood, Social Bonds, Skills); (iii) Bodysurfing off Bundoran, South Donegal (Aesthetics, Belonging, Engagement, Health, Stewardship, Tranquillity); (iv) Carrickfinn Beach, Glenties (Aesthetics, Belonging, Social Bonds, Tranquillity); (v) A Donegal family walking on their favourite beach, South Donegal (Engagement, Health, Heritage, Social Bonds, Tranquillity); (vi) Traditional hand-cut seaweed harvesting on Rutland Island, Glenties (Belonging, Engagement, Heritage, Knowledge, Livelihood, Skills, Stewardship); (vii) Fanad Head Lighthouse, Letterkenny/Milford (Aesthetics, Belonging, Heritage, Inspiration, Livelihood, Tranquillity). Source of photographs: own study; reproduced with permission. b Photos depicting Disconnections from SES, and negative Sense of Place and Well-Being Indicators across Donegal, as expressed through participant interviews, following Bryce et al. (2016) and Fish et al. (2016): (i) Close-up of oyster farms in Carrickfinn, Glenties (Apathy, Chaos, Disengagement, Repulsion); (ii) Bronze plaques dedicated to men lost at sea in An Caisleán Nua, Inishowen (Feeling Lost, Isolation, Loneliness, Lost Skills); (iii) Symbolic outing to abandoned Gola Island, Glenties (Feeling Lost, Isolation, Loneliness); (iv) Commercial salmon fishing vessel out of An Caisleán Nua, Inishowen (Apathy, Disengagement, Ignorance, Unemployment, Unwellness); (v) Artistic impression of a proposed oyster farm plan near An Bhráid, Glenties (Apathy, Chaos, Disengagement, Ignorance, Isolation); (vi) Blessing of the fleet, An Caisleán Nua, Glenties (Aimlessness, Feeling Lost, Isolation, Lost Skills, Unemployment) (Source of photographs Own study; reproduced with permission)

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Fig. 16.4 Hierarchy charts showing results by region (Source Peritz 2018; reproduced with permission)

16.5 Conclusion Peoples’ sense of place provides the human-environment link that provides the foundation for SES. As such, researching how sense of place both affects and is affected by SES processes can contribute to a fuller understanding of communities and the shaping of its cultural identity (Stedman 2016). Sense of place can coerce and assist change, influence and improve stewardship of the lived environment, and can be used as an indicator of well-being at the individual and community level (Masterson et al. 2017). Participatory studies are a valuable tool for gaining insight into the spaceplace transformation (Pain 2004). Critical approaches help to situate and understand place-specific attachments and meanings, and how these meanings incubate what become nascent expressions of culture. This research shows that patterned variation of cultural values across a landscape are not random. Further, underlying, shared cultural ties can reinforce a shared identity among geographically disparate locales,

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and can help forecast change in perceptions of well-being both within and between these communities (Beckley et al. 2007; Brown and Raymond 2007; Plieninger et al. 2013; Stedman 2016). Interdisciplinary approaches and participatory methods like PPM enhance the depth and meaning of themes elicited from interviews. People like to be heard, particularly if they feel their contributions might produce positive benefits for themselves and their community. Such participation is more likely to produce avenues for deeper, more complex insights into their perspectives. The methodological structure of this research provides complementary avenues for multiple modes of communication and contextualization, promoting more meaningful discussion and clarity. It is an enriched method that pulls context and brings greater understanding. Increased understanding brings potential extensions for the research, including increased community voice and visibility at the policy table. It is clear within this study that the residents of coastal Donegal feel a strong connection to the cultural services provided by their coastal and marine environment, with a particularly strong attachment to place and the identity attributed to it. These connections have a direct link to their well-being. On the other hand, when their connection to place is disrupted, particularly from influences outside their community, a sense of isolation and marginalization emerge, with associated feelings of loss and disconnection leading to a decline in individual and collective well-being. The importance of place to people’s lives and identities is apparent in this study. A strong, shared sense of place is one that is “suffused with meaning” (Donkersloot 2010, p. 49), even when that sense might be formed both by connecting and disconnecting influences. Meaning ascribed to place floods it with value, which in turn creates attachment and provides a sense of identity, all of which make the protection of the place a priority to the people. Nurturing a strong sense of belonging and cultural connection to the environment is especially important to communities who feel otherwise marginalized or forgotten. A shared identity can serve as a focal point for empowerment and self-organization (Berbés-Blázquez 2012). This empowerment can then be harnessed by individuals and communities to engender and safeguard well-being and attachment (Strzelecka et al. 2017). Traditional uses of the sea contribute to a rich cultural heritage in many places around the world, demonstrating how a sense of place positively benefits perceptions of well-being and the human-environment relationship. Policy options must pursue goals of resilience and sustainability given the rate of change being experienced today. It is therefore incumbent upon social scientists to develop and refine research methodologies that can yield an enriched understanding of the human-environment relationship, value and contextualize SES and CES, and express community well-being and identity. As this research shows, a sense of place is an essential consideration for how rural coastal land- and sea-scapes should be used and managed.

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Acknowledgements This work was made possible by the wonderful people of Donegal who volunteered their time, thoughts and photographs used in this study. We hold them in such high gratitude and appreciation. We thank the Coastal & Marine Environments MSc Programme, NUI Galway for funding and material support. Thank you to the EUGEO board for the opportunity to present this work and to everyone involved in this publication. And a special thank you to Marion McFadden, Dierdre Friel, Jay Suttin, Yassmine Daouk, and Will Forte for their advice and support.

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Chapter 17

Conclusions: Towards a New Agenda for Place/Territorial Identity Research Tiziana Banini and Oana-Ramona Ilovan

17.1 Territorial Identities and Identity Narratives Fostering Resilience at Various Scales The aim of this collective volume is to push the theoretical debate further and encourage more empirical research on the approached concepts. Geohistorical evolution and present-day context are equally important for understanding place/territorial identities (Paasi 1986) and representations and, therefore, this is an advocacy for performing research based on these premises. In this collective book, contributions discuss how territorial identities and identity narratives are produced and reproduced though economic, social and cultural practices, as well as their impact on territory, at local and regional levels, on people and communities. Perspectives vary, from (i) constructing identities and making of place, which are dynamic and ongoing processes (Banini 2017; Paasi 2009), and (ii) representing nations and cities, as two of the much-debated concepts in social sciences, in the humanities and in popular culture (B. Anderson 1983; Lynch 1960; Verdery 1991), to (iii) negotiating belonging and place-attachment, especially when state and cultural borders are in place, a topic even more challenging when population’s migration is a factor complicating the identity discourse (Gilmartin et al. 2018; Newman 2006), and (iv) representations of the rural areas under a multitude Both authors contributed equally to drafting the contents of these conclusions and writing them. However, O.-R. Ilovan wrote Section 1, whereas T. Banini wrote Section 2. T. Banini Department of Literature and Modern Cultures, Faculty of Arts and Humanities, Sapienza University of Rome, Rome, Italy e-mail: [email protected] O.-R. Ilovan (B) Faculty of Geography, Territorial Identities and Development Research Centre, Babe¸s-Bolyai University, Cluj-Napoca, Romania e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 T. Banini and O. Ilovan (eds.), Representing Place and Territorial Identities in Europe, GeoJournal Library 127, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66766-5_17

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of factors pressuring for change and resilience (Boulineau and Bonerandi-Richard 2014; Woods 2011). Authors asked research questions such as: How were space, place and representations conceptualized? How was place/territorial identity produced and reproduced? What was the meaning of place/territorial identity as a social construct (depending on scientific and geographical context and scale)? These questions are given contextual answers through 15 case study-based chapters, which provide the interested readers with plenty of concepts and practices to reflect on. A first common denominator of all these contributions is the focus on local or regional territorial identities, arguing for the relevance of place in preserving heritage, as well as boosting development. Another one is concerning methodology, individual chapters revealing the diversity of research material enabling the study of representations: written text, oral text, and visual imagery (photo mapping, participatory photo essays, photographs, picture postcards, maps, etc.), in face to face interaction and online. The topics of constructing identities and making of place are debated in the first five contributions. Results argue for considering place/territorial identities as resources for development at the local scale and a factor ensuring community resilience. Tiziana Banini’s chapter shows the crucial role of self-representations in people’s attachment to places and in their decisions about active citizenship (cf. also Banini 2017). In addition, the author underlines the significant role of the local level in negotiating the meaning of cultural, social, and economic differences. The Esquiline neighbourhood (in Rome) is interpreted from the perspective of constructing a multicultural community, challenging dominant and contrasting media narratives (Barnett 2003) (i.e. stigmatizing the neighbourhood because of an image of degradation and conflict or idealising it due to successfully solving some integration challenges posed by immigrants). The author questions these representations from above, in the context of the economic and societal crisis since the 2008, underlining the resilience capacity of the neighbourhood as reflected in locals’ stories about common interests, daily interactions, and meanings attached to certain places (e.g. schools, playgrounds, shops, streets, and buildings where they live). The method of discourse analysis exposes the meanings attached to places and to the entire neighbourhood, the self-representations being useful in uncovering the added value of cultural differences in common projects, enabling dialogue and support for disadvantaged groups in the context of urban living. Moreover, the qualitative approach and the case study perspective are proved to be decisive research factors contributing to exploring the meaning of place and of identity. Marco Picone contributes to the theoretical discussion on the process of place identity building and on the implications of the sense of belonging while creating new representations of the city through urban marketing processes, in southern Europe. The author emphasizes the eccentric trend of the gentrification process in inner city Palermo (cf. Bonafede and Napoli 2015; Jeanmougin and Bouillon 2016), the influence it received from touristification and culture-led urban renewal (Bianchi and Fogheri 2016), concluding it is an ongoing and difficult to classify gentrification in

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the case of this city, according to Anglo-American scientific literature (cf. also Picone 2016). In addition, citizens’ empowerment and participatory processes in Palermo should be further researched in this process of forging a new and positive image of the city. Ioan Sebastian Jucu’s chapter treats extensively the music heritage of a mediumsized town, in Romania, in order to point out the role of music in shaping the identities of such places, a constant factor in the life of local communities and sometimes part of the urban landscape. Music is addressed to as a binder among people, places and local culture, thus having a community building value (Whiteley et al. 2004). The author argues that as much as music is part of the local identity and community life, music incorporates themes and features of local identity and represents them at the local, regional, national, and international level. In addition, the chapter hints at the poor capitalisation of the musical heritage in development, especially in this town of Romania, recognised for its contributions to Romanian musical culture (Baiski 2015). The innovative character of this contribution on representations of music in the local culture and of local identity in music invites further in-depth research on the topic, aiming at using music-based cultural heritage for urban development or regeneration initiatives. Thus, a practical approach to local music identity, under-valorised at present, is proposed for enriching at least the touristic offer of such towns. Place as a node in the global network is clearly revealed in Valentina Albanese’s chapter. In the online environment, power, new networks and knowledge hierarchies are recreated and their representations influence actions both online and in the street (Nicholls 2009; Potts 2015), as in the case of NO TAP (i.e. where TAP stands for The Trans-Adriatic Pipeline). The author shows the usefulness of sentiment analysis for textual representations and of the photo essay in revealing the visual discourses. These two interrelated research tools enable the author to uncover tensions between the local and global scales at the level of interests, needs and wishes, engaging old and new discourses, ideologies and meanings, forces, and representations of all these. Moreover, ICT enables the spreading of narratives/representations, mobilising communities in taking action in the virtual and physical place, while being aware or not of re-building the image of their places and of their communities. Andrea Guaran and Enrico Michelutti’s chapter, presenting research on the role of ecomuseums in reconnecting people with their landscapes, leads the discussion to the fragility of territorial identity and to practices that are induced by an open policy towards external factors. A focus on immediate economic return may bring about loss of landscape features and a weakening of the local territorial identities (cf. also Markuszewska 2019, for a similar discourse concerning a region of Poland). In this context, which are the proper policies and practices reflecting in full the complex relationships between locals and landscape? The authors discuss the challenges and pitfalls of working with ecomuseums for landscape education, while underlining the crucial input they have to an actualisation of inhabitants’ territorial identity and in building the identity of their communities, where the relationship with the landscape has a central role.

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Moreover, the connection between self-representations, in the process of landscape education, and misrepresentations, when external factors are involved, is reflected in community empowerment or lack of it, while rethinking local development. Thus, authors consider the landscape and related activities in pointing out that reshaping territorial identity is a sensitive matter, where citizens’ empowerment is paramount in leading to grassroots initiatives of conserving and promoting landscapes, as part of the local heritage. Therefore, representations are not separated from practice and performativity (cf. Lorimer 2005). Landscape education, irrespective of the beneficiaries (citizens, students, or educators themselves), provides them with opportunities to understand present changes of the landscape, appealing to memories and considering future decision-making about the local landscape. Therefore, the local landscape and activities, involving a rethinking of the relationship locals have with it, shape citizens’ sense of place and community belonging (cf. also Brown and Raymond 2007). In the second section of the book, on representing nations and cities, there are four chapters, whose research results foreground how representations from above and self-representations form discourses on the nation, on the urban area, and on belonging starting from the sense of place. First, Sander van Lanen’s chapter points out how individual and collective space experiences, representations and sense of place are enabled or undermined by power structures at the political, cultural, and economic levels. At the same time, his research hints that at least some of the circumstances inflicting a loss of sense of place, although spatial identities and place-attachment remain strong, could be solved with little resources (i.e. in order to change the youth’s perceptions and eventually their representations of themselves and of their neighbourhood). Results showed the youth’s representations of their neighbourhood, Ballymun, in Dublin, and of their everyday life, as well as author’s contextualisation and explaining of the main topics and feelings in those representations. David Seamon’s (2018) theoretical framework on place processes is employed to interpret the research results: people-in-place, the environmental ensemble, and common presence. Reduced job and socialising opportunities, struggling for sufficient services, unsuitable physical landscape, financial barriers because of falling income levels are among the main factors characterising the environmental mismatch induced by austerity and fuel negative local place experiences and a reduction of sense of place (cf. also van Lanen 2017, 2018). In the second chapter of the section, its author announces that, as Romania celebrated 100 years of state existence, 2018 and the next years were rich in events where national, regional and local identity statements were organised. Kinga Xénia Havadi-Nagy exemplifies identity politics (Antonsich 2009) and identity of the place (Massey and Jess 1995), looking with a detached eye (as much as possible) to the trial that an organising institution made to represent in a balanced manner 100 years of events and facts in Romania. However, as the author rightly notices, the masculine view is hegemonic (few women and their achievements are represented), as well as the rather nationalistic view, where certain myths and ideologies are being reinforced. At the same time, this official discourse is not an inclusive one at the

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national level (ethnic and religious minorities being excluded), while the regional and local levels are provided with representations that tend to let more and more diverse voices to be heard. Kinga Xénia Havadi-Nagy shows that shared space (at the national, regional, and local levels) does not mean that place/territorial identity is also shared, but multiple or contested identities may emerge in discussions triggered by representations from above. Therefore, the author critically discusses a rather monolithic and nationalistic representation of the last 100 years of Romania, while, concomitantly, acknowledging the useful social and cultural functions that such an exhibition has: creating the space to communicate and discuss identities, thus foregrounding the example of a context enabling interaction, actualising identity and creating place-attachment through a very powerful dyad, namely that of images and written text. Little research has been done so far on representations of Romanian territorial identities using images promoted by institutions during celebratory events or moments. Her study fills in such a gap, adapting the theoretical background on representations and place identity to the Romanian context, using a case study. In the chapters authored by Ioan Sebastian Jucu (discussed before), and by OanaRamona Ilovan, Cristina-Florentina Merciu, Andreea-Loreta Cercleux and GeorgeLaurent, iu Merciu (following in this section), the applications of territorial identity may come in the form of local development, as argued in previous studies by F. Pollice (2005) and by G. Dematteis and F. Governa (2005). Oana-Ramona Ilovan’s chapter starts from the idea that representations are transmitted from one generation to another and underlines the need to integrate the recent past and its discourses (i.e. visual in this case) into present territorial planning processes, thus preventing inhabitants’ feelings of alienation and enabling them to perform and reproduce the urban area in ways that are culturally contingent. Themes such as industrialisation, urbanisation, systematisation and overall modernisation of the Romanian society (Copilas, 2015) were supported by what eventually turned into iconic images of the urban area and of a levelling vision fuelled by ideological-driven architectural production (Zahariade 2011). Picture postcards reflected these processes and these ideologically correct representations, part of Romanians’ territorial values and these should be considered for present and future development; the policy implications of such representations should be paid more attention, the author argues. Results showed that the Communist Party-produced images were a pedagogical device that influenced Romanians’ relation to places, thus emphasizing results of her previous research on picture postcards and industrial landscapes in socialist Romania (Ilovan 2019; Ilovan and Maros, i 2018). Moreover, very few research has been done so far on visual imagery from picture postcards and the socialist period of Romania and Oana-Ramona Ilovan’s research also hints at the rich and various research opportunities such material provides, especially for geographers, urbanists and planners, while pointing out to the openings enabled by interdisciplinary approaches (Geography, History, Architecture, Anthropology, etc.). Finally, representations of civil architecture, of the morphology of the industrial production site, and of intangible heritage, all of which are related to the development and decline of the mining activity for a period of more than 150 years, are used by

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Florentina-Cristina Merciu, Andreea-Loreta Cercleux and George-Laurent, iu Merciu to argue for the high potential of industrial heritage and cultural landscape in the small town of Anina, Romania. The case of Anina is one of the many similar industrial towns in Eastern and Central Europe, most affected by the decline of the mining activity in the recent decades (Müller et al. 2005). The authors prove the usefulness of visual imagery for documenting the evolution of urban settlements and for identifying the visible and hidden features on which the collective memory of a small urban community is based. The present derelict elements of a town in decline make little sense in the framework of an urban regeneration strategy or hint only vaguely to the potential they have as part of the industrial heritage. Therefore, the authors’ historical approach to redevelopment, by using visual imagery from various periods to exhibit the cultural and industrial history of this small town, provides us with a highly compelling picture of the underused potential of territorial identity elements for present and future development. They used a considerable number of picture postcards and old photographs to research the evolution of the urban landscape of this small town, pleading for the capitalisation of its under-valorised industrial heritage (cf. also Dus, oiu 2018). The authors identified three layers of territorial identity elements: economic, socio-cultural and of territorial planning, included in representations of tangible and intangible heritage. Collective memory, place-attachment and community building are crucial for sustainable development. For this, the roles of representations as a source of memory and as tools in redevelopment are demonstrated. In the third section, on negotiating belonging and place-attachment, results show how representations of borders (i.e. physical, political, cultural) and belonging are active in constructing varied imagined communities, enhancing the formation of emotional landscapes (cf. Markuszewska 2019, for a thorough discussion of the concept). In her case study on the relationship between representations from above and from below of the Romanian-Moldavian state border, Lisa Gohlke offers compelling arguments for the need of further research focusing on people’s everyday narratives, employing more concepts which could eventually explain why people accept or reject certain features of representations from above and use other features in constructing imagined communities. The author also underlines the role, in building imagined communities (B. Anderson 1983), of conflicting representations (from above and below) about the limiting and bridging functions of the Romanian-Moldovian state border. Moreover, her case study is also representative for the interaction between idemidentity and ipso-identity, as theorized by P. Ricoeur (1990). Lisa Gohlke shows how knowledge, imagination and personal experiences interact with representations from above, how they are combined and altered, and how new individual territorial identities are formed (Gohlke 2018). In this vein, the author brings convincing arguments, throughout her case study, that qualitative narrative research methods are enabling more profound insights in the various everyday life territorial identities. Moreover, these methods help researchers identify how much of the dominant representations

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(i.e. of communities and territories) from the higher spatial scales (i.e. regional, national, and international), are kept at the local scale or at the individual’s level. Janet C. Bowstead’s chapter exhibits how participatory photography enable migrating women reconnect with new places and re-build their feeling of being at home, while sharing their senses of identity and communicating beliefs and feelings of hope (cf. also Bowstead 2015; Madsen and van Naerssen 2003). The contribution consists also of presenting the advantages of participatory photography in creating self-representations and representations of places, thus generating knowledge, placeattachment, as well as belonging to groups that share similar needs and wishes. Women involved in participatory photography experienced feelings of empowerment, they developed confidence, ambition and motivation, besides reconnecting to places, to the Other, and exploring personal and territorial identities. Representations of the rural areas, which are under a multitude of factors pressuring for change and resilience, is the topic of the fourth and last book section. It includes three chapters, whose results show the role of positive and negative representations in creating individual’s well-being, enabling belonging, contributing to community resilience, and in constructing various place/territorial identities in the rural areas. The general framework is that of population and environmental-sensitive approaches to development. In the first chapter, Celia Innocenti underlines that poverty is perceived as an urban phenomenon, while the complexity of the rural space is often not acknowledged. That is why positive spatial representations of the rural end up in being integrated into mechanisms of poverty reproduction when representations are far different from reality (Boulineau and Bonerandi-Richard 2014). The author gives arguments using the case study of Ariège, in France, and research results are based on interviews with a variety of stakeholders in the region. Conclusions point out that representations and misrepresentations of the rural areas are to be researched more and results should be informing effective poverty prevention policies. In the second one, Marcin Wójcik, Paulina Tobiasz-Lis and Pamela JeziorskaBiel argue that locals’ village sketches are representations of “the modern nature of ‘village’ and its manifestations”. Locals expose forms of living in the village, of communicating and socialising, of community life where the production function of the village has disappeared or is disappearing. In this context, the authors of this highly informative chapter point out, based on their research results in Poland (cf. also Tobiasz-Lis and Wójcik 2017), that nature has a crucial role in the creation of rurality and, therefore, it should be a priority in any village planning proposals. That is because the nowadays village needs open areas and maintaining human relationships with nature similarly to the functions former farmhouses had. The locals’ spatial imaginations of their village enabled the authors to realise a categorisation of places, resulting beautiful, ugly, old and young places, meeting places, crisis-related places, etc. The authors argue that the subjective space or locals’ representations of the village structure are in fact representations of humans’ relationships with nature and with each other (cf. also Brown and Raymond 2007). Their chapter highlights the value of inhabitants’ representations of their living and of space in order for researchers and

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decision-makers to identify any problems of local development (i.e. the weakening of social relations, changes in the village structure and functions not accommodated by any infrastructure so far, loss of life quality, etc.). Therefore, such representations are very informative for proper village planning during these changing times, affecting the ‘nature’ or specificity of the Central and Eastern European rural area. Atalya Peritz and Liam M. Carr’s research results are based on a participatory study, with insights into the community of Donegal, in Ireland, concerning the impact of local policies and development priorities on place identity and well-being. Participatory-photo mapping was employed. This study on the relationship between sense of place and social ecological systems explores how the first is affected by and affects the latter, sense of place (Massey 1993; Rose 1995) being a factor in improving both development and well-being at the community and individual levels (Berkes et al. 1998). This chapter consists of a methodological contribution, proving that interdisciplinary approaches, participatory-photo mapping and interviews offer deeper insights into locals’ perspectives, pull context and provide understanding and clarity. These give more visibility to the community and help increase its voice in the policy debate. In addition, employing such a methodological structure in identifying and interpreting representations from below allows researchers and decision-makers to contextualise social ecological systems and cultural ecosystem services. It further facilitates understanding that people’s disconnection with place leads to feelings of loss and marginalisation, usually triggered by external factors or economic priorities that disregard local needs. Therefore, the chapter shows that a strong sense of place and identity is created by people’s ascribing of meaning to place (due to various causes) and ends in people making a priority out of the protection of their place and of their cultural heritage. Such community choices reflect community resilience and foster sustainability that policy options should pay more attention to.

17.2 Some Concluding Remarks This book started from the premise that representations count a lot in the construction of place/territorial identities, as well as social practices, which also incorporate an idea of the world and a cultural position. In a broader sense, “we can’t escape the world of representation” (J. Anderson 2015, p. 43): every time we use/interpret language or any other communication medium (bodies, artefacts, artistic productions and other non-linguistic means), we are involved in representation. The production of scientific knowledge itself is a form of representation that involves cognitive, sensitive and practical activities (Minca and Colombino 2012). Visual materials and written texts, as well as monuments, public spaces and landscapes, can refer to disappeared activities, to social contexts that no longer exist, but they can still nourish the current identity, if the settled communities choose to welcome them in the circuits of memory and signification processes. As Raffestin (2003, p. 10) says, the representations “serve as a support to the present collectives

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to identify their identities […] they do not assume all their value and their meaning except through the overall movements of a community”. Despite the diversity of theoretical approaches and methodologies used in the various chapters, this book has gone through the topic of representations and selfrepresentations of place/territorial identities along some common coordinates. Several chapters have highlighted a frequent distance between the representations “from above” and “from below” of places and territories, and their specificity/identity (Paasi 2003, 2010), which reproduces, at all geographical scales, an everlasting basic question: whose is the place/territory? Who has the power to decide images, identities of places/territories? Many chapters have attached importance to the voices of the inhabitants of places and the need to initiate or reinforce the participation of citizens in decisions concerning the present and future of places/territories. In this sense, it has emerged in many case studies that the objectives of environmental, social and economic sustainability, declared by the international community since the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro (1992), are still struggling to be implemented. The construction of environmental sustainability, social equity, and an economy based on the enhancement of local specificities, as an intertwinement of tradition and innovation, is shared by all the authors who have collaborated in the realization of this book, as well as sharing both the scientific notion of place/territory as a participatory, conscious and responsible social construction process, and the notion of place/territorial identity as a privileged tool to achieve this goal. The key tools used by the authors could only reflect these orientations, through the recurring use of qualitative methods: textual and visual analysis to deconstruct national or local images, discourses and rhetoric reiterated over time in an uncritical way; interviews or focus groups to detect opinions, attitudes, and social expectations. The voices of the inhabitants of places/territories are fundamental in building sustainable and participatory societies and spaces, just as it is important to carry out the critical reading of images and texts that continue to offer interpretations of places and territories that do not relate to the citizens’ perception and experience. In this sense, the cultural turn of human geography has accompanied and in some way anticipated the objectives of environmental sustainability and social equity, precisely through the use of qualitative research methodologies that have offered a way out of the “crisis of representation” of the discipline (Murdoch 2006; Dubow 2009; Gilmartin 2017), by increasing awareness of the impossibility of describing places and territories in an objective and subjectively detached way. The use of qualitative methods, however, does not automatically solve the traditional problems related to the representativeness of the information collected and used in research (Söderström 2005; Cook et al. 2005; Lockyer 2008; Clifford et al. 2010). The images, for example, require careful analysis not only in reference to the object represented (finding out what has been highlighted or hidden), to the theoretical positions (often implicit and undeclared) that generated them, but also to the media through which they were disseminated, the diversity of interpretations that they suggest, the processes that lead to their social affirmation, creating consensus and identification (Rose 2012; Bignante 2011). This is how attention shifts, as it solicited

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Roland Barthes (1988), from the author to the reader, or to the multiple interpreters of images and words, which give life to ever-new meanings. Even direct surveys (e.g. interviews, focus groups, sketch maps) and participatory tools (e.g. participatory mapping, photo-elicitation) present their risks, perhaps even more insidious, precisely by presenting themselves as the “voice of the people”, bearing an apparent label of democracy and implicit social justice. In reality, it all depends on how these surveys are conceived and implemented: who is selected to give his/her voice, what is asked and how the questions are formulated. As regards geography, problems of this kind can be fully lived through the involvement of researchers in research-action projects, possibly with an interdisciplinary and intersectoral imprint, in close contact with administrators, institutions, economic actors, citizens, associations. The full involvement in the dynamics that build decisions, through the direct confrontation between the actors involved, can provide geographers with the proof of how difficult the fair and participatory construction of places/territories is, beyond any attractive theoretical elaboration. Experiences of this kind can be found in the curriculum of many geographers (for references see Ilovan and Doroftei 2017; Banini and Picone 2018), and if some of them highlight the disenchantment of practices with respect to the enthusiasm of “desk work”, others demonstrate that the launch of participatory processes and shared territorial “good practices” is always possible. The construction or reconstruction of place/territorial identities that respond to the concrete specificities and shared objectives of settled collectivities always carry the risk of falling into a “territorial trap” (Agnew 1994) or rather a “local trap” (Purcell 2006), that is, in a conception of the local dimension as intrinsically “good”, with all the risks that result in terms of self-referential closure of the local itself and the risk of an excess of substantially depoliticized relativism (Governa 2014). In reality, the strategies implemented at the political level are not predefined by the scale, since there is no intrinsically good scale, also because, at the time of globalization, there are no absolute scales, definable with watertight compartments, but geographic scales that are constituted mutually, as the decisions of one affect the others, often generating conflicts and tensions: “spatial scale is what needs to be understood as something that is produced; a process that is always deeply heterogeneous, conflictual, and contested” (Swyngedouw 1997, p. 140). However, between political and scientific world there is a coincidence on the value attributed to the local scale. On the one hand, international political agreements have repeatedly stressed the importance of building environmental, social and economic sustainability starting from the lowest level of the territorial decision hierarchy, that is, from local daily practices. On the other hand, the scientific world, following the spatial turn advocated by Edward Soja (1989) and actually implemented in social and humanistic disciplines, has been increasingly inclined to conceive places/territories as the outcome and premise of social construction processes, which can be built by local communities (even though they rarely are). The basic idea, developed within the French-Italian territorialist approach, would be precisely to create a global mosaic of sustainable and participatory local cards (Magnaghi 2010; Banini 2017).

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Regional, national or supernational communities can only be “imagined” (B. Anderson 1983), because of the distinct impossibility of knowing and interacting with other members. They are constructed and reproducted from higher levels of institutions in order to solicit a sense of cohesion and affiliation (Storey 2018), which is functional to an easier social and territorial control from above. On the contrary, the local scale is the only one where it is possible to maintain face-to-face relations, to establish a direct and open comparison between different actors and positions, to discuss and mediate conflicts and construct a shared territorial identity. Reasoning at the local scale allows one to get out of the impasse that also occurs at the regional (subnational) level. In Europe, for example, since the 90s of the last century, development policies have been oriented towards place-based strategies aimed at enhancing territorial specificities in an integrated, multilevel and contextualized perspective. These dynamics have also produced the affirmation of a relational logic in the policies of regional territorial planning, generating a “planning paradox” (Paasi and Zimmebauer 2016), since decision-makers are led to think of policies in porous and open terms, whereas their areas of competence remain limited to defined and stable territorial borders. Thus, the relational logics, affirmed both at a political and scientific level, seem to conflict with the territorial ones, at least in the sense of the English-speaking territoriality, of which Robert Sack (1986) was a precursor, that is a territoriality which is closely linked to borders and areas of policy competence. On the contrary, for the French-Italian notion of territoriality, the territory corresponds to a relational space, not necessarily attributable to specific boundaries and areas of competence, since it is built from actions, practices and decisions at local level, where “local” stands for “the geographical scale that allows the typical interactions of physical proximity: face-to-face relationships, trust, reciprocity, etc.” (Dematteis 2001, p. 17). In this book, in particular, most of the authors worked on the local scale (from the rural village or the urban neighborhood to an aggregate of a few municipalities), but someone else selected regional case studies (intended, above all, as sub-national or cross-border areas). More generally, both scientifically and politically, at least on the theoretical level, it is now clear that the contextualization of the rules correspond to the crisis of the universalism of the rules: “if there is a consensus on the rules that define each game and on the moves that are carried out in it, this consent must be local, that is, obtained from the interlocutors moment by moment, and subject to possible revision” (Lyotard 2004, p. 120). Therefore, the universalizing rules established at the superlocal level are flanked by equal importance to those established at the local level; albeit slowly, large narratives give way to small narratives, those that are valid within the collectivities that decide to implement them. This is not an appeal to exasperated relativism nor to the creation of separate and self-referential worlds. On the contrary, this book has amply demonstrated that issues relating to specific places/territories mature at the local scale, but they assume breadth and worldwide resonance thanks to the networks of social and economic

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relationships that bind people and places on the entire planet. Thanks to the possibilities offered by the Internet, local communities can play an active role in the processes of globalization, just as Appadurai (1996) stated when talking about the “new” modern era and the role of the electronic media. Likewise, the progress of informatics and digital communication systems has played a fundamental role in the progressive affirmation of a relational way of thinking about places/territories as porous, open, heterogeneous and polysemic entities, just as Doreen Massey (1993) proposed before the mobility turn arose in geography as a new theoretical approach which again challenged notions such as identity, belonging, and sense of the place (J. Anderson 2015, p. 148). At any rate, in the face of the temporary or permanent mobility of people that distinguish our time, places/territories continue to constitute a material reference, historically stratified and relatively stable over time. What changes are the representations and meanings associated with this referent, from which social orientations and political choices derive. Even place/territorial identities, as processes of social construction, change over time, although inevitably maintaining some trace of the past: “Identity is built, deconstructed and rebuilt over time or better, through time […] There is not an identity, but a succession of identities. These identities, even when disintegrated, eroded, and gradually erased, do not disappear with their load of people and things in the sinking of time, they leave material or immaterial traces” (Raffestin 2003, p. 5). In the meantime, after focusing on stable cultural objects/texts (representational geography), on the performative aspects of culture (non-representational geography) and on the proposal of a mix between representation and performativity (morethan-representational), geographers felt the need to link the theme of representations to the dominant relational conception of space, giving life to what B. Anderson (2019) defined as “representation-in-relation”. In other words, a shift in attention from what an object/text represents to the relational configuration to which it belongs. Both words and images, in this sense, are only a part of what language, in all its forms, can communicate, also in terms of bodily, sensory, affective and non-conscious relationships related to words and images themselves (Fraser 2015). This seems to be the further challenge posed to the study of identity representations, using adequate research methods and tools, which still need to be formalized. For the moment, beyond both scientific fashions and mainstreams, with this book we hope to have contributed to keeping attention high on the need to never stop studying the identity representations of places/territories in a critical and proactive way, because it is also on them that the affirmation of a sustainable, inclusive and participatory way of living the world depends.

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