Tales of Two Cities : Women and Municipal Restructuring in London and Toronto [1 ed.] 9780774855013, 9780774812788

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Tales of Two Cities

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Sylvia Bashevkin

Tales of Two Cities Women and Municipal Restructuring in London and Toronto

UBCPress . Vancouver . Toronto

© UBC Press 2006 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher, or, in Canada, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), www.accesscopyright.ca. 15 14 13 12 11 10 09 08 07 06

54321

Printed in Canada on acid-free paper. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Bashevkin, Sylvia B. Tales of two cities : women and municipal restructuring in London and Toronto / Sylvia Bashevkin. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-13: 978-0-7748-1278-8 ISBN-10: 0-7748-1278-8 1. Women in politics – England – London Metropolitan Area. 2. Women in politics – Ontario – Toronto. 3. Political participation – England – London Metropolitan Area. 4. Political participation – Ontario – Toronto. 5. Decentralization in government – England – London Metropolitan Area. 6. Decentralization in government – Ontario – Toronto. 7. London Metropolitan Area (England) – Politics and government. 8. Toronto (Ont.) – Politics and government. I. Title. HQ1236.B24 2006

320.8’5’08209421

C2006-900905-8

Canada UBC Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support for our publishing program of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), and of the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council. This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Aid to Scholarly Publications Programme, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. UBC Press The University of British Columbia 2029 West Mall Vancouver, BC V6T 1Z2 604-822-5959 / Fax: 604-822-6083 www.ubcpress.ca

Contents

Acknowledgments / vii Introduction / ix Acronyms / xii 1 Restructuring Contexts / 1 2 Seeking Public Office / 28 3 Working from the Inside / 51 4 Planning Ahead / 78 5 Assessing Restructuring / 101 6 Future Prospects / 127 Appendix: Interview Schedules / 137 Notes / 139 Selected Bibliography / 166 Index / 173

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Acknowledgments

Tales of Two Cities was made possible by a large and generous network of support. The Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, through its standard research grant program, permitted me to undertake the fieldwork and employ the student assistants who were invaluable to the research process. I was extremely fortunate to win a second Connaught Research Fellowship at the University of Toronto, which released me from teaching during the first six months of 2004. As VicePrincipal of University College at the University of Toronto, I benefited enormously from additional research funds provided by the college’s distinguished principal, Paul Perron. Support from these sources meant I could work with a talented group of graduate students at the University of Toronto. For their contributions to many different phases of this study, I wish to thank Christopher Alcantara, Cheryl Auger, Jean Coleno, Tristan Fehrenbach, Joy Fitzgibbon, Genevieve Johnson, Jacqueline Krikorian, Sarah Lamble, and Heather Murray. The assistance of Bridget Howlett, Senior Archivist at the London Metropolitan Archives, and the staff of the City of Toronto Archives, is also most appreciated. Parts of this manuscript were presented in many different places, including at meetings of the Association for Canadian Studies, the American Political Science Association, the Canadian Political Science Association, and the Canadian Sociology and Anthropology Association. They were also given as invited lectures at the Australian National University, City College of New York, Dalhousie University, Glendon College of York University, Simon Fraser University, the University of British Columbia, the University of Melbourne, l’Université de Montréal, the University of Ottawa, the University of Sydney, and the University of Toronto. Early versions of this material were published in French in a

viii Acknowledgments

Festschrift to honour Vincent Lemieux and, in English, in the International Journal of Urban and Regional Research (March 2005) and the Canadian Journal of Urban Research (Winter 2004). The assessors for those publications provided very helpful comments, as did many other colleagues, including Janet Boles, Sarah Childs, Ran Hirschl, Andrew Sancton, Beth Savan, Richard Stren, Tom Urbaniak, Linda White, and Carolyn Whitzman. Working with Emily Andrew and Peter Milroy at UBC Press has been a pleasure, and in Peter’s case has renewed a professional association that began in the early 1980s. I am deeply grateful to Emily, Peter, and the entire team at UBC Press for their confidence in the project and for their competence and enthusiasm. I owe an especially large debt to the manuscript reviewers commissioned by the press, whose comments undoubtedly made this a better book, and to the Aid to Scholarly Publications Programme of the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, which provided a grant in aid of publication. No study of this type could happen without the cooperation of dozens of interviewees, to whom I have pledged full anonymity. Their diverse perspectives on contemporary urban life opened my eyes in many unexpected ways and enriched this study to an extraordinary degree. Finally, although I held the pen (when not tapping the keyboard), my writing has been shaped profoundly by personal experiences in cities. Without the keen insights offered by those around me, I would likely have missed much that is significant, sometimes bizarre, and at times even inspiring, about urban life. Above all, I appreciate the love and encouragement of my daughters, who have become talented social observers in their own right.

Introduction

This study is built around an unusual meshing of conceptual and empirical streams of inquiry. At one level, it grapples with theories of citizenship, which ask how citizens of contemporary democracies engage with and feel a sense of belonging to their polities and larger societies. Boldly stated, is democratic citizenship possible in cities, and can it be robust and buoyant, in an age of state restructuring and economic globalization? As is often the case, observers diverge in their responses to this question. Some believe that the fallout from integrative pressures directly threatens urban citizenship. In their view, as markets surge and states retrench, the interests of civil society become marginalized by a hollowing out of traditional channels of public engagement. Others maintain that as opportunities narrow for citizen engagement at the international and national levels, contemporary cities offer welcoming spaces for social mobilization. From their perspective, the same integrative processes that weaken nation-states can enhance local democracy. Very little empirical research exists in this area. This project is among the first to ask how disparate experiments in municipal restructuring in London and Toronto have shaped civic engagement. The analysis employs the lens of citizenship theory to assess three dimensions of representation for a diverse category of citizens, urban women; each dimension flows from an identifiable way of thinking about political and social participation. First, we examine office holding on municipal councils as an indicator of liberal political representation. Second, we explore the development of municipal femocracies as a measure of difference representation. Third, we evaluate official spatial planning texts in order to reveal a discursive dimension of representation that emerges from post-structural approaches.

x

Introduction

Our discussion opens in Chapter 1 with a review of the diverse institutional and leadership contexts that have unfolded in London and Toronto since the late 1990s. Chapter 2 explores patterns of women in public office, including on city councils and at the mayoral level. Chapter 3 examines municipal women’s committees and other bureaucratic units in London and Toronto, asking how representation evolved at this level. Chapter 4 considers the texts of official spatial plans in both cities, with a focus on how they integrate feminist discourse about women in cities. Chapter 5 introduces qualitative data drawn from interviews with politicians, bureaucrats, planners, and activists in both cities, in order to understand their views concerning each dimension of municipal reconfiguration. Chapter 6 draws together the findings of the empirical sections, evaluates them in light of broader conceptual issues, and explores future prospects for women’s citizenship in London and Toronto. In training a spotlight on multiple dimensions of citizenship, this study relies on various empirical sources. Data about public office holding, urban bureaucracies, and official plans are drawn from municipal documents – including archival sources that lay out the historical record – as well as published accounts and confidential interviews with contemporary experts and participants: thirty-six in London and twentytwo in Toronto. As discussed in Chapter 5, I conducted in-person interviews with respondents in both cities between April 2001 and February 2005. Overall, the study concludes that the context of urban restructuring is crucial to its impact. In London a moderate New Labour central government and progressive elected mayor helped open up opportunities for public engagement beginning in 1997. By way of contrast, a hardright Conservative provincial government and conservative mayor in the newly amalgamated Toronto tended to close off or limit civic involvement during the same period. These institutional and leadership circumstances registered forcefully and clearly on the citizenship radar screens of both urban environments. As will be demonstrated beginning in Chapter 2, decentralizing and democratizing initiatives in Britain, as well as Ken Livingstone’s election in 2000 as the first mayor of the Greater London Authority, seemed to enhance an optimistic sense of possibility among progressive actors in civil society. In Toronto, however, centralizing efforts that culminated in the elimination of local boroughs, the 1997 election of Mel Lastman as the first megacity mayor, and Ontario’s fiscal and service realignment process – which in effect punished cities – created far less

Introduction

propitious circumstances. In Toronto, civil society actors sensed pessimism rather than possibility, defeat instead of promise, in the immediate aftermath of municipal governance changes. My interest in the contours of urban citizenship was piqued in the course of fieldwork for two earlier books. When I began interviews in 1993 for the project that became Women on the Defensive: Living through Conservative Times, activists in London shared their still fresh memories of Margaret Thatcher’s campaign to shut down the Greater London Council and vilify its last Labour leader, Ken Livingstone. Many harboured fervent hopes that pan-London government would be renewed and, more generally, that the Conservatives would soon be defeated in general elections. The 1997 New Labour victory brought their desire for metropolitan reform to the forefront just as I was returning to London to study social welfare policy. The contrast between London’s optimism over devolution – especially after Livingstone’s mayoral victory in 2000 – and Toronto’s anger, cynicism, and dismay following forced amalgamation and Lastman’s election in 1997, was hard to miss. Like many other citizens, I witnessed the seeming futility of protests against the Ontario Conservative government – protests that included anti-megacity mobilizations in Toronto by Citizens for Local Democracy and other groups – and lived through the depressing aftermath of each defeat. The project that became this book thus grew out of lived experiences and research observations dating back to the early 1990s, which crystallized in 1997 and following when I was working in London and Toronto on the study that became Welfare Hot Buttons.

xi

Acronyms

ALA AWE CAO CAP C4LD CHST EOC EOO FCM GLA GLC GLDP LAM METRAC NAC NDP NPM OCAP PR SCC UDC WDS WFTC WPT WSPU YWCA

Association of London Authorities Association of Women Electors Chief Administrator’s Office Canada Assistance Plan Citizens for Local Democracy Canada Health and Social Transfer Equal Opportunities Commission Equal Opportunity Office Federation of Canadian Municipalities Greater London Authority Greater London Council Greater London Development Plan London assembly member Metropolitan Toronto Action Committee on Public Violence against Women and Children National Action Committee on the Status of Women New Democratic Party new public management Ontario Coalition Against Poverty proportional representation Safe City Committee urban development corporation Women’s Design Service Working Families Tax Credit Women Plan Toronto Women’s Social and Political Union Young Women’s Christian Association

Tales of Two Cities

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1 Restructuring Contexts

This study flows from puzzlement over contemporary politics in two large urban centres. One city, the long-standing capital of an established, centralized unitary state, was known for its ideologically brittle, protestoriented, and relatively militant social activists. The other, a smaller and newer city in a decentralized federal system, was reputed to have pragmatic, cohesive, and institutionally focused social movements. Yet even the most casual observer of London, England, and Toronto, Ontario, must have wondered about the gap between conventional wisdom and observed reality. In 2001, colourful advertisements on London’s District Line trains included the following call for subway train drivers: “We believe in modern values ... like opening doors for women. London is a diverse city and we are taking action to ensure that our employee profile reflects the population we serve. Applications are encouraged from all sections of the community but we would especially welcome female applications.”1 Interested riders were urged to contact the London Underground offices to learn more about how they could earn £27,000 per year and higher with forty vacation days. Londoners were engaged during the same period in lively public conversations about proposals for a congestion charge to reduce inner-city traffic and improve air quality, and about ways to increase the numbers of women in public office. In Toronto, calls for female train drivers did not appear on subway cars. Neither the environment nor women’s political representation claimed much space on the urban public agenda. Instead, the most visible signs of urban activism during the early years of the twenty-first century were clashes between antipoverty activists and the police – including melees where protesters smashed gleaming windows on downtown bank towers.2 What was going on in these two cities? Had social movement politics

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in London gone moderate and mainstream? Were anarchists displacing Toronto’s famously middle-of-the-road activists? Questions about local politics during these years carried more than anecdotal significance. Citizen activism – whether by trade unionists, women’s rights advocates, or other organized interests – had been a prominent feature of the public landscape in both cities for more than a century. By 2000, Londoners and Torontonians made up roughly 15 percent of their respective countries’ total populations.3 Each attracted about half the diverse newcomers who arrived annually in Britain and Canada.4 Although London was a much older and larger port city than Toronto, both were making enormous contributions to their respective nations’ economies – contributions that vastly overshadowed the flow of funds in the opposite direction.5 In short, London and Toronto loomed large as crucial urban spaces in similar Westminster-style political systems. Furthermore, each had an unusually fractious political history. Each was the capital city for a powerful central government – the national regime in Britain and the Ontario provincial government in Canada. Perhaps for this reason, the political autonomy of both cities had been vigorously contested from time to time. As early as 1215, King John confirmed the right of Londoners to elect their own mayor.6 Yet when urban leaders offended the Crown and, centuries later, the political executive, London was virtually taken over by these units. During the 1980s, Conservative Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher rejected what she viewed as challenges to her fiscal and jurisdictional plans emanating from the cheeky Labourites of the Greater London Council, and especially from GLC leader “Red Ken” Livingstone. She summarily eliminated that body along with six other metropolitan authorities.7 After nearly two decades of Tory rule, Tony Blair’s New Labour government promised to renew local democracy and held a public referendum on the future of metropolitan government in London.8 The upshot of a 1998 referendum was the Greater London Authority, created to coordinate spatial development, transportation, and public safety in the city’s inner and outer boroughs. To the chagrin of Downing Street elites, London voters chose Ken Livingstone as the first GLA mayor.9 In Ontario, Conservative frustration with inner-city progressives reached a crescendo in the late 1990s. By some accounts, Premier Mike Harris was relaxing at home with a scotch in hand when he was enraged by a television news report that said City of Toronto employees would be paid if they missed work to attend a protest rally against his government. He is said to have tossed his drink at the screen and thrown

Restructuring Contexts

down the gauntlet, along the lines of “That’s it. No more City of Toronto!”10 Months later, the inner-city government was shut down and forcibly amalgamated with five inner suburban boroughs to create a Toronto megacity. During the same period, municipal governments in three other major Ontario cities were also restructured.11 Mel Lastman, the long-time mayor of North York (one of the suburbs being amalgamated), supported by prominent provincial Tories, won the first amalgamated mayoral elections.12 In short, London and Toronto experienced sharply different political reconfigurations beginning in 1998, in each case at the hands of a more senior level of government. Their restructuring experiences were arguably as divergent as researchers outside a laboratory could ever expect to find. These municipal governance changes raise crucial questions for students of urban politics. Do institutional arrangements matter to the lives of citizens? To what degree do political leaders make a difference? How long does it take for structural and personnel changes to exert meaningful effects? Following the 1997 national elections, the new government of Britain’s highly centralized unitary state promised to renew local democracy in London. It then held a referendum to gauge public support for such a goal, and retained existing boroughs after creating the Greater London Authority as a strategic coordinating body. A new, twenty-fivemember municipal assembly was proposed, with eleven of its members to be chosen under proportional rules. In 2000, voters elected a left-ofcentre mayor who promised to push hard against the limits of urban autonomy. London thus gained a strategic metropolitan government headed by a progressive populist mayor, which existed alongside thirtythree borough councils and a New Labour central government. This situation contrasted with no pan-London government and a Conservative central government for most of the years between 1986 and 2000. In 1995 the new Ontario government promised greater efficiency, lower taxes, and fewer politicians. Operating in an extremely decentralized federal system, the province’s elites ignored a public referendum in Toronto – arguably because the results went against Tory plans to eliminate local boroughs via amalgamation.13 From more than one hundred locally elected borough and municipal positions before amalgamation, Toronto was reduced to fewer than fifty by 2000. Older, plurality-based election rules remained in place. In the first megacity elections, voters chose a right-of-centre mayor who promised to implement central government plans. Toronto as of 1998 thus had one municipal mayor and

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council for the inner city and inner suburbs, and no borough government. Until the fall of 2003 the mayor was a suburban conservative and the provincial central government was Conservative as well. That autumn, however, voters elected a more progressive mayor and a Liberal provincial government. Also, for more than a century the broad features of social movement organizing in London and Toronto had differed quite dramatically. Ever since the suffrage period, Britain’s largest city had been known for its ideologically fractured, militant, and protest-oriented traditions of group mobilization. At the point of GLC shutdown in 1986, for example, one comparative study described the “fragmented contours of British feminism,” detailing multiple cleavages that divided socialist and radical from middle-class activists and that divided women along the additional lines of race, age, sexuality, and issue focus.14 In fact, Susan Bassnett’s account noted that the “beleaguered idealism” of the times “has led some cynics to question whether the women’s movement has not entered into its final agony.”15 By comparison, Toronto had a relatively stable history of moderate, system-focused, and pragmatic movement politics. Accounts of second-wave English-Canadian feminism tended to emphasize the cohesion and accommodation that brought activists together across partisan and ideological divides.16 These divergent patterns suggested to me that early post-GLA London and initial post-amalgamation Toronto were fascinating cases for comparative research. Were differences between the two in structures, leaders, and movements likely to hold meaningful consequences? How much time would need to elapse before the implications could be identified? This study is among the first to compare the effects of contemporary governance changes; it does so by probing political reconfiguration in London and Toronto from the perspective of women’s citizenship. Rather than asking whether all city dwellers were affected by shifts in local arrangements, and how, we focus on one historically mobilized interest that was active in both cities and probe the fallout using three specific measures. Why women? During the past one hundred years they have organized to push open the doors of urban public engagement and improve the quality of city life. These pivotal contributions are often overlooked in scholarly accounts, however, or else treated dismissively.17 Yet in British and Canadian cities, women were active as suffragists who campaigned for the right to vote and hold public office; in the early twentieth century, women social reformers involved themselves in campaigns to regulate workplaces, build public libraries, and integrate newcomers;

Restructuring Contexts

and as grassroots activists during the 1970s and after, they worked hard for livable neighbourhoods with clean air and thriving transit services. In fact, the 1980s saw the creation of mirror feminist planning projects in the two largest cities of Britain and Canada. Known as Women Plan London and Women Plan Toronto, these initiatives offered an integrative and proactive approach to designing cities “from women’s standpoint.”18 As local planning activists, women in both places aimed to create or, at the very least, imagine a better city through their collective civic engagement. In other instances they worked to stop what they viewed as change for the worse. Why is citizenship a useful analytic lens for this study? According to urban theorist Engin Isin, this concept embraces a broad cluster of both existing rights and rights-seeking claims: “Rather than merely focusing on citizenship as legal rights, there is now agreement that citizenship must also be defined as a social process through which individuals and social groups engage in claiming, expanding or losing rights. Being politically engaged means practicing substantive citizenship, which in turn implies that members of a polity always struggle to shape its fate.”19 Isin’s definition raises the crucial question of human agency – in this case, how urban dwellers enhance and defend their own citizenship rights. Can people advance claims more effectively under one political arrangement than another? Were opportunities for what Canadian urban scholar Gerda Wekerle terms “insurgent citizenship” more available in some cities and at some times than others?20 Can we imagine a governance continuum that extends from best- to worst-case conditions, permitting us to compare the various times and spaces of urban citizenship? At a conceptual level, studying urban women permits us to see how a diverse group of citizens has organized and claimed recognition in ongoing struggles to build civic democracy. As Iris Marion Young argues in Justice and the Politics of Difference, cities are crucial meeting places for women and men from diverse backgrounds and have the potential to play an emancipatory role vis-à-vis democratic justice and representation.21 By devoting attention to urban citizenship experiences, we can offer more nuanced theory, thus moving from grand, generic ideas about globalization and social change toward contingent views that are more sensitive to specific contexts and more persuasive in their policy relevance. In particular, Young’s account of the emancipatory role that cities could play raises a number of empirical questions: Are some cities better situated to represent diverse citizens than others? Do some institutional settings foster public engagement more than others?

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One way to approach these questions is to review the contexts of municipal reconfiguration in London and Toronto. When mapped against the history of social movement mobilization and existing research in the field, this background yields a number of intriguing and sometimes conflicting expectations about contemporary citizenship. As well, it sheds light on the different kinds of measures that can be used to assess the fallout from governance reforms. Municipal Restructuring in Review

During the postwar years, both London and Toronto developed reasonably successful two-tier urban arrangements. The Greater London Council, created in 1965, served as the senior coordinating or strategic layer in that city. It operated alongside thirty-three inner and outer London boroughs; these included the historic Corporation of the City of London, which governed the “Square Mile” financial district. GLC responsibilities ranged from London-wide spatial planning and public safety services (police, fire, civil defence, ambulances) to garbage collection. In fields such as housing the GLC shared control with the boroughs.22 In 1981, Ken Livingstone became GLC leader. A charismatic populist from Labour’s new urban left, he served as a high-profile lightning rod for tensions between progressive supporters of local decentralization, on one side, and the Thatcher regime, on the other. Livingstone explained his opposition to central government direction by pointing to “a huge gulf between the cultural values of the GLC Labour Group [in areas such as antiracism, promotion of gender politics and gay rights, and the creation of nuclear-free zones] and everything Mrs. Thatcher considered right and proper.”23 Until it was shut down in 1986, the GLC generously supported feminist initiatives in areas such as child care, violence against women, employment rights, urban planning, health, and the environment. Before it was eliminated, the GLC Women’s Committee distributed millions of pounds annually to support child care services, women’s resource and information centres, and various issue campaigns – all with an eye toward ensuring these funds were widely distributed among London’s diverse ethnocultural communities.24 By providing multi-year core funding, the GLC offered many benefits to feminist groups – notably financial security, opportunities to engage in a variety of activities (including policy advocacy), and a minimum of short-term reporting requirements to funders. Margaret Thatcher believed her urban critics would fade from view once Britain was fully integrated into a competitive global economy,

Restructuring Contexts

freed of spendthrift “loony left” politicians, and imbued with “the smack of firm government.”25 A 1983 central government White Paper titled Streamlining the Cities echoed Tory arguments that London metropolitan government was “the nation’s principal ‘over-spender’” and identified the GLC as “a wasteful and unnecessary tier of government.”26 In Thatcher’s words, the 1983 Conservative campaign manifesto promising to shut down the GLC was only opposed by “the left-wing municipal socialists and their subsidized front organizations [who] were astute campaigners, trained and adept at exploiting every weakness of presentation of the Government’s case ... There was still too much socialism in Britain.”27 Shutting down the GLC was only one part of a broader campaign to overhaul Britain. In the field of public finance, the Conservatives imposed rate caps or ceilings on local government tax rates in 1984 and proposed the extremely contentious poll tax six years later.28 They worked to privatize elements of what had been public infrastructure, including schools and roads, through the Private Finance Initiative. Tories championed the 1988 Local Government Act, one section of which prohibited the use of public funds to promote homosexuality.29 Other parts of the same legislation required competitive tendering for all local services and said that tenders must be awarded to the lowest bidder. The 1988 act also discontinued the practice of contract compliance with respect to women, meaning that municipalities were no longer required to award contracts to firms that hired and promoted female employees.30 Thatcher-era legislation significantly reduced the influence of local authorities in education and housing. The 1988 Education Reform Act eliminated the Inner London Education Authority, an umbrella organization for London’s twelve inner-city boroughs that dated from the mid1960s.31 The same act devolved financial and management decisions to individual schools but centralized government control over school curricula. A parallel emphasis on less autonomy for local authorities and greater private market provision underpinned the 1988 Housing Act.32 Sustained conflict between Livingstone and Thatcher and their respective supporters turned the GLC into one of “the Labour Party’s most effective bases for the guerrilla war against the [central] government.”33 These same tensions meant that complex fiscal and jurisdictional issues – of the sort that would have attracted minimal attention in less polarized circumstances – gained wide visibility and resonance. Overall, Thatcher-era policies aimed to elevate private-sector values, reduce public spending, and increase central government control by means that included shutting down metropolitan governments, narrowing the role

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of local governments as service providers, and restructuring public finances. Thatcher’s goal was “to set the people ... free of the institutions that have hitherto oppressed them.”34 Critics from a variety of backgrounds believed that destroying London’s metropolitan government was a far from perfect solution to the difficulties facing that city. In 1997, Tony Blair’s New Labour manifesto proposed a scheme that was more democratic than no pan-London government but offered significantly less autonomy than had been enjoyed by the old GLC.35 Blair claimed that by creating new metropolitan bodies in London, New Labour would be modernizing local government and reversing “a dangerous loss of civic pride” and a declining quality of life in Britain’s capital city.36 According to the Labour election platform, “London is the only Western capital without an elected city government. Following a referendum to confirm popular demand, there will be a new deal for London, with a strategic authority and a mayor, each directly elected. Both will speak up for the needs of the city and plan its future. They will not duplicate the work of the boroughs, but take responsibility for London-wide issues of economic regeneration, planning, policing, transport and environmental protection.”37 New Labour’s proposal for greater local democracy was approved by 72 percent of the voters who participated in a May 1998 public referendum in London. The overall turnout rate in the referendum was 34 percent.38 The 1997 Labour manifesto also stressed the need to improve the “economy, effectiveness and accountability” of local government.39 At one level, this suggested a decentralist agenda to enhance local democracy and restore some degree of social cohesion after many long years of Conservative rule. In fact, Tony Blair promised to create elected bodies in Scotland, Wales, and London, thus removing some authority from the central government agencies that controlled those areas during the Tory era. On another plane, many New Labour elites wanted to avoid a repetition of what they saw as the bloated, expensive, inefficient, and far-left ways of the Thatcher-era GLC. Mindful of such considerations, they proposed a plan that retained borough government but that also introduced a new executive mayor, to be elected at large by voters, and a relatively weak Greater London Assembly, whose twenty-five members would hold oversight and supervisory responsibilities. The mayor and assembly would constitute the Greater London Authority, described as a streamlined “overall coordinating body” to look after economic development, transportation, and public safety for inner and outer London’s approximately five million residents.40

Restructuring Contexts

Relative to the myriad central government agencies that dominated policy making in London after 1986, the more transparent structures set in place under the GLA scheme were clear improvements. For example, once Transport for London was created as an executive body controlled by the mayor, strategic responsibility for subways, buses, taxis, and major roads rested in the hands of a locally elected politician.41 Yet even under New Labour, Westminster retained the power to limit or cap spending by city councils. It also found new ways to reward compliant local units. For instance, Blair’s government introduced selective, highly detailed, and heavily “prescriptive” fiscal criteria, including “Best Value” performance indicators, for municipalities.42 The Best Value scheme was merely a slightly modified version of the Tories’ competitive tendering and private finance initiatives.43 Put simply, New Labour’s suspicion of local authorities ran deep. One account of the first Blair government observed that “Downing Street and the Treasury believed that unless [local governments] were named-and-shamed, incentivised and scrutinized, they would slump into a relentless slough of mediocrity and failure.”44 Overall, the GLA design offered the possibility of wider opportunities for civic engagement in urban democracy. Londoners won a chance beginning in 2000 to elect their own mayor, using a supplementary vote scheme that asked them to select both first- and second-choice candidates.45 Under the GLA arrangements, women’s chances to win municipal public office increased, since eleven of the twenty-five assembly members would be chosen under proportional representation rules. This scheme contrasted with the traditional single-member plurality arrangements that prevailed in London’s boroughs and in Toronto. Yet the darker side of central government machinations – notably, efforts to deny the Labour mayoral nomination to Ken Livingstone and, later on, to ensure he did not run or win as an independent candidate – revealed Westminster’s continued interest in controlling London. In the end, an unwavering hostility toward Livingstone among top Blairites seemed to backfire. “Red Ken” narrowly lost the party nomination to cabinet insider Frank Dobson but then triumphed as an independent candidate in the May 2000 mayoral race.46 Like London, Toronto developed a two-tier metropolitan government system during the postwar years.47 Under the terms of a 1966 arrangement, one inner city and five inner suburban boroughs existed alongside a Metro Toronto layer that oversaw police and social services. All six borough mayors held seats on a larger Metro Toronto council, which allocated pooled funds from richer and poorer areas.48

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As was the case in Britain during the 1980s, urban restructuring in Ontario followed from heightened concern over debts and deficits at all levels. Reduced transfers from the federal level had already exacted a heavy toll in Canada’s most populous province. The Mulroney-era cap or ceiling on Canada Assistance Plan payments of 1990-91, and CAP’s replacement five years later by the Canada Health and Social Transfer (CHST), dramatically cut federal funds for provincial social programs. Moreover, the Chrétien-era CHST eliminated cost-sharing arrangements between federal and provincial governments that dated from the mid1960s, replacing them with fixed block transfers.49 Leading Ontario Conservatives endorsed efficiency and cost cutting in calls for “less government ... fewer politicians ... less bureaucracy ... less overlap and duplication.”50 In their 1995 provincial campaign platform, they promised to reduce public spending by, for example, increasing competition among child care providers, assisting commercial operators in that sector, and offering “free choice” to parents.51 Above all, the Tory manifesto pledged to balance the provincial budget, reduce personal income tax rates by 30 percent, and freeze municipal property tax rates. Ontario voters were told the Conservatives would “spend more efficiently” because party leader Mike Harris would, in his own words, trim “a lot of fat, a lot of waste.”52 Once elected, the Harris government closed the Ontario Advisory Council on Women’s Issues, established in 1983 by a previous Conservative administration. It cut social assistance benefits by over 20 percent, dramatically weakened rent controls, reduced provincial grants to schools, chopped the number of local school boards, and repealed a provision in the Education Act that sought to increase the number of women principals and senior administrators.53 In 1997, urban areas with high immigrant populations faced a rigid new funding formula for elementary and secondary schools. As R.D. Gidney notes in his account of the Harris years, metropolitan school boards lost control in a number of key areas once the province centralized fiscal and curriculum decisions.54 Unlike the Thatcher government’s long-promised shutdown of the GLC, however, the Ontario Conservatives’ decision to amalgamate Toronto was quick, rushed, and largely unexpected. In 1996 the Harris government rejected a provincial task force recommendation to create an enlarged metropolitan unit extending into Toronto’s rapidly expanding outer suburbs. The Golden Task Force, appointed by the province’s previous NDP government, endorsed a Greater Toronto structure to in-

Restructuring Contexts

tegrate older downtown with established suburban and newer suburban areas. The Tories seemed unwilling to risk alienating their supporters in the outer-ring suburbs and claimed that the proposal would create a mini-province of Toronto that would threaten small-town and rural interests – both of these crucial components of their political base.55 The provincial Conservatives also rebuffed the conclusions of their own “Who Does What” panel, chaired by former Toronto mayor David Crombie. The panel recommended that municipal governments retain a strong role in “hard services” related to infrastructure and property. By way of contrast, it urged the province to fund redistributive programs and “have a strong role in the provision of ‘soft services,’ such as health, welfare, and education.”56 Turning a blind eye to both reports, provincial elites announced plans in December 1996 to eliminate Toronto’s two-tiered borough and metropolitan government. Instead there would be a single amalgamated megacity for the 2.4 million residents of the older downtown and inner suburbs.57 Harris government elites defended amalgamation as an efficient, streamlined scheme that would improve the coordination of local decision making and eliminate wasteful overlap and duplication. In August 1997 the Ontario Conservatives introduced legislation that shifted greater responsibility for social housing, public health, ambulance services, child care, and public transportation onto local municipalities. Under the terms of a broader policy disentanglement exercise, the Tories reduced provincial support for social and infrastructure spending in major cities.58 What critics referred to as a downloading process threatened the core priorities of urban women’s groups, notably because it cut funding for programs and services.59 Concerns voiced by these interests about affordable child care, housing, and public transit were not peculiar to Toronto; rather, they were identified as core issues by women’s organizations and especially feminist planners in major cities around the world.60 Like Margaret Thatcher in her struggles with Ken Livingstone, the Harris Conservatives had clear political motives for eliminating the downtown unit known as the City of Toronto.61 Under Mayor Barbara Hall (a former family lawyer, social housing advocate, and downtown NDP councillor) and several of her predecessors, the City of Toronto had built a reputation as a progressive municipality where equity initiatives, low-income housing, child care programs, and responsible commercial development were key priorities.62 As part of a broader effort to defend the democratic role of local boroughs, Hall campaigned vigorously

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against amalgamation. Not surprisingly, leading provincial Conservatives endorsed Hall’s opponent, Mel Lastman, who won the first megacity mayoral race in November 1997.63 While these changes were unfolding, the Harris government announced it would be reducing the number of councillors in Toronto from a combined Metro and borough total of more than one hundred to fifty-seven plus the megacity mayor. The province cut this number further, to forty-four plus the mayor, before local elections in 2000. Over the same period the number of school trustee positions across Ontario also shrank, which dramatically narrowed recruitment channels for women seeking election to public office.64 One part of the provincial plan to eliminate borough government in Toronto promised to create new community councils. These were conceived as larger than individual megacity wards but small enough to facilitate local engagement. Leading observers concluded that during the initial period following amalgamation, community councils remained unknown to most Toronto residents. As vehicles for public participation, they were thoroughly unsuccessful.65 Clearly, Margaret Thatcher’s elimination of the GLC and Mike Harris’ amalgamation of Toronto had much in common. Both leaders had clear political motives for eliminating oppositional urban voices.66 Thatcher’s targets included “frivolous” women’s groups subsidized by local government, immortalized in tabloid stories from the 1980s about public space in one London borough being used for “lesbian gym” sessions.67 Harris voiced deep-seated frustration with his downtown critics, including Mayor Barbara Hall and others who opposed Tory policies.68 Both Thatcher and Harris extended their campaigns against local autonomy well beyond the confines of London and Toronto. Six metropolitan counties in England, all dominated by the Labour Party during the mid-1980s, were eliminated along with the GLC.69 In Ontario the provincial Tories restructured at least three other major cities, largely controlled by opposition interests, around the same time as they amalgamated Toronto.70 Parallel with Conservative approaches to local government, Thatcher and Harris also threatened to close inner-city hospitals that served large numbers of women and homosexuals in London and Toronto.71 Urban women were among the loudest critics of Thatcher’s decision to eliminate the GLC and Harris’ move to erase the City of Toronto. Echoing suffrage-era campaigns for the right to vote and for expanded public services (including kindergarten programs and neighbourhood libraries), feminists vigorously protested the closing of progressive urban

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units by Conservative central governments. In both London and Toronto, organizations of women as well as civic groups with women in leadership positions pushed back against what they saw as a dangerous narrowing of citizen access at the local level. In Toronto, for example, a group calling itself the Women’s Coalition for Local Democracy argued in early 1997 that amalgamation would likely cause setbacks in policy areas such as low-income housing, child care programs, and public transportation. The coalition also predicted a gradual decline in women’s numerical representation in public office.72 Local democracy advocates claimed victory in a March 1997 referendum on amalgamation, in that 76 percent of voters opposed provincial plans. The overall turnout rate in the referendum was 30 percent.73 In both London and Toronto, urban progressives rejected claims that political restructuring was necessary in order to promote efficiency, reduce waste, and cut costs. The same actions that British and Canadian Tories said made cities more competitive would, according to critics, centralize power in the hands of more distant decision makers and remove crucial channels for urban democracy. Over time, they claimed, political norms that emphasized citizen participation, social equity, and local autonomy would be pushed aside by the increasingly privileged free-market values of growth, competitiveness, and efficiency.74 In more general terms, Thatcher’s Tory government in Britain and Harris’ in Ontario sought to reduce local fiscal capacity and weaken competing sources of political authority.75 Their goal in targeting what were viewed as loci of protest in the GLC and downtown Toronto was clear – shut down oppositional units, centralize power, and save money at the same time. How were these actions, and the more decentralist decisions taken by New Labour in Britain, likely to affect women’s citizenship? The next section examines this question in light of research in the field. Perspectives from Urban Research

Despite a recent resurgence of academic interest in cities, many studies entirely ignore citizen engagement. Contemporary research on the socalled creative class, for example, follows this pattern. Writing in 2002, American geographer Richard Florida argued that musicians, artists, writers, designers, and other creators play a crucial role in renewing urban areas.76 According to Florida, cities that bring together a wide mix of talented creators are often thriving, vibrant, and economically competitive in international terms. When gays and straights, singers and painters, poets and pianists live and work in close proximity to one

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another, their creative resources help transform humdrum cities into thriving metropoli. Florida’s thesis is particularly unsettling from the perspective of political history. In fact, his claims about the inherent promise of diverse, creativity-based urban communities evoke Berlin of the 1930s. Here was the city as cabaret, a flowering of edgy, variegated human performance on the world stage. Yet to ignore the broad political context of pre-Nazi Berlin – or any other city, for that matter – is to obscure fundamental concerns about citizens’ voices and democratic institutions, by focusing only on other phenomena, including cultural vitality and economic potential. Florida’s study, all four-hundred-plus pages of text and appendices, said virtually nothing about either political structures or citizen participation. Cities are, despite the impression conveyed by Florida and others, more than simply centres of commercial exchange and artistic expression. Since Ancient Greek times, they have served as critical spaces for members of the polis to learn about and practise democracy, including by discussing issues of general social import. In fact, struggles to build a better polis have characterized urban settlements through the many centuries since Aristotle and Plato debated their visions of the ideal society.77 Other streams of contemporary urban research treat politics, particularly at the local level, as highly relevant. In Governing from Below, American political scientist Jefferey Sellers explored how cities in the United States and Western Europe grew increasingly independent of external political and economic influences.78 Sellers argued that an array of integrative pressures, including transnational capital flows and fierce competition to attract firms to specific locations, failed to overturn Tip O’Neill’s famous nostrum that “all politics is local.”79 Sellers concluded that although senior layers of government and international economic forces were important, “local choices continue to influence local outcomes.”80 Sellers’ thesis, however, makes little sense in locations like London and Toronto, where determined central governments foisted their own choices and outcomes on urban citizens. Conservative decision makers in Britain during the Thatcher years and in Ontario during the Harris years effectively reorganized their urban opponents out of existence. Under these circumstances, “local choices” in the basic democratic sense of the term had little to do with local outcomes. Although urban citizens vigorously protested the actions of Conservative central governments in both cities, local preferences did not necessarily make much difference.81

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A third stream of urban research focuses on supranational economic influences. This literature identifies globalization and neo-liberal restructuring as powerful brakes against citizen engagement in North America and Western Europe and portrays integrative pressures as stifling or even suffocating democratic politics. According to this view, globalization threatens to extinguish the tradition of civic activism that underpins liberal democracies, along with the likelihood of progressive policy changes in them.82 How does globalization work to constrain democratic citizenship? Institutional analysts maintain that the uploading of authority over domestic policy agendas to international and transnational actors, through globalization and other integrative pressures, reduces opportunities for citizens to exert political influence.83 For example, people who want their governments to invest in urban services have a hard time making this case once international actors, who are unelected and who rarely rely on the services in question, gain control of public-sector bond ratings and debt and deficit levels. As well, institutional studies point toward greater offloading or lateral loading of some policy responsibilities away from central and toward local governments, as well as toward unelected governance bodies. These studies focus in particular on the widespread adoption since the 1980s of new public management (NPM) approaches, predicated on arguments that governments at all levels should increase their reliance on appointed agencies or private-sector “partners” to deliver what were once public services. From this perspective, offloading pressures associated with NPM separated progressive interests from target decision makers, because the shift from public government to mixed-sector and agency-dominated governance made the policy process more convoluted, opaque, and distant.84 Moreover, in an era dominated by NPM approaches to administration, organized interests that seek public monies are likely to be challenged by frequent and detailed reporting requirements and by the instability of short-term public funding.85 Most ominously, the criteria used to evaluate the contributions of voluntary groups are grounded primarily in cost and efficiency considerations. Local organizations that began as advocacy-based social movements tend, as part of broader NPM directions, to take on the role of service providers, perhaps in partnership with governments or their agencies. The same campaigners who formerly operated as protesters, advocates, and lobbyists are then expected to carry out activities once performed by the state, and forfeit their role as activists for social change.86

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A related stream of research examines the language or discourse employed to defend international economic integration. According to poststructural analysts, the rhetoric of elites can deepen and reinforce the negative effects of globalization. Language that celebrates and elevates economic considerations such as efficiency, growth, and streamlined political structures tends, in turn, to marginalize fundamental democratic norms, including the quality of local citizen participation and the importance of diverse representation in public decision making.87 For example, when elites evaluate, rank, and fund cities using a framework that privileges competitiveness norms, they are inclined by definition to reward minimal expenses and maximal efficiencies and to ignore equity, representational, and social justice dimensions. How are institutional and discursive arguments relevant to contemporary urban citizenship? Canadian political scientists Jane Jenson and Susan Phillips provide one of the most compelling responses to this question. In their view, pressures for international economic integration and competitiveness have fundamentally altered state/market relations in such a way that the older, postwar emphasis on building cohesive communities has been trumped by neo-liberal demands for ambitious, “market ready” individuals.88 Our understanding of social belonging and our ability as citizens to act, in Engin Isin’s words, as agents who are “practicing substantive citizenship” have demonstrably suffered as a result.89 According to Jenson and Phillips, the postwar assumption that governments at all levels ought to play a constructive role in bringing citizens together was reflected in policies that pooled collective risk and that wove social safety nets – nets such as public health care, pension schemes, unemployment insurance, social assistance, and subsidized housing. The sustained erosion of these programs and their replacement by increasingly individualized, marketized arrangements not only reduced the centrality of shared norms and values, but also fragmented those collective identities that managed to remain in place.90 In large cities with high rates of immigration from around the world, the fragmenting of a heterogeneous interest such as women was almost inevitable. As well, according to Jenson and Phillips, older and relatively robust emphases on community futures and collective well-being receded in the face of both greater socio-economic polarization and the eclipsing of public spaces and public services by private ones.91 Over time, cities risked losing the necessary common ground for strangers from different backgrounds to meet and work together – ground that had long characterized healthy urban environments.

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Scholarly work in the globalization stream thus suggested a far from promising future for urban citizenship. Cities would likely compete against one another for highly mobile sources of capital investment. In turn, competition among localities would increase the weight attached to market-based norms, including efficiency and productivity; it would also diminish the weight of political considerations, including justice, equality, and citizen participation. Cohesion among citizens would decline with rising socio-economic polarization and a generalized pattern of identity fragmentation. As NPM schemes made inroads at the administrative level, the clout of elected governments and social protesters would decline. In one of the boldest statements of the global cities thesis, Engin Isin concluded that these directions implied a loss of public government as we once knew it. In his words, “modern city government is increasingly like an empty shell whose territory marks out the once-meaningful boundaries of the political.”92 If Isin and others were correct about the suffocating effects of integration pressures, then observers could not expect to find much evidence of citizen participation in progressive urban politics. Following Jenson and Phillips’ argument, shared identities would likely become fragmented and politically ineffective in the wake of globalization. The erosion of citizenship values in unitary states such as Britain could be especially pronounced, since they would be able to implement NPM approaches more quickly and widely than decentralized federal systems such as Canada’s.93 As a result, urban citizenship might be considerably weaker in London than in Toronto. Compounding this pattern, a large gulf divided London’s relatively ideological, militant social-movement activists, on one side, and key decision makers pressed by private-sector competitiveness and efficiency considerations, on the other. To the extent that globalization theories address collective action during the contemporary period, they suggest that moderate, system-oriented interests in Toronto would be better equipped to bridge such divides than more militant activists in London. The narrower reach of NPM approaches in Canada as opposed to Britain reinforces this expectation, since it also suggests more buoyant citizenship in Toronto than in London.94 These hypotheses that flow from the globalization literature ignore at least three crucial dimensions of local state reconfiguration. First, do plausible arguments weigh against the dismal picture they paint? Second, are all metropolitan restructurings the same? And third and most important, what has been the real-world fallout from specific changes in municipal governance?

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We can begin by asking whether the same globalization pressures that weaken nation-states might actually strengthen organized interests at the local level. As Canadian urban scholar Caroline Andrew notes, “municipal governments have a potential for progressive action because, being less pretentious than nation-states, they have a less predetermined sense of what they should and should not do and therefore are more open to being vehicles for action by social movements. Not being burdened with the obligations of sovereignty, municipal governments are more open to innovation, to new relationships with civil society.”95 Andrew’s observation opens an important window on the effects of urban restructuring. In particular, it implies that the terms of institutional change and political discourse vary over time and across cities. For example, her perspective reminds us that some urban leaders value local democracy and may be willing to innovate in response to progressive collective action – even in the broader context of international economic integration.96 In particular, Andrew’s work suggests that identifiable patterns of movement activism and gender relations in cities may make some metropolitan contexts more welcoming than others. How do we know which places would be more open or less so? One of the only efforts to examine variations in democratic engagement in a globalizing era – including under circumstances where senior levels of government imposed restructuring from above – was undertaken by Quebec political scientist Vincent Lemieux. His 1996 article, “L’analyse politique de la décentralisation,” presented a comparative framework for exploring the consequences of institutional change, including with reference to civic engagement and progressive public policies.97 For Lemieux, the effects of structural rearrangements can best be understood in terms of the policy objectives of senior levels of government. Once these goals are known, his account suggests, specific propositions can be developed to predict the dynamics of citizenship in one location versus another. Although it was published before the GLA and the megacity were created, Lemieux’s study presents two core propositions that relate directly to contemporary London and Toronto. First, some resources at stake in restructuring processes are more important assets of power than others. The setting of normative standards (e.g., efficiency, accountability, equity) that govern how shifts in governmental responsibility are evaluated is a crucial attribute of power; so is control over financial resources. Second, the criteria employed to evaluate restructuring processes are generally not grounded in objective or scientific standards, but rather in ideological and political preferences.

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Lemieux’s study hints at a useful corollary to these propositions, which concerns the role of local political leaders in pushing back against the normative, fiscal, and institutional designs of central governments. The broad lines of his study suggest that the ability of municipal politicians to articulate and defend normative standards that challenge those employed by senior levels of government constitutes a valuable political asset for local regimes. Stated differently, effective urban mayors who contest efficiency or competitiveness norms imposed from above, or who challenge central government rhetoric about local democracy, can successfully insert alternative discourses in public debate. This line of argument suggests that by developing a compelling counter-rhetoric about social justice, representation, or local control, urban mayors can challenge to some degree the constraints placed on their autonomy by central governments. As well, innovative mayors who build sustainable revenue streams within their local jurisdictions can contest their subordinate status more effectively than mayors who lack such creativity and, of course, fiscal resources. Extending Lemieux’s study in this way shows how municipal political leadership can operate as a critical intervening variable between metropolitan restructuring in a global era, on one side, and urban citizenship, on the other. With respect to post-GLA London and postamalgamation Toronto, the contrast between a rhetorically gifted, fiscally creative, and progressive leader in one city (Ken Livingstone) and a relatively inarticulate, fiscally unimaginative, and conservative mayor in the other (Mel Lastman) could hardly have been more stark. Ken Livingstone had a long and distinguished record of promoting powerful counterdiscourses, dating back to his sustained opposition to Thatcherism during the 1980s. By the time he became the GLA’s first mayor in 2000, he had developed a distinct but equally compelling challenge to Tony Blair’s New Labour direction.98 Moreover, as GLA mayor, Livingstone was prepared to experiment with a number of creative revenue-generating ideas, including congestion fees in central London.99 By way of contrast, Mel Lastman initially tended to parrot rather than contest the efficiency rhetoric of the Ontario Conservatives – for example, he promised to freeze property tax rates in Toronto. Eventually he grasped the very damaging consequences of reforms he had said could work – including municipal amalgamation, policy disentanglement, and the tax freeze – at which point he attacked his former allies. In 2001 he alleged that “everything [Premier] Mike Harris touches turns to crap.”100 By that point, according to Lastman, there were “no two ways about it.

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Amalgamation for Toronto has turned out to be a disaster.”101 This aboutface, combined with an unsteady performance as mayor, directly weakened Lastman’s public standing. To the extent that he pursued additional revenues for Toronto, these were largely through provincial grants and loans, as well as user-pay schemes that did little to address the city’s precarious fiscal status.102 In this way, a modified version of Lemieux’s thesis helps map out how urban leaders can resist (or advance) central government directions of the sort that constrain (or expand) opportunities for local citizen engagement. Overall, our review of these factors generates predictions that are at odds with those that follow from globalization studies. Livingstone’s popularity as the GLA’s first mayor relative to Lastman’s weaker public standing as the Toronto megacity’s first mayor draws out a crucial dimension of this contrast. Although both mayors were colourful local populists, they clearly differed in ideological terms, with Livingstone considerably more left politically than Lastman. Moreover, if leadership skills can be expected to intensify discursive, fiscal, and institutional factors, then it seems that as of 1998, Toronto faced an especially ominous scenario: weak conservative local leadership, dominant right-wing discursive values, constrained fiscal resources, and limited structural possibilities to respond to these challenges. Our recasting of Lemieux’s thesis suggests that when municipal restructuring occurs in a normative context that emphasizes efficiency or low taxes, and when it provides limited fiscal resources and a narrow base of authority for relatively compliant or discredited urban politicians – as arguably characterized Toronto in the aftermath of amalgamation and downloading – then robust civic engagement is unlikely to follow. By way of contrast, when the reconfiguration process elevates local democracy norms and elects credible urban leaders who contest the boundaries of municipal fiscal capacity and structural autonomy – arguably characteristic of the initial GLA period – then buoyant urban citizenship is more likely. Lemieux’s framework also suggests a citizenship continuum extending from relatively limited opportunities for public engagement and progressive policy (e.g., in early post-amalgamation Toronto) on one end of the spectrum, to more expansive possibilities (e.g., in post-GLA London) on the other end.103 This approach dovetails tightly with elements of the literature on women and urban politics. A number of contemporary studies use the concept of “gender regime” or “gender system” to interpret internal variations within cities. Simply stated, gender systems are groupings of political, economic, and family arrangements that shape the lives of

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urban residents.104 They vary widely, from relatively welcoming, heterogeneous, often inner-city contexts that offer varied occupational and civic engagement opportunities for women, to less congenial, more homogeneous, frequently suburban contexts that present fewer such openings. Moreover, because suburbanites face relatively long travel times, suburban women have even less time for civic engagement than do their inner-city counterparts.105 Gender regimes in downtown areas are therefore more conducive to what Isin calls “practicing substantive citizenship” than are those in suburban areas. Gender regimes vary over time as well as space. As British researchers Stefania Abrar, Joni Lovenduski, and Helen Margetts observed in 1998, urban reconfigurations often reorder power arrangements along a number of different axes. One of these is centralization versus decentralization – that is, the extent to which political authority is concentrated in the hands of central governments or shared by cities and central governments, and the degree to which each layer shares power with citizens. According to Abrar and her colleagues, decentralization of both types tends to advantage urban women by breaking down established government hierarchies and fostering community participation in policy making.106 If downtown spaces offer relatively equitable gender regimes, and if decentralization generally benefits women, then Toronto’s amalgamation was a worst-case scenario for urban citizenship. Although it does not address the Toronto case, Abrar’s thesis suggests that when local boroughs are eliminated, essential channels for community engagement are closed off. The old City of Toronto was a downtown, women-friendly unit that also served as the base for one of Canada’s top feminist politicians – Barbara Hall. In effect, the amalgamation that merged downtown with the inner suburbs made Toronto a provocative test case for theories about gender regimes, decentralization, and urban citizenship. A second axis identified in the literature on women and cities concerns state/market relations – notably, the degree to which publicsector actors and values dominate relative to private-sector ones. According to Abrar and her colleagues, metropolitan restructurings since the 1980s have tended to reward market-based norms of efficiency and competitiveness while devaluing other considerations, including political equity and democratic participation. The consequences of this shift for women in specific locations, however, remain unclear. Would the entrenchment of NPM practices in Britain limit women’s citizenship more than the hurried embrace of efficiency and performance criteria by elites in Ontario?

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This question points toward the need to look systematically at the real-world implications of metropolitan restructuring. Citizenship in London and Toronto

This study presents an explicit case for returning both politics and women to urban research. Without politics, we risk building a literature that elevates economic growth and cultural edginess to the status of uncontested icons and that treats business investment and artistic creativity as valued assets in and of themselves – including, most dangerously, in the absence of civic democracy. Taking women out of the equation – as is the norm in many contemporary sources – harkens back to a darker age of the polis. In ancient Greece, only free men attained the status of public citizens; women and slaves were relegated to a lesser realm. Ongoing struggles simply to understand (never mind foster) vibrant communities lose their impetus when contemporary scholars neuter or homogenize more than half the citizens who actively build those communities – be it inside the ancient Roman walls of London, in the Victorian enclaves of downtown Toronto, or elsewhere. By training a spotlight on developments in London and Toronto, we can assess the relationship between divergent metropolitan governance changes and contemporary citizenship. Simply put, how were women as citizens affected by the GLA’s creation in London and by amalgamation in Toronto? Building on the work of New Zealand political theorist Rian Voet, this study explores the initial consequences of disparate municipal restructuring experiences for democratic citizenship. According to Voet, citizenship embraces far more than simply “membership in a state” as signified by the holding of a passport.107 In Voet’s words, “citizenship can, in principle, be both the relationships between a state and an individual citizen and the political relationships between citizens themselves. Citizenship might just refer to rights, but it can also refer to the duties, actions, virtues and opinions that follow from the above-mentioned relationships.”108 Like other scholars in this field, she acknowledges that numerous (often contentious) understandings of citizenship as status or rights, as agency or outcome, exist across a variety of philosophical traditions.109 These concepts tend to converge at a practical level around a single focal point – namely, membership and engagement in a human community. For the purposes of this discussion, citizenship “represents an expression of human agency in the political arena” and is defined as the civic and political participation of women in decision-making

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activities.110 In many cases this involvement is linked to a broader social perspective on citizenship whereby increased engagement in elective or appointive office, for example, helps revalue women’s domestic responsibilities or underline their differential experiences of urban safety. Debates over the decline of the nation-state, the rise of supranational institutions, and the multiplication of diverse gender, ethnocultural, and other identities during the contemporary period have focused particular attention on the varied spaces of citizenship. Among scholars of cities, the concept of urban citizenship has been proposed as a way to make the normative case for closer ties “between the users of cities and the public realm of cities.”111 In terms of research directions, focusing on urban engagement helps illuminate how struggles for recognition and voice within cities continue, within “spaces where the very meaning, content and extent of citizenship are being made and transformed.”112 At an empirical level, how can we measure urban citizenship? Citizenship claims are often framed with reference to the theme of political representation for individuals and groups in Westminster-style political systems. For instance, representational ideas infused nineteenth-century British arguments for female suffrage that said women needed to carry or defend their interests in the political realm so as to ensure that all social talents were put to good use.113 More recently, second-wave feminist theories have laid out three main propositions about political representation. First, according to the liberal or humanist variant, improving the formal political representation of women is a precondition for equality; wider representation not only engages more human talents in a society but also reinforces the value of democratic participation among citizens of a polity. As Voet notes, this stream of thought emphasizes the importance of increasing the numbers of female candidates and office holders as a route toward strengthening women’s presence in politics.114 Second, difference- or woman-centred feminists maintain that women hold talents that are distinct from those of men. Therefore, including more women in public life will make governments more responsive to women and will ensure the inclusion of “different and better values in politics.”115 Among the real-world strategies advocated by difference feminists are the establishment of specific women’s units, known as femocracies, in government bureaucracies. Third, in the view of poststructural feminists, political representation occurs through the crucial vehicle of language or discourse, and not simply in the formal institutions of public office and public administration. By analyzing linguistic representations, post-structural analysts reveal the influence of multiple

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interests in spoken as well as written text or, conversely, their lack of influence. In Voet’s words, this third variant endorses the opening up of public discourse toward “an inclusive politics that listens to the voices of groups for whom policy-making is intended.”116 This book is among the first to subject Voet’s three-pronged vision of citizen representation to empirical testing. It assesses women’s citizenship and, in particular, their political representation in pre- and postrestructuring London and Toronto – two cities characterized by divergent institutional and leadership experiences in recent years. The study focuses on three measures of urban citizenship, each of which is drawn from a specific strand of representational theory. First, we consider women’s engagement with municipal public office, at the council and mayoral levels, as a reflection of liberal political representation. Next, we examine the evolution of municipal femocracies as an indicator of difference representation. The discussion then turns to official spatial planning texts to reveal discursive dimensions of representation that follow from post-structural approaches. Then, after a chapter on the qualitative experiences of Londoners and Torontonians, drawn from interviews with activists and experts in each city, we take a speculative look at future citizenship prospects in London and Toronto. The main propositions that guide the empirical analysis can be summarized as follows. First, if the pessimistic view noted above is empirically correct, we can expect to find minimal evidence of women’s electoral, bureaucratic, or discursive representation in either London or Toronto in the contemporary period, and we predict no increases over time in any of these measures. The deep penetration of NPM approaches and radical social movement traditions in London should make contemporary citizenship especially fraught in that location. We refer to this proposition as the “erosion thesis” because it suggests that globalization and governance pressures associated with international economic integration should weaken or extinguish democratic citizenship in contemporary cities. Second, if the optimists are correct, women’s representation at all three levels should be similarly robust in London and Toronto and should tend to rise over time. We term this the “buoyancy thesis,” since it predicts that integrative pressures will create universal opportunities for urban public engagement. Finally, if specific institutional and leadership contexts make a difference, we can expect to find systematic variations across cities. In particular, we predict that women’s contemporary representation in London, given a New Labour central government, a left-of-centre mayor, and renewed local democracy under the GLA design, should be consider-

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ably more promising than it was in Toronto with its right-wing Conservative provincial government, right-of-centre mayor, and municipal amalgamation (which included borough elimination). In terms of longitudinal variation within a single location, this approach suggests that citizen representation should be enhanced by the GLA’s creation in London but diminished by amalgamation in Toronto. We call this the “contextual thesis,” because it maps democratic citizenship against the backdrop of particular urban institutional and leadership circumstances. Overall, the results reported below provide sustained confirmation of the contextual thesis. Women’s engagement on elective, bureaucratic, and discursive levels varied systematically across locations and was considerably more robust under the GLA arrangement in London than under the amalgamation scenario in Toronto, and tended to improve markedly over time in terms of liberal representation in London only. With at least 40 percent women, the first two London assemblies were exceptional for any elected body in the Anglo-American world, surpassing the roughly 30 percent level on the amalgamated Toronto council. The presence of an effective – albeit small – women’s bureaucracy in the GLA compared with the absence of any such unit in the megacity. Feminists’ calls for improved public transit, affordable housing, child care, and employment provisions were reflected to a far greater extent in spatial development plans in London than in Toronto, where the word “women” was absent from the text of the 2002 official plan. This study concludes that urban women can indeed practise substantive citizenship in a globalizing era. The prospects for doing so vary considerably, however, with local institutional and leadership circumstances. The data on women in public office in Chapter 2, on feminist bureaucratic units in Chapter 3, on official plans in Chapter 4, and on the broad contours of metropolitan restructuring in Chapter 5 all point in the same direction. They demonstrate that London in the early twentyfirst century has been, in measurable ways, a more welcoming context for women’s urban citizenship than Toronto during the same period. Through early 2005, women in London were consistently more numerous as municipal councillors, more visible in bureaucratic terms, and more likely to be named in official plans as a meaningful citizenship category than their counterparts in Toronto. Moreover, interviewees were generally more hopeful about what the future held in terms of prospects for representation at all levels in London than they were in Toronto. On many different levels, therefore, urban citizenship seemed more buoyant or robust in post-GLA London than in post-amalgamation Toronto. This pattern flies in the face of expectations of uniform erosion

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or uniform buoyancy, as well as expectations that Britain should be a less welcoming space, given its long embrace of NPM approaches. The same trend also disconfirms claims that because British social movements had been more ideologically fragmented and less institutionally focused than their North American counterparts, they would be less influential in the contemporary period. These conclusions shed valuable light on a number of themes in the urban literature. First, they challenge studies of the creative class that focus exclusively on culture and economic growth while ignoring politics and urban citizenship. Our account demonstrates that the ability of collective interests to come together and make policy claims varies across cities, including two that have been vibrant centres of cultural flowering and economic growth. The ways that civic engagement varied in London versus Toronto are worth exploring further, in order to gauge whether they hold longer-term implications for creativity and growth. For example, future research on urban citizenship might explore the relationship between creative-class variables, on one side, and political voice, representation, and citizen engagement, on the other. Second, this project underlines the extent to which central governments continue to play a crucial role in Britain and Canada. London and Toronto – as revealed in the following chapters – were far from autonomous political spaces, even though some urban researchers shifted their attention toward supranational and local actors, to the neglect of central regimes. London and Toronto remain pawns of higher levels of government – the national one in Britain and the provincial and federal ones in Canada. In probing women’s representation both pre- and postmetropolitan restructuring, we will be underscoring the ongoing importance of senior levels of power in either fostering or frustrating urban citizenship. Finally, this study disconfirms at least one core assumption of globalization arguments. The notion that international economic integration limits or even suffocates possibilities for meaningful citizen engagement – by restructuring both the institutions and the discourses of contemporary cities – is not supported by the evidence from at least one case examined here. The evidence presented below suggests that women’s citizenship was sustained to some degree under GLA arrangements in Britain’s largest city – given a central government that vowed to enhance local democracy and a progressive municipal leader who was prepared to test the limits of that promise. Representation was measurably weaker along all three dimensions in Toronto after amalgamation, with

Restructuring Contexts

a central government preoccupied by efficiency and low tax norms and a conservative municipal leader who embraced the same ethos. Under these circumstances, urban feminists and other social movement campaigners were able to identify opportunities to influence public policy from the inside in London, and they acted accordingly. In the absence of much grounds for hope in Canada’s largest city, mainstream activists seemed to retreat toward silence and dormancy. Their frustration with blocked access channels arguably left the field wide open to anarchists and other radicals, who captured headlines by applying direct action strategies to register their discontent in Toronto. Arguably the most powerful conclusion of this study is that urban institutions and leaders can have meaningful and immediate consequences for citizen representation. These implications may be positive or negative, as shown in the chapters that follow, and the danger of ignoring them is far from trivial. Students of politics need to reclaim the intellectual turf of cities and unearth the consequences of the reconfigured polis in all its multiple variations.

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2 Seeking Public Office

For women in London and Toronto, obtaining full citizenship initially involved winning the rights to vote and hold public office. Efforts to advance these liberal representational claims formed a common pivot for organized suffragism in both cities from the late nineteenth century through to the interwar years, when a crucial legal case initiated by five Canadian women was finally settled – not in their own Supreme Court, but on appeal to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council in London. Although the leading streams of first-wave British and Canadian feminism varied in important ways, they shared a fundamental commitment to advancing citizenship claims by achieving formal political equality. Many early suffragists in both countries believed that extending basic rights to women was necessary for broader social improvement. In particular, their civic or municipal housekeeping argument maintained that female voters and office holders would not only engage more human talents and reinforce the value of political involvement among citizens of a polity, but also transform politics – a view that endured for decades.1 These liberal representational claims inform our exploration of public office holding in contemporary London and Toronto. More than one hundred years after the start of organized suffragism, how does women’s numerical presence compare to that of men? Has municipal restructuring affected patterns of formal representation in London and Toronto, and if so, how? From the perspective of liberal or humanist concepts of women’s citizenship, has one set of urban circumstances been measurably better than another? We begin by reviewing the background to political engagement from the suffrage era to the contemporary period, and propose two sets of expectations regarding representation in early post-GLA London and post-amalgamation Toronto. The first of these emerges from the study

Seeking Public Office

of social movements as well as federalism and party institutions, and predicts that the percentage of women in municipal office should be demonstrably higher in Toronto than in London. The second follows from research on electoral systems, party reform efforts, and power centralization versus decentralization, and points toward better representation for women in London. The data presented below offer consistent support for the second view. They show that the percentages of women on metropolitan councils and the numbers of women pursuing mayoral office were considerably higher under the Greater London Authority scheme than under amalgamation arrangements in Toronto. In particular, as a newly created council with 40 percent women members or more, the first Greater London Assembly was exceptional for any elected body in the UK or North America, surpassing the roughly 30 percent level on Toronto’s megacity council during the same period. Furthermore, decisions by multiple Labour and Liberal Democratic Party women to contest the London mayoralty in 2000 and 2004 suggested a more vibrant electoral presence in London than in Toronto, where Barbara Hall was the sole female mayoral candidate in both 1997 and 2003.2 Moreover, Ken Livingstone appointed progressive women from the Labour and Green parties as his deputy mayors in 2000 and 2004 – decisions that had no parallels in Toronto during Mel Lastman’s two mayoral terms. Why did more women contest mayoral office and win council office in London than in Toronto? Chapter 5 introduces qualitative materials gathered in interviews with candidates, office holders, and political activists in both cities. These data point toward crucial differences in the circumstances facing citizens in London and Toronto in the late 1990s and thereafter. In particular, the sense of political promise arising from the GLA’s creation and Livingstone’s election offered a far more congenial context for political engagement than did the sense of closed opportunities that accompanied amalgamation, downloading, and Mel Lastman’s election in Toronto. This chapter concludes by foreshadowing that discussion, with the suggestion that women’s representation in formal, liberal terms was advantaged in London by a number of factors: a more women-friendly electoral system, no municipal council incumbents, ongoing party reform efforts, and a progressive mayor. By way of contrast, Toronto’s advantages as of 1998 seemed to be almost exclusively retrospective in character. They flowed from a past history of power decentralization, relatively high percentages of women in Parliament, and so on, rather

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than from any present or future prospects that would attract women to municipal office. One important caveat is in order before we turn to the historical background. At no point does this discussion assume a causal relationship among the interests of organized women’s movements, the numbers of women elected to municipal office, and pro-feminist policy outcomes. Clearly, local women’s organizations have sometimes recruited and helped elect progressive female politicians, who in turn have pursued specific feminist policy priorities while in office.3 Some elected women at all levels of government, however, have minimal links to either organized feminism or pro-movement issue positions. Scholars working the field of British politics, under the looming figure of Margaret Thatcher, cannot avoid acknowledging such a disjuncture. For this reason, our study distinguishes analytically between what political theorist Hanna Pitkin has termed women’s descriptive representation – measured in this chapter by the numbers of women contesting and winning urban public office – as one aspect of formal or liberal political citizenship, and their potential for what Pitkin has called substantive policy representation, measured in subsequent chapters by the bureaucratic and policy engagement of progressive, pro-feminist women.4 Even though descriptive representation does not always predict the substantive variety, research on the London and Toronto cases indicates that elected politicians with feminist agendas usually emerge from the larger pool of female office holders.5 A review of the pertinent literature supports this. Boldly stated, electing women to public office is not a sufficient condition for the expression of what Rian Voet terms difference and post-structural representation, or for what Engin Isin calls “practising substantive citizenship,” but often it is a necessary one.6 As comparative studies such as this one demonstrate, progressive women in positions of municipal leadership tend to be more aware of women’s groups’ claims than other metropolitan politicians and may work to ensure that their cities are responsive to those claims. Elected women, for example, may direct a city council’s attention toward such concerns as child care, women’s safety, affordable housing, and transportation. They tend to be more community oriented and comfortable with consensus-based decision making than their male counterparts, as well as more feminist in their attitudes than men who hold public office.7 Historical Background

As major urban agglomerations in their respective countries, London and Toronto stand out as well-established centres of women’s political

Seeking Public Office

campaigning. The Kensington Society, a pro-suffrage debating group, was established in London in 1865. This organization grew out of older ones, including the Married Women’s Property Committee, dating from 1855. Early groups based in London endorsed property rights for married women as well as reforms in the areas of employment, education, and politics. They published periodicals such as the English Woman’s Journal, and as the nascent London National Society for Women’s Suffrage, they petitioned Parliament in 1866 for a suffrage amendment.8 Efforts in Canada to secure the rights to vote and hold public office began in 1877 with the founding of the Toronto Women’s Literary Society.9 In March 1883, Toronto’s suffragists held their first public meeting, in the city council chambers.10 A successor organization to the literary society, the Dominion Women’s Enfranchisement Association, sponsored the election in 1892 of two women to the Toronto School Board. This milestone occurred more than twenty-five years before most Canadian women obtained the right to vote in federal elections, and nearly thirty years before Agnes Macphail became the first female member of the Canadian House of Commons.11 Suffragists in London and Toronto used markedly different strategies. The militant wing of early British feminism – a wing that had no influential counterpart in Canada – emerged in 1903 with the founding of the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU) by Emmeline Pankhurst. Ten years later her daughter Sylvia established the East London Federation of the WSPU. London’s East End was the setting for many important suffragist meetings and parades. A number of Britain’s earliest day nurseries were established there by WSPU activists to care for the children of women factory workers.12 Elsewhere in London, WSPU supporters marched to the House of Commons, Downing Street, and Hyde Park, and launched hunger strikes and arson campaigns targeted at MPs who opposed the extension of the vote. One historian reports that after 1912 the WSPU began to attack private property and deliberately sought to antagonize public opinion, believing that the public’s desire for order would pressure the government into reform. Mrs. [Emmeline] Pankhurst introduced the new policy of attacks on private property at the October 1912 Albert Hall meeting with the dramatic announcement: “I incite this meeting to rebellion.” During the following two years WSPU militants caused extensive property damage. They burned empty country houses, churches, a school, and post boxes, slashed the Rokeby Venus at the National Gallery and exploded a bomb in an unoccupied house

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Lloyd George was building. It became almost impossible for the WSPU to hold open public meetings because of the attacks on its speakers by angry members of the public.13

Some sites of WSPU activism, including important landmarks in inner London, would later have plaques installed to explain their historic significance.14 Given the radicalism and militancy of leading British suffragists, it is not surprising that first-wave feminism in that country was internally divided. Many suffrage-era activists were moderate, liberal reformers working in women’s temperance groups and within establishment parties; these women often took issue with the socialist militants in the WSPU, the trade unions, and the working-class parties. The latter relied on political justice arguments to make the case for expanded rights; the former advanced the less threatening view that women voters and candidates would help clean up partisan politics – in particular, urban machine politics.15 This moderate or reformist approach dominated activism in English Canada, including Toronto, where suffragists were generally less militant, more middle-class, and more likely to ally themselves with temperance interests than their British counterparts.16 As part of the broader Progressive movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Canadian maternal or social feminism posited a direct link between enfranchisement and women in public office, on one side, and improved government policies and services, on the other. One strong proponent of this view was Nellie McClung, a Westerner who emphasized the crucial need for women’s municipal housekeeping. In McClung’s words, the “instinctive mother love” that women brought to their family lives could remedy “all the evils which war upon childhood, undernourishment, slum conditions, child labor, drunkenness. Women could abolish all these if they wanted to.”17 In a 1915 essay she rejected antifeminist claims that women were frail, angelic, and thus politically unsuitable. According to her, “if women are angels we should try to get them into public life as soon as possible, for there is a great shortage of angels there just at present.”18 Whatever their ideology, suffragists in Britain and Canada shared a belief in the value of formal democratic participation. Moreover, even after they won the vote, early feminists challenged the limits to enfranchisement. In Britain’s Labour Party, working-class women struggled to find space in an organization that was at least formally committed to political equality.19 In Canada, as part of a campaign for more women

Seeking Public Office

in public office, five suffragists (including McClung) took their case to the courts. In 1928 the Supreme Court of Canada ruled that women were not “qualified persons” and thus ineligible for Senate appointments; one year later the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council in London overturned that decision. This landmark British ruling in the Persons case declared that women were indeed persons and thus eligible for Senate appointment. This decision is widely credited with awarding the full panoply of formal political rights to most women in Westminster systems.20 What were the consequences of political personhood? Would significant numbers of women seek public office in Britain or Canada? If so, what substantive content would they breathe into the concept of personhood? After 1929, personhood was generally interpreted as granting Canadian women the rights to vote and hold public office, as well as assigning them responsibility as civic housekeepers to monitor the actions of elected politicians. Among the best-known oversight groups was Toronto’s Association of Women Electors (AWE), formed in 1938. The AWE drew together mostly married, middle-class women with an interest in civic improvement. In this respect, its mandate paralleled that of the League of Women Voters in the United States.21 Speaking in 1983, a ninety-three-year-old AWE member explained her involvement with reference to an inspiring social feminist challenge she heard as a child: “Gentlemen, stand down. Let us take the reins and we will whip up the horses of state.”22 From the 1930s to the mid-1980s the AWE monitored attendance and voting on Toronto City Council and its standing committees, with a particular focus on housing and welfare issues. At its peak in the late 1950s it published frequent reports and letters to newspaper editors. With a volunteer base of 450, it also scrutinized decision making in the downtown City of Toronto and the inner suburban borough of North York, as well as on Metro Council and the Metropolitan Toronto School Board. June Rowlands, an AWE activist in the late 1960s, later ran successfully for a midtown council seat; in 1991 she became the first female mayor of the City of Toronto.23 By the early 1980s the group’s volunteer base had thinned out, the median age of members was over fifty, and the prospects for recruiting a younger generation of activists seemed minimal.24 Like other women’s organizations that emerged from first-wave feminism, the AWE was eclipsed by a more transformational perspective characteristic of secondwave feminism. According to the latter view, women from a variety of

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backgrounds would define and contest the boundaries of their own citizenship. The AWE eventually faded from view; it held its last meeting in February 1986.25 One of the only groups to survive past 1990 was the London-based Fawcett Society. Established in the 1860s as a moderate suffrage organization, it went by a number of names through the years, including the London National Society for Women’s Suffrage, the London Society for Women’s Suffrage (as of 1907), and the London Society for Women’s Service (as of 1919). In 1953 it took on its present name, commemorating founder Millicent Fawcett. From a Victorian-era focus on legal rights and an interwar preoccupation with women’s service to the community, Fawcett evolved into a second-wave organization advocating equal pay, pension reform, and positive or affirmative action policies to increase women’s numbers in public office.26 The Fawcett Society’s efforts to improve women’s political representation were especially influential in the Labour Party, which required a firmer base among female voters in order to win power.27 Second-wave feminism in Britain and Canada took on a decidedly urban flavour with the emergence in the mid-1980s of mirror projects known as Women Plan London and Women Plan Toronto. Both grew out of extensive consultations with community organizations (see Chapter 4) and sought to address violence against women in the home and in public spaces; to create high-quality child care programs, affordable housing, and reliable public transportation systems; and to ensure that city plans integrated the perspectives of local residents. Particularly in Toronto, this agenda overlapped with arguments that improving women’s representation would require more feminists in public office.28 A number of new organizations emerged, beginning with Women for Political Action (in 1972), followed by The Committee for ’94 (in 1984) and Equal Voice (in 2001).29 These groups attracted partisan as well as non-partisan activists, who organized conferences and training sessions to recruit women to public life. As cross-party groups, however, they did not press for formal rule changes (notably, all-women short lists) of the sort that were endorsed by the Fawcett Society and by Labour Party women in Britain. The New Democratic Party seemed most open to women candidates and proactive rule changes in Canada, but faced a major electoral threat at the federal level from the late 1980s through 2004 – primarily from the Liberals. The party held power in Ontario from 1990 until 1995 but saw its seat count drop precipitously afterward. Yet the numbers of elected women in Canada remained high relative to other countries with first-

Seeking Public Office

past-the-post electoral systems. During the early 1980s, for example, women held approximately 10 percent of the seats in Canada’s federal Parliament, compared to 3 percent in the British House of Commons.30 Ten years later this pattern still held, with figures of roughly 14 and 7 percent, respectively.31 At the local and municipal levels, campaigns for public office were pursued in different ways in London than in Toronto. As Katherine Graham and her co-authors point out, “in contrast to the United States or the United Kingdom, political parties have played a very limited role in urban politics in Canada.”32 Many candidates in Toronto presented themselves as independents even though they had close ties with local Liberal or Conservative organizations. A number of centre-left candidates – including Barbara Hall, who defeated June Rowlands in 1994 to become Toronto’s second woman mayor – ran locally as NDP council candidates but contested mayoral office without official party endorsement.33 By way of contrast, London’s borough and metropolitan-wide election campaigns were, with rare exceptions, explicitly partisan.34 Predicting Local Participation

What expectations about contemporary political representation follow from this historical background? Two distinct lines of argument can be drawn from our discussion thus far. One predicts that women in post-amalgamation Toronto ought to be faring better than in post-GLA London. This view is consistent with studies of women in politics which suggest that weak parties at the local level advantage female candidates. According to one account by Jill Vickers, women candidates and office holders are more numerous at the municipal than at the provincial and federal levels in Canada because “the relatively low level of power and influence ... has the effect of reducing competition [and of weakening] structures such as political parties,” which tend to block access to recruitment channels.35 Some British researchers, including Colin Copus, adopt a similar perspective, arguing that in the UK, parties dominate local government to the point that citizens are excluded.36 If party control over candidate recruitment works to limit participation, as Vickers and Copus claim, then female office holders should be more numerous in Toronto than in London. A parallel expectation follows from social movement research. Since the suffrage period, relatively moderate, mainstream, or state-focused feminist mobilization has characterized Toronto; over the same years, London developed a more radical, ideologically fragmented, protestoriented tradition. For example, our review of suffragist history showed

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that the militancy of London’s WSPU activists had few echoes in Canada. More recently, second-wave feminism in Britain has been widely seen as less cohesive, pragmatic, and institutionally focused than its North American counterparts.37 This pattern suggests that groups in Canada would tend to place more emphasis than their counterparts in Britain on increasing women’s numerical representation, and might secure greater advances at this level. Patterns of political office holding in Canada tend to support this expectation. They indicate that the percentages of women in the lower house of the federal Parliament through the early 1990s – while low relative to Nordic countries – were multiples of those in Britain. By the mid-1990s, downtown Toronto had elected two female mayors, one from the AWE (June Rowlands) and one with a second-wave feminist background (Barbara Hall). At least three other women sought the City of Toronto mayoralty during the 1980s and 1990s, while two more held mayoral office in the inner suburbs.38 By way of comparison, female borough leaders were relatively few and far between in London during this period, with Margaret Hodge in Islington and Valerie Shawcross in Croydon among the only women to reach this level.39 A number of institutional variables also point toward this same expectation. Canadian cities are, for the most part, newer units than are their British counterparts; also, they exist within a relatively fluid, decentralized federal regime. State arrangements in Britain are more rigid and unitary. Moreover, as a North American system, Canada is arguably more open to upward mobility by both women and men than is Britain. Taken together, Canada’s characteristics – relative fluidity, newness, decentralization, and weak local parties – and the comparatively pro-system orientation of North American feminist groups, lead us to expect greater formal political representation in contemporary Toronto than in London. Other streams of institutional and electoral research point toward more robust liberal citizenship in post-GLA London than in post-amalgamation Toronto. First, the continued presence of borough government and the introduction of partial proportional representation (PR) under the GLA scheme, compared with the elimination of boroughs and continuation of plurality arrangements in the megacity, could prove crucial. Some urban researchers view decentralized local units as seedbeds for community-based, grassroots interests.40 In particular, studies show that many female politicians began their careers close to home, as campaigners to improve local schools, slow traffic flows, or resist urban development schemes in their own neighbourhoods.41 Based on this pattern, we might expect percentages of female politicians in London to exceed

Seeking Public Office

those in Toronto because community-based borough units survived urban restructuring during the 1990s in Britain’s capital, but not in Canada’s largest city. Similarly, the use of partial PR in elections for the Greater London Assembly (for eleven of the twenty-five seats) could raise percentages of women on that body above comparable levels in Toronto, where singlemember plurality rules prevail. Many studies link proportionality in electoral systems with relatively high levels of female representation, although not in every case.42 Since Britain and English Canada have many characteristics in common – including stable, Westminster-style political systems and Protestant religious traditions – the introduction of partial PR in London but not Toronto provides an opportunity to test directly the impact of changes to the rules governing municipal council elections. Second, it is important to compare the Labour Party’s strength in many areas of London with the relative weakness of the NDP in Toronto. This variable is significant, given the central role played by women in leftwing parties in pressing for internal party reforms.43 In particular, Labour feminists campaigned for mandatory all-women short lists and for greater proportionality in the electoral system, in order to increase women’s representation. Their efforts were aided by Labour’s relatively firm base at all levels in London and by centralized party nomination practices in Britain. In Toronto, feminist pressures to raise the numbers of NDP women candidates had a limited effect because of the party’s tenuous electoral base.44 Third, we cannot ignore the absence of incumbents in the Greater London Assembly versus the scramble for seats (following borough elimination) on the new Toronto council. Since most incumbents are male, and most are harder to defeat than novice candidates, women’s chances of winning open assembly slots in London likely exceeded their probability of surviving the musical chairs competition for megacity seats in Toronto.45 The next sections introduce comparative data on metropolitan council and mayoral-level participation. Overall, they demonstrate that women’s urban citizenship as gauged by liberal representation measures was considerably more robust under GLA than Toronto megacity arrangements. Borough and Assembly Representation in London

Levels of local office holding generally rose over time in Britain. From about 12 percent women councillors during the mid-1960s, representation grew to 17 percent in 1976, 19 percent in 1985, 25 percent in 1993,

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and 28 percent in 2001.46 Percentages of female council members in London boroughs varied widely but on average were the same as or slightly higher than national figures. In 1994, for instance, women were 27 percent of local borough councillors in London, holding 28 percent of the inner and 27 percent of the outer London seats.47 These levels tended to exceed those in the House of Commons. In 1975, for example, women held 20 percent of the GLC seats but only about 5 percent of those in the lower house of Parliament.48 As shown in Table 1, female numerical representation in 2002 in inner London ranged from a low of 17.6 percent in the borough of Tower Hamlets to a high of 43.8 percent in the borough of Islington. In outer London, representation was lowest in Redbridge (20.6 percent) and highest in Croydon (35.7 percent). Across London’s thirty-two local boroughs, women held an average of 29 percent of council seats in 2002.49 The overall average for inner London was higher than for outer London, but only slightly so, suggesting that the two areas did not differ significantly with respect to women’s representation on borough councils. The New Labour government strongly encouraged Westminster-style cabinet organization at the local level after 1997. Under this arrangement, mayors assumed a strong executive role mirroring that of the prime minister, with some local councillors holding cabinet portfolios and participating in closed cabinet meetings parallel with those at the national level. New Labour contended that these reforms would encourage more women and minorities to run for local office.50 The data indicate that women held 22 percent of local cabinet posts across Britain in 2003, a level significantly below the 31 percent of cabinet and cabinet secretary positions held by women in the Blair government around the same time.51 By 2000, fourteen London boroughs had adopted cabinet-style local government. In the five inner-London boroughs with these arrangements, women held an average of 25.4 percent of council seats and 27.4 percent of cabinet positions. In the nine outer-London boroughs with cabinets, these figures were 28.7 and 31.4 percent, respectively.52 Mandatory all-women short lists were used extensively for House of Commons nominations by the Labour Party during the 1990s but were not introduced to local Labour Party practices until the spring of 2004. Prior to that time, 34 percent of Liberal Democratic, 27 percent of Labour, and 26 percent of Conservative local councillors in Britain were female.53 The impact of Labour’s decision to introduce all-women short lists at the local level was not known at the time of writing. This background helps situate our discussion of women’s representation in the GLA. Under the terms of New Labour’s GLA Act of 1999,

Seeking Public Office

Table 1 Women on inner and outer London borough councils, 2002 Inner London

Proportion

Camden Greenwich Hackney Hammersmith & Fulham Islington Kensington & Chelsea Lambeth Lewisham Southwark Tower Hamlets Wandsworth Westminster Inner London average

20/54 11/51 18/57 11/46 21/48 16/54 23/66 14/54 19/63 9/51 15/60 18/60

Outer London

Proportion

Barking Barnet Bexley Brent Bromley Croydon Ealing Enfield Haringey Harrow Havering Hillingdon Hounslow Kingston Merton Newham Redbridge Richmond Sutton Waltham Forest Outer London average

17/51 20/63 16/63 11/45 16/60 25/70 16/69 16/63 15/57 17/63 14/54 15/65 16/60 14/48 20/60 16/57 13/63 18/54 19/54 17/60

Percentage 37.0 21.6 31.6 23.9 43.8 29.6 34.8 25.9 30.2 17.6 25.0 30.0 29.3 Percentage 33.3 31.7 25.4 24.4 26.7 35.7 23.2 25.4 26.3 27.0 25.9 23.1 26.7 29.2 33.3 28.1 20.6 33.3 35.2 28.3 28.1

Source: Data were kindly provided by Pauline McMahon, Association of London Government, October 2002.

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London’s assembly was to be a twenty-five-member oversight body. Fourteen of its members were to hold defined geographic constituencies, usually made up of two local boroughs; the other eleven were to be elected from London-wide party lists. Political parties in the British capital were expected to nominate candidates for all twenty-five positions. The results of the spring 2000 GLA elections shed light on two important questions. First, what would happen to women’s numerical representation when a new, partially proportional body was created? Second, how might representation vary by party, given that some political organizations promoted women candidates more actively than did others? In 2000, London voters chose fourteen constituency members on the basis of first-past-the-post rules and eleven GLA-wide members using party lists. Overall, women won ten seats, or 40 percent of the positions, on the first assembly. Women initially constituted 75 percent of the Liberal Democratic, 44 percent of the Labour, 33 percent of the Green, and 22 percent of the Conservative assembly members.54 As expected, list positions tended to benefit smaller parties (notably the Liberal Democrats and the Greens) as well as female candidates. Of the eleven members first elected to the assembly via party lists, five (45.5 percent) were women. On the single-member plurality side, women were less successful, winning five of the fourteen constituency seats (35.7 percent). When vacancies occurred after 2000 in Labour list positions, two women moved into them, including Jennette Arnold, the GLA’s only black female member.55 This brought women’s numerical representation to six out of eleven (54.5 percent) of the list positions and eleven out of twenty-five (44 percent) overall on the assembly. However, vacancies caused by Liberal Democratic resignations from the assembly led to reduced representation for women in that caucus.56 When the first assembly dissolved in spring 2004, the figures for women in the assembly’s party caucuses were as follows: Labour, six out of nine (66.7 percent); Liberal Democrats, two out of four (50 percent); Greens, one out of three (33.3 percent); and Conservatives, two out of nine (22.2 percent). During this same period, women held about 28 percent of British local council and fewer than 20 percent of House of Commons seats. The initial GLA results were thus remarkable in Britain’s national context. Moreover, they stood as an unusually high watermark for women’s numerical representation in any Anglo-American elected body, and were only comparable to Scottish and Welsh assembly results during the same period – arguably because the London, Scottish, and Welsh units employed partial proportionality arrangements.57

Seeking Public Office

In London’s June 2004 assembly elections, women again won ten of the twenty-five seats: five constituency and five list positions. This 40 percent overall representation paralleled the initial May 2000 results, but occurred in the context of a strong electoral backlash against the Labour Party in Westminster. As of 2004, women held 60 percent of the Lib-Dem, 57 percent of Labour, 50 percent of the Green, and 22 percent of the Conservative seats on the assembly. Two men won seats that year for the UK Independence Party, an anti-European formation that promised to abolish the assembly.58 Mayoral Representation in London

Women were far less numerous in local and metropolitan leadership positions than on the Greater London Assembly. Typically, London borough leaders headed the party that controlled the local council and were selected by party members on that council.59 Ann John and Jane Roberts were among the only women who served as local borough leaders in London during the early GLA years. The boroughs they headed, Brent and Camden, were areas where Labour had traditionally dominated. During the 1980s, Camden was known for its active and wellresourced local women’s committee; the unit controlled a grants budget of about £870,000 in 1987-88,60 up from approximately £500,000 in 1983-84.61 Brent had a women’s subcommittee (unlike Camden’s full committee) during the 1980s.62 Also leading a borough in this period was Judith Mayhew, chair of the Policy and Resources Committee of the Corporation of London. Following the first GLA elections, Ken Livingstone appointed her as his advisor on the City and business.63 All told, women held only 9.1 percent (three out of thirty-three) of the London borough leader positions during the early GLA years.64 Unlike the borough heads, who were selected indirectly, the new GLA mayor was chosen directly by the electorate. Under a supplementary vote system, London voters could identify their first- and second-choice candidates from a list of partisan and independent nominees. In the run-up to the 2000 and 2004 races, the parties followed their own internal procedures for nominating mayoral candidates. In 2000 only one woman ran as her party’s mayoral candidate: Susan Kramer, an investment banker, who won the Liberal Democratic nomination. Kramer linked her candidacy to the sorry state of London’s subways. As one report explained, “after the umpteenth day stranded on the Piccadilly line, she had simply had enough and decided to do something about it.”65 Transport issues remained Kramer’s main focus during the

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mayoral campaign. Like Livingstone, she consistently challenged proposals to privatize “the Tube.” The mayor later appointed her to a seat on London’s new transport agency. Kramer was chosen as a mayoral nominee following a rigorous internal vetting process. All potential Liberal Democratic candidates had to complete an extensive questionnaire, attend a panel interview with senior party officials, and navigate a mock press conference. Finally, London party members questioned each prospective candidate at a series of local neighbourhood meetings. Kramer won 60 percent of the votes cast by London Liberal Democrats in the internal nomination race and placed fourth (with approximately 12 percent of the popular vote) on the first mayoral ballot.66 Kramer performed relatively well, finishing about twenty thousand votes behind Frank Dobson, the official Labour candidate. Dobson, Tony Blair’s former health secretary, placed third on the first count with 13 percent of the vote after winning an internal party nomination contest later remembered as a “nightmare ... the most compelling soap opera of the age.”67 Like Kramer, he failed to advance to the second mayoral ballot. That honour went to independent candidate Ken Livingstone and Tory nominee Steven Norris. At least two female Labour MPs were considered potential mayoral nominees. Mo Mowlam, who had served as Cabinet Secretary for Northern Ireland, and Glenda Jackson, an award-winning actor and Blair’s junior transport minister, were among those mentioned as possible alternatives to Livingstone. New Labour insiders worked hard to stop Livingstone’s ascent but failed to coalesce behind either Mowlam or Jackson.68 Glenda Jackson went ahead and initiated her own campaign for the official Labour nomination. She argued that London needed a highprofile woman leader who could get along with the central government. Unlike Livingstone and Kramer, she agreed with Downing Street’s plans to partially privatize the Tube.69 According to one account of the mayoral race, she saw genuine advantage for London in having a Mayor who was an internationally recognized figure; someone whose reputation would open important cultural and commercial doors for the city. Above all, she was conscious that almost all the other contenders being discussed at the time were men, indeed, identikit middle-class political men. She felt very strongly that there should be a serious woman contender. “It is to me inconceivable that, for a [Labour] party like ours, there should not

Seeking Public Office

be a woman’s name on that ballot paper, given the efforts that we have made to encourage women to put themselves forward for consideration for political office at absolutely every single level,” she told BBC1’s On the Record.70

Like Livingstone, Jackson ultimately lost the contest for the party nomination. Labour’s three-tiered electoral college system awarded block votes to affiliated trade unions; highly weighted votes to Labour MPs, members of the European Parliament, and London assembly candidates; and individual votes to London party members. In December 1999, Jackson and Livingstone submitted a joint complaint against Labour’s controversial nomination system. It targeted both the general scheme used by the party, as well as specific procedures used by Blairite insiders to favour Frank Dobson.71 Livingstone went on to win the mayoralty as an independent candidate, with 58 percent of the popular vote on the second count. In addition to naming Kramer to the city’s transportation board, he appointed Jackson as his advisor on homelessness.72 Overall, he appointed three female GLA members to his advisory cabinet, as well as seven women (including Jackson) from outside the assembly. The mayor’s cabinet announced in 2000 thus had equal numbers of men and women – that is, ten women out of twenty. Among them was the outspoken black Labour MP Diane Abbott, whom he named his women and equality advisor.73 For the position of deputy mayor, Livingstone appointed Nicky Gavron, a planning activist and Labour member of the assembly. Gavron helped foster working relationships between Livingstone and Labour members of the assembly in the wake of the contentious mayoral nomination process; most notably, she built support on the assembly for a new official plan and for the inner-London congestion charge. During the final year of his first term, Livingstone kept his promise to circulate the position of deputy mayor among the different parties by appointing the Green Party’s Jenny Jones to that office.74 About a year before the second round of GLA elections, Gavron announced her intention to seek the official Labour nomination for mayor, as well as her commitment to a unity platform with Livingstone that would consolidate the Labour vote. She later withdrew her candidacy and endorsed Livingstone’s return to the party. In early 2004, Labour members in London voted in favour of readmitting the mayor. This decision represented a compromise on both sides. “Red Ken” was returning to the organization that had spurned him in an initial, extremely

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convoluted nomination process. At the same time, the central party elites, who had never hidden their hostility toward him, were conceding that they needed his electoral cachet. In February 2004, Livingstone announced that if he won as mayor and if Gavron won her assembly seat, she would take the lead as deputy mayor during the next three years on issues of the environment, children and families, and spatial planning.75 London’s Conservatives and Greens fielded the same mayoral candidates in 2004 as in 2000, while the Liberal Democrats rejected Susan Kramer’s bid for renomination.76 In her place they chose Simon Hughes, a high-profile London MP whose decision not to contest the mayoralty in 2000 had been seen as opening the race to Kramer and others.77 In the March 2003 Lib-Dem nomination contest, Hughes won the support of 62 percent of party members in London, compared to Kramer’s 35 percent.78 Livingstone was re-elected as London mayor in June 2004, again following a second-round runoff against Steven Norris. Voter turnout that year was 37 percent. Livingstone’s victory was one of the few bright spots in a generally dismal showing for Labour in local elections. Even in London, Labour lost two seats on the GLA, falling from nine seats to seven, which threatened the mayor’s base on that scrutiny body (see Chapter 6). Council Representation in Toronto

Women’s share of council seats in Canadian cities grew from 15 percent in 1984 to 24 percent by 1993.79 The figures were slightly higher in Metropolitan Toronto, where women held an average of 26.7 percent of council seats across the six boroughs in 1991, and an average of 23.7 percent in 1996. As reported in Table 2, these levels varied widely, from a low of 11.1 percent in East York to a high of 33.3 percent in North York in 1991, and from a low of 12.5 percent in East York to a high of 41.7 percent in Etobicoke in 1996. As was the case in London, these data disconfirm gender regime arguments to the effect that representation on downtown councils would consistently exceed levels on suburban ones. Through the mid-1990s, council sizes were reduced in many Torontoarea localities. In three of the four boroughs where cuts were especially large, the percentages of women elected also declined considerably. As shown in Table 2, the numbers of women on the North York, Scarborough, and City of Toronto councils fell by an average of 11 percent between 1991 and 1996. These shifts help explain the decline in women’s borough representation during the same period, and were part

Seeking Public Office

Table 2 Women on pre-amalgamation borough councils, Toronto, 1991 and 1996 Borough

Year

East York

1991 1996 1991 1996 1991 1996 1991 1996 1991 1996 1991 1996 1991 1996

Etobicoke North York Scarborough Toronto York Overall averages

Percent 11.1 12.5 31.3 41.7 33.3 21.4 25.0 14.3 29.2 18.8 30.0 33.3 26.7 23.7

(N) (1/9) (1/8) (5/16) (5/12) (7/21) (3/14) (5/20) (2/14) (7/24) (3/16) (3/10) (3/9)

Sources: Data for 1991 are drawn from Linda Trimble, “Politics Where We Live: Women and Cities,” in James Lightbody, ed., Canadian Metropolitics (Toronto: Copp Clark, 1995), 95-96. Data for 1996 are drawn from Jillian Kovensky, “A Case Study Examining Representation of Women on Toronto City Council,” essay prepared for POL 2316, University of Toronto, 2001, Table 1.

Table 3 Women on metro and megacity councils, Toronto, 1996-2003 Body

Year

% Women (N)

Metro council Megacity council Megacity council Megacity council

1996 1997 2000 2003

32.4 27.6 29.5 31.8

(11/34)a (16/58) (13/44) (14/44)

a Figure includes 9 female ward councillors out of 28, and 2 female mayors out of 6. Sources: Jillian Kovensky, “A Case Study Examining Representation of Women on Toronto City Council,” essay prepared for POL 2316, University of Toronto, 2001, Tables 1, 3; and “All Stripes ‘Roast’ Mayor at Dinner,” Globe and Mail, 30 January 2004, A11.

of a broader pattern that saw fewer and fewer council seats in Toronto – especially after amalgamation. Before the megacity era, metropolitan governance rested in the hands of the thirty-four-member Metro Council. Between 1988 and 1997 this council included twenty-eight directly elected ward members and six borough mayors from the older downtown and inner suburban districts.80 In 1996, as shown in Table 3, women held approximately onethird of the Metro Council seats, including nine of the twenty-eight

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ward positions (32.1 percent) and two of the six mayoral slots (33.3 percent).81 This level was significantly higher than the average representation of women on local Toronto borough councils in the same year (23.7 percent), and exceeded the percentages of women in the House of Commons and the Ontario Legislature during the mid-1990s.82 With amalgamation, all six boroughs were eliminated and the number of municipal seats was more than halved, from 107 in 1996 (6 mayors, 28 Metro councillors, and 73 borough councillors) to only 45 in 2000 (1 mayor and 44 megacity councillors).83 Single-member plurality rules continued for all contests. As urban scholars Myer Siemiatycki and Anver Saloojee noted with reference to ethnocultural minority groups, opportunities for “diverse representation” declined as candidates with modest resources and visibility found it harder to participate, given the increased size and population of Toronto wards.84 For women as well as minorities, these obstacles compounded the existing musical chairs problem; that is, borough council downsizing from the early 1990s had already created a scramble for fewer and fewer seats. In the first post-amalgamation election in 1997, women won sixteen of fifty-eight (27.6 percent) megacity council seats. In 2000, after the provincial government reduced that body from fifty-eight to forty-four members, women won thirteen of the seats (29.5 percent).85 This level rose slightly to fourteen out of forty-four (31.8 percent) in 2003.86 Parallel with Jennette Arnold’s status on the London assembly, only one member of the first three megacity councils – Olivia Chow – was female, progressive, and from a visible minority background.87 Given all this, it is remarkable that women held about the same 30 percent share of megacity council seats as 1996 Metro Council positions. Yet these similar numbers masked important qualitative differences, especially in political influence. The executive clout of elected women mayors prior to 1998 had been considerable, given that two borough leaders out of the six on Metro council were women, including City of Toronto mayor Barbara Hall. As will be discussed below, Hall lost two bids for the megacity mayor’s job. During this same period, women held roughly one-quarter of local council and one-fifth of House of Commons seats in Canada. Their representation on the first three megacity councils was thus fairly high, and all the more noteworthy because incumbent borough and Metro representatives, as well as newcomers, had been competing for an evershrinking number of municipal seats – all under first-past-the-post rules. In addition, the weakness of the NDP in Toronto, relative to the Labour Party’s strength in London, meant that internal partisan measures to

Seeking Public Office

increase female representation had limited impact. Moreover, arguments in favour of greater proportionality in Canadian elections were relatively marginal, since they were being raised by the NDP and other interests with a tenuous political status.88 In short, women’s representation on early post-amalgamation councils was surprisingly high, given the electoral environment in Toronto, but remained significantly below that of the first two Greater London Assemblies. The Toronto Mayoralty

Conservative appliance tycoon Mel Lastman won the first amalgamated mayoral election in 1997. Lastman, a long-time mayor of the inner suburb of North York, defeated former downtown mayor Barbara Hall in a fairly close two-way race and later secured a second three-year term (against very limited opposition) in 2000. Lastman’s initial victory took place in the shadow of the Harris government’s promises to cut taxes, reduce waste, and find efficiencies via amalgamation. Voter interest was high, with turnout in the 50 percent range (approximately 20 points above the Toronto average).89 Lastman campaigned as a fiscally responsible businessman who would cooperate with the Tories to make the megacity work. By way of contrast, Hall used her experience as a youth worker, family lawyer, and downtown progressive to contest the provincial agenda. She promoted greater community autonomy within the megacity arrangement and challenged Lastman’s assertion that municipal services could be maintained without raising taxes. In 1997, Lastman won 52 percent of the votes cast to Hall’s 46 percent. Analysts maintain that Hall was defeated by low turnout in her inner-city base, where residents tend to be more transient (i.e., many live in apartments) and thus less likely to vote; Lastman’s support was in the inner suburbs, where residential stability (i.e., more people are homeowners) makes for higher voter turnout.90 As well, many of Hall’s supporters were deeply engaged in anti-amalgamation groups, including Citizens for Local Democracy. Her speech on election night suggested that efforts to stop municipal restructuring had diverted energy from the mayoral campaign.91 Overall, Hall’s pledge to foster local democracy and consensus building appealed less to voters than did Lastman’s promises of safety, security, and a tax freeze. As political scientist Julie Boudreau reflected in her study, The Megacity Saga, “in the end, people in Toronto chose assurance over vision.”92 Hall contested the mayoralty again in 2003, losing that year to David Miller, who had served through the Lastman years as an NDP councillor.

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During Lastman’s time as mayor, Hall had chaired the National Strategy on Community Safety and Crime Prevention, a federal government posting with a $60 million budget and a high suburban profile.93 Hall’s second defeat was particularly disappointing because early polls showed her far ahead of Miller and the other three male candidates.94 Once the campaign got into full swing, her support plummeted; she ended up with less than 10 percent of the mayoral votes cast in 2003.95 These two failed candidacies captured in many respects the challenges confronting women’s liberal citizenship in Toronto. Barbara Hall lost twice; not only that, but Lastman appointed a fellow conservative, Case Ootes, as deputy mayor during his terms of office. Ken Livingstone had chosen to reach out to Susan Kramer and Glenda Jackson; Lastman offered no such olive branch to Barbara Hall. Toronto’s first megacity mayor appointed a councillor from a visible minority background, Sherene Shaw, to the formal position of diversity advocate, but he did not create an advisory cabinet comparable to the one Livingstone established in London.96 Conclusions

When we compare liberal citizenship patterns in London to those in Toronto, we encounter a number of important similarities. First, women failed to obtain numerical parity with men in metropolitan councils and mayoral offices in both cities, even though feminist claims to political equality dated back more than a century in both locations. Second, despite consistently high levels of immigration to London and Toronto from many diverse places of origin, these metropolitan councils contained very few visible minority women or men. Third, gender regime arguments about the spatial dimension of local political representation were disconfirmed in both locations. That is, women did not hold significantly more inner-city than suburban council seats in London or – before they were abolished in 1997 – in Toronto’s boroughs. Although these parallels are notable, they remain less striking than cross-city divergences. Women came significantly closer (at 40 percent or higher) to numerical parity in the Greater London Assembly than on Toronto’s megacity council (where representation was generally in the 30 percent range). In this important respect, municipal reconfiguration helped enhance women’s liberal citizenship status in London by introducing a partial proportionality scheme for the GLA. The percentage of women on London’s metropolitan assembly in 2000 through 2005 also exceeded the average percentage on borough councils.

Seeking Public Office

By way of contrast, women’s numerical representation in Toronto initially declined somewhat following borough elimination and the creation of a single megacity council. Even after the numbers of women councillors stabilized in the 30 percent range, their substantive influence at the municipal level was likely less than it was before amalgamation, when women held two of the six mayoral posts on Metro Council. Moreover, the gap between London assembly proportions of at least 40 percent women, and Toronto amalgamated council levels of about 30 percent, coincided with higher numbers of female mayoral candidates, more women deputy mayors, and more attention to gender balance in mayoral advisory roles in London than in Toronto. Why was numerical representation higher in early GLA-era London than in post-amalgamation Toronto? In terms of mayors, the answer seems fairly straightforward: the priorities of the two leaders seem to have made an immediate and significant difference. Ken Livingstone’s commitment to recruiting women demonstrably surpassed that of Mel Lastman and likely dwarfed that of other male mayoral candidates in London. The higher numbers of women as mayoral prospects in London may be attributable to the larger population of that city, the presence of more municipal parties, and the greater democratic promise entailed in GLA creation than in amalgamation. In terms of municipal council representation, the presence of some proportional seats on the London assembly, combined with the absence of incumbents, likely assisted women candidates. In Toronto, an undiluted plurality scheme and intense competition for fewer and fewer seats were probably disadvantageous to women and other under-represented groups of citizens. On their own, however, structural changes could not have pushed women’s representation on the London assembly to the 40-percent-plus level, since these institutional shifts remained irrelevant in the absence of competitive female candidates. If second-wave British women’s groups were as fragmented and institutionally unfocused as standard accounts suggest, then they were an unlikely source of candidates.97 To the extent that a pragmatic, system-oriented feminism emerged in the UK during the 1980s, it was largely within the Labour Party. Efforts to recruit more women nominees, elect more women candidates, and introduce more “women friendly” policies became a prominent feature of the Labour landscape during that period.98 The party’s national victories in 1997 and 2001, combined with Livingstone’s election as London mayor in 2000, arguably energized urban feminism and encouraged Labour women to contest public office. In fact, interview materials presented

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in Chapter 5 demonstrate the degree to which a sense of hope and opportunity coloured citizens’ views of London politics. Women in Toronto faced far less promising circumstances during the same period. The election of right-wing Ontario governments in 1995 and 1999, and Mel Lastman’s mayoral victories in 1997 and 2000, dramatically narrowed channels of political access. Even if Toronto feminists were less ideologically fractured and more system-focused than their London counterparts, they faced hard times at the provincial and municipal levels after 1995. The loss of crucial access points and funding sources, combined with palpable threats to local democracy in Toronto, created a dark mood among many activists. As interview materials introduced later will reveal, many believed that the loss of borough government had dealt a devastating blow to community-based public life, and especially to the neighbourhood mobilizing that had long shaped women’s political engagement. By demonstrating systematic variations between London and Toronto, these results shed a critical light on the erosion arguments emerging from the globalization literature, which predict that contemporary citizenship would be weak in both locations, as well as on buoyancy claims in the urban politics field, which suggest that it would be robust in both places. Instead, the data presented in this chapter lend support to contextual arguments that specific institutional and leadership circumstances in post-GLA London – notably an opening up of new assembly seats under partial proportionality rules and the rise of a left-populist mayor – assisted numerical representation in ways that were not available in Toronto. As well, increases over time in women’s representation from the GLC period to the GLA era show how pressure from feminist interests – notably in the Labour Party – combined with the creation of a new body with new electoral arrangements, helped enhance women’s involvement. Was this same pattern mirrored in other dimensions of urban citizenship? Chapter 3 considers the bureaucratic angle by comparing metropolitan women’s units in London and Toronto.

3 Working from the Inside

During the 1970s and after, difference or women-centred feminists pressed for the establishment of new administrative units in British and Canadian cities. Designed to recognize the distinctive needs and talents of urban women, these units were meant to elevate “different and better values” in public bureaucracies.1 The creation of local women’s units, equality departments, and other agencies in London and Toronto demonstrated both the concerns of some city leaders about women citizens and the willingness of some second-wave feminists to join urban administrations. From an academic perspective, efforts to merge bureaucratic norms and social movement values in these insider units were so intriguing that they spawned entirely new categories of analysis, notably municipal feminism and femocracy. These terms held varied meanings but generally referred to attempts by second-wave women’s movement activists to bring their claims to bear within public administrations.2 Particularly during the Thatcher years, British campaigners believed they could advance their cause more effectively in Labour-controlled local or regional governments than through central government channels. The term municipal feminism captured the view that urban women’s committees – usually created by politicians elected to borough or metropolitan office – would enhance women’s experiences of city life.3 In Australia during the same period, Labor governments at the federal and state levels created specific women’s agencies.4 According to political scientist Jonathan Malloy, the term femocrat referred in Australia to “women appointed to work in ‘women’s affairs’ and women’s units in the state apparatus.”5 Both femocrats and municipal feminists advocated a greater voice for women in policy formation and more influence over how public services were delivered. This “insider” approach was rooted in the assumption that movement activists would be able to pursue their goals via

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bureaucratic channels. First, however, urban feminists had to believe they could “make a difference” in policy terms at the local level. Second, city leaders needed to recognize and value second-wave feminism, either because they endorsed movement activism as normatively good for cities or – at a more instrumental level – because they perceived support for women’s group claims, whether real or rhetorical, as politically useful. The Greater London Council Women’s Committee was one of the world’s best-known and most generously funded experiments in municipal feminism. Founded in 1982 and dismantled four years later when the GLC was eliminated, the unit evolved in the context of the urban new left direction of Ken Livingstone’s GLC. A number of London boroughs also provided promising avenues for women’s movement influence during the same period, when Britain’s central government seemed less than permeable to feminist interests. Metropolitan and local women’s committees could directly employ movement activists, sponsor issue campaigns, and even deliver child care and antiviolence programs. The shutdown of the GLC, coupled with severe constraints imposed on boroughs by the Conservative central government, posed multiple threats to this dimension of women’s citizenship. British women’s groups seemed ideologically fragmented as well as reluctant to engage with mainstream institutions; thus, ending the GLC threatened the fragile inroads made by state-focused or insider activism.6 Moreover, Tory efforts to entrench new public management (NPM) approaches at all levels of government meant that performance-based efficiency measures obscured the same citizenship norms that were central to arguments for insider representation. In short, the demise of femocracy in London appeared more than likely as of 1986. In Toronto during the 1970s and after, downtown politicians created a number of units, including the Equal Opportunity Office (EOO) and the Safe City Committee (SCC). The EOO’s initial mandate was to make the city a better employer for women; the SCC was charged with improving women’s safety. At the regional level, a publicly funded unit known as the Metropolitan Toronto Action Committee on Public Violence against Women and Children, or METRAC, emerged as well. Femocratic units in Toronto never rose to the prominence enjoyed by the GLC Women’s Committee, nor did they receive the same high levels of public funding. It should be added, however, that Canadian activists operated in a federal system that offered more points of access than British unitary state arrangements; furthermore, they had a long history of pragmatic involvement with state institutions at many levels.7 .

Working from the Inside

In addition, NPM approaches made fewer inroads in Canada than in Britain.8 Was urban restructuring less of a threat to insider strategies in Toronto than in London? Or would amalgamation strike the death knell for femocracy in Toronto? This chapter examines the fate of municipal feminism in the wake of metropolitan restructuring. It begins by reviewing the history of femocracy in London and Toronto and proposing two divergent sets of expectations about early GLA and megacity patterns. The discussion then examines recent developments in light of these expectations and concludes that even though the GLC’s shutdown challenged municipal feminism in London, it did not mark the demise of this phenomenon. In fact, Livingstone’s election as GLA mayor in 2000 helped launch a new approach – what we will call strategic femocracy – reflected in the creation of a women’s advisor position in the mayor’s office. As women’s advisor, Anni Marjoram drew together hundreds of feminist activists and unaffiliated women citizens at a series of annual Capitalwoman conferences. She also worked with the mayor to develop a vigorous agenda in such areas as child care, violence against women, housing, refugee women’s employment, and public transportation. By way of contrast, amalgamation seemed to silence Toronto’s municipal feminist presence, which had been modest to start with. In 1998 and after, Mayor Mel Lastman and his council allies disbanded the SCC and replaced it with a generic task force on community safety. Existing equal opportunity units were combined to form a single Access and Equity Office, which operated under the watchful eye of the city’s chief administrative officer. METRAC’s funding base eroded both in quantity and security, with a shift from relatively generous core to minimal project support. A newly created Status of Women Committee appeared weak and ineffectual, even in the eyes of its own members. Overall, the difference dimension of women’s citizenship as measured by municipal bureaucratic units seemed considerably more robust in postreconfiguration London than in post-amalgamation Toronto. What explains this pattern? Ideological and especially local leadership factors loom large. As Malloy observed in his study of Canada and Australia, progressive politicians generally invest more resources and legitimacy in femocratic units than their conservative counterparts.9 London’s new left and progressive populist leaders during the late GLC and early GLA years, respectively, were far more promising from the perspective of difference citizenship than their counterparts in pre- and post-amalgamation Toronto. In Canada’s largest city, reform-oriented downtown mayors (including David Crombie and John Sewell) and city

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councils dating from 1972 were considerably less radical than those of the Livingstone-era GLC. Moreover, years of moderate reform in Toronto were generally succeeded by staid, business-as-usual periods, including under mayors Art Eggleton and June Rowlands from 1980 to 1994. Barbara Hall’s single term as mayor, from 1994 to 1997, was convulsed in political and fiscal terms by the 1995 election of the Harris government. This pattern of long stretches of status quo leadership in downtown Toronto, interspersed with brief reformist interludes, coexisted with long-standing conservative dominance at the Metro and provincial levels. In the post-reconfiguration years the GLA and megacity mayors diverged sharply. As a left populist, Livingstone championed a small, effective strategic femocracy within the GLA. As a right populist, Mel Lastman seemed disinclined to work with any progressive interests – including feminists – whether via administrative channels or otherwise. Even before amalgamation, municipal feminism in Toronto faced significant obstacles. The main downtown unit in this area focused on the city as an employer and was housed within the personnel department of the Management Services Branch. In London, the GLC Women’s Committee – along with women’s units in the boroughs – had a more external, equality-of-outcomes focus, one that recognized women’s differential experiences as urban citizens and that challenged “local authority power structures” writ large.10 From this perspective, Toronto’s internal, City Hall focus on equality of opportunity could not provide the external profile and reputation that an equality-of-outcomes mission offered in London. This contrast seems especially puzzling, given the impact of NPM approaches in Britain relative to Canada. The legacy of Thatcher-era performance measures for local government – reinforced by New Labour initiatives after 1997 – imposed stringent benchmarking requirements in London that had few parallels in Toronto. According to Malloy, this layer of bureaucratic rules tends “to create new conflicts and problems” for units that bring social movement interests into public administrations.11 But however cumbersome and time-consuming they were, NPM approaches did not derail municipal feminism in London. With an effective women’s advisor, a supportive mayor, and significant numbers of progressive women on the assembly, the GLA’s strategic femocracy seemed reasonably influential. The limited inroads made by NPM techniques in Toronto seemed irrelevant, given both conservative megacity leadership between 1998 and 2003 and modest resources, visibility, and legitimacy for women’s units dating from the pre-amalgamation period.

Working from the Inside

Two important caveats are in order before we consider the historical background. First, despite the different origins of the terms municipal feminism (usually associated with British local government in the Thatcher years) and femocracy (generally linked to administrative units at state and federal levels in Australia), this chapter uses them interchangeably in referring to bureaucratic insider strategies pursued by women in London and Toronto. Second, only a few short years have elapsed since the GLA and the megacity were created. Municipal feminism could falter at some point in London, or become more robust in Toronto. By obvious necessity, our account is confined to the immediate post-restructuring period in both cities. Municipal Feminism in London

The GLC Women’s Committee of the mid-1980s represented an international high-water mark for municipal feminism. On the political side, the committee began with eight female and three male members, of whom seven (including four women) came from the Labour group that then controlled the GLC.12 Although the GLC only approved its creation by a narrow margin, the committee pursued a high-profile and – given the Conservative government across the Thames – high-risk approach to community outreach. For example, it formed nine working groups in areas ranging from planning and child care to violence and ethnic minority women. As well, eight women from community groups were eventually appointed to the committee, once an agreement was in place that four of them were to be black, one disabled, one a lesbian, and two from trade unions.13 During this period, GLC spending reached approximately £870 million per year and the council’s workforce numbered about thirty thousand.14 At its inception in 1982 the GLC Women’s Committee controlled a yearly budget of £500,000 and had a staff of fourteen.15 Over time this annual budget reached £7 to 8 million, of which about £6 million went toward “grant-aid new projects in London.”16 The committee’s support staff, which ranged from seventy to ninety-six, included experienced trade union and women’s movement activists as well as some employees without activist backgrounds.17 In internal terms, the committee aimed to make London’s metropolitan government a better employer, including by providing daycare for the children of GLC employees and by enhancing training opportunities for women workers. Beyond this, the committee funded a variety of local and national organizations. Approximately three hundred of the four hundred women’s groups that received GLC grants-in-aid between

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1982 and 1986 were based in minority and immigrant communities.18 Two London-based writers, Anna Coote and Beatrix Campbell, summarize the activities of the GLC Women’s Committee as follows: In its first four years, the Committee gave out £30 million on nearly 1,000 grants to women’s voluntary sector groups. Nearly 14 million went to child care projects: by 1986 the Committee was funding 12 per cent of all full-time provision for under-fives in London. In addition, it made 151 grants to social and resource centres for women, 69 to health projects, 60 to information and advice projects, 55 to counselling and support services, and 37 to women’s refuges [shelters for battered women]. Grant-aided projects were encouraged to reflect the values of the Committee – by being accessible to all women, pursuing anti-racist, anti-sexist policies and providing high quality services and conditions of employment.19

In 1985, London-area child care projects received about £3.6 million of the £6 million the committee devoted to community grants.20 This child care initiative became one of the best-known GLC legacies among the citizens of Britain’s largest city. Coote and Campbell also emphasize the policy significance of the GLC Women’s Committee: As well as funding independent groups of women, the Women’s Committee tried to ensure that other GLC committees took women fully into account – not just in rhetoric, but by following detailed plans to consult women in the community, to promote equal opportunities and to meet women’s needs. Special efforts were made to involve women in planning; a survey of women’s transport needs was conducted, a range of publications was produced to spread information about services and campaigns for women, and a large building in central London was set up as a resource centre ... it would be impossible to do justice here to all the Committee’s activities. What counted most, in a sense, was the very presence of the Women’s Committee, and the scale on which it was operating. For a short time, women had a taste of what real power might be like, and what could be achieved if women could command extensive resources in women’s interests, over a longer period.21

In 1984 the women’s committee acquired a multi-storey office building under a thirty-year deed of charge. Through the first decade of the twenty-first century, when high rents made it difficult for non-profit

Working from the Inside

groups to lease space in central London, this property continued to house a variety of feminist advocacy and service organizations.22 The influence wielded by the Women’s Committee extended well beyond London’s geographic boundaries. The unit paid a full-time daycare advocate to work across Britain on the National Child Care Campaign.23 It also underwrote antiviolence and health care advocacy activities, given that the Conservative central government was generally unresponsive to these concerns.24 For example, the GLC Women’s Committee funded the Women’s Reproductive Rights Information Centre, established in 1983.25 This depth and range of commitment remained exceptional, however. As political scientists Joni Lovenduski and Vicky Randall report, only about one in four Labour-led councils created women’s units or equality committees in Britain during the 1980s.26 The elimination of the GLC was an integral part of Margaret Thatcher’s sustained push to contain competing sources of power. At a rhetorical level, she targeted local authorities dominated by the Labour Party, as well as their trade union and social movement allies, for fierce condemnation. She singled out Livingstone as her nemesis, describing London’s mayor as part of “the enemy within.”27 She portrayed “Red Ken” and his allies as “loony left” politicians who were frittering away public money on fringe interests and “alternative lifestyles.”28 In 1983 the Conservative Party manifesto called for the abolition of the GLC and five other metropolitan councils on the grounds that they were fiscally irresponsible and politically out of step.29 Although women’s committees were not the main target of Thatcher’s campaign, they were clearly being tarred with the same negative brush. Conservative interests saw municipal feminism as part of a misguided and immoral effort to destroy the traditional family. Whether their object of scorn was the GLC Women’s Committee or boroughs that offered space, for example, to lesbian groups (as occurred in one infamous case in London’s Islington district), critics on the right used their attacks on municipal feminism to gain political advantage.30 In their account of the Tory era, Ben Pimlott and Nirmala Rao write that “dogged by internal dissension and pilloried by the press, the women’s committee seemed to feed the popular view of the GLC as committed to extremism and gesture politics.”31 Thatcher-era changes went beyond abolishing the GLC and five other metropolitan councils. By the late 1980s, local governments that remained in place (including in London) had lost control of education and housing policy.32 Under the terms of mandatory tendering rules, they were required to seek competitive bids for all services and to accept

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the lowest bidder.33 The central government limited local tax rates under a scheme known as rate capping.34 Each of these changes reduced both the autonomy of cities and the flow of funds to urban activist groups.35 Some women’s organizations that had been supported by the GLC were forced to rely on volunteers. Others turned to the boroughs, or to semi-independent agencies known as quangos (quasi-autonomous non-governmental organizations), which were controlled by the central government.36 Unlike the GLC, however, these sources tended to finance short-term, specific research projects and service work rather than longer-term advocacy campaigns. It is not surprising that many women’s organizations in London disbanded after the GLC was eliminated. Others struggled with temporary funding arrangements that imposed frequent grant application deadlines and complex administrative rules. Groups that did continue tended to become both more bureaucratic as a result of increased demands for accountability, and less oriented toward long-term social change due to pressing research or service-delivery deadlines.37 At least three potential sources of support remained in place after the GLC Women’s Committee disappeared, one of which was the boroughs of inner and outer London. A few Labour-dominated boroughs, including Islington, retained women’s equality units through the 1990s; the Islington unit focused on antiviolence campaigns and lesbian rights work long after the GLC’s dissolution.38 Cross-borough organizations also remained in place, including the Association of London Authorities (ALA), made up of boroughs controlled by the Labour Party. The ALA funded its own women’s unit after the GLC was abolished.39 As well, the thirty-three London boroughs maintained the London Boroughs Grants Scheme.40 Twenty years after the Conservatives’ 1983 manifesto promised to eliminate the GLC, the scheme was awarding about £30 million per year to voluntary groups across London.41 A second source of funds was the central government’s Equal Opportunities Commission, established in 1975 to enforce equal pay and antidiscrimination legislation. Although it was based in Manchester and suffered severe budgetary cuts during the Tory years, the EOC employed activists and sponsored research in the areas of child care and workplace discrimination.42 Also, some feminists engaged with trade union interests and with opposition parties in Parliament; both desperately needed women. In the case of the former, men working in mines, dockyards, and state enterprises – who had once formed the backbone of Britain’s labour movement – were less and less numerous. This decline meant

Working from the Inside

that trade unions needed to organize women workers (notably in the service sector) in order to survive. In terms of the latter, the Labour Party needed to broaden its base among women voters in order to defeat the Conservatives.43 Even acting in unison, could the boroughs, the EOC, trade unions, and the Labour Party replace the GLC Women’s Committee? All were weak and vulnerable during the Thatcher and Major years, and none seemed ready or able to invest in urban feminism to the extent that the GLC had. With a shrinking pool of resources, local women’s organizations began to compete with one another for the limited sums available.44 This vigorous inter-group competition threatened movement cohesion, which was generally viewed as weak at the best of times. Radical and socialist feminists would perhaps have accepted support from Livingstone’s GLC, but they were not necessarily prepared to work with borough, EOC, trade union, or party organizations. From the perspective of municipal feminism, would any constituency be left in London to press for difference representation once metropolitan government was restored? We explore this question later in this chapter. Femocracy in Toronto

During the early 1970s, downtown Toronto was an important site of second-wave feminist organizing. A coalition of established middle-class women’s organizations (notably the Canadian Federation of University Women, headed by Laura Sabia) and newer women’s liberation groups (including New Feminists, formed in 1969) vigorously lobbied cabinet ministers to implement the recommendations of a 1970 federal Royal Commission on the Status of Women report.45 Women’s organizations later convened the 1972 Strategy for Change conference, which established the National Action Committee on the Status of Women (NAC) as an umbrella organization for older and newer groups. Based in Toronto, NAC operated through the early 1990s as a non-partisan, independent feminist voice, albeit one that relied heavily on federal subsidies.46 The social ferment of this period spilled over into local politics. After the 1972 municipal elections, Toronto City Council (in the old City of Toronto) created a mayoral Task Force on the Status of Women. Two city councillors and nine community representatives were charged with reporting to Mayor David Crombie within one year on “what action should be taken to ensure women have equal opportunities to men in all aspects of society and equal access to employment, recreation, housing, information, social services and other prerequisites of residence in

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the City of Toronto without regard to age, marital status, sexual orientation, or the age and number of children.”47 Having been assigned a broad mandate but just one full-time staff person, the task force did not issue its report until 1976.48 According to Carolyn Whitzman, who later served as a City of Toronto femocrat, the task force’s short deadline and minimal resources established an unfortunate but predictable pattern: Although the Task Force did generate reports on equal pay for work of equal value, childcare, abortion, venereal disease, recreation opportunities, and affirmative action, the “Final Report” of the City of Toronto Task Force on the Status of Women in 1976 was highly critical of the lack of support from the City Council and the potential for action on its recommendations. It was underresourced, with only one full-time staff person assigned, while being expected to comment on every city policy that might have an impact on women. The end result, it felt, was that it was distrusted both inside and outside City Hall.49

Whitzman observes that the same reform-oriented mayor and city councillors who created the task force and saw great promise in it, invested limited resources and legitimacy in the project. As a consequence, expectations were raised but the public impact remained modest. The task force did lead in 1975 to the appointment of a part-time equal opportunity officer in the city’s personnel department. Her initial mandate was to make the city both a better employer for women and more responsive to women’s needs in the community.50 By 1994, when the City of Toronto employed about 6,300 people and had a budget of approximately $550 million, the Equal Opportunity Office (EOO) had grown to more than thirty full-time staff with an annual budget of about $1.5 million.51 This sum covered the costs associated with personnel, research reports, and an Institute of Women and Work to document the status of working women.52 Yet the EOO’s mandate now stretched well beyond the advancement of women. Beginning in the early 1980s the City of Toronto found itself being pressed to improve the employment status of a number of other disadvantaged (or designated) groups, notably racial minorities, Aboriginal people, and people with disabilities. In response to pressure from visible minority communities, for example, a Mayor’s Committee on Community and Race Relations was established in 1981.53 Given this financial and bureaucratic situation, how did Toronto’s EOO address its internal mandate? Writing in 1993, political scientist Sue Findlay offered a pessimistic assessment:

Working from the Inside

Although representatives of the ‘designated groups’ are more visible in the provision of City services, this visibility should not be mistaken for true integration of these groups throughout the City workforce. The nature of the program – a model that has been honed over the 1980s to maximize managers’ “flexibility” in implementing employment equity at the expense of the more radical demands for quotas, and to minimize the power of the Equal Opportunity Office in the process of implementation – has actually worked to the advantage of the status quo. Most of the positions targeted by departmental managers are entrylevel and, worse still, temporary or casual positions ... Even in the Equal Opportunity Office itself, most of those who advocate women’s interests are temporary contract staff. While more of the designated groups are “represented” in the City’s workforce, the Equal Opportunity Program has had minimal impact as a strategy to shift the fundamental relations of power in the historically white, male, able-bodied workforce.54

Even worse, Findlay claimed, the equal opportunities approach produced “meagre” results in the city’s policy machinery.55 She cited, for example, “a [1991] report on ‘Gender and Housing in Toronto’ [that] argues, gender is still not an issue in the development of the City’s housing policy. Although City advocates for the ‘designated groups’ have managed to establish their presence at City Hall, they have not been successful in integrating the issues facing these groups into the mainstream City departments such as finance, planning and development, public works and the environment, or housing.”56 Like the mayor’s task force that led to its creation, the EOO disappointed many observers, especially those who desired a more assertive and effective femocracy. Yet at the same time, conservative critics deplored what they saw as the highly influential role of the same body, notably under long-time director Mary Bruce.57 In terms of external profile, municipal feminism in Toronto was arguably most visible in the field of women’s safety. Claims by rape crisis workers and others that the downtown task force had overlooked safety led the regional layer of government to establish in 1982 the Metro Task Force on Public Violence against Women and Children. This inquiry brought Liberal and Conservative activists together with social movement campaigners. Whitzman notes that “Jane Pepino, a conservative feminist development lawyer who was a member of the Police Services Board in 1982, became the chair of the Task Force, and Pat Freeman Marshall, who was active in the Liberal Party, became the first Executive Director of the organization that resulted from the Task Force.”58

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Created in 1983, METRAC was an incorporated organization that received about $200,000 annually from Toronto’s municipal government.59 METRAC pioneered the development of a Women’s Safety Audit kit, for use in many different locations, including Toronto parks and subway stations.60 One study described the safety audit process as bringing “individuals together to walk through a physical environment, evaluate how safe it feels to them, identify ways to make the space safer and organize to bring about those changes.”61 Whether undertaken on university campuses or in city parks, audits would typically involve a group of users of that space, often with resource people, spending several hours, usually in the evening, examining the space from the point of view of the sense of safety. Out of this activity will come a series of recommendations that the group will then attempt to have implemented. The recommendations may be addressed to a wide variety of public and private bodies (municipal governments, provincial governments, individual landlords, store owners, schools) and may range across physical improvements (better lighting, changes in landscaping) to social changes (greater use of public space, public education about vulnerable groups).62

As Caroline Andrew noted in her research on local antiviolence work, safety audits held the potential to empower women and improve their daily lives.63 Was this promise likely to be fulfilled? Once femocrats began working closely with politicians, parks commissioners, the police, and so on – and accepted both funds and direction from them – would safety audits become neutered so that women, to use Carolyn Whitzman’s phrase, “got lost?”64 These questions remained contentious through the late 1980s, a time when three serial rapists were operating in the Greater Toronto Area. In response to pressure from citizens, METRAC, and a new organization known as Women Plan Toronto (modelled on the GLC-funded Women Plan London), a group of progressive downtown councillors issued a report titled The Safe City: Municipal Strategies for Preventing Public Violence Against Women.65 The downtown council agreed in September 1988 to establish the SCC to oversee the implementation of the report’s recommendations.66 Like the GLC Women’s Committee, the SCC included city councillors as well as representatives of community groups.67 Whitzman, who for

Working from the Inside

ten years was the SCC’s coordinator, believes this arrangement offered the unit “a focused mandate and a strong network of ‘outside’ women’s advocacy groups to guide it.”68 Yet the SCC remained relatively small, weakly resourced, and invisible. During its ten years of existence, Whitzman’s staff position, the unit’s annual budget of about $40,000, and the Breaking the Cycle of Violence community grants scheme (which awarded about $500,000 annually for antiviolence initiatives) remained hidden in various departmental budgets.69 According to Whitzman, the SCC achieved some “notable successes,” including “a policy in the Official Plan that mandated the inclusion of safety concerns when reviewing development applications; the development of guidelines, workshops, and forums on safer parks, businesses and underground garages; free women’s self-defence courses in all thirty city-run recreation centres.”70 Yet these same successes threatened opponents, who responded by creating a high-budget Crime Inquiry in downtown Toronto and by attempting to withhold Safe City grants to community groups.71 In 1991 a new City of Toronto Status of Women Committee was established that seemed hostile to the SCC but favourable to the EOO.72 One writer who was close to the SCC described the new committee as “relatively weak, with a very broad mandate, low profile and limited funding.”73 Overall, bureaucratic competition likely undermined the already precarious status of municipal feminism in Toronto. The SCC reached its apex just as the old City of Toronto was coming to an end. In 1994, veteran NDP councillor Barbara Hall defeated establishment candidate June Rowlands in the last downtown mayoral contest. Hall had worked on the initial Safe City report and as chair of the SCC. During her single term as mayor she pursued a community-based approach to urban development, safety, policing, and employment issues. To summarize, municipal feminism in the pre-amalgamation City of Toronto consisted primarily of the following: a mayor’s task force (the early 1970s), the EOO (formed in 1975), the SCC (formed in 1988), and a Status of Women committee (operating from 1991). At the regional level, Metro Toronto established METRAC as an arms-length agency in the mid1980s. Each of these bodies produced an array of reports and tool kits, particularly in the field of urban safety, where femocrats emphasized violence against women as a significant barrier to full citizenship. None of these units, however, was visible or well resourced relative to the GLC Women’s Committee. The EOO was better funded and staffed than other bodies in Toronto, but its focus on city hall personnel

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mandated attention to multiple designated groups. Although the SCC distributed funds to community groups, neither it nor other femocratic units in Canada’s largest city was able to finance advocacy campaigns, child care centres, or women’s shelters to the degree that the GLC Women’s Committee could. Toronto had many fragmented and sometimes competing units, each with a limited (and in at least one case hidden) budget; thus femocrats were hard-pressed to shape vital dimensions of urban public policy. As Whitzman noted in a recent study, “Toronto – where safety audits originated – has never implemented a city-wide program to respond to safety audits.”74 Most femocracies in pre-amalgamation Toronto relied on coalitions among mainstream political actors, on one side, and extraparliamentary women’s movement activists, on the other. Embedded in this arrangement were tense compromises required to maintain standing among elected councillors and senior bureaucrats; these in turn challenged the internal and external viability of femocracy in Toronto. Unlike in London, where tabloid journalists routinely lambasted Livingstone-era municipal feminism and average citizens knew about its role within the GLC, public awareness of femocracies in Canada’s largest city was minimal on the eve of metropolitan amalgamation. Exploring the Consequences

How would urban reconfiguration affect municipal feminism? In London, where multiple agencies and departments of the Tory central government assumed crucial roles after 1986, the prospects looked especially gloomy. After the GLC was eliminated, spatial planning and transportation policies were expected to comply with Conservative norms favouring privatization, competitiveness, and efficiency.75 Women’s groups’ efforts to expand child care facilities and improve safety and accessibility on trains and buses risked falling off the public agenda. With far fewer resources, a reduced public profile, and limited access to politicians – all in the context of a broader shift from progressive metropolitan government to marketized notions of mixed public/private governance – municipal feminism in London was arguably condemned to extinction.76 From this perspective, difference citizenship claims were doomed because of institutional changes that wiped out Livingstone’s GLC as a generous sponsor of activist interests, thus challenging movement legitimacy, reducing issue visibility, and threatening core funding sources. The birth of the GLA in 2000 seemed unlikely to reverse this pattern because the new authority commanded only a small fraction of the jurisdiction, staff, and resources of the old GLC. Moreover, New Labour

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elites who controlled the central government after 1997 seemed hostile toward not only a reincarnated Ken Livingstone but also equity initiatives in general.77 As well, they endorsed NPM schemes that dated from the Conservative years. Existing research posits that NPM’s pervasive reach would likely constrain both the growth of femocratic initiatives and their impact.78 A contrasting view emerges from social movement studies, which suggest that groups with a strong self-help ethos, committed grassroots volunteers, and militant values can often withstand the effects of institutional change. According to this view, autonomous radical interests – for instance, antiviolence campaigners in London – would be sufficiently independent (indeed, distrustful) of mainstream institutions that they would experience few effects from changes such as GLC elimination or GLA creation.79 Groups in London could also be advantaged by Livingstone’s election as GLA mayor and by the 40 percent representation of women on the London assembly. In addition, London borough government continued through the Tory and New Labour years. Unlike the situation in Toronto after amalgamation, women in London did not confront the complete loss of local autonomy at the borough level. What good news/bad news scenarios faced femocracy in Toronto? On the positive side, it was possible that a long tradition of institutionally oriented mobilization would insulate femocrats from the shock of changes in urban governance. According to this view, Canadian feminists were politically pragmatic and knew how to navigate a highly decentralized federal system.80 Thus the election of a Conservative majority government in Ontario in 1995 was not alarming because women’s groups had built reasonable working relations with that party at Queen’s Park from the 1970s through 1985.81 If the Harris government shut down boroughs and forcibly amalgamated Toronto, movement activists would simply find new ways to exert influence on, and operate in, the new municipality. On the negative side, Toronto never had a robust municipal feminist presence. Between the Crombie-era task force in the 1970s and megacity formation in the late 1990s, femocracy in Canada’s largest city was able to marshal only modest clout, resources, and public profile. From this perspective, it was quite vulnerable to the damaging effects of municipal restructuring. The general anti-urban ethos of the Harris Conservatives, and especially the ruthless vendetta directed against Barbara Hall as a top downtown progressive, were not promising omens; neither was Mel Lastman’s election as megacity mayor.

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All told, municipal feminism in Toronto faced a triple-whammy: low profile and limited inroads, especially outside the field of women’s safety, from the pre-megacity period; hard-right central government elites from 1995 to 2003; and a conservative first mayor of the megacity. The institutional pragmatism of Toronto activists may actually have led them to underestimate these last two threats.82 That is, they may have ignored or downplayed the impact of structural and leadership changes, given that they had weathered other storms and, in particular, had managed to work with past provincial Conservative governments. What about the challenge posed by social diversity? Governance changes in London and Toronto occurred at a time when both cities were experiencing rapid population growth, especially with the influx of immigrants from Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean.83 The multicultural reality facing both centres reverberated in urban women’s groups, as the predominance of affluent, white non-immigrants was increasingly contested. Over time, intersections with race, ethnocultural background, class, and citizenship status gained wider resonance and the undifferentiated category known as women seemed less and less meaningful. Would these diversity tensions affect municipal feminism differently in London than in Toronto? The history of the GLC – in particular, the “designated representation” approach taken by the GLC Women’s Committee – indicated that women from a variety of backgrounds could work together effectively in a well-resourced municipal unit. As described earlier, that committee included black, disabled, lesbian, and trade union members from the broader urban community; at its height the GLC unit commanded considerable funds to address the needs of varied constituencies. By way of contrast, both resources and community visibility were modest in pre-amalgamation Toronto. The main femocratic unit in the downtown bureaucracy, the EOO, faced an expanded mandate to deal not only with women but also with visible minority, Aboriginal, and disabled people’s representation in the city workforce. In budget and staff terms, when pro-rated for population size, the combined femocracies of Toronto’s downtown and regional governments fell far short of the GLC Women’s Committee. Overall, if urban femocracies needed to present the multiple faces and voices of community women, then circumstances in London appeared significantly more promising than those in Toronto. During the late GLC years, municipal feminism had acknowledged, debated, and to some degree addressed discrimination against women in its many guises. In Toronto, the limited resources and momentum of municipal

Working from the Inside

feminism likely exacerbated strains among diverse women as well as between women and other disadvantaged groups within the same unit. One interviewee, reflecting on what she called “hierarchies of oppression,” stated that divisions along diverse lines of identity were likely to weaken municipal feminism. The probability of serious strains seemed relatively greater in Toronto than in London. The Initial GLA Years

How did municipal feminism fare in the early GLA era? Once he became London’s first popularly elected mayor, Ken Livingstone worked to reduce expectations by pointing out that the GLA had far less power, more limited funds, and fewer employees than the GLC. Located east of the GLC’s former headquarters in County Hall, the GLA’s City Hall was a compact, glass-enclosed sphere shaped like an egg or a teardrop.84 The building could thus be interpreted as representing the nascent potential of a new strategic authority or, alternatively, the lamentable loss of the old GLC. Unlike County Hall, a huge stone edifice with a curved middle block embracing Parliament and the Thames, the new City Hall was tiny, transparent, and only meant to accommodate hundreds of employees. Moreover, given its mandate to operate as a strategic or coordinating body, the GLA could not offer the kinds of direct services (such as child care programs) or grants to groups that the GLC had provided. Early in his first term, Livingstone appointed Anni Marjoram as his policy advisor on women’s issues. Marjoram thus became the public face of municipal feminism during the initial GLA years, as one member of Livingstone’s political staff of sixty.85 Before holding this appointment, she worked as the House of Commons assistant to left-wing Labour MP Audrey Wise. Nearly twenty years earlier, during the spring of 1982, Wise’s daughter Valerie had served as the young GLC member who “piloted through the establishment of a full [women’s] committee of the GLC,” along with a large support unit to service it.86 Besides sharing common political and social networks with Livingstone, Marjoram was a veteran activist in her own right. During the left’s long years in opposition, she participated in the extraparliamentary Campaign for Labour Party Democracy as well as the Labour Women’s Action Committee. On the parliamentary side, she ran for Labour in a Devon constituency, and in 1992 in the same north London constituency that had been held until 1990 by Margaret Thatcher. With a GLA staff of one half-time secretary and one full-time policy assistant, Marjoram worked to spread a women’s equality agenda throughout the mayor’s remit.87 She pursued this agenda primarily

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through his control of London’s police, fire, transport, and economic development agencies, using their personnel and budgets to finance initiatives in each area. In effect, she leveraged her own and the mayor’s long-standing links with women’s groups to make GLA bodies more responsive. Even though she controlled no high-budget municipal bureaucracy comparable to that of the GLC Women’s Committee, she did direct a small unit – a strategic femocracy – that had clear ideas about how to “re-ignite the movement embers still smouldering in London after 1986.”88 Marjoram initiated a series of high-profile public activities, including Capitalwoman, a one-day conference held every March during the week of International Women’s Day. These events offered Livingstone a venue for publicizing his policies, gathering feedback from women’s groups and individual London women, and building a crucial base among female voters. Sponsored by the GLA mayor and subsidized by a number of unions, GLA agencies, and corporate donors, Capitalwoman attracted 270 participants in 2001, more than 800 in 2002, 1,800 in 2003, and more than 2,500 in 2004.89 These numbers demonstrated the presence of women’s movements in London long after the GLC’s dissolution, as well as the ongoing appeal of equality issues to women who were too young to have participated in second-wave feminism. Marjoram’s use of the levers available to her within the GLA and its agencies, coupled with her movement connections of long standing and the mayor’s willingness to pursue an equality agenda, helped shine a bureaucratic spotlight on women in London. At one level, the GLA femocracy focused on the hiring and promotion of diverse women to positions either inside the GLA or regulated by that body, including firefighters, London Underground drivers, and black cab drivers. Livingstone’s broad push was reflected in the text of the London Underground advertisement quoted on the first page of this study. Over time, more women were indeed being appointed to non-traditional positions (including senior management), as documented in the mayor’s annual equality reports.90 Beyond City Hall and its agencies, London’s strategic femocracy undertook a series of public campaigns that affected millions of citizens and visitors to the city. In coordination with top transport and police officials, for example, Livingstone and Marjoram crafted the terms of a registration and licensing system for what had been illegal minicab operations. They oversaw a powerful media campaign that urged women throughout London to increase their safety by using only licensed cabs.

Working from the Inside

Within one year of the start of the campaign, reported rapes and sexual assaults in unlicensed minicabs had declined from 212 to 155. In the words of the 2004 Capitalwoman brochure, however, “it is still 155 too many.”91 Livingstone’s decisions to introduce new buses, lower bus fares, better lighting and signage at stops, more frequent night buses, and additional bus lanes were crucially important to London’s women. Changes like these promised to improve the mobility of lower-income, often elderly women as well as young mothers travelling with small children and bulky parcels.92 Around the same time, the mayor’s imposition of a weekday congestion charge for entry to central London, beginning in February 2003, reduced traffic levels, improved air quality, and moved buses and taxis more quickly. Even in areas where Livingstone lacked statutory authority, GLA femocrats pushed forward. Picking up where the GLC Women’s Committee had left off, the mayor’s office released a series of booklets designed to assist women who sought local services. One of these resource guides, Health Services for London’s Women: A Directory of Voluntary and Community Sector Health Services for Women in London, was first published in March 2002 and has been updated at regular intervals.93 In response to London’s critical shortage of teachers, nurses, and physicians, and following controversial changes at the national level in the treatment of asylum seekers, the GLA funded a report on refugee women in Britain who held professional qualifications on their arrival. Missed Opportunities, published by the mayor’s office in December 2002, presented a detailed audit of refugee women’s skills and recommended greater integration of London’s diverse immigrants on school and hospital staffs.94 The women’s health directory and skills audit formed part of Ken Livingstone’s broader campaign to push the New Labour central government in more progressive directions. Over time, his efforts extended into such areas as child care, where the GLA commissioned a study in early 2002, which showed that the National Child Care Strategy for “under-fives” was falling far short of expectations – especially in disadvantaged parts of London. A subsequent GLA report dated July 2002 revealed that there were few available child care spaces and high costs for those that existed; as well, it predicted a severe imbalance between future child care demand and affordable supply.95 In March 2003, Livingstone’s office released a draft of the London Childcare Strategy, which eventually committed more than £3.1 million from the London

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Development Agency for about 1,700 new, affordable child care spaces. In his foreword to that document, the mayor pointed to the shortcomings of central government welfare reforms, arguing that expensive housing and child care in London discouraged parents from pursuing paid work.96 In particular, submissions to Livingstone’s Housing Commission highlighted the difficulties finding rental accommodation faced by older, disabled, black and minority, and low-wage women. In June 2001 he launched the London Women’s Housing Forum in response to discontent over national policy in this sector. That forum issued a report in October 2001 that set out key housing issues for disadvantaged women in London.97 As will be discussed in Chapter 4, the GLA spatial development plan also addressed affordable housing and child care issues. Again in response to limited action by the central government, Livingstone launched the London Domestic Violence Strategy. His stated goal was “to provide strategic leadership which supports and builds on existing work and which encourages and facilitates the development of new initiatives.”98 Under the leadership of Davina JamesHanman, formerly of the Women’s Equality Unit in Islington borough, the GLA created a London Domestic Violence Forum with eighty borough representatives, who in turn were connected with hundreds of other agencies and groups in the field.99 The forum worked via subgroups on issues such as better housing for women and children fleeing abuse and improved training for police officers. The GLA approach, which became “the largest strategic response to domestic violence in the country,” was advertised in information kiosks and posters across London.100 In short, the strategic femocracy of the early GLA years played an active, visible role in the nascent municipality. It adopted a challenging internal mandate that sought to improve women’s status as employees of the GLA and its agencies. In external terms, Marjoram and her staff directed attention toward a broad set of issues, including safety on public transport, violence at home, access to affordable housing and child care, and refugee women’s employment. Did the GLA’s strategic femocracy produce tangible results? If issue visibility counted as an important measure, initial results seemed promising. By mid-2004, posters headlined “Know what you’re getting into,” warning Londoners not to use illegal minicabs, were being displayed in pubs, parks, and restaurants throughout the city. This campaign raised public awareness about a crucial urban issue; it also reduced violence against women and illegal minicab use. London Underground posters

Working from the Inside

seeking women train drivers placed workforce diversity issues in sight of thousands of subway riders. Clearly, policy implementation would take much longer, but early indications suggested that Livingstone intended to carry through on his transport, child care, and housing promises. While the GLA strategic femocracy was considerably smaller in staffing and resource terms than the GLC Women’s Committee, it nevertheless played an active, visible role from 2000 to 2004. Having a mayor who was committed to women’s equality seemed crucial both to the creation of the GLA femocracy and to the public profile of women’s concerns in London. The Early Megacity Period

Would the modest municipal feminist presence that developed prior to Toronto’s amalgamation survive that process? The odds did not seem promising once Mel Lastman was elected as the first megacity mayor. During his long years in North York politics, Lastman had relied on a tight cadre of loyal advisors and council allies. He largely ignored other actors, in part by avoiding community consultations that were open to dissenting voices. This approach permitted him to develop wildly inaccurate perspectives on urban realities, including during the 1997 mayoral race, when he declared that homelessness did not exist in North York. Shortly afterward, according to the leading account of Toronto’s housing crisis, “48-year-old Linda Houston was found dead in a North York gas station’s bathroom, where she had sought shelter.”101 Given concerns among progressives about both amalgamation and the mayor, some megacity councillors pressed for – and won – a task force on community access and equity.102 The task force’s mandate, however, was to “discuss the best ways to ensure the voices of the City’s diverse communities continue to be heard” – a phrasing which betrayed assumptions that all was well with the status quo.103 Five city councillors and thirteen community members on the task force began “an extensive consultation process, holding over fifty sectoral community consultations and also meeting monthly to receive presentations, written submissions, letters, and other comments from a broad range of community stakeholders concerned with access and equity.”104 Although a number of anti-amalgamation activists participated in the task force, few held out hope for meaningful change. As one reflected in late 1999, “the ‘equity agenda’ in the new Toronto is a largely symbolic affair, defined as it is by fashionable declarations of support for the ‘diversity’ and ‘uniqueness’ of Toronto as an immigrant city. Indeed, predominant notions of diversity and multiculturalism have become tools

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to promote the competitiveness of the global city of business. Multiculturalism is reduced to colourful festivals and tasteful food while the meaning of diversity is limited to a lifestyle choice and a marketing strategy to sell Toronto’s Olympic bid and capture the youth market in designer clothing.”105 The megacity approach also tended to divide community interests that might have coalesced around a unified access and equity strategy. In December 1999, city council approved a task force recommendation to create “five community advisory committees on aboriginal affairs, disability issues, status of women, race and ethnic relations, and lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered issues.”106 The older City of Toronto focus on women and three additional designated groups thus expanded to embrace at least five categories. Notably, women were the only group that likely constituted a majority in each of the other four categories. Each new access and equity committee included at least one city councillor as well as community members and reported to a standing committee of council. Pam McConnell, chair of the Status of Women Advisory Committee during the early amalgamation years, was an NDP councillor from inner-city Toronto and a long-time supporter of Barbara Hall.107 Clearly, McConnell was quite distant from Lastman’s inner circle, which controlled Toronto municipal politics in the initial post-amalgamation period. As political scientist Julie-Anne Boudreau reports, advocates of local democracy viewed city council’s decision to create advisory committees as “a watered-down version” of their own idea – namely, “a special standing committee of Council, an equality commission within the bureaucracy, and an arms-length equity council.”108 Feminist campaigners were especially pessimistic about advisory committees that reported to a conservative-dominated council and that relied on a senior bureaucracy staffed by the mayor’s appointees. Urban scholar Myer Siemiatycki and his colleagues identified other risks inherent in this approach. They warned that creating five separate committees of the megacity council could isolate crucial dimensions of human diversity: “Addressing access and equity issues by creating official categorizations of different population groups may have the unintended consequences of reinforcing the very boundaries that their establishment is aimed at removing or reducing. Observers suggest that there may be a danger in structuring such a process of institutionalizing, rather than reducing, boundaries.”109 The risk of entrenching boundaries was especially significant in the case of women, who shared

Working from the Inside

multiple crossing points or intersections with the other four access and equity groups. Little consideration was given to how intersections among the five diversity categories would be addressed. According to official documents, members of the Advisory Committee on the Status of Women tried to pursue this concern and were “instrumental in introducing the concept of intersectionality in the analysis of discrimination, racism and barrier removal ... Status of Women sent a strong message stressing that multiple factors which include gender, race, disability, place of origin, sexual orientation and gender identity can compound one’s experience of discrimination by virtue of the intersection of identities or identity markers.”110 For example, a number of women’s committee members attended meetings of other access and equity committees in order to raise common themes in each group.111 It seemed ironic that with double or triple burdens of paid employment, unpaid nurturing, and political work, women in Toronto believed they had to participate in ever more City Hall meetings. Alongside these political questions were important resource challenges. Mayor Lastman’s property tax freeze, layered over the provincial disentanglement exercise, created a fiscal straitjacket. With the megacity council facing growing demands for spending (particularly on social programs) but a stagnant revenue supply, funds for municipal feminist activities became more and more scarce. Stable, year-to-year budget support for METRAC, which the Metro level had provided, “was converted from an annual operating grant of approximately $200,000 to project-by-project funding of no more than $50,000 per project.”112 Groups like Women Plan Toronto, which had never obtained multi-year public funding, retreated into dormancy.113 At the same time, major bureaucratic changes imposed other constraints on femocracy in Toronto. City Council approved a 1999 recommendation to transfer responsibility for Access and Equity (formerly known in the City of Toronto as the Equal Opportunity unit of Management Services) to the chief administrative officer’s Strategic and Corporate Policy Division.114 In terms of the SCC, megacity councillors created a new Task Force on Community Safety, which was folded into the CAO’s office in 1999 along with the rest of what had been the Healthy City office. Prior to amalgamation, that office employed downtown planners and committee coordinators who worked on aging, community and race relations, and women’s safety issues. The Task Force on Community Safety drew most of its members from groups other than women’s

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organizations; furthermore, it had a neutered mandate in which women’s safety was but one small item.115 Taken individually, these changes in political leadership, funding, and bureaucratic organization seemed small and innocuous. Yet community activists viewed the last one as especially dangerous, since it centralized bureaucratic power and placed pro-equity staff under the watchful eye of a top Lastman appointee. The broader administrative effects of amalgamation were also significant; staff from six boroughs and one regional layer had been folded into a single bureaucratic body. Many experienced employees retired or quit, and those who remained had to endure the difficult process of creating one new bureaucracy from seven earlier ones. Close observers discerned clear patterns in the chaos; that is, administrators from conservative North York and Metro now dominated the megacity’s civil service. As time passed, units placed under the CAO’s control became more politically cautious, more internally focused, and less community oriented than they had been in the old City of Toronto. A surveillance atmosphere within the CAO’s office seemed to weaken ties between social movements outside City Hall, on one side, and municipal bureaucrats and politicians, on the other. As one close observer remarked in a confidential interview, “it was deeply distressing work. The Healthy City Office was getting folded into a Chief Administrator’s Office that was technocratic and deeply involved in Lastman’s tax- and servicecutting agenda.” Could the implications of these various patterns be discerned right away? Women in Toronto arguably lost collective profile quite rapidly, since the megacity Status of Women Committee garnered virtually no media coverage. Around this same time, the once-vibrant NAC went into severe decline.116 In the fall of 2001 the women’s committee released a report card on the status of child care in Toronto. Members engaged in additional activities, including meeting other access and equity committees, monitoring the human resources practices of the city and its agencies, and pressing council to pass motions that concerned women who resided outside Toronto. The subjects of these motions included Kimberley Rogers, who died in Sudbury, Ontario while under house arrest for welfare fraud, and Amina Lawal, who was sentenced to death by stoning in Nigeria.117 During the 2000 to 2003 municipal term, the megacity women’s committee held eight meetings at which a quorum was present for the full session. None took place in 2003, when the committee became bogged down in debates over violence against women. Ironically, this had been

Working from the Inside

a core issue for previous municipal feminist units in Toronto, including METRAC and the SCC. In 1987, a year after being raped in her apartment, one woman launched a civil suit against the Toronto police, using the pseudonym Jane Doe. According to media coverage of her case, the suit alleged that police should have warned women directly that a serial rapist was operating in their neighbourhood.118 Between 2001 and 2003, questions about police handling of sexual assault cases preoccupied the Status of Women Committee. Much like pre-amalgamation bodies in downtown Toronto, therefore, the megacity’s women’s committee remained largely unknown and invisible to most urban residents. In fact, femocracy in Toronto faded from view almost entirely within six years of municipal restructuring. A nine-page report by the city’s CAO, dated February 2004, discussed implementing the recommendations of the Task Force on Community Access and Equity but did not mention women at all.119 As will be revealed in Chapter 4, the text of the 2002 official spatial plan reflected this same absence. Overall, the first five years of the megacity passed without the announcement of a single identifiable transportation, child care, health, employment, safety, or other policy initiative to assist women citizens. By late 2004, municipal feminism in Toronto was practically extinct. The Equal Opportunity Office and the Safe City Committee had been folded into the CAO’s office; METRAC and other bodies limped along as best they could with small-scale temporary funding. City Council’s Status of Women Committee ceased to exist as of 2003, and efforts to resuscitate it by a new group known as Toronto Women’s Call to Action produced limited results (see Chapter 6). Conclusions

What generalizations can be drawn from this discussion of difference or women-centred approaches to urban citizenship in London and Toronto? From the perspective of broad theories of globalization, it appears that municipal feminism survived growing pressures for international economic and political integration in at least one location. The erosion thesis, which predicts minimal representation in contemporary cities, was clearly disconfirmed by data from London, where a relatively highprofile and seemingly quite effective strategic femocracy emerged during the initial GLA years. Under the leadership of Anni Marjoram, the new strategic femocracy used Ken Livingstone’s control over transportation, urban development, and public safety agencies to address issues of particular concern to

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disadvantaged women in Britain’s largest city. Livingstone managed to train a spotlight on policies that affected women – indeed, he acted on some of them. In a visible, demonstrable way, the mayor championed better bus service, safer minicabs, and more affordable child care facilities – in each case, the resulting improvements had broad public significance. This relatively robust story in London contrasts sharply with the virtual disappearance of municipal feminism in post-amalgamation Toronto. No buoyancy narrative about promising spaces for civic mobilization seemed appropriate in the case of Canada’s largest city, where some femocratic units dating from the pre-megacity period were defunded while others were placed under the direct control of bureaucrats loyal to the conservative mayor. Parallel with findings reported in Chapter 4, women as a group were rendered invisible within amalgamated Toronto’s highly fragmented focus on “diverse communities.” The modest municipal feminist presence that had existed at the time of amalgamation thus disappeared within the first six years following megacity creation. This pattern of erosion over time, however, was not unique to femocracy in Toronto. Clearly, the 1986 shutdown of the Greater London Council meant that one of the world’s best-known experiments in granting power and funds to urban women – the GLC Women’s Committee – also ended. From a longitudinal perspective, therefore, municipal feminism declined in both cities. The extremely well-resourced GLC Women’s Committee did not re-emerge in the GLA bureaucracy, although the strategic femocracy in the GLA mayor’s office was, given its size, remarkably effective. In contrast, the limited municipal feminist presence that existed in the downtown City of Toronto prior to amalgamation was reorganized out of existence in the new megacity. By showing a common pattern of decline over time, albeit from vastly divergent starting points toward different conclusions, these patterns offer some support for erosion arguments. Overall, contemporary trends in London and Toronto can best be explained by a contextual interpretation that emphasizes institutional and leadership influences. The presence of an effective strategic femocracy in the GLA reflected the impact of a progressive, popularly elected mayor at the helm of a new metropolitan coordinating authority. Livingstone appointed municipal feminists who were committed to advancing a pro-women agenda, and he assigned both fiscal resources and political legitimacy to their equality mandate. By comparison, the absence of any meaningful femocratic presence in Toronto mirrored

Working from the Inside

the conservative orientation of the first megacity mayor, who headed a centralized municipal administration that seemed more concerned with controlling citizen representation than enhancing it. We now turn to a third dimension of women’s citizenship – the discursive or post-structural one – and examine its resonance in official spatial planning documents.

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4 Planning Ahead

In North America, organized efforts by women to improve cities date back to the post-Civil War years. During this period, writers influenced by utopian socialist ideas proposed not only the reorganization of domestic life in ways that would recognize and remunerate women’s work, but also the “complete transformation of the spatial design and material culture of American homes, neighborhoods, and cities.”1 These women, referred to as “material feminists” by architectural historian Dolores Hayden, envisaged communally shared household labour, including child care, and proposed urban neighbourhood designs that would maximize opportunities for women’s equality. Material feminist ideas permeated subsequent efforts by city women, notably the temperance and settlement house movements of the suffrage era. As American urban scholar Daphne Spain explains in How Women Saved the City, voluntary groups built “redemptive places” to welcome immigrants from other countries as well as migrants from within – including vast numbers of young women from small towns and rural areas.2 In the years leading up to the First World War, organizations such as the YWCA established vocational schools, public baths, and boarding homes for new arrivals, as well as kindergartens for the children of working mothers. Spain and other contemporary researchers emphasize the significance of women’s early contributions to the construction of cities. Drawing on accounts of Jane Addams’ work in building Hull House in Chicago, and of Mary Simkhovitch and Florence Kelley’s convening of the first ever national planning conference in the United States (in Washington, DC, in 1909), they directly question traditional views of “the great white visionary men who have shaped the planning profession and city-building processes in the twentieth century.”3

Planning Ahead

In Britain, recent studies link women’s planning legacies to the concept of the garden city – a late-nineteenth-century model that introduced trees, gardens, and grass to soften the hard edges of high-density urban life.4 In Canada, the literature reveals patterns that overlap with those in the United States and Britain and that demonstrate women’s contributions to urban health, child welfare, housing, and “city beautification.”5 One common finding from studies in all three countries is that neighbourhood-based city planning, with its focus on the lived experiences of often disadvantaged urban residents, had firm roots among first-wave feminists.6 Organized challenges by women to the assumptions and language of urban planning, however, generally date from second-wave activism. The late 1960s and following saw growing enrolment by women in postsecondary education and, more specifically, in architecture, geography, and urban planning programs in Britain and North America.7 At the level of critical intellectual inquiry, second-wave feminism also prompted a reassessment of the purposes of urban planning. In Britain, Elizabeth Wilson’s controversial text The Sphinx in the City argued that planning had largely become a male effort to maintain order, notably by constraining women’s sexuality and attempting to control the chaotic and often creative disorder of cities.8 In Canada, the work of Suzanne Mackenzie and others probed the consequences of postwar suburbanization, with growing distance between the location of men’s traditional productive labour and women’s conventional reproductive work.9 This particular spatial arrangement prompted some second-wave activists to reconsider older material feminist ideas – notably, the creation of communal child care and housing facilities – as well as the physical integration of work and home spaces in the city. In their demands to be recognized when spatial development was discussed, feminists extended discursive or post-structural understandings of women’s representation into the realm of urban planning. In this way, political representation would occur through the crucial vehicle of language or discourse and not simply in the formal institutions of public office and public administration. By analyzing linguistic representations, post-structural analysts could explore the influence of multiple interests in spoken as well as written texts or, conversely, their lack of influence. To use Rian Voet’s words, this third variant of women’s urban citizenship endorsed the opening up of public discourse toward “an inclusive politics that listens to the voices of groups for whom policy-making is intended.”10

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This chapter explores women’s representation in spatial plans in London and Toronto. It opens with a brief look at the history of women’s claims to urban space and shows that late GLC-era feminists succeeded relatively well in their efforts to shape official plans. Before the mid1980s, spatial plans in London generally ignored gender and other social dimensions of urban disadvantage.11 During the Ken Livingstone years, the GLC Women’s Committee, in cooperation with community interests, set up a Women and Planning Working Group.12 In 1984, after extensive public consultations with groups of residents from across Britain’s largest city, the GLC released a detailed, socially focused Greater London Development Plan.13 During the early 1980s, Women in/and Planning formed in Toronto as a network of female planners who were committed to including “women’s needs in planning.”14 In 1982 it organized a conference that addressed “mobility, safety, housing, and access to planning decisionmaking.”15 After 1985 the group took on more of an advocacy role as Women Plan Toronto (WPT).16 Although it received short-term project funding from local, provincial, and federal governments, the group remained an independent civil society organization from 1985 through the late 1990s. In examining these historical patterns, we conclude that feminists in London were more successful on a discursive level than their Toronto counterparts. The 1984 GLC plan included a separate section titled “Equality in London,” which itself contained the chapter “Women in London.”17 The same document, in other relevant sections, acknowledged women’s distinctive experiences of work, transportation, housing, and safety. Before amalgamation, one clause in the City of Toronto official spatial plan required developers to pay attention to women’s safety in their urban designs. Clearly, this provision was less far-reaching than the terms of the last GLC plan. The chapter then examines expectations following from these patterns, asking whether and how metropolitan restructuring would affect the discursive dimension of women’s citizenship. The data presented in the next sections demonstrate ongoing differences between discursive representations in post-reconfiguration London relative to post-amalgamation Toronto. A close comparison of contemporary plans will reveal that feminist safety, transportation, housing, environmental, and child care issues were integrated to a far greater extent in London than in Toronto. The intersections of gender with race, class, and immigration status were discussed in the London document but entirely absent from the Toronto one.18 Most notably, these substantive concerns and the word “women” were absent from Toronto’s 2002 spatial plan.

Planning Ahead

This chapter concludes that early GLA spatial plans were more promising with respect to women’s citizenship than those in post-amalgamation Toronto. We suggest that the confluence of many factors, including urban planning histories, the numbers and substantive interests of locally elected women, the presence of municipal femocracies, and the priorities of mayors, helps explain this divergence. In particular, Ken Livingstone’s long-standing commitment to a societal view of urban space, his decision to create a strategic femocracy in the early GLA, the ascent of Nicky Gavron as deputy mayor, and the legacy of a pro-equality focus from the previous GLC plan, helped ensure women’s discursive representation in GLA plans. Circumstances in Toronto were far less promising. Although feminist planners had been able to insert a clause in the last City of Toronto plan, they made no headway at all once municipal restructuring was carried out. In percentage terms, there were far fewer women on the megacity council than on the Greater London Assembly. No Toronto councillor demonstrated a particular interest or expertise in women’s planning issues. Mel Lastman’s emphasis on low taxes and high efficiency left little space for equity considerations to permeate either the megacity bureaucracy or the 2002 official plan. Women lacked a champion among elected politicians, an effective femocracy, and momentum from previous documents, and as a consequence they simply disappeared from the 2002 Toronto plan. Two important caveats are in order here. This chapter does not address planning outcomes in London or Toronto, nor does it extend chronologically beyond the initial post-restructuring period. Obviously, changes in political leadership in cities can dramatically alter the directions of urban development. So can a severe economic downturn or the election of new regimes at central government levels. In Chapter 6, we speculate on the possible consequences of these various shifts. Background to Feminist Planning

Women’s efforts to shape Anglo-American cities date back more than 150 years. Reflected in material feminist ideas of the mid-nineteenth century and following, activists in the United States and elsewhere staked out their claims to redesigned households, neighbourhoods, and communities. Many of their proposals, as Dolores Hayden argues in The Grand Domestic Revolution, were part of the broader utopian and especially communitarian socialist ferment of that era.19 They integrated notions of cooperative housekeeping and communal child care – in Hayden’s words, “homes without kitchens and towns without

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housework” – as part of a broader goal of revaluing women’s domestic labour.20 According to Charlotte Perkins Gilman and other advocates in the material feminist tradition, enhancing women’s opportunities to work outside the home and to spend fulfilling time with their families at home would require the removal of unpaid housework and child-rearing from the home. Thus in their writings they envisaged urban spatial arrangements grounded in cooperative housing, with shared kitchens, dining rooms, laundries, and child care facilities. Among Gilman’s best-known proposals was the feminist apartment hotel, where working women and their families would enjoy communal eating and laundry spaces alongside private living accommodations. Material feminism served as a crucial foundation for subsequent social and political reform campaigns by urban women. Sociologist Daphne Spain reports that voluntary groups in the United States, including the YWCA, “sponsored boarding houses, vocational schools, settlement houses, public baths, and playgrounds in small and large cities.”21 Dating from the 1850s, these programs extended social gospel arguments in a way that tried to accommodate vast numbers of newcomers to American cities; they constructed “redemptive places” where immigrants could learn and live amidst the chaos of rapid industrialization and urbanization.22 According to Spain, the work of primarily white, Christian, middleclass women in these efforts was significant on a number of levels. It “gave newcomers to the city a fresh start, delivered women volunteers from completely domestic lives, and saved the city from being overwhelmed by strangers ... The end of the nineteenth century marked the first time women played an active role in creating the urban spaces they occupied.”23 As reform-minded municipal housekeepers, first-wave urban feminists saw a direct tie between the physical dirt and political corruption of cities, on one side, and their own ability to cleanse and reorder this environment, on the other. Moreover, creating kindergarten programs for children living in settlement houses and rescue homes for women whose lives were in crisis foreshadowed the child care, reproductive health, and antiviolence priorities of second-wave urban feminism. Even though mobilizations during the 1960s and following attracted more diverse campaigners than those of the first wave, activists in both periods seemed to agree that urban architects and planners had neglected women’s needs. This frustration was especially acute in the contemporary period, as participation in the paid workforce grew and the variety of immigrants became much greater than it had been in the 1850s and later. Beginning in the

Planning Ahead

mid-1970s, instead of welcoming primarily white newcomers from Eastern and Southern Europe, London and Toronto faced an influx of arrivals from Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean.24 In cities around the world, demands that urban plans recognize and integrate citizenship claims also drew on the later work of architectural historian Dolores Hayden. Her 1984 book titled Redesigning the American Dream challenged planners “to rethink the architecture of gender,” including by treating women’s housing, transportation, and child care needs as integral dimensions of urban sustainability.25 Feminist approaches to planning, in Hayden’s words, required a “critical reexamination of attitudes toward women as earners and nurturers ... Women’s second shift of nurturing has been the subject of many new analyses by economists, sociologists, and policy planners, but little of this analysis extends to architecture ... A feminist critique of housing policy still points to the interlocked disadvantages of class, race, and gender. Poor women of color and their children remain those with the least access to decent housing.”26 Hayden mapped out how architects and planners could rethink housing and neighbourhoods, and built landscapes generally, in light of women’s varied responsibilities. These ideas directly influenced second-wave feminists, who lamented the absence of community-based perspectives in discussions of urban space. Hayden’s approach challenged traditional sources of urban knowledge and expertise by staking out a more holistic, proactive, and even “insurgent” approach that merged women’s everyday experiences of the city with women’s movement claims for strong and meaningful representation.27 According to Gerda Wekerle, a leading Canadian author and campaigner in this area, the emergence of feminist planning efforts indicated that women were “asserting their rights as citizens to reshape public space and services in cities by redefining sustainability from women’s standpoint.”28 Arguments that cities must be designed so as to maximize women’s citizenship were underpinned by claims that women experienced urban life in different ways than men. Suzanne Mackenzie’s work, for example, explored the diverse consequences of postwar suburbanization, showing how the expanding size of private homes increased domestic demands on women at the same time that greater spatial distances between suburb and workplace made it more difficult for women to participate in paid employment.29 Unfortunately, spatial planners in Canada paid little heed to these tensions, pursuing instead a narrow land-use orientation that focused on the physical rather than social future of cities. Many second-wave feminists believed that official spatial development plans

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needed to approach housing, transportation, the environment, child care, and safety from the perspective of gender, but this was not an easy sell, especially in sprawling North American cities like Toronto.30 Other writers in this area expressed a fundamental distrust of urban planning, and especially what they saw as a tendency to control women under the guise of maintaining order in cities. In The Sphinx in the City, British social scientist Elizabeth Wilson dared her colleagues to interrogate their core understandings of urban life. According to her, efforts to make cities work for women risked falling into older patterns of antiurbanism and paternalism: We must cease to perceive the city as a dangerous and disorderly zone from which women – and others – must be largely excluded for their own protection ... Many women and much feminist writing have been hostile to the city, and recent feminist contributions to the discussion of urban problems have tended to restrict themselves narrowly to issues of safety, welfare and protection. This is a mistake, since it recreates the traditional paternalism of town planning. Women’s experience of urban life is even more ambiguous than that of men, and safety is a crucial issue. Yet it is necessary also to emphasise the other side of city life and to insist on women’s right to the carnival, intensity and even the risks of the city.31

This perspective suggested that planners should recognize and celebrate women’s gains in the lively, autonomous atmosphere of cities and echoed Hayden’s observation that since the age of the material feminists, architects and planners had generally failed to comprehend alternative visions of urban space. Overall, in Wilson’s view, feminists were better off embracing the “pleasure and opportunity” of urban life, while rejecting traditional and largely oppressive masculine emphases on “order and surveillance.”32 Like other studies in this field, however, The Sphinx in the City said relatively little about challenges to urban citizenship. Writing in 1991, Wilson acknowledged the growing impact of private property development interests and recognized the power of developers to drown out voices that opposed their massive gentrification schemes.33 In 2000, Wekerle wrote that “women are fighting a rearguard action in many cities,” but she said little about the dynamics of that struggle.34 How were efforts to insert feminist discourse into city plans affected by pressures for intensified development and urban competitiveness? Would new public management (NPM) approaches remove opportuni-

Planning Ahead

ties for meaningful citizen participation in planning decisions? Existing research on the impact of political restructuring sheds little light on these questions, since most of it addresses nation-states rather than cities.35 This chapter begins to probe these questions with reference to London and Toronto, each of which had an identifiable feminist planning presence in the 1980s. Women in both cities worked to translate the ideas of Hayden, Wekerle, and others into spatial development texts as part of broader campaigns to reduce violence against women, increase child care provision, create better public transportation systems, improve the urban environment, and build more affordable housing.36 Would their perspectives be represented in the texts of official plans? The next two sections establish a baseline for women’s discursive citizenship by examining pre-GLA and pre-amalgamation documents. GLC-Era Plans

In August 1982 the GLC Women’s Committee created a Women and Planning Working Group – composed of local planning activists as well as GLC employees – in order “to bridge the wide gap between the autonomous women’s movement and the local state.”37 This group helped ensure that the final GLC plan (dated September 1984) included a section titled “Women in London” in a larger chapter called “Equality in London,” and that the challenges facing women were mentioned throughout the rest of the plan.38 The final GLC document was 212 pages long; of the approximately twenty pages in the equality chapter, four addressed “Race Equality and Ethnic Minorities,” seven dealt with “Women in London,” three discussed “People with Disabilities,” and three considered “Elderly People.” After numerous rounds of community consultation, the GLC submitted its Greater London Development Plan (GLDP) to the central government. Beverley Taylor, a GLC Women’s Committee employee, points out the significance of this document: it was the first official land use plan in Britain to explicitly address women’s housing, transportation, child care, and employment.39 Since the GLC was shut down only two years later, the 1984 GLDP stood as London’s last metropolitan planning statement until 2002. The 1984 text explained why there was a section about women: “Women in London live in a city designed by men for men and have had little opportunity to influence or shape the urban environment. Planning policies, in regulating the use of land in the public interest and recognising that women form the majority of this public, can go a long way towards changing this.”40 The document contended that spatial

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development needed to take account of urban women’s specific experiences, particularly low-paid, segregated, and often insecure employment; ongoing responsibilities for unpaid care work; limited access to housing, particularly for poor women, older women, Afro-Caribbean families, and women fleeing violence at home; and heavy reliance on deteriorating public services – especially buses. The 1984 spatial plan also acknowledged the limited availability of child care facilities and of public spaces for women to meet.41 Taylor’s account raised an important question: Were such considerations most appropriately raised in sections about work, housing, transportation, and other specific issues? Or did they properly belong in a separate section about women? The final GLC plan resolved this question by following both courses of action. That is, discussions of women’s needs appeared in multiple locations, including in conventional chapters, in a stand-alone section of the equality chapter, and in other sections of that chapter. For example, the housing needs of elderly women were addressed in the housing chapter, in the women’s section of the equality chapter, and in the section of the equality chapter devoted to elderly people. This high-profile approach drew considerable public interest. According to Taylor, more than 250 people attended an open meeting that the Women and Planning Working Group convened to discuss the 1983 draft plan. As well, more than 600 returned a postage-free questionnaire from a “Women Plan London” leaflet.42 Women Plan Toronto would later adopt the participatory strategies pioneered by Women Plan London (see below). Given Margaret Thatcher’s 1983 promise to eliminate the GLC, feminists who commented on the draft plan “felt it should be strengthened by including more policies which the Boroughs would have to implement in their Local Plans.”43 They made certain that the text of the final GLC plan charged borough councils with identifying local women’s needs and developing responses to them, including in such areas as employment, child care, personal safety, community facilities, and future planning consultations.44 The shutdown of the GLC and sustained Conservative hostility toward community-based planning meant that these terms would be hard to enforce. Even so, as Taylor wrote at the time, the 1984 document broke new ground with its explicit discussion about equality, which gave “women’s issues a great deal of credibility in planning circles.”45 During this same period, the GLC Women’s Committee supported the creation of local women’s centres, funding about forty of them.46

Planning Ahead

The committee also purchased a multi-storey office building on Featherstone Street in central London. This helped ensure that Women’s Design Service (WDS), an organization emerging from GLC planning activities, would be able to survive the abolition of London metropolitan government. After 1986 WDS worked primarily on evaluating borough initiatives in areas identified in the 1984 plan.47 After the GLC was eliminated, a series of agencies controlled by the central government and London’s boroughs took over planning responsibilities.48 Nicky Gavron, who began her political career in the campaign to stop road widenings in North London, participated heavily in these bodies, serving through the 1990s as a Labour Party local councillor, a member of the London Planning Advisory Committee, and chair of the Local Government Association Planning Committee.49 The latter two bodies were deeply engaged in development and transportation issues and in environmental planning for Greater London. Through this involvement, Gavron learned about the three-pronged alternative planning vision of the 1992 Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro, which endorsed “providing economic security while increasing social equity and protecting the environment.”50 All three objectives were later integrated into the first GLA draft plan, dated June 2002, by which time Gavron was London’s deputy mayor and a member of the Greater London Assembly. Overall, the GLC legacy vis-à-vis women and planning seemed very favourable. The council’s well-funded femocracy actively encouraged civic participation in spatial planning activities. Its use of open meetings and postage-free questionnaires to foster this engagement was innovative and, in the context of London’s history, probably without precedent. The 1984 GLDP directly addressed women’s experiences of urban space, both in a specific section on women and throughout the rest of the text; it also advanced a pro-feminist perspective on that issue. The six main recommendations of the stand-alone section, written within sight of GLC elimination, directed London’s boroughs to “promote and improve opportunities for women in their areas.”51 Although enforcement of these provisions was no sure thing, their presence reflected considerable foresight on the part of the GLC Women’s Committee, which had worked to empower and represent London’s diverse women throughout the spatial planning process. Pre-Amalgamation Plans

Feminists in Toronto were inspired by the efforts of the GLC Women’s Committee, notably its Women and Planning Working Group. Regula

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Modlich, a student of Gerda Wekerle at York University, founded a group called Women in/and Planning during the 1980s to focus public attention on women’s housing, safety, and inclusion in planning discussions. In 1982, Women in/and Planning organized a conference to address these issues. Three years later, using the Women Plan London approach as its model, this group “sponsored a participatory research project called Women Plan Toronto.”52 With funding from the Ontario Women’s Directorate and the federal government’s Women’s Program, Modlich and others conducted “blue sky” sessions with more than two dozen groups of women in Toronto.53 The point of these sessions was to gather stories from nine different perspectives (employed women, full-time homemakers, women in transition, immigrant women, Native women, young women, elderly women, disabled women, and solesupport mothers) about living in Toronto, and to imagine a better future for the city.54 A booklet summarizing the results of the 1985 project highlighted one procedural priority – opening up the planning process to greater citizen participation – and one substantive one – addressing safety concerns.55 Women in/and Planning then became a new “research and advocacy group dedicated to fighting for the planning issues that women in Toronto had identified, including safety.”56 In Wekerle’s words, “Women Plan Toronto, a community-based women’s organization founded in 1985, takes as its mandate to critique municipal policies as they affect women and to advocate on women’s behalf ... The goal has been to make women more knowledgeable about planning processes and to involve women in decisionmaking about planning in Metropolitan Toronto.”57 Between 1985 and 1995, Women Plan Toronto (WPT) undertook a variety of projects, often in coordination with METRAC and Wekerle’s unit at York University. These included a series of workshops and questionnaires asking women where they felt safe and unsafe; the result was a 1987 report titled Women in Safe Environments.58 WPT pressured for the creation of women’s housing cooperatives and obtained federal and provincial funding for a number of them.59 In 1988 the organization released a report card that graded local political candidates based on their views on affordable housing, child care, and safety issues.60 The City of Toronto’s last official spatial plan was under discussion during this same period, and the prospects for feminist influence looked promising. Carolyn Whitzman worked for the Safe City Committee (SCC) in the downtown bureaucracy and was also a WPT activist.61 Gerda

Planning Ahead

Wekerle was involved in METRAC, the SCC, and WPT.62 Toronto city councillor Barbara Hall had consistently shown interest in women’s safety concerns as they related to urban space. Yet this constellation of actors had limited impact on the texts of downtown plans. WPT participated in a May 1989 forum sponsored by the City of Toronto, as did the Toronto Board of Trade, the Toronto Home Builders Association, and other organizations. As a harbinger of problems to come, WPT was listed as one of the “special interest groups” attending the session.63 In December 1989 WPT held a session on “Official Plan Reviews and Women” and sent a six-paragraph letter to the planning department.64 The letter stated that WPT “welcomed the concept of intensifying existing [land] uses” but “felt it was important not to develop every piece of available land.”65 The group expressed support for “adequate lighting” and maintained that “Building Design needs to ensure the security of women.”66 The letter cited concerns about two specific issues: “the growing number of erotic stores” in Toronto and the decline in street-level activity as a consequence of mall growth.67 It concluded by urging that more attention be paid to “environmental and social considerations” in the transportation field and by recommending better-designed buses and more provisions for bicycle use.68 In June 1991 the City of Toronto published a 527-page official plan.69 This document expressed a strong commitment to intensified urban development and focused overwhelmingly on Toronto’s natural landscape and built form. To the extent that human beings were mentioned, they were identified in generic terms as “Toronto’s residents, workers, and visitors.”70 The plan contained no sections about equality or women, and the word women did not appear anywhere on the eleven-page contents list. Other social categories were acknowledged, including “older people,” “people with disabilities,” and “multicultural and multiracial” interests.71 Moreover, in contrast to the GLC consultation process, Toronto planners analyzed responses to a public questionnaire by postal code only.72 The text of Cityplan ’91 mentioned women once, in a detailed explanation of a specific antiviolence recommendation. The provision itself was silent, since Recommendation 244 stated that “it is the goal of Council to promote a safe city, where all people can safely use public spaces, day or night, without fear of violence, and where people are safe from violence.”73 The detailed text referred to survey data indicating that women were more afraid than men to walk in their neighbourhoods at night.74

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The relevance of other planning recommendations to women citizens remained, at best, implicit. The plan encouraged licensed, nonprofit child care facilities, including “in all new City-initiated developments, including community and recreation centres and large social housing developments.”75 It said that City Council would press senior levels of government not only for child care subsidies for “all eligible families,” but also for funds to build new facilities.76 Shelters for battered women were also referred to in neutered terms, as “residential care facilities and crisis care facilities.”77 The absence of discursive space for women in Cityplan ’91 was also reflected in the text accompanying a series of photographs. One photo showed two elderly Asian-Canadian women above this caption: “Seniors are entitled to live in the same community as they get older.”78 A photo of a woman in a wheelchair, another woman pushing a baby stroller, and a little girl inside the stroller was placed above the following caption: “All new housing developments should be accessible to people with disabilities.”79 The specific challenges facing elderly women, disabled women, women caring for others, and young girls were entirely ignored. WPT was disappointed by this lack of direct attention. The group received a letter dated 14 November 1991 from Robert Millward, Toronto’s planning commissioner, stating that “while we may not have made many specific references to women in our policy statements, the theme of social equity, which permeates all aspects of the Proposals Report, quite naturally includes addressing gender-based inequities.” Millward went on to observe that the Cityplan ’91 recommendations about safety, daycare, and emergency shelters “are new policy areas for an Official Plan exercise.”80 Following sustained pressure from WPT, the SCC, and other interests, the final downtown plan (dated September 1992) mentioned “women, children and persons with special needs” in one section that discussed the pedestrian environment. It said the plan would ensure “that public safety and security are important considerations in City approvals of buildings, streetscaping, parks and other public and private open spaces.”81 Notwithstanding this concession, other passages in the same document continued the earlier practice of referring to a generic category called “everyone” or “all people” in Toronto.82 On the eve of amalgamation, WPT activists recognized the threat facing their agenda and tried to keep their issues alive. During the 1994 municipal campaign, they organized a women’s issues night.83 In 1997 WPT produced a joint brochure with the downtown Status of Women

Planning Ahead

Committee and the Older Women’s Network. That brochure portrayed both megacity creation and provincial downloading as threatening to women, since these changes would increase municipal responsibilities in sectors such as child care while cutting back the funding that was necessary to pay for these services.84 On the eve of megacity creation, feminist planners in Toronto had established modest momentum. The main actor in this field, WPT, was a civil society group that relied on local volunteers. Toronto did not have a unified, GLC-style femocracy with robust resources or public profile. The decline of the National Action Committee on the Status of Women (NAC), and of women’s organizations generally in English Canada, loomed as an additional problem.85 As well, WPT found itself having to represent Toronto’s increasingly diverse population of women. Key activists appeared sensitive to criticisms “that they represent only white, middle-class, professional women.”86 In 1996, for example, Wekerle and Peake wrote that WPT found it “increasingly difficult to secure a diverse representation” even though “new city-based organizations serving specific minority and immigrant women’s populations have proliferated.”87 These difficulties were far from minor. Taken together, they suggested the discursive representation of women in future official plans was far from assured. Moreover, WPT had taken on a far-reaching agenda that included raising women’s voices in urban planning, conducting questionnaire and focus group research among community interests, publicizing the results of that research, making the city’s parks and transit system safer, building affordable housing, evaluating Toronto politicians, and increasing women’s electoral engagement. For a small group of volunteers, this was a daunting set of tasks. Predicting Outcomes

How might the discursive dimension of women’s urban citizenship be affected by municipal restructuring, if at all? One set of expectations points toward more serious obstacles in London than in Toronto. First, at the institutional level, the abolition of the GLC eliminated the metropolitan government that had created, funded, and housed the leading feminist actor in this field. After 1986 the myriad agencies that supplanted the GLC were staffed by central government and borough appointees. Moreover, the Thatcher government set up urban development corporations (UDCs) in cities like London, whose task it was to regenerate areas such as the Docklands using private-sector models of rapid, intensive growth. Research about these corporations indicates that

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they paid little attention to social regeneration or community participation.88 The GLC’s shutdown and the rise of agency governance – of UDCs in particular – seemed to place feminist interests at a clear disadvantage. Second, feminist planners may have had little to fear from institutional changes in Toronto. As a voluntary group without core public funding, WPT was far more autonomous than the GLC’s Women and Planning Working Group. It can be argued that WPT was shielded from the effects of megacity creation by its standing as a civil society organization, which protected it from co-optation or elimination no matter what happened at City Hall. Third, it can be argued that the sheer scale of Britain’s largest city complicated the discursive representation of women citizens. With a population in the inner and outer boroughs of about 7.4 million by 2000, London’s metropolitan government was responsible for three times more people than was the megacity government in Toronto, which had a downtown and inner suburban population of 2.4 million.89 From this perspective, interests wanting to insert themselves into the spatial planning process faced a more difficult challenge in London than in Toronto. Fourth, since average levels of representation for women in borough office were lower during the pre-restructuring period in London than in pre-megacity Toronto (see Chapter 2), the likelihood that feminist planning interests could locate elected allies appeared lower in London. Yet we can construct a plausible case for the opposite argument. First, feminist planning claims in Toronto had minimal momentum from the pre-amalgamation years, relative to London in the mid-1980s. WPT operated in a city with a modest femocratic presence at best (see Chapter 3) and where there was little evidence that women’s groups had influence over official planning statements. Some politicians in downtown Toronto were dedicated reformers; as a group, though, they seemed less politically radical and less open to feminist claims than Ken Livingstone’s GLC. Second, feminist planning ideas were perhaps harder to propagate or sell in Toronto than in London. WPT was campaigning in a relatively new and rapidly expanding North American city, one that attracted large numbers of international immigrants as well as migrants from other parts of Canada. The group’s antisprawl, pro-transit proposals clashed with prevailing models of low-density, car-dependent spatial development. These models seemed less pervasive and less workable in London. Third, WPT’s core members were primarily well-educated, white, professional, heterosexual women – that is, only a narrow band in Toronto’s increasingly varied social mosaic. By way of contrast, the GLC

Planning Ahead

made a point of including racial minorities, people with disabilities, trade unionists, and lesbians in its various bodies. Finally, if institutional and leadership variables make a difference to citizenship, Londoners had a centrist New Labour government and a left-of-centre GLA mayor after 2000, while Torontonians faced a hardright provincial government and a conservative megacity mayor after 1997. This scenario would predict more robust discursive representation in London than in Toronto. The next sections confirm this proposition and show how early GLA plans indeed resonated more closely with feminist ideas than did the spatial development statement of Toronto’s first post-amalgamation government. GLA-Era Spatial Development

In 1999 the British House of Commons passed the Greater London Authority Act, which established the framework for spatial planning in London. This legislation identified sustainable development, urban health, and equality of opportunity as the main themes of the next metropolitan plan.90 After Ken Livingstone became mayor, he released an important vision statement that introduced the June 2002 draft London plan. It presented his view of “London as an exemplary sustainable world city,” and advanced an even more progressive view of planning than had Westminster’s enabling legislation. According to Livingstone, London’s development would resonate with three interwoven themes: • •

•

strong, diverse long term economic growth social inclusivity to give all Londoners the opportunity to share in London’s future success fundamental improvements in London’s environment and use of resources.91

The 2002 draft plan was 419 pages long. As a blueprint for intensive urban growth over the next fifteen years, the document predicted London would attract as many more people as lived in Leeds in 2002. It highlighted the need to develop open areas – including older industrial brownfields in East London – as well as already built-up areas where intensification and regeneration were possible. The draft plan set a goal of 23,000 new homes per year, half of which would be directed toward low-income families and essential workers (notably nurses, police officers, and schoolteachers). The document recommended “massively improved public transport infrastructure,”

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including two new cross-London rail lines and a 40 percent increase in bus capacity by 2011.92 Reflecting the mayor’s commitments to reduced traffic congestion and better air quality, the plan mapped out a zone in central London where congestion charges of £5 per day per vehicle would be imposed as of February 2003.93 The 2002 draft document made frequent and explicit reference to women as one category within a larger group of disadvantaged “communities of interest and identity.”94 A subsequent section of the text stated “the Mayor recognises that there are particular groups of Londoners for whom equality of opportunity has more resonance than for others. This relates to those people who suffer discrimination, or have particular needs, as a result of their race, sex, disability, age, sexual orientation or religion.”95 A passage dealing with employment issues described women as disproportionately concentrated in low-wage, less skilled, public-sector work. The plan referred to specific impediments to economic participation facing women, including limited child care facilities and safety concerns about public transit.96 Teachers and nurses received particular attention as essential workers who confronted an affordability crisis in London’s high-cost housing market and who relied heavily on public transit. But the draft plan clearly diverged from feminist movement perspectives in its treatment of social welfare policy. Three main goals identified in this area were raising the rates of paid employment among single mothers, decreasing reliance on government income supports among that group, and increasing the use of in-work earnings supplements delivered via the Working Families Tax Credit (WFTC).97 Feminist interests in London tended to place a higher priority on support for caring and nurturing roles than on the push toward paid work – a key plank in New Labour’s welfare reform initiatives, which included the WFTC.98 According to the Draft London Plan, it would be easier to raise the rates of paid employment and to reduce the uptake of benefits once health care and public transit were improved and child care was made more affordable. Overall, the draft London document emphasized the crucial role of public/private/voluntary partnerships in renewing Britain’s global city. Although it mentioned women as one disadvantaged group within that broader urban setting, the plan did not discuss how citizen groups could engage in the process of designing London’s future. For example, how would women’s safety concerns be integrated into the designs for new railway projects and brownfield developments? By emphasizing obstacles to equality and by not assuming that equality was already firmly in

Planning Ahead

place, the plan overlapped closely with feminist stances relating to child care, housing, transportation, and employment. What tensions existed between movement claims and the 2002 document were primarily in two areas. First, the draft plan echoed the central government’s efforts to press more lone mothers to seek paid employment – a position opposed by feminist interests because it devalued women’s care work in the home. Second, the draft plan failed to establish a clear strategy for citizen engagement – a lapse that was inconsistent with women and planning perspectives relating to the crucial role of local citizens in designing urban communities. The finalized GLA planning text was released in early 2004. With 317 pages of text and 85 pages of appendices, it was “the first statutory, strategic plan prepared for London in two decades” – that is, it came twenty years after the last GLC spatial development document.99 The 2004 statement reiterated the broad themes of the 2002 draft version by arguing for more affordable housing, increased public transit, and effective partnerships with “main stakeholders,” including London’s boroughs, businesses, and community groups.100 The plan acknowledged that Londoners could not always all be treated the same. In the words of the 2004 plan, “facilities that are provided for ‘everyone’ fail to recognise their particular needs.”101 The document presented a strategy “to promote social inclusion and tackle deprivation and discrimination” through employment and training policies targeted at “those women and young people and minority ethnic groups most in need.”102 The text also called for more resources from Britain’s central government to meet the multiple challenges facing London. Unlike the 1984 GLC plan, which contained a separate equalities chapter and multiple policy recommendations about women, the final GLA text had only one stand-alone paragraph addressing women and no explicit policies in this area. Women were not the only social category that had become less visible in London planning texts over time, however. This same pattern characterized black and minority ethnic groups, gay men and lesbians, and refugees and asylum seekers. The single standalone paragraph included in 2004 identified lower earnings, heavy reliance on public-sector employment and public services (notably transit), and disproportionate care responsibilities as central dimensions of women’s lived experiences. According to the document, “in the domestic arena, women still have the main responsibility for supporting children, elderly people and those with limiting illness. They are more likely to do the shopping and transport children alongside working, mainly part-time. Because of the inadequacy of public transport and because

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women often make a range of complex local journeys, they feel obliged to acquire cars. Those that cannot afford to are further restricted in job opportunities. Women need convenient, affordable and safe public transport and access to affordable childcare provision.”103 In response to questions that were raised about citizen engagement in the planning process, the 2004 text said that Mayor Livingstone would hold community consultations to discuss how equity goals could be achieved.104 The discursive space claimed by women in the GLA plans of 2002 and 2004 was thus less than what they won in the final GLC plan. It is possible that this decline resulted from the weaker standing of feminist organizations and especially municipal feminism in the early GLA years relative to the late GLC period, or from the growing power of private developers since 1986.105 Whatever the reasons, comparisons of the GLC and GLA official plans make it clear that post-structural citizenship had eroded in London over time. Women remained present, however, in the first GLA spatial development plan. The First Megacity Plan

Toronto’s first post-amalgamation plan was a relatively brief ninety-nine pages. Published in 2002, it articulated four guiding principles: “diversity and opportunity, beauty, connectivity, and leadership and stewardship.”106 These themes provided the context for one particular spatial development objective – namely, intensified residential and commercial land use at locations that could accommodate further development. The stated purpose of the Toronto plan was to stimulate future economic growth while ensuring social and environmental well-being. According to the plan’s vision statement, Toronto should be “an attractive and safe city that evokes pride, passion and a sense of belonging – a city where everybody cares about the quality of life.”107 This use of the term “everybody” reflected an undifferentiated treatment of citizens in the 2002 plan. Torontonians were consistently referred to as homogeneous “people” or, in the vision statement, “everybody,” even though crucial concepts such as urban safety and adequate transportation likely held varied meanings for different segments of the city’s population.108 Exceptions to this pattern could be found in short passages dealing with “people with disabilities,” “the elderly,” and “people with special needs.”109 The characteristics of citizens in these categories were not probed, even though elderly people in Toronto, for example, were disproportionately female, as were adult users of public transit.110 Overall, the text of the 2002 Toronto plan focused overwhelmingly on the city’s built form, including land use at particular nodes, rather

Planning Ahead

than on the social and environmental dimensions of urban life. Consistent with this approach, the megacity document adopted a hands-off approach to planning that privileged market forces. At no point did the text endorse assertive intervention by municipal officials, be it in housing, mass transit, safety, or child care. Instead, the language of choice and opportunity dominated, beginning with the title of Chapter 1, “Making Choices.” One brief section on Toronto’s limited supply of affordable housing emphasized the need to “stimulate production of new private-sector rental housing” instead of investing in direct or indirect public provision.111 Similarly, the plan defined affordable rental costs as equal to or less than average rents across an already expensive city, rather than in reference to low-wage incomes.112 In terms of human capital, the 2002 document stressed the importance of attracting skilled people to Toronto. Unlike GLA plans, the Toronto text did not recommend training or upgrading the skills of current city residents.113 Moreover, by celebrating the existing composition of Canada’s largest city, the plan assumed that human diversity and multiculturalism were well-established characteristics that did not require further attention. The plan did not probe, for example, whether the limited supply of affordable housing held particular consequences for specific groups such as recent immigrants or low-wage workers. It proposed no major improvements to public transit infrastructure and no initiatives to reduce reliance on automobiles. Instead, the text referred to the “incremental expansion” of transit and made few specific suggestions about discouraging the use of cars.114 Given this orientation, it is not surprising that women were absent from the 2002 Toronto plan. In a brief section on two local environmental projects – the Task Force to Bring Back the Don [River] and the Tree Advocacy Program – the text acknowledged the role of community activists. The photograph accompanying this discussion showed five women planting trees, yet the text described them generically as citizen volunteers.115 The plan made passing reference to daycare facilities as examples of local community institutions and as an allowable basis for granting increased densities to property developers. Child care as a policy issue, however, was ignored in the 2002 Toronto plan.116 Compared with the GLA documents, the Toronto text failed to assert a detailed, directive, equity-oriented spatial vision. Toronto’s weak tradition of municipal feminism and limited momentum from the previous official plan for the old downtown seemed to constrain opportunities during the early megacity years. As well, Mel Lastman’s election as mayor placed a suburban conservative in charge of senior

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bureaucratic appointments. Not surprisingly, he chose Paula Dill, a former North York employee, for the top planning post and named former downtown planner Paul Bedford as her deputy. Dill’s main experience was with intensive, high-rise office and condominium construction in the upper Yonge Street corridor – a legacy that built on Lastman’s close ties with the property development industry. In fact, Dill headed a new megacity administrative unit called Urban Development Services – a name that was evocative of a particular industry rather than public interests. The language of “everybody” in the 2002 Toronto plan resembled the discourse of the last downtown text, which made limited reference to women in a section about safety. Although this pattern coincided with results from London, where women’s post-structural representation also declined over time, the Toronto trend was especially stark because it showed a drop from modest to zero discursive space. Arguably the most remarkable aspect of Toronto’s spatial document was the angry reaction it inspired among private developers. Under the banner of the Urban Development Institute, they challenged the plan and tied it up in the courts for years, further frustrating possibilities for progressive change in this field. Conclusions

This discussion yields a number of interesting generalizations. In terms of London and Toronto post-restructuring, it reveals a sharp contrast between post-reconfiguration spatial development documents, with London’s plan considerably longer, more detailed, directive, and equity oriented than Toronto’s. The GLA text contained multiple references to specific employment, child care, and housing difficulties facing women; in contrast, the megacity plan did not mention women at all. London’s statement on spatial development offered more expansive and interventionist approaches to increasing the supply of affordable housing and to improving public transportation systems. Also, the London plan’s discussion of urban diversity and equality was more analytic and interrogative. The Canadian plan simply asserted that Toronto was a diverse, multicultural city – in effect, it assumed that skills, jobs, housing, income, and other attributes were already distributed fairly among urban citizens. Why was there better discursive representation in post-restructuring London than in post-amalgamation Toronto? First, the contrast between the two cities’ mayors – especially in their approaches to spatial planning – was probably significant. Second, London’s deputy mayor during the first three years of the GLA played a crucial role in that city. Nicky

Planning Ahead

Gavron was a political veteran who between 1986 and 2000 had held senior positions in the agencies that oversaw London’s development. By the time she won a seat on the first assembly, she had developed firm ideas about London’s next plan, drawn in part from her exposure to feminist and environmental ideas about cities. As deputy mayor and chief planning specialist on the assembly, she was well placed to insert environmental and social sustainability – alongside economic growth – as the pivots of a new plan. Third, the presence of at least 40 percent women on the GLA, combined with the influence of a strategic femocracy at City Hall, helped reinforce these directions. Although Gavron was probably the most knowledgeable and powerful London assembly member in the field of urban planning, others on that body and in the GLA bureaucracy knew a great deal about transportation, environmental, and other issues.117 This confluence of favourable circumstances was layered atop a promising historic legacy: the last GLC plan (September 1984) set a powerful precedent for the GLA years. In Toronto, the 2002 plan focused narrowly on creating an intensified built environment. It did not mention women, nor did it address any social dimensions of urban development such as inclusion, inequality, or discrimination. Mel Lastman’s election as the first megacity mayor meant that civic discourse in Canada’s largest city, including in the planning field, remained tightly focused on economic growth. Moreover, feminist planning ideas had built minimal momentum even before his arrival. As a booming North American metropolis where assumptions about physical expansion through urban sprawl generally went uncontested, alternative views about city spaces were very difficult to advance. It is notable that women’s representation in the last official spatial plan of the old City of Toronto – the most progressive unit in pre-amalgamation Metro Toronto – was quite weak. Overall, no pre-restructuring plan in Toronto addressed women’s differential experiences of urban space to the same extent as the last GLC plan. Early megacity councils included about 30 percent women and lacked a progressive, high-profile planning expert like Nicky Gavron. Moreover, municipal feminism had established modest inroads in Toronto relative to London. In sum, women’s invisibility in the 2002 plan seems to have flowed from a long-term view of planning as facilitating land use rather than social objectives, from a weak legacy of women’s discursive citizenship before amalgamation, from conservative political leadership in the early megacity period, and from the lack of council and femocratic champions in Canada’s largest city.

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These results demonstrate limited support for a uniform pattern of either erosion or buoyancy in urban citizenship. By revealing considerably more discursive voice for women in the first GLA plan than in the first megacity one, the data support contextual arguments about the consequences of specific circumstances in London and Toronto. The gap between the two cities’ post-reconfiguration plans is revealed most directly in an explicit post-structural statement from the 2004 GLA plan that identified the limits of a discourse about “everyone.” The same undifferentiated approach that was rejected in London dominated Toronto’s 2002 plan. In longitudinal terms, women’s presence declined between the last GLC plan and the first GLA one. The lone mention of women in the last City of Toronto plan had no parallel in the first megacity document. This change in representation was similar in direction but quite different in degree, since the gap between a detailed, stand-alone section on women in the 1984 GLC plan and no presence whatsoever in the megacity document was enormous. Yet the pattern of reduced textual representation characterized both cities, and provides support for an erosion argument. In particular, it demonstrates that the presence of a GLA mayor who was committed to and experienced with feminist initiatives, alongside large numbers of women on the first assembly, a female deputy mayor specializing in planning issues, and an effective strategic femocracy, was not sufficient to prevent a slide over time in this dimension of women’s citizenship. How did local planning activists and others view these changes? The next chapter uses interviews with respondents in London and Toronto to draw a more meaningful picture of the consequences of metropolitan reconfiguration.

5 Assessing Restructuring

To this point, our examination of liberal, difference, and post-structural citizenship has peered through the lenses of women’s electoral, bureaucratic, and spatial planning representation. Our empirical sources included publicly available data on numbers of elected women, spending on urban femocracies, and the content of official plans. Taken as a group, they showed that citizenship along all three dimensions was considerably more robust in GLA-era London than in megacity Toronto. Over time, however, women’s administrative and spatial planning representation tended to erode in both cities, so that it was less buoyant in the GLA than in the GLC period in London, and less robust in post- than in pre-amalgamation Toronto. This chapter tries to flesh out each finding. It asks how activist groups, city bureaucrats, elected politicians, and experts who lived and worked in London viewed GLA creation. In what ways did their counterparts in Toronto perceive amalgamation? The discussion pursues each question in some detail, using qualitative materials drawn from thirty-six confidential interviews with contemporary experts and participants in London, and twenty-two in Toronto. The author conducted in-person meetings with respondents in both cities between April 2001 and February 2005.1 On average, the interviews lasted one hour. They were spread out over several years in order to provide a longitudinal perspective on developments in both places, extending from just after reconfiguration through the next few years. Many respondents knew about two or more of the dimensions of metropolitan citizenship addressed in the study, some because they held or had contested public office, others because they worked as municipal bureaucrats, or tried to influence spatial plans, or closely observed these activities. Not all London interviewees were active during the GLC period, and not all Toronto respondents had experience with

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downtown local government; that said, most used these older units as benchmarks. The chapter opens with a look at how the London interviewees generally viewed the creation of the GLA. It then considers more specific reflections on liberal (as measured by electoral), difference (as gauged by femocratic), and discursive (as reflected in spatial planning texts) representation in that city. Next, we consider general perspectives about municipal restructuring in Toronto, and then particular views about citizenship. The interview data reinforce the argument that GLA and megacity creation held immediate, meaningful, and disparate consequences for women’s representation. In overall terms, the London respondents were consistently hopeful about GLA establishment and its implications for their city; their counterparts in Toronto seemed dispirited and pessimistic when asked about amalgamation and its consequences. Even in London, however, respondents harboured some important doubts. Some saw women’s numerical strength on the new assembly as counterbalanced by the low profile and limited power of that body and by the unwillingness of assembly members to work closely with women’s organizations. Others said that GLA femocrats had raised the visibility of crucial issues but lacked the resources and jurisdiction necessary to change policies – often because control rested with Britain’s central government. In terms of discursive representation, the informants expressed general support for early GLA plans but worried that central government rhetoric about “social inclusion” had crept into these texts. A number also questioned whether feminist activists could use effectively the language of official plans to advance collective interests. In Toronto, interviewees were profoundly pessimistic about amalgamation generally, as well as about each dimension of citizen representation. The proportions of women on the megacity council and the pre-amalgamation Metro Council were similar; even so, the new body was described as large, unresponsive, and – at least initially – under the tight control of municipal and provincial conservatives. In terms of bureaucratic and planning representation, there was simply little evidence of either in post-amalgamation Toronto. GLA Prospects

When interviewed between 2001 and 2005, respondents in London viewed the GLA’s creation as a very positive decision by the New Labour government. A palpable sense of hope and promise, and what one termed

Assessing Restructuring

“a changed atmosphere,” pervaded all of their comments whether they were framed from the perspective of specific urban issue campaigns, prospects for local democracy, or daily life in London. Respondents saw the GLA as offering enormous advantages over the absence of a London-wide coordinating body between 1986 and 2000. These benefits included greater political coherence for London, a new focal point for activism, a higher profile for British cities generally, and greater scope for London-wide actions that individual boroughs could not undertake. The GLA’s new home in a striking, glass-framed City Hall made London a more visible and institutionally viable political unit. As two issue campaigners observed, “the GLA can stake out where Londoners stand politically” and “is giving us a greater sense of identifying with London as a city.” An urban politics expert observed that “the re-establishment of the GLA has enhanced people’s appreciation or understanding of London,” and may even “create a new sense of political community” that transcends boroughs. In the words of a spatial planner, the GLA underlined London’s distinctiveness as a global city: “International migration and asylum seeking are key to London’s growth. The new GLA is able to see that and provides a rationale for investment, innovation, and infrastructure in London that’s distinctive from national financial and policy cycles ... This creates the intellectual framework for London not simply to see itself as one of the English regions, but as England’s global city. This allows London to challenge the use of central government templates for good reasons.” Despite their diverse starting points, interviewees voiced overwhelmingly favourable views of London’s first elected, metropolitan-wide government in nearly fifteen years. The new authority would, according to an elected politician, address the measurable decline that occurred after 1986, when “London suffered very greatly from the lack of a strategic overview.” Respondents contrasted the presence of the GLA with the absence of affordable housing, investment in public transit, access to child care, and decent state schools in London after 1986. Their optimism about what could be accomplished was tempered, however, by a widespread sense that the new authority was underpowered and under-resourced. Among the activists who recalled what one described as the pre-1986 “golden age,” the GLA was, unfortunately, “not the GLC Mach II.” Many considered the new authority’s relations with both the central government and the boroughs as fraught from the outset, since both of the latter preferred a GLA with modest political authority and constrained fiscal resources. These tensions became clear once Ken Livingstone was elected as GLA mayor. In the words of a close

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observer, Livingstone’s experiences were crucial because they revealed the limits of democracy in the New Labour years: Tony Blair admitted at the parliamentary Labour Party that the idea of elected mayors was his idea, done on his whim. Before the 1997 election, Tony Blair had little to offer in London. A month before the election, [he] announced his elected mayors idea. A number of MPs didn’t like the proposal, and others were angry it hadn’t been discussed. The promise of an elected mayor for London got Tony Blair off the hook ... Then the mayoral nomination was robbed from Ken, even though he won more than 70 percent of the popular [Labour] party vote. What New Labour did makes the [Robert] Mugabe and [George W.] Bush elections look good.

Another noted that the idea of an elected mayor for London “just blew up in Blair’s face because Ken Livingstone was more charismatic than anyone the prime minister could come up with.” Once the first mayor and assembly were in place, the political terrain seemed to become even more complicated. Relations among an independent mayor, the New Labour central government, the boroughs, the tabloid press, and London assembly members (LAMs) with partisan ties were difficult to navigate, even for veterans of municipal politics. Media accounts alleging that Livingstone had assaulted his pregnant girlfriend, published in the Evening Standard in the spring of 2002, compounded these strains. Most women’s group activists linked the story to tabloid attacks on Livingstone and the “loony left” during the GLC years. One antiviolence campaigner commented: This makes for a complex political soup ... As I see it, it is entirely possible there was an altercation where [the mayor] pushed [his girlfriend]. It would have been better for him to acknowledge something happened, even if for me it doesn’t constitute domestic violence ... The Evening Standard is using this story against Ken Livingstone, like the US Republicans used stories against Bill Clinton ... The press see this as a way to discredit politicians who align themselves with women’s groups. What I dislike is the fact that it is only a story for politicians who have a principled position on violence.

This media story, however, did not blunt Livingstone’s popularity among interviewees. One described him as “a crusader, an activist with a vision” who could make the GLA scheme work.

Assessing Restructuring

Respondents cited multiple examples of Livingstone’s effectiveness. One pointed to his GLC-era record on issues of gender and race, which “politicized a generation in London.” Others emphasized his willingness as GLA mayor to launch a court challenge to the partial privatization of the London Underground. Although the central government prevailed in this matter, according to these interviewees the debate brought restructuring issues alive for urban citizens. Others cited Livingstone’s ability to impose a congestion charge in central London, beginning in February 2003, as an example of both proving the skeptics wrong and raising millions of pounds in new revenue for public transit. Overall, the GLA and its agencies under Livingstone’s leadership were described as “punching above their weight.” Respondents lauded the mayor’s willingness to not only work with but also push back against competing sources of authority. Antiviolence activists noted that he made the London police accountable for their actions and that he engaged police officials in innovative reforms to license minicabs and improve the treatment of rape victims. In a number of areas, Livingstone succeeded in building constructive relations with London’s boroughs. As one interviewee commented, “the GLA has no problem naming and shaming bad boroughs.” By challenging the central government, the boroughs, and London’s citizens to improve their city, the GLA and its mayor became a focal point for organized interests that had survived past 1986. As one respondent noted, “it was as if all the butterflies found a place to land.” The authority’s various strategies, consultations, and public question periods offered London-wide visibility to campaigning groups and reinserted a metropolitan perspective on public policy. For example, questions about social disadvantage and economic exclusion facing immigrant and refugee women in poor areas of London gained attention after years of neglect. Overall, respondents described the GLA’s creation and Ken Livingstone’s mayoral leadership in overwhelmingly optimistic terms. According to one, “the GLA has above all meant Londoners have a sense of ownership. This helps you understand why Ken Livingstone has been given so much goodwill. He is seen as representing all Londoners. He is one of us.” In particular, the GLA offered a welcoming site for critics who rejected New Labour’s directions at the central government level. Livingstone’s role in the GLA was particularly attractive, in the words of one respondent, to “the women’s organizations still out there in London that have been hanging on by their fingernails” since 1986.

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Although it lacked the power and resources of the old GLC, a Livingstone-led GLA meant that Londoners had what one interviewee termed “a progressive civic politics again.” Elected Representation in London

What about citizenship patterns in the GLA era? Respondents were generally enthusiastic about the new representative system at the municipal level. One observed that the directly elected mayor held a clear public mandate to “make the case for London.” Partial proportionality in assembly elections meant that newer parties – notably the Greens – could present their platforms to voters, and offered more opportunities for women candidates to win seats. These views were tempered, however, by a sense that citizen representation in London metropolitan government still faced many obstacles. Westminster’s ongoing distrust of other layers of government made it hard to recruit strong local candidates. As one expert reflected in 2001, This local government issue was a long-term phantom limb. Everyone knew London needed a local government ... New Labour tries to control local government in a different way than the Tories did. The New Labour approach is to force the election of local mayors or cabinets and to weaken local councils. Their Best Value regime with specific targets and indicators means the central government can take over local governments if they don’t perform. Budget capping is another threat that New Labour seems ready to impose. They are less hostile to cities than Margaret Thatcher was, but they have not let go the strings.

New Labour’s emphasis on limiting funds, concentrating power in the hands of a “strong mayor,” and measuring outcomes was portrayed as keeping the GLA, along with other regional and local governments, on a very short leash. As one municipal expert lamented in 2003, “being a local councillor is still a thankless task.” Who would contest public office under these circumstances? The first round of GLA elections attracted seasoned partisans, described by one interviewee as “old London political hacks” who “have been around for ten or fifteen years.” In the words of another, “the caliber of Labour Party local candidates is getting worse, not better. London politics almost seem stuck in the Dark Ages ... The usual local Labour types are often older and quite stuck in their ways.”

Assessing Restructuring

Low levels of voter interest alongside low pay, high rates of incumbency, and limited status for municipal councillors made it difficult to attract newcomers. In the words of one antiviolence activist, We need more women in local and national government who are not lawyers. Women councillors with campaigning backgrounds could really have an impact. As much as we would like local government to have more clout, it just doesn’t seem so attractive. Local elected women can serve their communities much more closely than MPs can. But this upsets three-fourths of their community. It’s very rare that a woman in local politics will talk, for example, about the violence that characterizes the lives of sex trade workers. Much as her heart might be in the right place, the elected woman is more likely to defend a man falsely accused of sex abuse ... The local government women are not willing to take large risks for the most part because they have their eye on a career path upward.

Executive or cabinet-style models like that of the GLA posed a clear deterrent for candidates, since they involved a relatively weak scrutiny assembly and strong mayor. This same design reduced the odds of success for female mayoral candidates. According to one London observer, presidential-style, at-large elections are “hard for women” because candidates must campaign across a wide geographic area with high numbers of voters. Only those with an established public profile can succeed. According to another respondent, “the prime ministerial system is probably better for women than a presidential-style one. Indirectly elected mayors or council leaders include lots of women. Once you go to the direct election system, there are obstacles. One major advantage here is the limit placed on campaign spending ... In London, only one piece of mail-out literature is allowed for mayoral candidates, and it is paid for.” Other observers said that indirect elections produced relatively few female leaders – notably in the London boroughs – which suggests that women were unsuccessful under both approaches.2 Opinions of the new assembly were even less favourable. In the words of one interviewee, the scrutiny body was “all very opaque to most people.” A number of respondents could not identify their own LAMs. Once Ken Livingstone appointed five of the twenty-five LAMs to leadership positions on GLA agencies, the boundary between executive versus scrutiny bodies became even more blurry. As an experienced political

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activist commented, “the new realm of the elected assembly is a bit strange ... People still write to their MP, then their local councillor. Few people write to their Member of the European Parliament, and even fewer to their GLA member. Some may write to the mayor. A few who are well informed will write to their GLA member. The caseload of assembly members will be about the same as that of a local councillor, meaning most constituents don’t see them as very central. Remember that the GLA constituencies are quite large.” A number of assembly members were specialists in such areas as transportation, planning, and the environment, which helped increase their public visibility. Although respondents welcomed women’s representation on the assembly, a number lamented the limited power and profile of that body. As one remarked, “the women are fairly invisible ... but that’s in part due to the limited clout of the assembly in general.” LAMs were themselves frustrated by this phenomenon. One described her lack of profile in bold terms: “I cannot see how my name will ever be known unless I am caught snorting cocaine in Trafalgar Square.” Activists worried that female LAMs seemed unwilling to build close ties with other women. As one remarked, I think the women on the assembly try to avoid being cast as women’s representatives. One of the issues in the UK during the past five to ten years has been for elected women to prove they can do something besides whining about child care. Nicky Gavron is more interested in economic development. Jennette Arnold champions minority representation for black groups. Valerie Shawcross is the transport guru. And so on. Lobby groups try to target women elected members, but those elected members and groups are all trying to go mainstream. Lots of the women on the assembly don’t want to be stereotyped as women specialists.

A number of interviewees contended that GLA deputy mayor Nicky Gavron gradually severed her ties with feminist interests. Others dismissed that view, pointing out that she had made constructive contributions both to urban planning and to the creation of “a better environment” on the fractious assembly. The latter position was often framed with reference to Gavron’s efforts to improve Livingstone’s relations with the Labour Party. Interviewees seemed encouraged by the strong numerical representation of women in GLA politics; but they were also aware of important challenges facing the authority – and subnational government gener-

Assessing Restructuring

ally – during this period. As one described the larger picture, “the idea that local government is grounded in principles of democracy and representation is hardly heard. It’s as if those values became irrelevant ... We hear about beneficiary involvement, cost effectiveness, strategic leadership, and not those other principles.” It was her view that unless British politicians reasserted crucial citizenship values, the numbers of women in elective office would hold minimal significance. Femocracy in London

How did respondents view the difference dimension of representation? Some saw new public management (NPM) techniques as working against the insertion of equity considerations into municipal government. According to one trade union activist, “we have interpreted Best Value as a set of competition rules rather than as an exercise in democratic values. To some extent, local authorities have used it as an excuse to cut costs. Performance indicators for government are created, but local authorities have spent too much time on the bureaucratic side and not enough on outcomes or services to the public. We need to focus on delivering what’s empowering or freeing rather than on continuing the internal bureaucratic focus ... The measures here have overwhelmed the real policy debate.” For this interviewee and others, the looming question was whether NPM approaches would overwhelm the GLA’s efforts to promote urban citizenship, or vice versa. Respondents generally viewed the GLA’s strategic femocracy as an important and effective part of the municipal administration. Most understood that the unit had far fewer resources than had been available to the GLC Women’s Committee. As one explained, “there is a great thirst out there, but the women’s advisor can’t be a fairy godmother. The GLA is not a grant-giving body.” A number of interviewees believed the GLA femocracy had made effective use of performance measures, as part of a larger effort to press for policy action. According to one close observer, “the GLA Act actually says equality must be part of the local government project.” She insisted that once the policies are clear, you make the outcomes clear and you implement, monitor, and enforce as you like. The machinery of new public management isn’t by itself antiprogressive. It does get a bit difficult with all the jargon. I sometimes want to clobber whoever started all this benchmarking business. But we have to operate this way ... Monitoring, benchmarking, and tracking outcomes can be very useful because the mayor can name and shame the foot-draggers. There are some

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of them, of course. It’s key to have the policy goals in mind. The machinery you just deal with.

An antiviolence campaigner echoed this view: “Everything we do is monitored and scrutinized and evaluated ... This government is target and performance indicator obsessed. Service providers grumble about this. I like to have the targets because it shows us where we are achieving versus falling behind, and how the GLA has made measurable differences to women’s lives.” Respondents who followed the GLA’s activities celebrated efforts since 2000 to recruit more female firefighters, subway drivers, and cabbies, to regulate minicabs, and to raise public awareness about assaults in illegal taxis. The mayor’s advisor was, in the words of one activist, “very important to us.” According to this view, Anni Marjoram’s work as organizer of the Capitalwoman conferences raised the profile of feminist issues and meant that London government “was doing women’s business again.” The March conferences were noted not only for bringing together veteran campaigners but also for helping mobilize a post-GLC generation of younger women – especially from black and ethnic minority communities. Interviewees remarked that issues related to child care, affordable housing, safety on public transport, and workplace discrimination all had a higher profile after the GLA’s creation than before. The central government, by way of contrast, had dropped violence against women from its policy agenda because, as one respondent commented, “it was a bad news story.” The GLA bureaucracy offered a valuable access point, as well as some public profile and resources, for organized interests that had survived the GLC’s dissolution. Even respondents who had little patience for the GLA mayor, and who seemed loyal to the New Labour government, expressed grudging respect for Livingstone and his team. One recalled that as GLC leader, “Livingstone was one of the first leaders to put in initiatives for women and racial minorities ... His women’s and race units were some of the first. He worked to transform the landscape of local government.” Others who expressed greater affinity toward the mayor than toward the central government had a different perspective: “To get things done for women in a city this vast, you need political will. Ken has that, whereas the central government doesn’t have much of it.” Very few respondents criticized the GLA femocracy. For the most part, those who did were engrossed in ongoing disputes over Labour or feminist politics. In the words of one partisan critic, “Anni Marjoram is not

Assessing Restructuring

the person I would have appointed to the job. She is very much from the Labour left opposition internally, that sect whose main specialization is criticizing the party leadership.” Another Labour observer resented Livingstone’s reliance on what she termed “political chums.” In her view, the mayor “is surrounded by people from the old GLC. He seems to think you can only trust people you knew from before 1986. Hence the GLA is criticized for having yesterday’s people dealing with tomorrow’s problems.” Movement critics used issue agendas as their main pivot, protesting the GLA’s early attempts to target violence in intimate relationships rather than women’s safety more generally. This argument faded from view, however, as the authority launched a broad set of antiviolence campaigns, including to license minicabs, install better lighting at subway stations, and ensure more frequent night buses. A final set of comments concerned how NPM approaches would affect campaigning organizations. Many women’s groups in London lacked the staff and budget resources necessary to cope with heightened accountability rules. Once GLC funding ended, a number of them changed from flattened collectives to hierarchies and grew increasingly reliant on short-term government contracts. Over time, the need to win project funding turned many into voluntary sector subcontractors providing services to governments. They were no longer advocacy organizations working to change the world. Activists generally resented this new reality and looked back fondly on the GLC years, but they did not blame Livingstone or the GLA femocracy for what had happened. Spatial Planning in London

Respondents tended to hold positive views of women’s representation in GLA plans. One applauded the mayor’s “active and socially progressive” directions in areas such as land use, transportation, and the environment. Another endorsed Livingstone’s use of the planning process to “increase training and education for young people,” notably in disadvantaged areas with large minority populations. A third was encouraged to see “women’s issues all over the [draft] official plan,” while a fourth endorsed the mayor’s views on congestion charging and public involvement in the planning process. In her words, “there is massive public engagement in the [draft plan] consultations. It makes democracy very slow, but it is democracy nevertheless. The other thing, less tangible, is an atmosphere that things are doable, for the first time in twenty years.” Child care and public transit campaigners held particularly favourable views of the GLA plans. A child care activist maintained that “the

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mayor will use his planning powers to force child care in all large developments.” According to a transit campaigner, “there are still lots of women trying to travel with lots of children and parcels. The system has been built around tall, white, thin men who travel from suburb to centre and back again at predictable intervals. Once women were suddenly recognized as being part of the ‘active economy,’ then women in transit came to be recognized ... To his credit, the mayor has a walking agenda, a bus-riding agenda, and a curtailing-cars agenda.” A third interviewee stressed the advantages of having a left-of-centre mayor, as contrasted with Toronto’s right-of-centre one. In her words, “if we had a Tory mayor, London would be exactly like Toronto, with only economic growth in the official plan and no social justice or environmental dimensions to thinking about the future.” If there were doubts about GLA plans, they followed from concerns about two things: the mayor’s limited powers, and the challenges facing women’s groups. With reference to the former, respondents acknowledged that “the GLC was in a better position vis-à-vis the boroughs than the GLA is, in terms of planning issues,” and that because Livingstone “does not have the core social policy remits, he cannot join up domestic violence easily, for example, with investments in social infrastructure. He has only got a part of the cake, not the whole cake. He could be an inspiration, a champion. He cannot provide comprehensive solutions, however, with only some of the tools in the box.” Another lamented that “Ken cannot build housing. He wants percentages of developments to go to essential workers, for example 35 to 50 percent in developments of a certain size. It is a great aspiration, but the boroughs don’t want it, and the developers want higher profits.” These informants seemed relieved that even though the mayor’s powers were limited, at least he directed a planning process that allowed Londoners to plot the city’s future. Unfortunately, experts noted, the discursive representation of women in GLA plans fell below that in the last GLC plan. As well, feminist activists tended to oppose central government rhetoric about “social exclusion” that found its way into London plans. One vigorously rejected the idea “that social inclusion means paid work. Women are supposed to get into grotty awful jobs to be included.” Equating inclusion with paid work ignored women’s care responsibilities and glossed over vast differences in income and wealth among London’s citizens. A veteran activist commented: “We recognize there are some common themes all women share. Some are about children, some are about transport, and some are about safety. Those are still common. But the differences

Assessing Restructuring

between economic groups are clear. For example, affluent women can get a car, so safety as an issue goes away.” A younger campaigner echoed this view: “The diversity of women’s interests is increasing. The difference between a woman CEO and the woman who cleans her office is so large – the polarization makes it hard to bridge.” Interviewees generally approved of the way GLA plans set out to resolve part of this conundrum – that is, by building more affordable housing, creating more affordable child care spaces, enhancing public transit, and ensuring fair pay and better training opportunities – all to improve conditions for disadvantaged women. The larger questions remained, however. What did social inclusion mean if it embraced the paid employment of CEOs as well as cleaners? Would the discourse of social inclusion lead planners to neglect the quality of both paid work and unpaid nurturing? Could local women’s organizations take on these questions? Women’s Design Service (WDS) – a feminist planning group dating from the GLC years – had evolved into a voluntary-sector provider of government research and services. During the early GLA years, WDS won contracts to study disabled women’s work opportunities and to increase bicycle use among women in London (including by offering cycling courses at different locations). As one respondent noted, the need for groups like WDS to pursue short-term contracts meant that “the day-today grind of keeping the organization running” became so onerous that political campaigns fell off the agenda. It seemed far from certain that voluntary groups would breathe life into early GLA planning statements. Some interviewees hoped that members of the London assembly or perhaps the women’s advisor to the mayor could take on this task. Both, however, had limited authority in this area and faced competing demands for time and attention. Megacity Prospects

In startling contrast to their London counterparts, Toronto respondents reflected a bleak outlook during the initial megacity years. They unanimously condemned amalgamation, which one interviewee termed the source of a larger “municipal mess.” Provincial downloading and Mel Lastman’s mayoral leadership were also viewed in consistently negative terms. Taken together, another commented, these elements “really debilitated the city.” Many respondents had been committed opponents of megacity creation, whether as part of Citizens for Local Democracy (C4LD), as activists in a court challenge to stop amalgamation, or as campaigners for Barbara Hall in her 1997 run against Mel Lastman.

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Informants described the erosion of civic optimism and public engagement in Canada’s largest city as palpable and serious. According to one observer, Toronto endured “years and years of Mel [Lastman], of chaos, and of plain old despondency. People had a sense of not wanting to contribute. Because of amalgamation, we lost a sense of belonging and of wanting to contribute.” Another remarked, “the most lasting legacy of amalgamation to this point is probably the chaos. It has never settled out. There is the incompetence, the impoverishment, the dumbing down.” Comments often cited the failings of the mayor, who, in the words of one activist, lacked “the capacity to deal with the big city ... He had no idea of the exponential needs facing the city.” According to a second, “when Mel Lastman was there, we really didn’t have any leadership.” Even after Lastman had retired, respondents remained bitter about Toronto’s loss of local autonomy and pessimistic about its future. Speaking in the spring of 2004, one local planning activist claimed that amalgamation kicked Toronto in the stomach. It just knocked the stuffing right out of the city ... The city literally lost seven years of potential progress in chaos. What else would I say? It’s a classic case of these large amalgamations. The costs, the loss of confidence, the anger, frustration, and so on played out the way textbooks say it will. In that seven lost years, the key thing is we have not resolved any of the issues addressed in the Golden Task Force. Transport, air quality, garbage, and so on are all stuck where they were, except the problems are even larger ... We suffered a kick in the solar plexus, but you can’t get up and go back to where you were.

Interviewees generally doubted the results of the fall 2003 provincial and mayoral elections would make much difference. One former City Hall insider summed up this view as follows: “I don’t know how amalgamation can be made to work better. I think we needed to keep the old boroughs and then knit things together” in a way that would involve the outer suburbs. A local activist echoed this claim: “The structures are unworkable ... The amalgamation scenario effectively attacks Toronto government.” Many respondents linked municipal restructuring to Ontario’s fiscal troubles, which dated from the 1980s. Elites at senior levels worked to reduce debts and deficits, seeking ways to cut expenditures and at the same time remain electable. According to one interviewee, “we had a federal government that was restructuring funding and withdrawing it

Assessing Restructuring

from communities, plus a provincial government that was opposed to progressive community activism.” Shifting more policy burdens – but not the resources to handle them – onto the shoulders of municipalities reinforced what a number of respondents described as a broader anti-urban ethos. One social policy campaigner remarked that the “parliamentary structures that we have in Canada are so anti-big city, so over-representative of small-town and rural interests ... Politicians from all parties view local government with disdain – it’s patronized by all the parties.” Another respondent agreed, contending that “social services and child care were badly cut with amalgamation. The province froze property taxes, cut welfare, and downloaded social housing. It was a lethal, poisonous combination.” This explanation placed amalgamation in a particular fiscal, political, and jurisdictional context, one that allowed Ontario to download what was called “an unprecedented number of responsibilities” onto Toronto’s new municipal government. Federal and provincial budgets were tight. The climate of the times allowed a suburban conservative to become the first megacity mayor. Cities were not generally well represented or respected at senior levels; moreover, the complex division of powers in Canada made it easy for decision makers at each tier to avoid blame. Respondents viewed Toronto, however, as a far from accidental target for reconfiguration schemes emanating from Queen’s Park. The downtown city government had been known since the early 1970s as a progressive local regime, one “with a civic consciousness that said ‘no’ to business promotion and growth as the only things that mattered ... Toronto had a reputation as ‘the city that works,’ with both economic growth and social livability as priorities ... Amalgamation would, from the Tory perspective, reduce the size and cost of government and would swamp the City of Toronto as a left-leaning, loud, critical, pain-in-thebutt voice. Forcing the City of Toronto into amalgamation would dull its voice.” Downtown mayor Barbara Hall’s decision in 1996 to pay city employees who attended protest rallies against the provincial government only exacerbated these hostilities. According to one informant, “the Tories just went ballistic” and, under the terms of the BNA Act, could do what they liked with Toronto. In the words of another, Hall’s endorsement of provincial protests “really infuriated the Tories.” A third commented that “the Harris government was doing this purely out of vindictiveness. They hated Toronto and wanted to get it. They moved to destroy local government, and it worked.” Some respondents believed that amalgamation was a necessary prerequisite for provincial downloading. As one phrased this argument,

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the Harris government “needed to create a fiscal structure for downloading. The only way to download was to put Toronto and North York, the rich units, together with the others. You could not download to Scarborough or East York. Amalgamation thus became a precondition for downloading.” Another commented that as “an old crony, a pal of the guys at Queen’s Park,” Mel Lastman was well placed to carry out both dimensions of the provincial agenda. His victory in the 1997 mayoral race meant that suburban conservatives, who valued low taxes and limited services, would oversee the implementation of amalgamation and downloading. Interviewees contended that after Lastman was elected, megacity Toronto moved sharply to the right. Local community groups that were once active in progressive boroughs, particularly the old downtown, seemed stifled. Lastman closed off contact with most interests except his business constituencies. According to one respondent, “being from North York was like being from North Porcupine, Ontario ... There was never a progressive, people-oriented vision in North York.” A social policy campaigner confirmed this view, arguing that “in the inner suburbs of the old Metro, there was a middle-class and racially defined sense of who ‘we’ are ... The older suburbs didn’t have the same breadth of community involvement as downtown, and things were less influenced as a result by the breadth of human needs. It feels to me that local government in the older suburbs was more remote for most people than it was downtown.” Respondents portrayed the North York environment as dominated by cronyism, with “lots of sleaze and perks greasing the system.” One portrayed Lastman’s home base as “the most corrupt of all the pre-megacity governments. Decisions were made in the back rooms. Bureaucrats sailed their own ship until the mayor told them what to do. The mayor favoured people who were in the loop – others were simply out.” Overall, interviewees voiced despondency over not only amalgamation, but also downloading and Mel Lastman’s two terms as mayor. One reflected that stripped of its local boroughs, Toronto became a huge entity with “vast numbers of neighbourhoods where people feel completely excluded ... Lots of people feel so distant from city government now. They used to have a local Canada Day parade, for example, but now it’s gone. ‘We used to have a City Hall nearby,’ some say. People feel distanced and excluded because of many, many factors.” Under these circumstances, another stated, “we need a leader with a rudder. We have not had a mayor who could speak intelligently and on a national

Assessing Restructuring

scale. We feel pretty much at sea. We feel in crisis management mode.” Informants for this study generally viewed Lastman as unable to comprehend in a timely way the consequences of the scheme his provincial allies had foisted on Toronto, let alone push back effectively against them. Elected Representation in Toronto

Interviewees acknowledged that women’s numerical representation in Toronto municipal politics had held fairly steady after amalgamation. Most believed, however, that the quality of civic representation had declined precipitously. Their commentaries cited a variety of reasons for this decline, including the absence of boroughs after 1997, the broad geographic boundaries and large populations of the new megacity wards, the size of the megacity council, the heavy workloads facing councillors, tight provincial controls on municipal action, and weak mayoral leadership. A City Hall observer framed this decline as follows: “The elected politicians were more approachable before 1998 than afterward. Back then, they didn’t have to represent sixty to eighty thousand people, as they do now. They went to more events in their communities. The people who ran for city council and the school board were people you knew. Because it is so unwieldy since 1998, every single councillor now has lots of control over local ward issues, including on lighting, funding, parks, and so on.” Speaking in the fall of 2003, an elected politician described the shift in similar terms: You had more influence as a community and more local democracy under the old model. We now have a huge, unwieldy municipal government ... It is too big and ungovernable and lacks the important avenues for civic engagement. Workload is inhuman. It is not possible to do the work. Ten councillors are leaving because we are so overloaded. This is one-quarter of the council. Our time and work crunch results from amalgamation. Three of me used to do the job of two of me now. The more complex the communities, the more time they need, yet the less we can give them. The voice at the table also changes. When you are one of sixteen, instead of one of fifty-six or forty-four, your voice has more weight. People also know more about why you are making a certain point because they know where, for example, a particular place is and why it needs more community centre facilities ... We had much closer familiarity with people and places under the old scheme.

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Respondents as a group saw the megacity council as large, remote, and unworkable. One suggested that this impression was entirely predictable, given that “creating larger units of government with fewer elected representatives and no intermediary institutions of civic engagement is inevitably going to create distance between politicians and citizens.” Megacity politicians responded to this situation in a number of ways. Some councillors “set up fiefdoms of their own” to control developments in a given ward, while others (notably a few women councillors) worked across ward boundaries – for example, to challenge police handling of violence against women. According to one informant, “the size of the megacity council is an issue. It requires a difficult organizing effort by groups to be heard. Some women councillors have organized well, for example, to get the city to stop the appeal of the Jane Doe decision.”3 Yet this particular coalition was seen as an exception to the more general rule, described as follows by an activist: “Amalgamation has done everybody in, because even smart politicians can only deal with so many problems. Advocacy groups can only get attention from so many councillors, and we don’t have the time or resources to permanently consult with council ... In the old City of Toronto, the scale was more manageable ... We need a local democratic focus to bring people together, not this huge megacity spread-out situation with almost no focus. I think things worked reasonably well before 1998, when we had smaller wards and local boroughs with their own mayors.” Many interviewees contended that the loss of local democracy was a major consequence of megacity creation. Their reflections also zeroed in on centralized provincial control over Toronto’s municipal government, and the city’s weak mayor. With an intensely anti-urban regime in place at Queen’s Park between 1995 and 2003, and Mel Lastman at the helm in Toronto from 1997 until 2003, municipal politics became increasingly irrelevant to citizens. As one respondent commented, “the premier’s office has been the real power source, and that’s one of the issues here.” According to another, citizens felt a sense of “exclusion and distance” from local government, especially given what a third called “a dearth of leadership” during the Lastman years. Under these circumstances, political engagement seemed far from meaningful. A social campaigner posed the question this way: “Without more power at the local level, who would ever run locally?” Others noted that progressive women who did run and win in this period were often intensely competitive with one another and unable to work together as a result.

Assessing Restructuring

Tensions between relatively progressive downtown and more conservative suburban councillors appeared to worsen the problem of civic representation. A number of interviewees cited the daytime meetings of megacity council committees, in contrast to the evening sessions in the old City of Toronto, as evidence of narrowed citizen access. According to one close observer, megacity councillors “have had competing priorities – downtown versus the suburbs – and limited dollars since day one. It is much tougher now from a community perspective to influence council.” In the words of another, “a lot of the issues Toronto faces are not considered important by the suburban councillors. The suburban councillors don’t want to spend money. They want instead to bring Toronto’s level of services down to their abysmal level. What about serving people in need in their areas? This is a question the suburban councillors prefer to ignore.” An urban expert described the larger picture as follows: The City of Toronto, with its incredibly dynamic network of civil society, was lumped together with the suburbs via amalgamation. This meant we had such a large city and a mixing of administrative cultures in the shotgun marriage. The suburbs had the majority of seats in the new municipality, and a suburban politician – Mel Lastman – became the mayor. Senior staff thus came primarily from the suburbs. Wards were much bigger, and people on council even got alienated. We’ve seen a dramatic demobilization of civic participation as a result. In the aftermath of amalgamation, we have seen a huge demoralization of community groups ... The new council had huge responsibilities, limited resources, and a provincial government ready to bludgeon them at every turn.

From this perspective, liberal representation in post-amalgamation Toronto was in considerable peril. Respondents frequently described megacity councillors as “too busy to listen to local people ... quite inaccessible,” “not very open,” “isolated and closed ... out of touch with the public at large,” “bogged down in minutia,” and, as a group, prone to engage in “ward-heeling tradeoffs.” One informant attributed this last pattern to the mayor’s ineffectual leadership, arguing that “we have ward heeling on this new council rather than any grand council vision.” Lastman’s practice of rewarding friends and punishing enemies increased both the power of lobbyists and the likelihood of City Hall corruption. As a close observer commented,

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“amalgamation ends up creating a large gap or breach between decision makers and the public at large. The council to some extent pulled the blanket over its own head to escape all the bad news. That’s how the MFP [computer leasing] scandal could happen – because you develop a standard of government that is so back room and business oriented that anything goes. What a lobbyist can get away with becomes the main determinant of municipal public policy.” A number of interviewees saw allegations of corruption as reinforcing existing divisions on the megacity council, thus driving a deeper wedge between status quo versus reformist, suburban versus inner city interests. If opportunities for local democracy existed after amalgamation, they were at the level of community councils. Comments about these units were uniformly negative, in part because the six (after 2003, four) community councils did not fulfil their representational promise. As one City Hall veteran stated, “we have found the councils to be unwieldy, and they don’t necessarily serve the public the way they should.” A local activist maintained that the councils “just haven’t been accessed. The issues we used to bring to city council or to standing committees now go nowhere. The community councils are pretty invisible and irrelevant to most of us.” Another campaigner remarked that “community councils are really not viable. They are not empowered via the decision-making structures.” In this context, women’s electoral representation seemed unlikely to improve. Provincial cuts to school board seats and school board salaries and the elimination of boroughs narrowed recruitment channels. Barbara Hall’s electoral defeats in the 1997 and 2003 mayoral campaigns were also cited as setbacks to liberal citizenship. As one respondent observed, “the larger the government, the more difficult it is for women ... As women, our voices are less boisterous and less self-proclaiming.” This informant was one of those who worried that Lastman’s five years as mayor had created a particularly unwelcoming environment for progressive women, by establishing a crony-style “boys’ club” at City Hall. Another interviewee summed up the situation as follows: “City government is in a sorry state in Toronto. It is no longer dynamic, activist or community-based. Instead, the scheme now is narrow, clubby, and business focused.” Femocracy in Toronto

At the level of difference representation, interviewees saw the leadership circumstances of the early megacity years as eroding the quality of urban citizenship. According to one respondent, Mel Lastman “relied

Assessing Restructuring

on an insider, lobbyist culture. Administrators were loyal to him, not the public interest.” Others framed their comments with reference to a clash between top-down, centralized hierarchies typical of the older suburbs, on one side, and community-focused, more decentralized models characteristic of the older downtown, on the other. According to this line of argument, femocratic initiatives dating from the preamalgamation period were actively undermined, if not doomed, once the former approach trumped the latter. One respondent described “the old City of Toronto bureaucracy” as “used to working with and meeting with communities. The civil servants got paid, in fact, to get out of City Hall.” With megacity creation, existing regional and borough bureaucracies were merged into a single unit. According to a local government expert, “after amalgamation, the first CAO said the megacity organizational job was horrendous, like building a ship when it was already in full sail. He was right. It was mushing together seven bureaucracies while keeping the thing running, all under an extremely poor mayor.” In the view of another observer, senior civil servants in the new municipality had little patience for community input, since “they were convinced they knew how to proceed. They did not need a community-based structure.” Mel Lastman’s allies from North York and (to a lesser degree) the Metro government dominated the new system. According to informants, the results were far from encouraging. One activist maintained that “amalgamation left departments in chaos. It was unclear what departments were responsible for what ... Our city bureaucracy is in horrible shape.” Another reported that since amalgamation, “the bureaucrats have had no interest in what they are doing ... There is no sense of ownership any more.” A municipal politics expert, speaking in May 2004, claimed that “the administrative stuff has just been a disaster. There are still civil servants floating around city halls, especially in the old boroughs, who have no idea what they are doing or to whom they report. This is sixplus years after amalgamation happened.” From the perspective of municipal feminism, conservative political and bureaucratic leaders operating in tightened fiscal circumstances were threatening to undo modest advances that had been made. Megacity administrators closely scrutinized spending on equity units and community grants and provided minimal staff resources to council committees. According to one activist, “advocacy groups have clearly faced a chill ... Virtually all governments have gone from [long-term] core to [short-term] project funding, and this has a huge effect.” Another argued that “over time, the focus changed to the service delivery sector,”

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so that advocacy groups and service providers competed directly with each other. A third believed that the consequences were clear – namely, “a sense of losing ground rather than gaining it.” Equal opportunity activities in the older downtown had promoted “a wide range of equity group concerns – whether those of women, gays and lesbians, immigrants, refugees or whatever.” With amalgamation, another continued, “the larger practice of equity moved from a focus on employment equity to a softer focus on diversity.” According to a third, the equality focus “is now more marginalized than it used to be. Part of that is because communities don’t see the point in participating in local consultations.” The climate at City Hall made equity staffers “afraid of their own shadows. By 2003, they couldn’t even put out a brochure or sponsor a women’s issue debate by the mayoral candidates. Really strange. It was a complete retreat.” Respondents attributed these changes to conservative control of the megacity council and civil service. According to one activist, Lastman “had a lot of power with the bureaucracy and with the council. He brought in the top people, primarily from North York ... Access and Equity got buried in the CAO’s office, where it could be controlled. It had no clout whatsoever.” Others described the various diversity committees of City Council as “very marginal,” “toothless,” and failing to “meet often enough to know what’s going on.” The megacity administration’s treatment of a report commissioned by the Access and Equity division captured these tensions in a nutshell. The study focused on immigrant employment and housing in Toronto.4 Yet municipal bureaucrats “had no idea how to react to the study, no action plan, no wish to even touch it. It is the most disowned report in the city’s history. It was an excellent report, and our task became to convince council to do something with it.” In what another respondent called the “very dicey environment” of the Lastman years, “the study essentially disappeared.” Fatigue, frustration, and pessimism set in as progressives grew convinced of their inability to influence the megacity leadership. According to one downtown activist, “the Status of Women Committee sent representatives to meetings held by every single diversity committee. We asserted that women needed to be recognized at the intersections of all these diverse identities.” These efforts failed to bear fruit; the final Access and Equity report released after Mel Lastman’s two terms “was very generic, even neutered ... Women moved out of the centre of the debate.”

Assessing Restructuring

METRAC, a Metro-funded antiviolence unit dating from 1983, also weakened after 1997. Political elites – both provincial and municipal – viewed “violence against women as a fringe or special interest issue.” Activists tried to build new coalitions – among immigrant communities in particular – but were unable to counter the steep decline of the National Action Committee on the Status of Women (NAC) and the growing clout of suburban traditionalists. Municipal politicians seemed “conservative and unwilling to pay for services,” even as demands for antiviolence programs increased. According to one activist, METRAC suffered “a huge funding cut” after amalgamation because the agency faced “a huge [council] table filled with conservatives from the suburbs.” From a pre-megacity base of ten to twelve full-time staff, METRAC was reduced to three employees by 2003. One respondent recalled that “the organization eliminated its executive director and nearly all regular staff positions. All staff became part-time, self-employed consultants, paid per diem,” with no access to sick days and holiday pay. Shifts in municipal funding arrangements resulted in a cap of $50,000 per grant; thus METRAC had to apply for multiple grants in order to approach its former base budget. Interviewees who experienced these changes were far from sanguine. According to one, there began “an unhelpful period of internal competition within the organization ... We can at best maintain ourselves. We cannot offer solutions to problems. We do straight maintenance ... It is now constant report writing and grant writing,” which creates “huge staff demands. My stomach goes into a knot when I think about it.” Downtown Toronto’s Safe City Committee (SCC) simply disappeared with amalgamation. Leading councillors, planners, and Healthy City staff had “cared about women’s safety” and had actively recruited feminists to work inside the local bureaucracy. This orientation shifted with amalgamation so that “women’s safety got subsumed under a larger community safety and security rubric.” The elimination or erosion of the SCC, METRAC, and the Equal Opportunity Office mean, as one expert observed in spring 2004, that “equity has been dead in Toronto for the last five or six years.” Spatial Planning in Toronto

A similar pattern evolved in the area of discursive citizenship: women had only a limited presence in the text of downtown Toronto’s last plan; they disappeared entirely in the first amalgamated document. According to respondents, community input declined after 1997 while

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the power of property development interests rose markedly. One expert described shifts in the larger planning environment as follows: The change from the 1991 [downtown] plan to the 2002 [megacity] one is quite dramatic. We have been through a full-scale revolution here. The effects of amalgamation were just gigantic ... At the beginning of the 1991 process, they set up a task force including [city councillors] Liz Amer, Barbara Hall, and others who sought community input into the official plan ... The process of 2002 planning couldn’t have been more different from the 1991 experience in the City of Toronto. In the past, it was from the bottom up as a process ... In the spring of 2000, they started with a by-invitation-only event for corporate and lawyer types at City Council chambers ... It was a show about “time to market this city.” The 1991 plan was about creating a community for the citizens to live in. The amalgamated city plan was about selling Toronto to outsiders. It was all about marketing. It was not about people who live here, except in their capacity as employers and employees. No one was a citizen anymore.

Other informants offered parallel accounts of a major shift in approaches to planning. In identifying the sources of change, interviewees saw threats to citizen representation as dating from the 1980s, when “the emphasis on preserving neighbourhoods was starting to become unwound. By the late 1980s, the development industry effectively broke the back of both the reform social movements and the neighbourhood groups. The city got back to ‘business as usual,’ with a focus on business development. The recessions of that period sent a signal that cost control and economic growth were key.” Downtown Toronto, in the words of one respondent, had “some fine planners who knew about neighbourhoods.” Yet that unit came under sustained pressure to ignore community interests just at the point that the last inner-city plan was being drafted. Feminist planning discourse appeared to reach a modest high-water mark in the final downtown plan. The culture of inner-city government, in the words of one expert, “was rooted in a sense of dialogue between politicians and stakeholders ... Giving voice to communities mattered. For example, Toronto actively recruited planners from communities and encouraged local engagement.” According to an activist in this field, “Toronto’s last plan was the only one I am aware of that began with serious principles about citizenship, and what the city should be to its residents. Safety for women, pedestrian rights, a healthy Toronto,

Assessing Restructuring

and so on were in the plan and in the downtown bureaucracy.” Respondents viewed these accomplishments as hard-won; Women Plan Toronto had apparently threatened to appeal the 1991 Toronto plan to the Ontario Municipal Board unless the city added some language about safety to the final text. Achieving results at the implementation stage was complicated by the decline of NAC as an influential national voice for women, the withdrawal of public funds for women’s groups following the 1995 election of the Harris government, and the reality of conservative control in the new megacity. As one veteran campaigner noted, over time “the focus became more family and less women. The context that gave rise to amalgamation clearly shaped what happened to women’s organizations.” Another noted that Women Plan Toronto “did some work around what amalgamation would do to women, that C4LD picked up as well”; but by the late 1990s, “advocacy had become a dirty word.” A third interviewee cited the burnout affecting activists and the tendency for “the same faces ... to get shrugged off” in planning discussions. Lacking funds, legitimacy, and access to municipal decision makers, Women Plan Toronto faded from view. One respondent, speaking in late 2003, maintained that “the grassroots base is disappearing since 1998 ... One of the most active groups pre-amalgamation was Women Plan Toronto. Like many of the community groups, they now exist in name only.” Speaking in early 2004, another described WPT as “dead or in deep hibernation.” Interviewees did not view City Hall bureaucrats as allies in the struggle for better discursive representation. Paul Bedford, a well-respected planner from the old downtown, was appointed to a megacity planning unit headed by Paula Dill, a former North York employee. Some interviewees believed that Bedford did the best he could in the circumstances; others condemned his willingness to co-author what one termed a “very laissez-faire, pro-developer ... bad document” – namely, the 2002 Toronto plan. Overall, respondents who were familiar with the contents of that document, and who believed in a community planning approach to spatial development, were critical of the megacity text. Conclusions

Qualitative data sometimes prove difficult to interpret and impossible to summarize, but not in the case of interview materials gathered for this study. It is difficult to overstate the extent to which optimism characterized English respondents and pessimism the Canadian ones. London activists, elected politicians, bureaucrats, and experts were upbeat

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about the future of their city, even though some of them faulted the central government for underpowering the GLA or criticized Ken Livingstone for hiring too many friends from the old GLC days. In Toronto, despair and discouragement darkened virtually all reflections on the early megacity years. In terms of specific measures of citizenship, Londoners expressed hope about their mayor and the institutions of the new Greater London Authority, and they welcomed the unprecedented representation of 40 percent women on the new assembly. Most celebrated the profile that the GLA’s strategic femocracy offered women in London; but at the same time, they regretted its lack of resources relative to what the GLC Women’s Committee had enjoyed. Some lamented the decline in women’s visibility between the text of the last GLC and first GLA plans, but most endorsed the GLA’s willingness to devote attention in official plans to child care, transportation, affordable housing, and antiviolence issues. The situation in Toronto could not have been more different. Respondents expressed despair about the first megacity mayor and about conservative dominance on the megacity council, where women’s representation had apparently plateaued at about 30 percent. Most viewed the amalgamated bureaucracy with thinly veiled contempt, mainly because it was controlled by the same interests as those steering the megacity Council. They had little to say about spatial planning representation for women in post-amalgamation Toronto, since it simply did not exist. How was urban citizenship likely to fare in the future in both locations? The next chapter speculates briefly about this.

6 Future Prospects

By examining citizenship in two municipal restructuring contexts, the last four chapters revealed intriguing variations both between and within cities. Comparisons of women’s representation along liberal, difference, and discursive dimensions showed consistently more robust patterns in post-GLA London than in post-amalgamation Toronto. The election of at least 40 percent women to the Greater London Assembly since its creation in 2000, the existence of an effective strategic femocracy in the Greater London Authority, and the attention paid to women’s lived experiences of urban space in the text of the first GLA official plan contrasted with lower levels of elected representation, no visible femocracy, and no mention of women in the first megacity plan. By demonstrating systematic cross-city variations, these results suggested that institutional and political leadership conditions in post-GLA London were more conducive to meaningful urban citizenship than those in post-amalgamation Toronto. At the same time, they disconfirmed expectations following from the globalization and urban literatures that municipal representation would be uniformly weak in both places or, alternately, that cities would consistently offer welcoming spaces in a globalizing era. Neither the thesis that urban citizenship was eroded and endangered in a fairly standardized way by economic integration pressures, nor the argument that it was protected and buoyant because of opportunities for collective action provided by cities, captured the range of variation we found in contemporary London and Toronto – where the vitality of women’s citizenship diverged markedly along all three indicators. Moreover, arguments that representation would be weaker in London due to the entrenchment of NPM approaches and radical social movement traditions were not sustained; neither were claims that citizenship in Toronto would be advantaged by the city’s

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relative newness, the presence of federal structures, and pragmatic traditions of social movement organization in Canada. Overall, representation as captured in this study was neither invariably weak nor consistently strong across two cities that underwent major political restructuring. Instead, the varied institutional arrangements set in place as part of the reconfiguration process – including electoral and bureaucratic schemes – together with the divergent political values of central governments and mayors who led London and Toronto through these major transformations, created disparate contexts for the evolution of urban citizenship. For example, the presence of relatively progressive leaders at the central government and municipal levels in London after 1997 clearly contrasted with conservative governors in Toronto during this same period. The former provided a measurably better representational environment than the latter; left-of-centre politicians at both levels in London seemed more willing to open up electoral, bureaucratic, and planning processes in ways that enhanced citizen engagement than their right-of-centre comparators in Toronto. This conclusion stands out not only because institutional and leadership factors seemed to shape all three dimensions of women’s representation, but also because they apparently did so quite rapidly – in both London and Toronto, within a few years of their official restructuring dates. We can thus respond to the core questions posed in the introduction and Chapter 1 as follows. First, institutional and leadership variations matter for contemporary urban citizenship, in ways that resonated through electoral, bureaucratic, and spatial planning channels in both post-GLA London and megacity Toronto. Second, structures and leaders can exert meaningful effects within a short time – certainly within the first few years of municipal reconfiguration. Third, if we were to construct a governance continuum extending from best- to worst-case conditions, using these two cases only, it would stretch from GLA arrangements under Ken Livingstone to amalgamated Toronto under Mel Lastman. Overall, these conclusions suggest that even though the institutional and leadership circumstances of the early GLA years were far from nirvana, they remained considerably more promising than those of megacity Toronto. Although Tony Blair’s New Labour central government was enamoured of efficiency and competitiveness criteria, it was also committed to decentralizing decision making and enhancing social cohesion in the wake of the Thatcher/Major years. At a rhetorical level, New Labour talk about restoring local democracy offered important openings for politicians like Ken Livingstone, who pressed the

Future Prospects

central government to make good on its campaign promises of political and social renewal. In particular, Livingstone used his mandate as London’s first popularly elected mayor to push back against jurisdictional and fiscal constraints imposed by the central government, thus directly testing Blair’s commitment to local autonomy. By way of contrast, Toronto’s municipal leadership from 1998 through 2003 was effectively allied with a right-wing provincial Conservative regime. As the first megacity mayor, Mel Lastman implemented his promise to freeze property tax rates and thus tie the hands of downtown spendthrifts, all in the name of eliminating waste and duplication. Toronto assumed greater responsibility for extensive redistributive programs under the terms of a central government disentanglement exercise, but when it won no commensurate increase in fiscal resources or institutional autonomy, Lastman turned on his former Queen’s Park allies. Yet by the time he did, the first mayor of amalgamated Toronto lacked credibility. The central government elites who had imposed institutional change in the first place refused to compromise; meanwhile, Toronto’s weakened mayor demonstrated limited capacity to push back at any level. This account of urban restructuring in London and Toronto strongly underlines the importance of intergovernmental relations – especially the preferences and intentions of senior levels of government. In London, New Labour’s rhetoric about reforming municipal governance was grounded in norms that emphasized the renewal of local democracy, even though the actual practice of nominating an official party candidate to run for the mayoralty in 2000 and then ceding control to the new coordinating authority revealed profound reluctance – indeed, contradictions – on this score. As GLA mayor, Ken Livingstone understood these tensions and made it clear that he was prepared to maximize the fiscal, jurisdictional, and discursive powers of his “strong mayor” position. In Toronto, provincial Conservative efforts to impose private-sector norms as part of a broader reconfiguration of urban government were assisted by the absence of an effective, oppositional mayor. Efforts by the central government at Queen’s Park to alter public norms and rhetoric in the direction of greater efficiency and marketization went largely unchallenged at Toronto City Hall – a pattern that held important consequences for Canada’s largest city. The ascent of hard-right preferences effectively obscured the fundamental citizenship work performed by municipalities and their leaders; underlying values about citizen engagement, social equality, and the role of local governments in teaching democratic practices at the community level were washed away in

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the Lastman administration’s rush to try to balance budgets in the wake of amalgamation, downloading, and a municipal tax freeze. Our examination of London and Toronto also reveals intriguing trends over time within each city. Longitudinal data showed that women’s representation in bureaucratic and spatial planning terms declined between the late GLC and early GLA years in London, and between the late City of Toronto and early megacity periods in Toronto. On the liberal citizenship measure – that is, election to municipal councils – results presented in Chapter 2 demonstrated a significant increase in proportions of women from the late GLC to the early GLA era, as well as a slight decline or plateau from pre-amalgamation Metro Council to initial megacity council figures. Data on two of the three empirical yardsticks we used – the bureaucratic and spatial plan measures – could be interpreted as support for globalization arguments that integrative and competitive pressures on cities caused the quality of urban citizenship to decline over time. Yet this view may gloss over more than it illuminates; that is, the thesis fails to consider how unusually robust femocracy and representative planning discourse were in late-GLC London, and how both remained visible in post-GLA London. It also largely ignores the extent to which both phenomena were quite modest even at their height in pre-amalgamation downtown Toronto, and became virtually extinct under the megacity arrangement. In short, we need to bear these divergent thresholds in mind when asserting longitudinal change, since the details of pre- and post-restructuring municipal feminism and official plans differed dramatically between the two cities. A variety of challenges to our understandings of cities and citizenship, at both conceptual and empirical levels, emerge from this account. In response to theories of globalization, the study encourages researchers to question assumptions that integrative and competitiveness pressures affect urban areas in a standardized, all-encompassing manner. The fact that London in the early twenty-first century had unprecedented levels of female representation on its municipal council, an influential women’s unit in its municipal administration, and a new official plan that spoke directly to diverse lived experiences in that city meant that citizen representation remained palpable and meaningful along at least three dimensions. This pattern disconfirms claims by Engin Isin and others that globalizing pressures on cities made all of them hollow, depoliticized spaces where market norms displaced equity, justice, and other democratic values.1

Future Prospects

In examining the relationship between urban reconfiguration and women’s representation, results from Toronto during the early megacity years, when contrasted with those from London in the initial GLA period, point toward the crucial intervening role of central governments and local leaders. If patterns of neo-liberal economic restructuring can be illustrated as a fast-moving locomotive bearing down on cities and their citizens, then the response of Conservative government elites in Ontario during the Mike Harris years seemingly tied Toronto and its citizens directly across the tracks. Instead of looking for ways to empower local residents in an age of rapid social and economic change, as New Labour elites claimed they were doing under the GLA scheme, the provincial Tories actively withdrew autonomy and funds under their amalgamation and downloading arrangements. Compounding these significant institutional variations were important differences in the ways that Ken Livingstone and Mel Lastman played the hands that were dealt them. Livingstone systematically pressed for greater independence vis-à-vis his central government masters, while Lastman alternated between lap dog and attack dog responses. Neither of these extremes appeared to be effective in Toronto: the first let Queen’s Park off the hook for the damage caused directly after amalgamation, while the second came relatively late in the process, when Lastman’s credibility was largely spent. Optimistic accounts by Caroline Andrew and others of urban reconfiguration provide a mirror foil for this same set of conclusions.2 Instead of viewing restructured cities as shields against globalization, and as uniformly welcoming toward progressive mobilization, the present study illuminates the wide range of open and closed doors that characterized contemporary London and Toronto, respectively. From this perspective, the partial proportionality rules that helped increase female representation on the London Assembly to 40 percent and higher, alongside mayoral leadership that shaped the GLA’s bureaucracy and official plans in a manner conducive to women’s representation, pointed to the significant potential for progressive action in cities. Conversely, the lack of electoral rule changes in Toronto, combined with women’s bureaucratic and spatial planning invisibility during the initial megacity period, revealed how unwelcoming at least one urban environment could be. In short, the main conclusions drawn from this analysis reveal the limits of blanket pessimistic as well as optimistic urban theories. Clearly, the institutional and leadership circumstances of London and Toronto

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after GLA creation and amalgamation, respectively, were far from identical – even if both sets of restructurings were responses to similar international pressures on cities and central governments. The specifics of central government reactions to these forces emerge quite starkly from this study as important and often overlooked dimensions of the story, as do variations in the leaders selected by voters to guide their cities through the post-reconfiguration period. In London and Toronto during the late 1990s and following, the institutions the central governments created and the mayors who were elected to make them work could hardly have been more different. The impact of these contrasting circumstances registered firmly and early along the three baseline indicators used in this study. The ways in which they registered, evidencing systematically greater possibilities for citizen representation in London than in Toronto, reinforce the conclusions of a major ten-case urban development study by two leading American scholars. According to H.V. Savitch and Paul Kantor, “cities may be converging in some respects, but in many others they remain quite different from one another.”3 If institutional and political leadership contexts played a crucial role in shaping representational patterns in early post-restructuring London and Toronto, then how might subsequent changes affect urban citizenship? In purely speculative terms, it is worth considering the possible effects of recent elections in both locations. In London, the June 2004 municipal elections returned Ken Livingstone to mayoral office but weakened Labour’s grip on the assembly by reducing that party’s seat count from nine to seven (out of twenty-five). Conservatives became the largest bloc on the London assembly in 2004, winning nine seats. Moreover, although Livingstone gained more votes in the 2004 first round than he did in 2000, his second win over Steven Norris was narrower than in their initial contest. Would these GLA results affect women’s municipal representation? London Tories and Liberal Democrats criticized the size of the GLA staff, as well as the mayor’s taxation and spending records. Two assembly members elected in 2004 came from the UK Independence Party, a formation committed to closing down that body. Whether Livingstone could gain the ongoing support of the two Green Party representatives on the assembly, to neutralize these other interests, remained to be seen. What was obvious was Livingstone’s long-standing record as a cagey left populist; he had survived many earlier political reversals and, dating from his GLC years, had consistently treated women as an integral part of the urban citizenry.

Future Prospects

At an empirical level, one of the most fascinating questions to emerge from this study concerns the consequences of leadership change in Toronto. Elections in the autumn of 2003 produced a Liberal majority government in Ontario, followed by a left-of-centre mayor in Toronto. Some observers viewed the ascent of Dalton McGuinty as Ontario premier, David Miller as Toronto mayor, and then Paul Martin as federal Liberal Party leader and prime minister as extremely promising from the perspective of metropolitan citizenship. Unlike the political executives who preceded them, McGuinty and Martin both represented urban constituencies, in Ottawa and Montreal respectively, and were seen as likely to support Miller and other mayors who demanded a “new deal” for Canada’s cities.4 Among the most striking characteristics of this new deal was its shortterm, fiscal orientation. Even after Martin’s federal government agreed to offer municipalities across Canada a reduction or break on the valueadded goods and services tax they paid, and even after McGuinty’s provincial regime announced its willingness to share gasoline tax monies with Ontario cities, the megacity still faced a “$91-million shortfall on its $7.06-billion global operating budget” in December 2004.5 A 2004 megacity report estimated that the amount owing to Toronto for Ontario’s share of downloaded child care, welfare, and ambulance services had reached $62 million.6 The city’s chief financial officer seemed less than upbeat about these fiscal circumstances. As he remarked in late 2004, “the monies we’ll get from the New Deal will help us maintain the status quo.”7 Toronto’s public schools also fared poorly under provincially imposed processes of policy centralization and cost cutting. One estimate pegged the sum lost to local schools at “a staggering $300 million” between 1998 and early 2004.8 In terms of enrolment, the numbers of students in Toronto District School Board classes declined by approximately 7 percent between 2001 and 2004, or nearly 20,000 pupils in three years.9 As was the case with the megacity, attempts to address the school board’s predicament were primarily fiscal, involving efforts by trustees and parent groups to gain additional provincial funds.10 The February 2005 federal budget and the post-budget deal with the NDP for urban public transit monies clearly assisted Toronto at a fiscal level, but failed to undo the financial damage associated with policy offloading during the 1990s.11 Moreover, the same institutional arrangements that the Harris Conservatives established under amalgamation remained in place. Boroughs had disappeared, the megacity council was often viewed as “unwieldy,” and the province continued to control

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decisions about issues ranging from speed bumps and bar hours to the size of Toronto’s municipal council.12 Efforts to draft a new City of Toronto Act at the provincial level seemed to be driven primarily by local business interests, which wanted greater centralization of power and streamlining of decision making, rather than by citizenship concerns related to representation, voice, and diverse participation. Clearly, demands that provincial and federal politicians provide more money for the megacity and its school board had a better chance of success after 2003 than earlier. Yet it remained ironic that Mel Lastman’s strategy of trying to get Ontario to pay its bills, make good on promises that amalgamation and downloading would work, and allow Toronto to impose user fees (including for community use after hours of local schools) continued long after his retirement from public office. In fact, during David Miller’s first two years as mayor, he continued to press a narrowly fiscal strategy vis-à-vis senior levels of government. This approach raised the obvious question: Was a change of municipal leaders sufficient to get Toronto back on track as a vibrant urban centre? More specifically, could David Miller make the megacity and downloading schemes work after Mel Lastman had failed? The tentative conclusions that can be drawn from Miller’s early record in office are not entirely promising. While significantly more intelligent and less erratic than Lastman, Miller manifested neither the strategic focus nor the political will necessary to take on tough institutional issues – notably, the basic workability of the megacity scheme. By the fall of 2004 even Miller’s admirers were beginning to express frustration; one lamented in a local newspaper that “a good CEO gets the right people and sets a few achievable goals and visibly. He hasn’t done that yet.”13 Miller shuffled the higher echelons of the municipal bureaucracy in the fall of 2004, and appointed a new chief planner who promised “to listen carefully” to city residents.14 Once again, these were personnel and internal organizational changes that – like the election of a new mayor – left the basic architecture of amalgamation fully intact. Moreover, Miller’s background as a corporate lawyer and City Council moderate suggested that he was unlikely to become a crusading oppositional mayor à la Ken Livingstone. If politicians establish their basic operating styles early and maintain them through their political careers, then Miller seemed an improbable threat to Toronto’s masters at Queen’s Park. He had scored an impressive count in the popular vote in the November 2003 elections, yet he was not using this mandate during his first years on the job to educate local citizens about the challenges facing the city, or to build support for anything more trans-

Future Prospects

formative than fiscal infusions from Ottawa and Queen’s Park. Although he held out the hope from time to time of a more focused and institutionally adventurous agenda, these commitments seemed more rhetorical than real.15 From the perspective of women’s citizenship, the evidence from Miller’s initial time in office was mixed. The new mayor commissioned a review of all existing advisory bodies in Toronto and unilaterally announced which units would remain and which would end. Some observers expected the Status of Women Committee to be re-energized following Mel Lastman’s retirement. According to one City Hall insider, “when David Miller was elected as mayor in the fall of 2003, he asked for a review of all existing advisory bodies. Miller then recommended what would continue and what would be dissolved. On the status of women, he asked that it be referred to him. As of mid-2004, he has not yet decided.” Through the summer of 2004, his office reserved judgment on the future of a City Council advisory committee on the status of women. Miller delayed meeting with Toronto Women’s Call to Action, a group formed in February 2004 to press for an effective advisory committee, a gender-based city budgeting process, and the inclusion of women’s concerns in local planning activities. Although the impasse between the two sides had broken by mid-November 2004 with the formal acceptance of terms of reference for a Status of Women and Gender Equity Working Group, it was far from certain that the new body would be any better resourced or more effective than a series of earlier Toronto committees dating back to the early 1970s. In addition, Toronto’s municipal leaders did not take up the challenges posed by a 2004 report by the Federation of Canadian Municipalities, which recommended strategies to increase women’s involvement in local government.16 In short, as of this writing (late 2005), Ken Livingstone seems likely to pursue the same directions in his second term as he had in 2000 through 2004, whereas David Miller has revealed little interest in improving citizen representation in the wake of the Lastman years. Even though the political circumstances that led to amalgamation in Toronto (involving conflict between a right-wing provincial government and a progressive downtown mayor) are history, the institutional legacies of that situation – notably social policy downloading, tight fiscal constraints, and the elimination of borough government – remain firmly in place. These results dovetail closely with the findings of an earlier research project; in fact, that undertaking stimulated this study of governance changes in London and Toronto.17 When measured with respect to the

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treatment of single mothers on social assistance, opportunities for progressive social policy outcomes in Britain during the New Labour years seemed considerably more promising than they did in Canada under a series of Liberal governments beginning in 1993. Clearly, we cannot assume that national-level patterns, or continental trends set by the tone of European Union versus North American integration arrangements, determined the terms of urban citizenship in London and Toronto. Yet the parallels are unmistakable and may open fruitful new avenues for comparative research about citizens in cities. By focusing on three dimensions of civic engagement in pre- and initial post-reconfiguration London and Toronto, this study has sidestepped crucial questions about policy outcomes. Will elected women, municipal femocrats, or planning documents make much difference to the lived experiences of citizens in either location? How will the multiple citizenship challenges facing low-income – often visible minority – immigrant and refugee women be addressed in London and Toronto, given the broader context of welfare reform politics in both places? What will be the effects of municipal restructuring on other groups of citizens, including Aboriginal people in Toronto and lesbians and gays in both cities? Clearly, the data presented in this account cannot answer these questions, but they will hopefully stimulate future studies of citizenship patterns in London, Toronto, and other metropoli. This analysis of cross-city and cross-time variations in municipal representation can be interpreted in both optimistic and pessimistic ways. As of late 2005, reasonable grounds existed for hope in the global age, provided one focused on the example of the Greater London Authority. At the same time, evidence from post-amalgamation Toronto, and from two of three longitudinal measures in both London and Toronto, reinforced the case for pessimism, in that it demonstrated the degree to which urban citizenship could stagnate or weaken in measurable ways. Overall, this study has confirmed an intriguing hunch – namely, that examining urban governance changes opens a key analytic window and permits observers to probe the varied consequences of contemporary restructuring processes.

Appendix Interview Schedules

London Interview Schedule 1. Thank you for agreeing to participate in this project. Before we begin, kindly indicate to me whether your comments in this session can be attributed to you by name in print, or if they should remain anonymous in any publications I produce. 2. What is the background to your activity as a city councillor/group activist/urban politics expert? 3. How long have you been active at the municipal level, and in what policy fields? 4. From the perspective of your work in this area, how would you describe the period in London before the creation of the Greater London Authority? 5. What strategies did women’s organizations use to gain policy influence in London during the period between 1986, when the GLC was abolished, and 2000, when the GLA was created? 6. Would you say these strategies were different from those employed in London since 2000? What difference has GLA creation made to your work? 7. Can you assess changes in how decisions were made, and what decisions were made, in London during the pre- and post-GLA eras? How have relations with the boroughs and the central government changed pre- versus post-GLA? 8. How would you describe changes in policy access, notably participation in policy making by women’s groups in London, pre- versus post-GLA? 9. What is your relationship as a politician/activist/expert with political parties? Has this relationship shifted as a result of changes in urban governance in London? 10. In conclusion, what in your view has been the most lasting legacy of changes in urban governance in London?

138 Appendix

Toronto Interview Schedule

1. Thank you for agreeing to participate in this project. Before we begin, kindly indicate to me whether your comments in this session can be attributed to you by name in print, or if they should remain anonymous in any publications I produce. 2. What is the background to your activity as a city councillor/group activist/urban politics expert? 3. How long have you been active at the municipal level and in what policy fields? 4. From the perspective of your work in this area, how would you describe the period in Toronto before amalgamation? 5. What strategies did women’s organizations use to gain policy influence in Toronto during the pre-megacity period? 6. Would you say these strategies were different from those employed in Toronto since amalgamation? What difference has megacity creation made to your work? 7. Can you assess changes in how decisions were made, and what decisions were made, in Toronto during the pre- and post-amalgamation eras? How have relations with the provincial and federal governments changed pre- versus post-megacity? 8. How would you describe changes in policy access, notably participation in policy making by women’s groups in Toronto, pre- versus post-amalgamation? 9. What is your relationship as a politician/activist/expert with political parties? Has this relationship shifted as a result of changes in urban governance in Toronto? 10. In conclusion, what in your view has been the most lasting legacy of changes in urban governance in Toronto?

Notes

Chapter 1: Restructuring Contexts 1 Text of London Underground poster on District Line trains, October 2001. 2 At the municipal level the Ontario Coalition Against Poverty “took over a [city] council meeting in 1998 to demand that the city declare homelessness a national disaster.” See Trevor Cole, “The Player,” Toronto Life (April 2004), 94. For more general accounts of OCAP activities, see John Clarke, “Social Resistance and the Disturbing of the Peace,” Osgoode Hall Law Journal 41 (2003), 491-503; Norman Feltes, “The New Prince in a New Principality: OCAP and the Toronto Poor,” Labour/Le Travail 48 (Fall 2001); and Jeff Shantz, “Fighting to Win: The Ontario Coalition Against Poverty,” Capital and Class 78 (Autumn 2002), 1-8. 3 In 2000, Greater London’s population was roughly 7.4 million in a UK population of about 59 million; the population of the Greater Toronto Area was approximately 4.6 million, out of a national population of about 31 million. See Nick Buck, Ian Gordon, Peter Hall, Michael Harloe, and Mark Kleinman, Working Capital: Life and Labour in Contemporary London (London: Routledge, 2002), 141; and Frances Friskin, L.S. Bourne, Gunter Gad, and Robert A. Murdie, “Governance and Social Sustainability: The Toronto Experience,” in Mario Polèse and Richard Stren, eds., The Social Sustainability of Cities: Diversity and the Management of Change (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2000), 73. 4 According to Paul Anisef and Michael Lanphier, “the Toronto metropolis currently attracts almost half of all newcomers to Canada.” See Anisef and Lanphier, “Introduction: Immigration and the Accommodation of Diversity,” in Anisef and Lanphier, eds., The World in a City (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003), 3. According to Nick Buck et al., London during the 1990s “absorbed about 55 per cent of the national inflow” of immigrants. See Buck et al., Working Capital, 141. 5 By 2004, according to a Greater London Authority document, London’s estimated “tax export may now have exceeded £20 billion.” This figure reflected the disparity between London’s estimated contributions to national tax revenues and central government spending in London. See Greater London Authority, The Case for London: London’s Loss Is No-One’s Gain (London: Greater London Authority, March 2004), 9. A campaign titled “Enough of Not Enough,” mounted by the Toronto Board of Trade during early 2004, claimed that “every year Toronto pays $9 billion more in taxes than it receives in services.” See http:// www.realtorontosolutions.com.

140 Notes to pages 2-4

6 In the words of Peter Ackroyd, Londoners “agreed to accept [John] as king as long as he in turn recognized the inalienable right of London to form its own commune as a self-governing and self-elected city-state.” Peter Ackroyd, London: The Biography (London: Vintage, 2000), 56. 7 On the relationship between Thatcherism and local government, see Hugh Atkinson and Stuart Wilks-Heeg, Local Government from Thatcher to Blair: The Politics of Creative Autonomy (Cambridge: Polity, 2000), 60-75. 8 See Atkinson and Wilks-Heeg, 262-65; Ben Pimlott and Nirmala Rao, Governing London (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), ch. 5; and Tony Travers, The Politics of London: Governing an Ungovernable City (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), ch. 3. 9 On the background to these developments, see Mark D’Arcy and Rory MacLean, Nightmare! The Race to Become London’s Mayor (London: Politico’s, 2000). 10 Confidential interview sources. These accounts are consistent with John Ibbitson’s claim that downtown “Mayor Barbara Hall’s support for the demonstration infuriated Harris ... [She] made an implacable enemy of the premier.” See Ibbitson, Promised Land: Inside the Mike Harris Revolution (Scarborough: Prentice Hall Canada, 1997), 216, 243. 11 Andrew Sancton, Merger Mania: The Assault on Local Government (Montreal: McGillQueen’s University Press, 2000), 14-16. 12 On support among prominent provincial Conservatives for the Lastman campaign, see Gail Swainson, “Mega-Campaign Teams in Place: Prominent Backroom Boys Give Lastman’s Run Spark,” Toronto Star, 31 August 1997, A6. They included cabinet minister Dave Johnson, MPP Steve Gilchrist, and backroom advisor John Tory. 13 On the details of these referendum results, see Julie-Anne Boudreau, Megacity Saga: Democracy and Citizenship in This Global Age (Montreal: Black Rose, 2000), 14-15. 14 Susan Bassnett, Feminist Experiences: The Women’s Movement in Four Cultures (London: Allen and Unwin, 1986), 160. On the strength of an antisystem or protest stream in British feminism, particularly before the 1980s, see Sylvia Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive: Living through Conservative Times (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 25-27; and Fiona Mackay, Love and Politics: Women Politicians and the Ethics of Care (London: Continuum, 2001), 6-7. 15 Bassnett, Feminist Experiences, 155. 16 See Jill Vickers, Pauline Rankin, and Christine Appelle, Politics as If Women Mattered: A Political Analysis of the National Action Committee on the Status of Women (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993). 17 In the words of Gerda Wekerle and Linda Peake: “Women Are at the Forefront of Urban Protest Movements and Urban Activism.” Wekerle and Peake, “New Social Movements and Women’s Urban Activism,” in Jon Caulfield and Linda Peake, eds., City Lives and City Forms (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996), 263. According to Joyce Gelb and Marilyn Gittell, “it is in movement politics that women have made their contributions to shaping the character of urban society.” Gelb and Gittell, “Seeking Equality: The Role of Activist Women in Cities,” in Janet K. Boles, ed., The Egalitarian City: Issues of Rights, Distribution, Access, and Power (New York: Praeger, 1996), 93. On the treatment of women in mainstream urban research, see Susan E. Clarke, Lynn A. Staeheli, and Laura Brunell, “Women

Notes to pages 5-9

18

19 20 21 22 23

24 25

26 27 28 29

30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37

38 39 40 41

Redefining Local Politics,” in David Judge, Gerry Stoker, and Harold Wolman, eds., Theories of Urban Politics (London: Sage, 1995), 205-27, esp. 208. Gerda R. Wekerle, “Women’s Rights to the City: Gendered Spaces of a Pluralistic Citizenship,” in Engin F. Isin, ed., Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City (London: Routledge, 2000), 209. Engin F. Isin, “Introduction: Democracy, Citizenship, and the City,” in Isin, ed., Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City,” 5. Gerda R. Wekerle, “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship: Stories from Toronto,” Plurimondi 1:2 (1999), 106. See Iris Marion Young, Justice and the Politics of Difference (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990). See Atkinson and Wilks-Heeg, Local Government from Thatcher to Blair, 18. Ken Livingstone, If Voting Changed Anything, They’d Abolish It (London: Fontana Collins, 1988), 251, as quoted in Atkinson and Wilks-Heeg, Local Government, 108-9. See Anna Coote and Polly Pattullo, Power and Prejudice: Women and Politics (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1990), 232. Michael A. Genovese, “Margaret Thatcher and the Politics of Conviction Leadership,” citing Dennis Kavanagh, Thatcherism and British Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), 284, 294, in Michael A. Genovese, ed., Women as National Leaders (Newbury Park: Sage, 1993), 191. Streamlining the Cities as quoted in Tony Byrne, Local Government in Britain: Everyone’s Guide to How It All Works, 7th ed. (London: Penguin, 2000), 122. Margaret Thatcher, The Downing Street Years (New York: HarperCollins, 1993), 305, 306. See Ron Fenney, Essential Local Government 2000 (London: LGC Information, 2000), 106. This prohibition was contained in the infamous clause 28 of the 1988 legislation. See Martin Durham, Moral Crusades: Family and Morality in the Thatcher Years (New York: New York University Press, 1991), 116-18. See Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive, 57. See Atkinson and Wilks-Heeg, Local Government, 17, 69. Ibid., 69. Ken Young, “Local Government,” in Dennis Kavanagh and Anthony Seldon, eds., The Thatcher Effect: A Decade of Change (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 130. Ibid., 129. See Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 59-61. Tony Blair, New Britain: My Vision of a Young Country (London: Fourth Estate, 1996), 314. Section 138 [London Mayor and Authority] of 1997 Labour Party manifesto. On the background to this commitment, see Travers, The Politics of London, 45-47. Byrne, Local Government in Britain, 123. Tony Travers, “Local Government,” in Anthony Seldon, ed., The Blair Effect: The Blair Government, 1997-2001 (London: Little, Brown, 2001), 119. Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 65. See Christopher Foster, “Transport Policy,” in Seldon, ed., The Blair Effect, 279.

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142 Notes to pages 9-11

42 Byrne, Local Government in Britain, 599. On performance targets used by New Labour in the field of education, see Alan Smithers, “Education Policy,” in Seldon, ed., The Blair Effect, 408. 43 See Fenney, Essential Local Government 2000, 113 ff.; and Travers, “Local Government,” 120. 44 Travers, “Local Government,” 132. 45 See Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 89. One commentator argued that new electoral schemes introduced as part of the Greater London Authority reforms could encourage the “normalisation within British political culture” of alternatives to single-member plurality arrangements. See Ian Loveland, “The Government of London,” Political Quarterly 70:1 (January-March 1999), 97. 46 The second-place finisher was Conservative candidate Steven Norris; Dobson ran third on the first count. 47 Metro was established by the province of Ontario as a federation of thirteen municipalities in 1953 and was consolidated by the province into six municipalities in 1966. See Friskin et al., “Governance and Social Sustainability,” 68-97. 48 This pooling of funds meant that services were reasonably standardized across Metro. See Friskin et al., “Governance and Social Sustainability,” 83. 49 On the details of these shifts, see Sylvia Bashevkin, Welfare Hot Buttons: Women, Work and Social Policy Reform (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002), 33, 81-89. 50 Municipal Affairs minister Al Leach, as quoted in Andrew Sancton, “Amalgamations, Service Realignment, and Property Taxes: Did the Harris Government Have a Plan for Ontario’s Municipalities?” paper presented at Governing Ontario Conference, University of Western Ontario, 1998, 9. 51 Progressive Conservative Party of Ontario, The Common Sense Revolution: The Mike Harris Plan for Lower Taxes, Less Government, and More Than 725,000 New Jobs (1995 campaign platform), Section 4G, “Free Choice in Child Care.” 52 See R.D. Gidney, From Hope to Harris: The Reshaping of Ontario’s Schools (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999), 235, 244. 53 See ibid., 242, on education policy reforms. On developments in the housing field, see Jack Layton, Homelessness: The Making and Unmaking of a Crisis (Toronto: Penguin, 2000), 78-103. 54 Major funding changes occurred under the terms of Bill 160, titled the Education Quality Improvement Act. See Gidney, From Hope to Harris, 247-49, 264-67. 55 See Ibbitson, Promised Land, 248. 56 Final Letter from David Crombie to the Hon. Al Leach, Minister of Municipal Affairs and Housing, dated 23 December 1996, at http://www.mah.gov.on.ca/ inthnews/backgrnd/961230ae.asp. 57 This population figure is drawn from Ibbitson, Promised Land, 247. 58 See Katherine A. Graham and Susan D. Phillips, “‘Who Does What’ in Ontario: The Process of Provincial-Municipal Disentanglement,” Canadian Public Administration 41:2 (Summer 1998), 175-209. 59 See Caroline Andrew, “Les femmes et les gouvernements locaux en Ontario: de nouveaux enjeux,” Recherches féministes 10:2 (1997), 113-26. 60 See, for example, Gelb and Gittell, “Seeking Equality”; Penelope Gurstein, “Gender Sensitive Community Planning: A Case Study of the Planning Ourselves In Project,” Canadian Journal of Urban Research 5:2 (December 1996), 199-219; Amy Lind, “Gender, Development and Urban Social Change: Women’s Community

Notes to pages 11-13

61 62

63 64

65 66 67

68 69

70 71

72

73 74

75

76

Action in Global Cities,” World Development 25:8 (1997), 1205-23; and Lindsay McFarlane, “Women and Urban Planning,” OECD Observer 195 (August/ September 1995). See Ibbitson, Promised Land, 247. Progressive mayors of Toronto prior to Hall’s tenure included David Crombie and John Sewell. Their records contrasted with those of more conservative mayors who governed through the early 1990s, notably Art Eggleton and June Rowlands. See C. Richard Tindal and Susan Nobes Tindal, Local Government in Canada, 5th ed. (Toronto: Nelson, 2000), 321-25. See sources cited in note 12, above. On changes to school board sizes, school funding formulas, and trustee salaries, see Gidney, From Hope to Harris, ch. 13. By capping trustees’ salaries at a maximum of $5,000 per year, Harris-era reforms made these positions unattractive to all but the most affluent candidates. See Boudreau, Megacity Saga, 24-25; Ibbitson, Promised Land, 249, 264; and Sancton, Merger Mania, 138, 167. Some of these parallels are explored in Engin F. Isin, “Governing Cities without Government,” in Isin, ed., Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City,” 148-68. See Stefania Abrar, Joni Lovenduski, and Helen Margetts, “Sexing London: The Gender Mix of Urban Policy Actors,” International Political Science Review 19:2 (1998), 163. See Ibbitson, Promised Land, 216, 243, 262. Outside London, metropolitan county councils were abolished in Greater Manchester, Merseyside, South Yorkshire, Tyne and Wear, the West Midlands, and West Yorkshire. See Atkinson and Wilks-Heeg, Local Government, 108. These cities were Ottawa, Hamilton, and Sudbury. See Sancton, Merger Mania, ch. 6. The Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Hospital in Bloomsbury was targeted for closing during the Thatcher years and was only saved by Royal intervention. See Abrar, Lovenduski, and Margetts, “Sexing London,” 167. In Toronto, Women’s College Hospital and the Wellesley Hospital were forcibly amalgamated with other units during the Harris years. See Boudreau, Megacity Saga, 51-52; and Ibbitson, Promised Land, 263. The Women’s Coalition for Local Democracy, comprised of the City of Toronto Committee on the Status of Women and Women Plan Toronto, issued an antiamalgamation declaration on 12 February 1997 at council chambers in the City of Toronto. It urged women to sign the declaration and vote against amalgamation in local referendums. See Boudreau, Megacity Saga, 14, 15. On the extent to which cross-sector partnerships were dominated by privatesector values, see Graham Todd, “Megacity: Globalization and Governance in Toronto,” Studies in Political Economy 56 (Summer 1998), 209; and Susan Fainstein, The City Builders: Property Development in New York and London, 1980-2000 (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2001), 204-18. The Harris government, for example, centralized control over elementary and secondary school curricula, reorganized school boards, and effectively took over education policy by appointing provincial superintendents in a number of major cities, including Toronto. See Gidney, From Hope to Harris, ch. 13. Richard Florida, The Rise of the Creative Class (New York: Basic Books, 2002).

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144 Notes to pages 14-17

77 See, for example, Mark Kingwell, The World We Want: Vice, Virtue, and the Good Citizen (Toronto: Penguin, 2000). 78 Jefferey M. Sellers, Governing from Below: Urban Regions and the Global Economy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 79 See Anthony Jay, Oxford Dictionary of Political Quotations (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 276. 80 Sellers, Governing from Below, 390. 81 On efforts to save the GLC during the Thatcher years, see John Carvel, Citizen Ken (London: Chatto and Windus, 1984); and Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 40-42. The activities of Citizens for Local Democracy (C4LD) and other anti-amalgamation efforts in Toronto are examined in Boudreau, Megacity Saga. 82 For example, Engin Isin writes: “The governance of global cities has become increasingly managerial, professional, marketized and privatized.” See Isin, “Introduction,” 18. 83 See Lee Ann Banaszak, Karen Beckwith, and Dieter Rucht, “When Power Relocates: Interactive Changes in Women’s Movements and States,” in Banaszak, Beckwith, and Rucht, eds., Women’s Movements Facing the Reconfigured State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 4-23. 84 On the larger terms of this shift, see Caroline Andrew and Michael Goldsmith, “From Local Government to Local Governance – and Beyond?” International Political Science Review 19:2 (1998), 101-17. 85 For one reflection of this phenomenon, see Timothy Owen, “The View from Toronto: Settlement Services in the late 1990s.” Presentation to Vancouver Metropolis Conference, January 1999. In Owen’s words: “Increased competition from new service providers, increased accountability, short time frames, and heavy administrative requirements have put pressure on all agencies, particularly those with the least developed infrastructures. Some of these agencies are at risk of not surviving.” 86 A number of urban women’s organizations, for example, became housing providers rather than housing advocates. See Gerda R. Wekerle, “The Shift to the Market: Gender and Housing Disadvantage,” in Patricia M. Evans and Gerda R. Wekerle, eds., Women and the Canadian Welfare State: Challenges and Change (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 186-90. 87 Efforts to apply postmodernist concepts of discursive space to the study of cities include Gerard Delanty, “The Resurgence of the City in Europe? The Spaces of European Citizenship,” in Isin, ed., Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City, 79-92; and Michael Peter Smith, Transnational Urbanism: Locating Globalization (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001). 88 Jane Jenson and Susan D. Phillips, “Regime Shift: New Citizenship Practices in Canada,” International Journal of Canadian Studies 14 (Fall 1996), 111-35. 89 Isin, “Introduction,” 5. 90 Jenson and Phillips, “Regime Shift,” 129. 91 Ibid., 119-30. 92 Isin, “Governing Cities without Government,” 157. Italics in original. 93 See Peter Aucoin, The New Public Management: Canada in Comparative Perspective (Montreal: Institute for Research on Public Policy, 1995). 94 On the role of NPM approaches in polarizing group/state relations, see Jonathan Malloy, Between Colliding Worlds: The Ambiguous Existence of Government Agencies

Notes to pages 18-22

95

96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103

104

105 106

107 108 109

for Aboriginal and Women’s Policy (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003), ch. 6. Caroline Andrew, “Globalization and Local Action,” in Timothy L. Thomas, ed., The Politics of the City: A Canadian Perspective (Toronto: Nelson, 1997), 140. Andrew’s thesis draws on the work of Warren Magnusson, notably his booklength study The Search for Political Space (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996). For a fuller discussion of urban contextual variables, see Clarke, Staeheli, and Brunell, “Women Redefining Local Politics,” 218-19. Vincent Lemieux, “L’analyse politique de la décentralisation,” Revue canadienne de science politique 29:4 (December 1996), 661-80. On Livingstone’s conflicts with Thatcher, see Carvel, Citizen Ken. On tense relations with New Labour, see Travers, The Politics of London, 71-73. For an overview of Livingstone’s background, see Travers, “Local Government,” 129-31. Lastman speaking in February 2001, as quoted in “Inside City Hall,” Globe and Mail, 28 November 2003, A15. Lastman as quoted in James Rusk, “Lastman Sours on Amalgamation,” Globe and Mail, 9 January 2001, A17. On Lastman’s fiscal approach, see Sancton, Merger Mania, 127-29. Other comparative accounts of developments in these two cities include Kennedy Stewart and Patrick Smith, “‘Big Tents’ vs. ‘Big Sticks’: Regional Governance Reform in Greater London and Metropolitan Toronto,” paper presented at the Policy Research Initiative conference, Ottawa, 2000; and Kennedy Stewart, “Explaining Regional Governance Reform Initiatives and Structural Choice in Greater London and Metropolitan Toronto,” paper presented at the Canadian Political Science Association meetings, Toronto, 2002. For an account of Toronto versus Los Angeles governance changes that parallels Lemieux’s argument on the “hollow shells” represented by centralization and decentralization, see Roger Keil, “Governance Restructuring in Los Angeles and Toronto: Amalgamation or Secession?” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 24:4 (December 2000), 758-80. On the concept of gender systems, see Lynn M. Appleton, “The Gender Regimes of American Cities,” in Judith A. Garber and Robyne S. Turner, eds., Gender in Urban Research (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995), 44-59; and R.W. Connell, Gender and Power: Society, the Person, and Sexual Politics (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1987). See, for example, Kim V.L. England, “Gender Relations and the Spatial Structure of the City,” Geoforum 22:2 (1991), 135-47. See Abrar, Lovenduski, and Margetts, “Sexing London,” 152; as well as Helen Wilkinson, “Devolution Is a Feminist Issue,” New Statesman, 20 December 2000, 12; and Fiona Mackay, Love and Politics, 67-68. Rian Voet, Feminism and Citizenship (London: Sage, 1998), 9. Ibid. See also Ruth Lister, Citizenship: Feminist Perspectives, 2nd ed. (New York: New York University Press, 2003); and Birte Siim, Gender and Citizenship: Politics and Agency in France, Britain, and Denmark (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000).

145

146 Notes to pages 23-32

110 Lister, Citizenship, 37. 111 R.A. Beauregard and A. Bounds, “Urban Citizenship,” in Isin, ed., Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City, 243. 112 Isin, “Introduction,” 6. 113 See Voet, Feminism and Citizenship, 101. 114 Ibid., 103. 115 Ibid., 104. 116 Ibid., 105. Chapter 2: Seeking Public Office 1 On Nellie McClung’s use of this argument, see Deborah Gorham, “The Canadian Suffragists,” in Gwen Matheson, ed., Women in the Canadian Mosaic (Toronto: Peter Martin, 1976), 52. 2 No serious candidates, women or men, ran against incumbent mayor Mel Lastman in the 2000 municipal election. 3 For a comprehensive study of this phenomenon with particular reference to Silicon Valley, see Janet A. Flammang, Women’s Political Voice: How Women Are Transforming the Practice and Study of Politics (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1997). 4 See Hanna Fenichel Pitkin, The Concept of Representation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967). 5 See Flammang, Women’s Political Voice, ch. 5. 6 See Rian Voet, Feminism and Citizenship (London: Sage, 1998); and Engin F. Isin, “Introduction: Democracy, Citizenship, and the City,” in Isin, ed., Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City (London: Routledge, 2000), 5. See Gerda R. Wekerle, “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship,” Plurimondi 1:2 (1999), 106, on the parallel concept of “insurgent citizenship.” 7 See Susan A. MacManus and Charles S. Bullock III, “Electing Women to Local Office,” in Judith A. Garber and Robyne S. Turner, eds., Gender in Urban Research (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995), 155-77; and Linda Trimble, “Politics Where We Live: Women and Cities,” in James Lightbody, ed., Canadian Metropolitics (Toronto: Copp Clark, 1995), 92-114. 8 As a member of the House of Commons, John Stuart Mill presented the group’s petition, which contained about fifteen hundred signatures. See Harold L. Smith, The British Women’s Suffrage Campaign, 1866-1928 (Essex: Addison Wesley Longman, 1998), 4. 9 See Sylvia B. Bashevkin, Toeing the Lines: Women and Party Politics in English Canada, 2nd ed. (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1993), 3. 10 See Gorham, “The Canadian Suffragists,” 31. 11 See Bashevkin, Toeing the Lines, ch. 1. 12 See Peter Ackroyd, London: The Biography (London: Vintage, 2000), 637. 13 Smith, The British Women’s Suffrage Campaign, 36. 14 See J.B. Seatrobe, Political London: A Guide to the Capital’s Political Sights (London: Politico’s, 2000), 42-44. 15 On divisions among British suffragists, see Smith, The British Women’s Suffrage Campaign. 16 See Gorham, “The Canadian Suffragists,” 34, 35, 43; and Lynne Teather, “The Feminist Mosaic,” in Matheson, ed., Women in the Canadian Mosaic, 306.

Notes to pages 32-34

17 Nellie McClung, The Stream Runs Fast, 1945, as quoted in Veronica Strong-Boag, introduction to Nellie McClung, In Times Like These (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1972), viii. 18 McClung, “Hardy Perennials,” in McClung, In Times Like These, 51. 19 See Pamela M. Graves, Labour Women: Women in British Working-Class Politics, 1918-1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994). 20 See Bashevkin, Toeing the Lines, 14-15. It is notable that important exceptions remained after this date, including the extension of the provincial franchise to most women in Quebec (awarded in 1940) and the extension of the vote to Aboriginal women. At the federal level in Canada, Inuit women were awarded the franchise in 1950, and Status Indian women in 1960. At the provincial level, Aboriginal women could not vote until as late as 1969, in the case of Quebec. See Jane Arscott and Linda Trimble, eds., In the Presence of Women: Representation in Canadian Governments (Toronto: Harcourt Brace, 1997). 21 The league was formed in 1920, upon the dissolution of the National American Woman Suffrage Association. See Jo Freeman, A Room at a Time: How Women Entered Party Politics (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000), 124-29. 22 Theresa Falkner, age ninety-three, as quoted in Salem Alaton, “Ladies Eye the Pol’s Progress,” Globe and Mail, 2 April 1983, 19. 23 On Rowlands’ political background, see Mary Gooderham, “Higher Ground Eludes City Council Veteran,” Globe and Mail, 12 March 1987, A16. Rowlands’ 1991 mayoral candidacy was not endorsed by leading women’s organizations or feminist columnists in Toronto, in part because of comments she made during the campaign suggesting that women should carry “a very large hat pin” to deter attackers. On those comments, see Jane Coutts, “Rowlands Offers Women Some Hard-Hitting Advice,” Globe and Mail, 24 October 1991, A8. On feminist responses to her candidacy, see Estanislao Oziewicz, “Women’s Committee ‘Outraged’ at Absence,” Globe and Mail, 24 October 1991, A8; Susan Reid, “Rights Advocates Fear Rowlands Imperils Gains,” Toronto Star, 31 October 1991, A6; and Michele Landsberg, “Rowlands’ Dancing Shoes Tap to the Beat of Women’s Foes,” Toronto Star, 2 November 1991, G1. 24 See Alaton, “Ladies Eye the Pol’s Progress.” 25 According to one media account, “the group simply ran out of volunteers to sit through endless, boring but often crucial council and committee sessions and wade through mountains of paper.” See Jim Byers, “Association of Women Electors Honored as They End 48 Years of Informing Voters,” Toronto Star, 27 February 1986, A23. Among the only historical accounts of the group is Theresa G. Falkner, The Early History of the Association of Women Electors of Metropolitan Toronto (Toronto: Association of Women Electors, 1977). 26 For a review of contemporary issue campaigns, see the group’s website at http:// www.fawcettsociety.org.uk. 27 Labour Party women had long pressured for greater voice and representation. Their efforts made rapid progress during the brief leadership of John Smith in 1993-94. Smith appointed one of Labour’s most colourful and popular MPs, Clare Short, as Shadow Minister for Women. Short convened a series of sessions with feminist scholars that convinced her “that women’s votes were potentially moveable and that could shift political power in Britain.” See Clare Short, foreword to Sylvia Walby, ed., New Agendas for Women (London: Macmillan, 1999), vii.

147

148 Notes to pages 34-36

28 In the words of Stefania Abrar, Joni Lovenduski, and Helen Margetts, “It was not women councillors per se who were responsible for such initiatives: ‘it is rather feminist councillors who are the prime movers of change.’” See Stefania Abrar, Joni Lovenduski, and Helen Margetts, “Sexing London: The Gender Mix of Urban Policy Actors,” International Political Science Review 19:2 (1998), 153. Italics in original. See also Flammang, Women’s Political Voice; Janet K. Boles, “Local Elected Women and Policy-Making: Movement Delegates or Feminist Trustees?” in Susan J. Carroll, ed., The Impact of Women in Public Office (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001), 68-86; and Caroline Andrew, “Globalization and Local Action,” in Timothy L. Thomas, ed., The Politics of the City: A Canadian Perspective (Toronto: Nelson, 1997), 146-47. 29 On the background to these groups, see Bashevkin, Toeing the Lines, 24-29. Significant leadership overlaps existed among these newer organizations, and between older groups such as AWE and Women for Political Action. For example, Kay Macpherson began as a political activist in the AWE and went on to serve as co-founder of Women for Political Action and as president of the National Action Committee on the Status of Women. See Kay Macpherson with C.M. Donald, When in Doubt, Do Both: The Times of My Life (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994). In later years, Donna Dasko and Rosemary Speirs were active in both the Committee for ’94 and Equal Voice. 30 See Sylvia B. Bashevkin, Toeing the Lines: Women and Party Politics in English Canada (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985), 76, 145. 31 Sylvia B. Bashevkin, Toeing the Lines, 2nd ed., 86, 153. 32 Katherine A. Graham and Susan D. Phillips, with Allan M. Maslove, Urban Governance in Canada: Representation, Resources, and Restructuring (Toronto: Harcourt Brace, 1998), 5. 33 On Hall’s political background, see Michael Posner, “Tenacious Hall Conceding Nothing,” Globe and Mail, 6 November 2003, A15. 34 One obvious exception was Ken Livingstone’s independent candidacy in 2000 for the London mayoralty. On the relationship between local government and parties in Britain, see Colin Copus, Party Politics and Local Government (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004). 35 Jill Vickers, as quoted in Bashevkin, Toeing the Lines, 2nd ed., 84. 36 See Copus, Party Politics and Local Government. 37 See Fiona Mackay, Love and Politics: Women Politicians and the Ethics of Care (London: Continuum, 2001), 6. 38 Downtown mayoral candidates included Anne Johnston, Betty Disero, and Susan Fish. Johnston lost to Art Eggleton in 1985, while both Disero and Fish dropped out of the fall 1991 race between June Rowlands and Jack Layton. In 1985, Barbara Greene ran unsuccessfully against Mel Lastman in the North York mayoral elections. Women who served as inner suburban mayors included Joyce Trimmer, who won in Scarborough in 1988 and became “the first woman mayor of a Metro municipality since Gayle Christie, who lost in 1982” in the borough of York. See Sean Fine, “Reform Women Form New Force on Metro Council,” Globe and Mail, 15 November 1988, A18. Voters in a number of Toronto’s outer suburbs elected women mayors during the 1980s and following. They included Hazel McCallion in Mississauga and Lorna Jackson in Vaughan. 39 Both were Labour Party activists. Hodge served as borough leader in Islington from 1982 through 1992. She also held office as an Islington borough councillor

Notes to pages 36-38

40

41 42

43 44

45

46

47

from 1973 until 1994 and served as deputy borough leader in 1981. After Shawcross was elected to a constituency seat on the London assembly in 2000, Livingstone appointed her to his advisory cabinet as chair of the fire and emergency planning authority. See for example Warren Magnusson, The Search for Political Space: Globalization, Social Movements, and the Urban Political Experience (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996). See for example MacManus and Bullock, “Electing Women to Local Office,” 166; and Flammang, Women’s Political Voice, ch. 5. For a comparative examination of electoral system impact, see Richard E. Matland, “Enhancing Women’s Political Participation: Legislative Recruitment and Electoral Systems,” in Azza Karam, ed., Women in Parliament: Beyond Numbers (Stockholm: International IDEA, 1998), 74-83. Matland’s study discusses how some proportional systems have relatively low percentages of female legislators. Israel is one obvious case. See Mackay, Love and Politics, 7. On the background to affirmative action policies in the federal and provincial NDP organizations, see Bashevkin, Toeing the Lines, 2nd ed., ch. 4; and Jocelyne Praud, “Affirmative Action and Women’s Representation in the Ontario New Democratic Party,” in Manon Tremblay and Caroline Andrew, eds., Women and Political Representation in Canada (Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 1998), 17193. For a comparative treatment of decentralized party nomination practices in Canada, see Pippa Norris, R.K. Carty, Lynda Erickson, Joni Lovenduski, and Marian Simms, “Party Selectorates in Australia, Britain, and Canada,” Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 28:2 (July 1990), 219-45. On the impact of incumbency, especially in American politics, see R. Darcy, Susan Welch, and Janet Clark, Women, Elections, and Representation, 2nd ed. (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994). In Canada some federal and provincial elections involved landslides that removed one party from office and replaced it with another that nominated women candidates in constituencies they were not expected to win. This pattern helps explain how women reached the 20 percent level in Canadian legislatures despite single-member plurality rules and the power of incumbency. See Lisa Young, “Legislative Turnover and the Election of Women to the Canadian House of Commons,” in Kathy Megyery, ed., Women in Canadian Politics: Toward Equity in Representation, Research Studies of the Royal Commission on Electoral Reform and Party Financing, vol. 6 (Toronto: Dundurn Press, 1991), 81-99. These data are drawn from Tony Byrne, Local Government in Britain, 7th ed. (London: Penguin 2000), 200; Nirmala Rao, “The Representation of Women in Local Politics,” Policy and Politics 33:2 (2005), 325; Nirmala Rao, “The Recruitment of Representatives in British Local Government: Pathways and Barriers,” Policy and Politics 26:3 (1998), 296; and “On the Eve of Elections, Fawcett Predicts That Women Will Remain Under-Represented in Local Government,” Fawcett Society news release, April 2003. According to figures reported by Sue Goss, women held only 12 percent of council leadership posts in Britain in 1976. See Sue Goss, “Women’s Initiatives in Local Government,” in Martin Boddy and Colin Fudge, eds., Local Socialism (London: Macmillan, 1984), 117. The 1986 Widdicombe Report showed that women were 19 percent of councillors in the UK and 22 percent in London. On national versus London figures, see

149

150 Notes to pages 38-41

48

49 50

51

52

53 54 55

56 57 58 59 60

61 62 63

Stewart Lansley, Sue Goss, and Christian Wolmar, Councils in Conflict: The Rise and Fall of the Municipal Left (London: Macmillan, 1989), 143; Galina Borisyuk and Michael Thrasher, “Gender Imbalance in Representative Democracy: Women Candidates and Councillors in English Local Government, 1973-2002,” paper presented at the American Political Science Association meetings, Philadelphia, 2003, 5; and Jim Barry, Trudie Honour, and Sneha Palnitkar, “Gender and Urban Governance in Mumbai and London,” International Review of Women and Leadership 4:2 (1998), 65. See Margaret Stacey and Marion Price, Women, Power, and Politics (London: Tavistock, 1981), 142. On women on the Greater London Council, see Greater London Council, Members of the Council, 1984-5 (London: GLC, 1984). Ward-based elections came into effect in the City of London in the spring of 2004. One stated purpose of cabinet arrangements at the local level, according to New Labour’s Local Government Act of 2000, was to encourage more women and ethnic minorities to run for these positions. On women in local cabinet positions, see “On the Eve of Elections,” Fawcett Society news release, April 2003. Following the 2001 general elections, “Tony Blair’s new government contained 33 women (31%) including seven in the Cabinet and 26 in other government positions.” See Joni Lovenduski, “Women and Politics: Minority Representation or Critical Mass?” in Pippa Norris, ed., Britain Votes 2001 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 190. These figures are calculated from data in Becky Gill, Losing Out Locally: Women and Local Government (London: Fawcett Society, June 2000), Appendix A. They are based on pre-2000 results. See Fawcett Society, “On the Eve of Elections.” Gill, Losing Out Locally, 27. According to the Fawcett Society, “just two per cent of [local government] councillors are women from a Black or Minority Ethnic group.” See Fawcett Society, “On the Eve of Elections.” David Lammy, elected to the assembly on the Labour list in 2000, later resigned to run successfully for a House of Commons seat in Tottenham. Louise Bloom, elected on the Liberal Democrat list to the first assembly, resigned and was replaced by a man in 2002. See Mackay, Love and Politics, ch. 2. See Ross Lydall, “Ken Faces Budget Blues,” Evening Standard (June 2004), at http:// www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/londonnews/articles/. See Byrne, Local Government in Britain, 168. Data on grants budgets are drawn from Sue Brownhill and Susan Halford, “Understanding Women’s Involvement in Local Politics,” Political Geography Quarterly 9:4 (October 1990), 404. For a review of women’s committee development in Camden, Brent, and elsewhere, see Lansley, Goss, and Wolmar, Councils in Conflict, 145-46. On equality policies in Camden during the 1980s, see Joyce Gelb, Feminism and Politics: A Comparative Perspective (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 85-87. Goss, “Women’s Initiatives in Local Government,” 113. See Brownhill and Halford, “Understanding Women’s Involvement,” 402. Prior to his election as GLA mayor, Ken Livingstone was the MP for Brent East. See Ben Pimlott and Nirmala Rao, Governing London (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 97.

Notes to pages 41-47

64 Data on borough leadership are drawn from The London Government Directory 2003 (London: Association of London Government, 2002). 65 Mark D’Arcy and Rory MacLean, Nightmare! The Race to Become London’s Mayor (London: Politico’s, 2000), 150. 66 Ibid., 153, 268. 67 Ibid., back cover blurb, paperback edition. 68 On these backroom machinations, see ibid.; and Liz Davies, Through the Looking Glass: A Dissenter inside New Labour (London: Verso, 2001), ch. 7. 69 See Davies, Through the Looking Glass, 111. 70 D’Arcy and MacLean, Nightmare, 61. 71 For the full text of the complaint submitted by Jackson and Livingstone, see Davies, Through the Looking Glass, 207-8. 72 See Tony Travers, The Politics of London (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004), 91; and Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 97. 73 The three female assembly members on the mayor’s advisory cabinet were Nicky Gavron and Valerie Shawcross from the Labour Party and Lynne Featherstone from the Liberal Democrats. See Pimlott and Rao, 97. 74 Livingstone refused to consider a Conservative deputy mayor on the grounds that the party’s assembly members were extremely oppositional. See Pimlott and Rao, 97. Liberal Democrats on the assembly were, according to confidential interview sources, unable to agree on a deputy mayoral nominee from their group. 75 See Gavron’s website at http://www.nickygavron.co.uk. 76 The Tory and Green candidates in 2000 and 2004 were Steven Norris and Darren Johnson, respectively. 77 On the earlier Lib-Dem nomination race, see D’Arcy and MacLean, Nightmare, 150ff. 78 See Kramer’s website at http://www.susankramer.org. 79 Trimble, “Politics Where We Live: Women and Cities,” 94. 80 Prior to 1988, borough councils selected their own Metro council members. 81 See Jillian Kovensky, “A Case Study Examining Representation of Women on Toronto City Council, Pre-Amalgamation (1996) and Post-Amalgamation (2000),” paper prepared for POL 2316F, University of Toronto, December 2001. 82 In 1993, 18 percent of Canadian MPs were women. In 1995, 14.6 percent of the members of the Ontario Legislature were women. See Jane Arscott and Linda Trimble, “In the Presence of Women: Representation and Political Power,” in Arscott and Trimble, eds., In the Presence of Women, Table 1.1, 2. 83 In the first megacity elections in 1997, fifty-eight council seats were available. 84 Myer Siemiatycki and Anver Saloojee, “Ethnoracial Political Representation in Toronto: Patterns and Problems,” Journal of International Migration and Integration 3:2 (Spring 2002), 257. 85 See Kovensky, “A Case Study Examining Representation of Women.” 86 On the 2003 municipal election results, see “Inside City Hall,” Globe and Mail, 30 January 2004, A11. 87 Sherene Shaw was elected as a megacity councillor in 1997 and 2000 but lost her seat in Scarborough-Agincourt in November 2003. After Olivia Chow ran unsuccessfully as an NDP candidate in the June 2004 federal election, she remained on Toronto’s city council. 88 Under the leadership of Chow’s husband Jack Layton, a veteran of the old downtown and megacity councils, the federal NDP made electoral reform a pre-condition

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152 Notes to pages 47-51

89 90 91 92 93

94

95 96 97

98

for supporting any Liberal minority government following the June 2004 federal elections. According to one report, “the NDP has said that a non-negotiable condition for participation in a coalition government would be a national referendum on changing the way MPs are elected.” See Steven Chase, “Former NDP Leader Smells Minority,” Globe and Mail, 24 May 2004, A4. See Julie-Anne Boudreau, Megacity Saga (Montreal: Black Rose, 2000), 15, 19. See turnout data in Boudreau, Megacity Saga, Table 1. On the messy state of voters’ lists in the older downtown, see Boudreau, 23. Ibid., 22. Ibid. This budget figure appears on page three of a fundraising letter signed by Sonja Smits to potential donors, dated 11 November 2002, under the letterhead of Friends of Barbara Hall. Data from a June 2003 survey commissioned by Hall’s campaign showed that 47.4 percent of decided voters supported her candidacy. See Jennifer Lewington, “Schmoozing for Dollars,” Globe and Mail, 14 July 2003, A16. Other major mayoral candidates in 2003 were John Tory, John Nunziata, and Tom Jakobek. For a detailed account of the mayoral race, see John Lorinc, “The Ascent of David Miller,” Toronto Life (January 2004), 64-76. Shaw was defeated in the 2003 municipal elections, leaving Olivia Chow as the only visible minority woman to serve on the first three megacity councils. On traditional views of feminism in Britain, see Sylvia Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 10, 26; and Anna Coote and Beatrix Campbell, Sweet Freedom: The Struggle for Women’s Liberation (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987), 14-15. On Labour Party relations with second-wave feminism, see Walby, ed., New Agendas for Women; Mackay, Love and Politics; Sarah Childs, New Labour’s Women MPs: Women Representing Women (London: Routledge, 2004); Anna Coote and Polly Pattullo, Power and Prejudice: Women and Politics (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1990), ch. 11; Joni Lovenduski and Vicky Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics: Women and Power in Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), ch. 5; and Sarah Perrigo, “Women and Change in the Labour Party,” Parliamentary Affairs 49:1 (January 1996), 116-29.

Chapter 3: Working from the Inside 1 Rian Voet, Feminism and Citizenship (London: Sage, 1998), 104. 2 On the development of this terminology, see Sylvia Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive: Living through Conservative Times (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998), 26-27; Joni Lovenduski and Vicky Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 191-98; and Jonathan Malloy, Between Colliding Worlds: The Ambiguous Existence of Government Agencies for Aboriginal and Women’s Policy (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003), 34-35. 3 The literature on women’s committees in Britain includes, for example, Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, ch. 6; Sue Brownill and Susan Halford, “Understanding Women’s Involvement in Local Politics,” Political Geography Quarterly 9:4 (October 1990), 396-414; Anna Coote and Polly Pattullo, Power and Prejudice: Women and Politics (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1990), ch. 15; Julia Edwards, “Women’s Committees: A Model for Good Local Government?” Policy and Politics 17:3 (1989), 221-25; Sue Goss, “Women’s

Notes to pages 51-57

4

5 6

7

8

9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22

Initiatives in Local Government,” in Martin Boddy and Colin Fudge, eds., Local Socialism (London: Macmillan, 1984), 109-32; Susan Halford, “Women’s Initiatives in Local Government ... Where Do They Come From and Where Are They Going?” Policy and Politics 16:4 (1988), 251-59; Stewart Lansley, Sue Goss, and Christian Wolmar, Councils in Conflict: The Rise and Fall of the Municipal Left (London: Macmillan, 1989), ch. 8; and Kathryn Riley, “Equality for Women: The Role of Local Authorities,” Local Government Studies 16:1 (January/February 1990), 49-68. See Malloy, Between Colliding Worlds, 37; Lyndall Ryan, “Feminism and the Federal Bureaucracy, 1972-1983,” in Sophie Watson, ed., Playing the State: Australian Feminist Interventions (London: Verso, 1990), 71-84; and Hester Eisenstein, Gender Shock: How Australian Feminists Make the System Work – and What American Women Can Learn from Them (Boston: Beacon Press, 1991). Malloy, Between Colliding Worlds, 34. See discussion above in the introduction, as well as Susan Bassnett, Feminist Experiences: The Women’s Movement in Four Cultures (London: Allen and Unwin, 1986), ch. 4. See discussion above in the introduction, as well as Jill Vickers, Pauline Rankin, and Christine Appelle, Politics As If Women Mattered: A Political Analysis of the National Action Committee on the Status of Women (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993). Malloy, Between Colliding Worlds, 138. See also Peter Aucoin, The New Public Management: Canada in Comparative Perspective (Montreal: Institute for Research on Public Policy, 1995). See Malloy, Between Colliding Worlds, 13. Riley, “Equality for Women,” 53. Malloy, Between Colliding Worlds, 14. These numbers are drawn from Goss, “Women’s Initiatives in Local Government,” 112. Ibid., 112-13. On the size of the overall GLC budget, see Ben Pimlott and Nirmala Rao, Governing London (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 38. Estimates of the size of the GLC staff vary. According to Pimlott and Rao, 29, it numbered about 37,000. According to Hugh Atkinson and Stuart Wilks-Heeg, Local Government from Thatcher to Blair (Cambridge: Polity, 2000), 264, the GLC employed approximately 25,000 people. Goss, “Women’s Initiatives,” 112. Ibid., 112. According to Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 35, the GLC Women’s Committee had a staff of seventy. According to Anna Coote and Beatrix Campbell, Sweet Freedom: The Struggle for Women’s Liberation (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987), 106, the staff numbered ninety-six. See Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, 104, 151; and Joyce Gelb, Feminism and Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 86. Coote and Campbell, Sweet Freedom, 106-7. Goss, “Women’s Initiatives,” 113. Coote and Campbell, Sweet Freedom, 107. See Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, 229. As of spring 2004, the main tenants in the building were Rights of Women, London Women

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154 Notes to pages 57-59

23 24 25 26

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

37

38

39 40 41 42

43

and Manual Trades, Women’s Health, Latin American Women’s Rights Services, and Women’s Design Service. It is notable that this last unit grew out of the GLC Women’s Committee-sponsored project known as Women Plan London. That effort to bridge professional planning and community interests spawned the formation of a mirror project known as Women Plan Toronto. Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, 289. Ibid., 193-98, 289. Coote and Campbell, Sweet Freedom, 41. Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, 151. The estimate reported in Brownill and Halford, “Understanding Women’s Involvement,” 399, is even lower. Margaret Thatcher as quoted in Wendy Webster, Not a Man to Match Her: The Marketing of a Prime Minister (London: Women’s Press, 1990), 159. Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, 73-74; and Joan Isaac, “The Politics of Morality in the UK,” Parliamentary Affairs 47:2 (April 1994), 185. See Ken Young, “Local Government,” in Dennis Kavanagh and Anthony Seldon, eds., The Thatcher Effect (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989), 130. See Coote and Pattullo, Power and Prejudice, 246. Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 35. See Atkinson and Wilks-Heeg, Local Government from Thatcher to Blair, 64-70. Ibid., 124-29. Ibid., 68. Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, 289-90. For example, Lovenduski and Randall note that a part-time campaigner for the National Child Care Campaign was paid using funds from the Equal Opportunities Commission (289). See Jill Radford, “Rights of Women: Twenty Years of Feminist Activism,” in Gabrielle Griffin, ed., Feminist Activism in the 1990s (London: Taylor and Francis, 1995), 56; and Gabrielle Griffin, “The Struggle Continues: An Interview with Hannana Siddiqui of Southall Black Sisters,” in Griffin, ed., Feminist Activism, 86-88. As reported below, one of the first policy initiatives by the GLA mayor’s office involved a campaign against domestic violence directed by Davina JamesHanman, who had worked in the Islington Women’s Equality Unit. See Coote and Campbell, Sweet Freedom, 106-7. See Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 46-47. Confidential interview, July 2003. On cuts to the EOC budget, see Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive, 106. One example of the circulation of personnel between local governments and quangos was Valerie Amos, who joined the EOC as chief executive in 1989 after leaving London local government. Amos was appointed to the House of Lords as a Labour life peer in 1997. She became government leader in the Lords in 1998 and assumed a number of ministerial portfolios in the Blair government beginning in 2001. On the EOC’s evolution, see Joni Lovenduski, “An Emerging Advocate: The Equal Opportunities Commission in Britain,” in Dorothy McBride Stetson and Amy G. Mazur, eds., Comparative State Feminism (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995), 114-31. See Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, ch. 5.

Notes to pages 59-61

44 For example, Lovenduski and Randall describe the GLC’s shutdown as “a major practical and psychological blow” to women’s groups (Contemporary Feminist Politics, 125). 45 Canadian feminists sought to emulate the US presidential commission approach to women’s status, since it had been used with considerable success during the Kennedy administration. On this model as a catalyst for feminists in Canada, see Lynne Teather, “The Feminist Mosaic,” in Gwen Matheson, ed., Women in the Canadian Mosaic (Toronto: Peter Martin, 1976), 314-15. The President’s Commission on the Status of Women is discussed at length in Janet M. Martin, The Presidency and Women: Promise, Performance, and Illusion (College Station, TX: Texas A and M University Press, 2003), ch. 2. 46 The 1972 conference took place in Toronto. For an overview of NAC’s development, see Vickers, Rankin, and Appelle, Politics as If Women Mattered. On the details of NAC’s vulnerability to federal funding cuts, see Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive, 124. March 2004 reports suggested NAC was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. 47 Mandate of the Mayor’s Task Force on the Status of Women as quoted in Carolyn Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women’ in Canadian Local Government,” in Caroline Andrew, Katherine A. Graham, and Susan D. Phillips, eds., Urban Affairs: Back on the Policy Agenda (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2002), 99. The city council member on the task force was Dorothy Thomas. 48 At the point that the report was issued, the task force consisted of one councillor and six community representatives. 49 Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’” 99. 50 This chronology is drawn from interview sources as well as Gerda R. Wekerle, “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship: Stories from Toronto,” Plurimondi 1:2 (1999), 112. 51 For overall staff data, see City of Toronto Finance Department, Financial Report 1994, 9. Budget figures are drawn from City of Toronto Finance Department, 1994 Operating Budget, A3. 52 Equal Opportunity staff and budget figures are drawn from confidential interview sources. The City of Toronto allocated an additional $1 to $2 million per year, under the Day Care Grants Program, to supplement child care workers’ incomes in the city. According to Gerda R. Wekerle, “Reframing Urban Sustainability: Women’s Movement Organizing and the Local State,” in Roger Keil, Gerda R. Wekerle, and David V.J. Bell, eds., Local Places: In the Age of the Global City (Montreal: Black Rose, 1996), 143, these top-ups brought wages for workers in non-profit child care centres to the level of those working in municipal facilities. 53 See Sue Hawkins Findlay, “Democratizing the Local State: Issues for Feminist Practice and the Representation of Women,” in Gregory Albo, David Langille, and Leo Panitch, eds., A Different Kind of State? Popular Power and Democratic Administration (Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1993), 157. 54 Findlay, “Democratizing the Local State,” 157, 158. 55 Ibid., 158. 56 Ibid. 57 Bruce, who retired from the position in 1994, later changed her name to Mary Margaret Dauphinée.

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156 Notes to pages 61-65

58 Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’” 102. Jane Pepino was widely viewed as a well-connected Conservative partisan. 59 This chronological background is drawn from Wekerle, “Reframing Urban Sustainability,” 141. According to Carolyn Whitzman, “Feminist Activism for Safer Space in High Park, Toronto,” Canadian Journal of Urban Research 11:2 (Winter 2002), 308, METRAC was created in 1984. 60 Safety audits were later used across Canada and around the world. For a detailed discussion of one application, see Whitzman, “Feminist Activism for Safer Social Space,” 299-321. 61 Women’s Action Center Against Violence, 1995, as quoted in Caroline Andrew, “Resisting Boundaries? Using Safety Audits for Women,” in Kristine B. Miranne and Alma H. Young, eds., Gendering the City: Women, Boundaries, and Visions of Urban Life (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000), 160. 62 Andrew, “Resisting Boundaries,” 160. On the use of safety audits in High Park and with the Toronto Transit Commission in 1987 and following, see Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’” 102-3; as well as Whitzman, “Feminist Activism for Safer Social Space.” 63 She also noted that when safety audits were controlled by traditional politicians and professionals, the audits’ empowering possibilities were often lost. See Andrew, “Resisting Boundaries.” 64 Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’” 111. 65 According to Wekerle, “Reframing Urban Sustainability,” 142, the “initial impetus” for the Safe City Committee came from the Riverdale Action Committee. See also Wekerle, “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship,” 117. 66 On this background, see Planning for a Safer City (Toronto: City of Toronto Planning and Development Department, October 1990), 9. 67 According to Cityplan ’91, the Safe City Committee included five councillors and fifteen representatives of community groups. See Cityplan ’91 Proposals Report (Toronto: City of Toronto Planning and Development Department, June 1991), 316. 68 Whitzman, “’The Voice of Women,’” 104. 69 Confidential e-mail correspondence to the author, dated March 2004. On the use of these community grants, see Wekerle, “Reframing Urban Sustainability,” 142. 70 Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’” 104. 71 Whitzman, 104-5. 72 Material drawn from confidential interview sources as well as Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’” 104-5. 73 Wekerle, “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship,” 112. 74 Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’” 111. 75 On the role of quangos and the central government’s Secretary of State for the Environment after 1986, see Atkinson and Wilks-Heeg, Local Government, 110; and Pimlott and Rao, Governing London, 47-50. 76 On the broad lines of this shift from government to governance, see Atkinson and Wilks-Heeg, Local Government, chs. 5, 6; as well as Caroline Andrew and Michael Goldsmith, “From Local Government to Local Governance – and Beyond?” International Political Science Review 19:2 (1998), 101-17. 77 One reflection of New Labour’s critical view of GLC-era municipal feminism appears in interview comments by a London-based party activist, who criticized

Notes to pages 65-69

78 79

80 81

82

83

84

85 86

87 88 89 90

91 92 93

94

Livingstone for having “lost his marbles” by pursuing “loony left” ideas and creating “a vast and bloated bureaucracy with huge numbers of equal opportunities officers tripping all over each other.” See anonymous interviewee quoted in Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive, 178. See Malloy, Between Colliding Worlds, 14, ch. 6. See, for example, Carol McClurg Mueller and John D. McCarthy, “Cultural Continuity and Structural Change: The Logic of Adaptation by Radical, Liberal, and Socialist Feminists to State Reconfiguration,” in Lee Ann Banaszak, Karen Beckwith, and Dieter Rucht, eds., Women’s Movements Facing the Reconfigured State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 227. See Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive, 79-88. For a detailed account of how various Ontario Conservative governments interacted with the child care and antiviolence streams of organized feminism, see Cheryl Collier, “Governments and Women’s Movements: Explaining Child Care and Violence against Women Policy in Ontario and British Columbia, 19702000,” unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Toronto, ch. 2. See, for example, R. Amy Elman, “Refuge in Reconfigured States: Shelter Movements in the United States, Britain, and Sweden,” in Banaszak Beckwith, and Rucht, eds., Women’s Movements Facing the Reconfigured State, 94-98. On immigrant populations in London, see Nick Buck, Ian Gordon, Peter Hall, Michael Harloe, and Mark Kleinman, Working Capital: Life and Labour in Contemporary London (London: Routledge, 2002), ch. 4. On the Toronto case, see Paul Anisef and Michael Lanphier, eds., The World in a City (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003). The GLA City Hall opened in July 2002. Prior to that time, the authority leased space from the central government in Romney House on Marsham Street, near Parliament. These were full-time GLA employees. See The Mayor’s Annual Report 2003 (London: Greater London Authority, June 2003), 103. Lansley, Goss, and Wolmar, Councils in Conflict, 144. On Valerie Wise’s important role in creating the GLC Women’s Committee, see Lovenduski and Randall, Contemporary Feminist Politics, 193-94. These staff were Tanya Birch and Jagdeep Mann, respectively. Confidential interview. Data are drawn from public reports about Capitalwoman released by the mayor’s office and from confidential interview sources. See, for example, Mayor of London, From the Margins into the Mainstream: The Mayor’s Equality Report, 2002/03 (London: Greater London Authority, December 2003); and Mayor of London, Budget and Equalities 2004-05: A Review of Progress across the GLA Group (London: Greater London Authority, March 2004). Mayor of London, “Women’s Safety in London,” Capitalwoman 2004 (London: Greater London Authority, March 2005), 5. See “Women in London,” in Mayor of London, Capitalwoman 2004, 27. See Mayor of London, Health Services for London’s Women: A Directory of Voluntary and Community Sector Health Services for Women in London (London: Greater London Authority, March 2002). See Mayor of London with Refugee Women’s Association, Missed Opportunities: A Skills Audit of Refugee Women in London from the Teaching, Nursing, and Medical Professions (London: Greater London Authority, December 2002); as well as the

157

158 Notes to pages 69-74

95 96

97 98

99 100

101 102

103

104 105 106 107 108 109 110

111 112 113 114 115 116 117

“Women in London” section on refugees and asylum seekers in Capitalwoman 2004, 32-33. See Mayor of London, Childcare in London, Overview, May 2002 (London: Greater London Authority, July 2002). See Ken Livingstone, “Foreword,” in Mayor of London, The London Childcare Strategy: Draft for Consultation (London: Greater London Authority, March 2003), v. According to “Women in London” in Capitalwomen 2004, “A childcare funding package of up to £3.125 million has been put in place this year, to provide around 1,700 new affordable childcare places in projects across London” (24). See Mayor of London, Homes for London’s Women (London: Greater London Authority, October 2001). Ken Livingstone, “Foreword,” in Mayor of London, The London Domestic Violence Forum, Annual Report 2002 to the Mayor of London (London: Greater London Authority, November 2002), i. Mayor of London, The London Domestic Violence Forum, 2. “Women in London,” in Mayor of London, Capitalwoman 2004, 28-29. More than 100,000 domestic violence police calls and 48 domestic violence murders occurred in London in 2003 (ibid., 28). Jack Layton, Homelessness: The Making and Unmaking of a Crisis (Toronto: Penguin, 2000), 27. Toronto City Council created this task force on 4 March 1998. See Julie-Anne Boudreau, Megacity Saga (Montreal: Black Rose, 2000), 27; and Myer Siemiatycki, Tim Rees, Roxana Ng, and Khan Rahi, “Integrating Community Diversity in Toronto: On Whose Terms?” in Anisef and Lanphier, eds., The World in a City, 448. Task Force on Community Access and Equity, Consultation Guide, June 1998, as quoted in Boudreau, Megacity Saga, 36, 51. According to interview sources, former Metro chairman Alan Tonks suggested during the transition period to amalgamation that the new City Council look into merging the various equity and race relations units of the six boroughs plus Metro, using a task force of this type. Siemiatycki et al., “Integrating Community Diversity,” 448. Stefan Kipfer as quoted in Boudreau, Megacity Saga, 27. Boudreau, 27; and Siemiatycki et al., “Integrating Community Diversity,” 488. Siemiatycki et al., “Integrating Community Diversity,” 448-49. Boudreau, Megacity Saga, 27. Siemiatycki et al., “Integrating Community Diversity,” 449. Advisory Committee on the Status of Women, “Summary of Accomplishments 2001-2003, Diversity Advocate’s Meeting with the Community Advisory Committees and Working Groups,” 15 September 2003, 2. Confidential interview sources. Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’”105. Ibid., 113-14. This shift, recommended by Toronto’s chief administrative officer, was approved by the megacity council in June 1999. On these developments, see Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women,’” 105. See Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive, 224-30. Advisory Committee on the Status of Women, “Accomplishments, February 2001June 2003,” n.d.

Notes to pages 75-80

118 For a first-person account see Jane Doe, The Story of Jane Doe: A Book about Rape (Toronto: Random House, 2004). 119 See “Staff Report to Audit Committee from Chief Administrative Officer re. Response to the Auditor General’s Review of the Implementation of the Recommendations of the Task Force on Community Access and Equity,” dated 13 February 2004, with attached Appendix A, Management Response to the Audit Review Recommendations. The CAO at this point was Shirley Hoy. Chapter 4: Planning Ahead 1 Dolores Hayden, The Grand Domestic Revolution: A History of Feminist Designs for American Homes, Neighborhoods, and Cities (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1981). 2 Daphne Spain, How Women Saved the City (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001), 14. 3 Leonie Saundercock, Cosmopolis II: Mongrel Cities of the 21st Century (London: Continuum, 2003), 46. The work of Addams, Simkhovitch, and Kelley is also discussed in Spain, How Women Saved the City, ch. 3. On the urban beginnings of American women’s rights activism, see Barbara J. Berg, The Remembered Gate: Origins of American Feminism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978). 4 See Clara H. Greed, Women and Planning: Creating Gendered Realities (London: Routledge, 1994), 93-98. 5 Sue Hendler with Helen Harrison, “Theorizing Canadian Planning History: Women, Gender, and Feminist Perspectives,” in Kristine B. Miranne and Alma H. Young, eds., Gendering the City: Women, Boundaries, and Visions of Urban Life (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000), 149. 6 See Saundercock, Cosmopolis II, 41-42. 7 See Greed, Women and Planning; and Hendler with Harrison, “Theorizing Canadian Planning History.” 8 See Elizabeth Wilson, The Sphinx in the City: Urban Life, the Control of Disorder, and Women (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991). 9 See, for example, Suzanne Mackenzie, “Building Women, Building Cities: Toward Gender Sensitive Theory in the Environmental Disciplines,” in Caroline Andrew and Beth Moore Milroy, eds., Life Spaces: Gender, Household, Employment (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1988), 13-30. 10 Rian Voet, Feminism and Citizenship (London: Sage, 1998), 105. 11 This conclusion follows from a review of pre-Livingstone era spatial plans. See, for example, Greater London Council, Greater London Development Plan (London: GLC, 1976), which strictly addressed physical planning subjects including transportation, open land, shopping areas, and the Thames. 12 Gerda R. Wekerle, “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship,” Plurimondi 1:2 (1999), 112. 13 See Greater London Council, The Greater London Development Plan: As Proposed to Be Altered by the Greater London Council (London: GLC, September 1984). 14 Wekerle, “Gender Planning,” 112. 15 Ibid. 16 On the establishment of Women Plan Toronto, see Gerda R. Wekerle, “Reframing Urban Sustainability: Women’s Movement Organizing and the Local State,” in Roger Kiel, Gerda R. Wekerle, and David V.J. Bell, eds., Local Places: In the Age of the Global City (Montreal: Black Rose, 1996), 141.

159

160 Notes to pages 80-85

17 See Greater London Council, The Greater London Development Plan, 1984. 18 See Mayor of London, The Draft London Plan: Draft Spatial Development Strategy for Greater London (London: Greater London Authority, June 2002); and Paula M. Dill and Paul J. Bedford, Toronto Official Plan (Toronto: Urban Development Services, May 2002). 19 Hayden, The Grand Domestic Revolution. 20 Ibid., 229, title of ch. 11. 21 Spain, How Women Saved the City, xii. 22 Ibid. 23 Ibid., xii, 3. 24 On ethnocultural diversification in London during this period, see Nick Buck, Ian Gordon, Peter Hall, Michael Harloe, and Mark Kleinman, Working Capital: Life and Labour in Contemporary London (London: Routledge, 2002). On Toronto, see Paul Anisef and Michael Lanphier, eds., The World in a City (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003). 25 Dolores Hayden, Redesigning the American Dream: Gender, Housing, and Family Life, rev. ed. (New York: Norton, 2002), 9. 26 Ibid., 10. 27 On the notion of feminist planning as insurgency, see Wekerle, “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship.” For further work in this area, see Tovi Fenster, ed., Gender, Planning, and Human Rights (London: Routledge, 1999); Greed, Women and Planning; Penelope Gurstein, “Gender Sensitive Community Planning: A Case Study of the Planning Ourselves In Project,” Canadian Journal of Urban Research 5:2 (December 1996), 199-219; Jo Little, Gender, Planning, and the Policy Process (London: Pergamon, 1994); and Miranne and Young, eds., Gendering the City. 28 Gerda R. Wekerle, “Women’s Rights to the City: Gendered Spaces of a Pluralistic Citizenship,” in Engin F. Isin, ed., Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City (London: Routledge, 2000), 209. 29 See Mackenzie, “Building Women, Building Cities.” 30 Sherilyn MacGregor, “Rethinking Urban Planning to Include Diversity,” WIN News 23:2 (Spring 1997), 82. 31 Wilson, The Sphinx in the City, 9, 10. 32 Ibid., 156. 33 See ibid., 152-59. 34 Wekerle, “Women’s Rights to the City,” 212. 35 See, for example, Lee Ann Banaszak, Karen Beckwith, and Dieter Rucht, eds., Women’s Movements Facing the Reconfigured State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003); and Sylvia Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive: Living Through Conservative Times (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998). The impact of welfare state restructuring at the subnational level in Canada and the United States is considered in Sylvia Bashevkin, Welfare Hot Buttons: Women, Work and Social Policy Reform (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002). 36 See Stefania Abrar, Joni Lovenduski, and Helen Margetts, “Sexing London: The Gender Mix of Urban Policy Actors,” International Political Science Review 19:2 (1998), 147-71; Beverley Taylor, “Women Plan London: The Women’s Committee of the Greater London Council,” Women and Environments 7 (Spring 1985), 47; Gerda Wekerle and Linda Peake, “New Social Movements and Women’s Urban

Notes to pages 85-88

37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

48 49 50

51 52

53

54 55 56 57 58

59

Activism,” in Jon Caulfield and Linda Peake, eds., City Lives and City Forms (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996), 263-81; and Carolyn Whitzman, “‘The Voice of Women’ in Canadian Local Government,” in Caroline Andrew, Katherine A. Graham, and Susan D. Phillips, eds., Urban Affairs: Back on the Policy Agenda (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2002), 93-118. Taylor, “Women Plan London,” 4. For a review of this background, see Taylor, “Women Plan London.” Ibid., 4. Greater London Council, Greater London Development Plan (1984), para. 6B.5, page 87, as quoted in Taylor, “Women Plan London,” 4. See Greater London Council, Greater London Development Plan (1984), 88-93. These data are drawn from Taylor, “Women Plan London,” 5. Ibid., 6. See text of policies numbered WOM2 through WOM6 in Greater London Council, Greater London Development Plan (1984), 89-93. Taylor, “Women Plan London,” 6. See Greater London Council, Greater London Development Plan (1984), 93. This work was recognized by Toronto’s SCC and reported in Cityplan ’91: Background Report No. 10, Planning for a Safer City (City of Toronto: Planning and Development Department, October 1990), 13. These agencies, known as quangos, were quasi-autonomous non-governmental organizations. See biographical information presented on Gavron’s website at http://www. nickygavron.co.uk. See Nicky Gavron, “New Labour: A New Planning Deal for Women?” keynote address to the London Women and Planning Forum, 1 July 1998, in Women’s Design Service, Broadsheet 30 (September 1998), 4. Greater London Council, Greater London Development Plan (1984), policy WOM1, 88. Carolyn Whitzman, “Taking Back Planning: Promoting Women’s Safety in Public Places – The Toronto Experience,” Journal of Architectural and Planning Research 9:2 (Summer 1992), 171. Regula Modlich, “Planning Implications of Women Plan Toronto,” Plan Canada (July 1988), reprinted in Women Plan Toronto, Shared Experiences and Dreams (Toronto: Women Plan Toronto, n.d.), 68-69. The collection was published by the group under the title Shared Experiences and Dreams. See Women Plan Toronto, Shared Experiences and Dreams. Whitzman, “Taking Back Planning,” 173. She notes that WPT inherited a $1,000 bank surplus from Women in/and Planning. Wekerle, “Reframing Urban Sustainability,” 141. Women Plan Toronto, METRAC, and York University Faculty of Environmental Studies, The Women in Safe Environments Report (Toronto, 1987). Wekerle was appointed as a faculty member in the Faculty of Environmental Studies at York University. According to Wekerle, “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship,” 113, more than ten such housing projects were completed between the early 1980s and late 1990s.

161

162 Notes to pages 88-90

60 Ann Rauhala, “Women’s Group Rates Candidates on Issues,” Globe and Mail, 9 November 1988, A14. The article identified Carolyn Whitzman as “a spokesman for the group.” As noted in Chapter 3, Toronto’s Status of Women Committee employed this same report card strategy during the early megacity years to assess child care policy. 61 On Whitzman’s engagement with WPT, see Rauhala, “Women’s Group Rates Candidates.” In 1990, Whitzman was identified as the contact person in the City of Toronto Planning and Development Department who was responsible for Cityplan ’91: Background Report. No. 10, Planning for a Safer City. 62 See Wekerle, “Gender Planning,” 114, 116, 117. 63 This terminology was used in the Toronto document. See City of Toronto, Cityplan ’91 Proposals Report (Toronto: Planning and Development Department, June 1991), 532. 64 Twelve women attended the seminar, which began with a presentation by Reggie Modlich about the Toronto plan. The letter dated 7 December 1989 from WPT (signed by Modlich as planning coordinator of WPT) to Jennifer King of the planning department appears in City of Toronto, Planning Toronto’s Future: A Compendium of Community Views, part 1, submitted to the Cityplan ’91 Task Force (Toronto: City of Toronto Planning and Development Department, January 1990), 210-11. 65 WPT letter dated 7 December 1989, 210. 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid., 211. 68 Ibid. 69 City of Toronto, Cityplan ’91 Proposals Report. 70 City of Toronto, Cityplan ’91 Proposals Recommendations (Toronto: Planning and Development Department, June 1991), 1. 71 These categories were discussed in sections 7.3.3.13 and 7.3.3.15 of Cityplan ’91. 72 In total, 190,000 questionnaires were distributed and 2,600 returned. The questionnaires contained three open-ended questions: “What I like about Toronto”; “What I dislike about Toronto”; and “What I would do if I were planning Toronto’s future.” See City of Toronto, Cityplan ’91 Proposals Report. 73 Cityplan ’91 Proposals Recommendations, 51. 74 See City of Toronto, Cityplan ’91 Proposals Report, 314-15. 75 City of Toronto, Cityplan ’91 Proposals Recommendations, 50. 76 Ibid., 52. 77 Ibid., 48. 78 City of Toronto, Cityplan ’91 Proposals Report, 317. 79 Ibid., 287. 80 Letter from Robert E. Millward to Reggie Modlich, Planning Coordinator, Women Plan Toronto, dated 14 November 1991. 81 Toronto City Council approved the final text on 20 July 1993. The paragraph about safety appears in a section titled “The Pedestrian Environment” in City of Toronto, Draft Official Plan Part 1 Consolidation: Cityplan Final Recommendations (Toronto: Planning and Development Department, September 1992), Section 3.19. 82 See ibid., Sections 1.11, 1.13, 7.20. 83 Sarah Singh, “Women Plan Toronto: Making Toronto Work for Women,” Women and Environments 14 (Spring 1995), 27.

Notes to pages 91-96

84 See Make Women’s Needs Heard November 10, 1997: Information about Issues That May Impact Women in the 1997 Municipal Election, n.d. 85 See Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive. 86 Wekerle and Peake, “New Social Movements and Women’s Urban Activism,” 274. 87 Ibid. 88 See Sue Brownill, Konnie Razzaque, Tamsin Stirling, and Huw Thomas, “Patterns of Inclusion and Exclusion: Ethnic Minorities and Urban Development Corporations,” in Gerry Stoker, ed., The New Politics of British Local Governance (London: Macmillan, 2000), 234-48; and Susan S. Fainstein, The City Builders: Property Development in New York and London, 1980-2000, 2nd ed. (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2001). 89 On London’s population, see Buck et al., Working Capital, 141. On Toronto’s population, see Frances Friskin, L.S. Bourne, Gunter Gad, and Robert A. Murdie, “Governance and Social Sustainability: The Toronto Experience,” in Mario Polèse and Richard Stren, eds., The Social Sustainability of Cities (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2000), 74. 90 Greater London Authority Act 1999, s. 4 c. 1, as summarized in Mayor of London, The London Plan: Spatial Development Strategy for Greater London (London: Greater London Authority, February 2004), vii. 91 Ken Livingstone, “My Vision for London,” in Mayor of London, The Draft London Plan, xi. 92 See Livingstone, “My Vision”; as well as Mayor of London, The Draft London Plan, s. 2B.96. 93 Mayor of London, The Draft London Plan, s. 3C.44 94 Ibid., s. 3A.90 95 Ibid., s. 4C.12 96 Ibid., s. 3A.94 97 See ibid., Sections 3A.108 and 3B.59, as well as Policy 5.58. 98 See Bashevkin, Welfare Hot Buttons, 121-30. 99 Mayor of London, The London Plan, ix. 100 Ibid., 296. 101 Ibid., 74. 102 Ibid., 9. 103 Ibid., 72. 104 According to Mayor of London, The London Plan, 74, “many policies of this plan relate to meeting the needs of London’s communities of interest and identity, and a summary of them is included in Annex 3. The Mayor will also prepare Supplementary Planning Guidance on using the planning system to meet the needs of equality target groups. This will make use of the existing experience of the boroughs and involve extensive consultation and community engagement.” 105 See Fainstein, The City Builders. 106 Dill and Bedford, Toronto Official Plan, 2. 107 Ibid., 2. 108 See ibid., 5. 109 Ibid., 30. 110 See Eric J. Miller, “Transportation and Communication,” in Trudi Bunting and Pierre Filion, eds., Canadian Cities in Transition (Don Mills: Oxford University

163

164 Notes to pages 97-134

111 112 113 114 115 116 117

Press, 2000), 184; and Robert A. Murdie and Carlos Teixeira, “The City as Social Space,” in Bunting and Filion, eds., Canadian Cities in Transition, 220-21. Dill and Bedford, Toronto Official Plan, 8, 44. The relationship between low-wage incomes and an earnings gap between men and women workers was ignored in the Toronto document. See ibid., 47. See ibid., 9. Ibid., 10. Ibid., 96. Ibid., 65, 83. Among members of the first London assembly, for example, Lynne Featherstone of the Liberal Democrats specialized in transportation issues and Samantha Heath of the Labour Party in environmental concerns.

Chapter 5: Assessing Restructuring 1 Due to scheduling difficulties, one Toronto interview was conducted by telephone. 2 According to interviewees, London had six female borough leaders out of thirtythree before 2002, but only three after that date. 3 On this case, see Chapter 3 above as well as Jane Doe, The Story of Jane Doe (Toronto: Random House, 2004). 4 The study, completed in 2000, cost approximately $25,000 and was conducted using Statistics Canada data by Michael Ornstein, a sociologist who directed the Institute for Social Research at York University. Chapter 6: Future Prospects 1 See Engin F. Isin, “Governing Cities without Government,” in Engin F. Isin, ed., Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City (London: Routledge, 2000), 157. 2 See, for example, Caroline Andrew, “Municipal Restructuring, Urban Services, and the Potential for the Creation of Transformative Political Spaces,” in Wallace Clement and Leah Vosko, eds., Changing Canada: Political Economy as Transformation (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2003), 311-34. 3 H.V. Savitch and Paul Kantor, Cities in the International Marketplace: The Political Economy of Urban Development in North America and Western Europe (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002), xviii. 4 On early expectations, see Heather Scoffield and Jennifer Lewington, “Big-City Mayors Welcome ‘New Deal,’” Globe and Mail, 3 February 2004, A4. 5 John Lorinc, “Is Toronto Going Broke?” Globe and Mail, 11 December 2004, M1. 6 Ibid., M3. 7 Joe Pennachetti, as quoted in ibid., M1. 8 John Lorinc, “Grade Expectations,” Toronto Life (October 2004), 54. 9 Ibid., 58. 10 See ibid. 11 See Jennifer Lewington, “Toronto to Get $705.3 Million over Five Years from Gas Tax,” Globe and Mail, 17 June 2005, A11; and John Barber, “Miller’s Latest Plea for More Revenue Has a Gloomy Echo,” Globe and Mail, 9 June 2005, A13. 12 Jeff Gray, “Want More Power? Fix Up City Council, McGuinty Says,” Globe and Mail, 17 June 2005, A12. 13 Alan Broadbent as quoted in Jennifer Lewington and Katherine Harding, “Mr. Miller’s Inner Circle,” Globe and Mail, 11 September 2004, M2.

Notes to pages 134-35

14 Ted Tyndorf as quoted in Jennifer Lewington, “Involve Residents Early, City’s Chief Planner Says,” Globe and Mail, 15 December 2004, A18. On bureaucratic changes, see Bruce Demara and Kerry Gillespie, “Miller Takes a Broom to Seven Top City Jobs,” Toronto Star, 25 November 2004, A1. 15 See, for example, Miller’s comments in Doug Saunders, “What Would Ken Do?” Globe and Mail, 20 November 2004, M1, M3, after meeting his London counterpart. 16 See Federation of Canadian Municipalities, Increasing Women’s Participation in Municipal Decision Making: Strategies for More Inclusive Canadian Communities (Ottawa: FCM, September 2004). For a similar study of engagement and disengagement at the local level in Australia, including in the aftermath of amalgamation in Melbourne, see Marion Frere, Moving On: Women and Retirement from Victorian Local Government (Carlton, Victoria: Women’s Participation in Local Government Coalition, 2003). 17 See Sylvia Bashevkin, Welfare Hot Buttons: Women, Work and Social Policy Reform (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002).

165

Selected Bibliography

Abrar, Stefania, Joni Lovenduski, and Helen Margetts. “Sexing London: The Gender Mix of Urban Policy Actors.” International Political Science Review 19:2 (1998): 147-71. Ackroyd, Peter. London: The Biography. London: Vintage, 2000. Andrew, Caroline. “Globalization and Local Action.” In T. Thomas, ed., The Politics of the City: A Canadian Perspective, 139-50. Toronto: Nelson, 1997. –. “Les femmes et les gouvernements locaux en Ontario: de nouveaux enjeux.” Recherches féministes 10:2 (1997): 113-26. –. “Municipal Restructuring, Urban Services and the Potential for the Creation of Transformative Political Spaces.” In Wallace Clement and Leah Vosko, eds., Changing Canada: Political Economy as Transformation, 311-34. Montreal: McGillQueen’s University Press, 2003. Andrew, Caroline, and Michael Goldsmith. “From Local Government to Local Governance – and Beyond?” International Political Science Review 19:2 (1998): 101-17. Anisef, Paul, and Michael Lanphier, eds. The World in a City. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003. Appleton, Lynne M. “The Gender Regimes of American Cities.” In Judith A. Garber and Robyne S. Turner, eds., Gender in Urban Research, 44-59. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995. Arscott, Jane, and Linda Trimble, eds. In the Presence of Women: Representation in Canadian Governments. Toronto: Harcourt Brace, 1997. Atkinson, Hugh, and Stuart Wilks-Heeg. Local Government from Thatcher to Blair: The Politics of Creative Autonomy. Cambridge: Polity, 2000. Aucoin, Peter. The New Public Management: Canada in Comparative Perspective. Montreal: Institute for Research on Public Policy, 1995. Banaszak, Lee Ann, Karen Beckwith, and Dieter Rucht, eds. Women’s Movements Facing the Reconfigured State. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Barry, Jim, Trudie Honour, and Sneha Palnitkar. “Gender and Urban Governance in Mumbai and London.” International Review of Women and Leadership 4:2 (1998): 61-73. Bashevkin, Sylvia. Toeing the Lines: Women and Party Politics in English Canada. 2nd ed. Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1993. –. Women on the Defensive: Living through Conservative Times. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998.

Selected Bibliography

–. Welfare Hot Buttons: Women, Work and Social Policy Reform. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2002. Bassnett, Susan. Feminist Experiences: The Women’s Movement in Four Cultures. London: Allen and Unwin, 1986. Berg, Barbara J. The Remembered Gate: Origins of American Feminism. New York: Oxford University Press, 1978. Blair, Tony. New Britain: My Vision of a Young Country. London: Fourth Estate, 1996. Boles, Janet K. “Local Elected Women and Policy-Making: Movement Delegates or Feminist Trustees?” In Susan J. Carroll, ed., The Impact of Women in Public Office, 68-86. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001. Boudreau, Julie-Anne. Megacity Saga: Democracy and Citizenship in This Global Age. Montreal: Black Rose, 2000. Brownill, Sue, Connie Razzaque, Tamsin Stirling, and Huw Thomas. “Patterns of Inclusion and Exclusion: Ethnic Minorities and Urban Development Corporations.” In Gerry Stoker, ed., The New Politics of British Local Governance, 234-48. London: Macmillan, 2000. Brownill, Sue, and Susan Halford. “Understanding Women’s Involvement in Local Politics.” Political Geography Quarterly 9:4 (October 1990): 396-414. Buck, Nick, Ian Gordon, Peter Hall, Michael Harloe, and Mark Kleinman. Working Capital: Life and Labour in Contemporary London. London: Routledge, 2002. Bunting, Trudi, and Pierre Filion, eds. Canadian Cities in Transition: The TwentyFirst Century. 2nd ed. Don Mills: Oxford University Press, 2000. Byrne, Tony. Local Government in Britain: Everyone’s Guide to How It All Works. 7th ed. London: Penguin, 2000. Carvel, John. Citizen Ken. London: Chatto and Windus, 1984. Childs, Sarah. New Labour’s Women MPs: Women Representing Women. London: Routledge, 2004. Clarke, John. “Social Resistance and the Disturbing of the Peace.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal 41 (2003): 491-503. Clarke, Susan E., Lynn A. Staeheli, and Laura Brunell. “Women Redefining Local Politics.” In David Judge, Gerry Stoker, and Harold Wolman, eds., Theories of Urban Politics, 205-27. London: Sage, 1995. Connell, R.W. Gender and Power: Society, the Person, and Sexual Politics. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1987. Coote, Anna, and Beatrix Campbell. Sweet Freedom: The Struggle for Women’s Liberation. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987. Coote, Anna, and Polly Pattullo. Power and Prejudice: Women and Politics. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1990. Copus, Colin. Party Politics and Local Government. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004. D’Arcy, Mark, and Rory MacLean. Nightmare! The Race to Become London’s Mayor. London: Politico’s, 2000. Darcy, Robert, Susan Welch, and Janet Clark. Women, Elections, and Representation. 2nd ed. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994. Davies, Liz. Through the Looking Glass: A Dissenter Inside New Labour. London: Verso, 2001. Doe, Jane. The Story of Jane Doe: A Book about Rape. Toronto: Random House, 2004.

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Durham, Martin. Moral Crusades: Family and Morality in the Thatcher Years. New York: New York University Press, 1991. Edwards, Julia. “Women’s Committees: A Model for Good Local Government?” Policy and Politics 17:3 (1989): 221-25. Eisenstein, Hester. Gender Shock: How Australian Feminists Make the System Work – and What American Women Can Learn from Them. Boston: Beacon Press, 1991. England, Kim V.L. “Gender Relations and the Spatial Structure of the City.” Geoforum 22:2 (1991): 135-47. Fainstein, Susan S. The City Builders: Property Development in New York and London, 1980-2000. 2nd ed. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2001. Falkner, Theresa G. The Early History of the Association of Women Electors of Metropolitan Toronto. Toronto: Association of Women Electors, 1977. Federation of Canadian Municipalities. Increasing Women’s Participation in Municipal Decision Making: Strategies for More Inclusive Canadian Communities. Ottawa: FCM, September 2004. Feltes, Norman. “The New Prince in a New Principality: OCAP and the Toronto Poor.” Labour/Le Travail 48 (Fall 2001): 125-55. Fenster, Tovi, ed. Gender, Planning and Human Rights. London: Routledge, 1999. Findlay, Sue Hawkins. “Democratizing the Local State: Issues for Feminist Practice and the Representation of Women.” In Gregory Albo, David Langille, and Leo Panitch, eds., A Different Kind of State? Popular Power and Democratic Administration, 155-64. Toronto: Oxford University Press, 1993. Flammang, Janet A. Women’s Political Voice: How Women Are Transforming the Practice and Study of Politics. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1997. Florida, Richard. The Rise of the Creative Class. New York: Basic Books, 2002. Freeman, Jo. A Room at a Time: How Women Entered Party Politics. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000. Frere, Marion. Moving On: Women and Retirement from Victorian Local Government. Carlton, Victoria: Women’s Participation in Local Government Coalition, 2003. Friskin, Frances, L.S. Bourne, Gunter Gad, and Robert A. Murdie. “Governance and Social Sustainability: The Toronto Experience.” In Mario Polèse and Richard Stren, eds., The Social Sustainability of Cities: Diversity and the Management of Change, 68-97. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2000. Gelb, Joyce. Feminism and Politics: A Comparative Perspective. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989. Gelb, Joyce, and Marilyn Gittell. “Seeking Equality: The Role of Activist Women in Cities.” In Janet K. Boles, ed., The Egalitarian City: Issues of Rights, Distribution, Access, and Power, 93-109. New York: Praeger, 1996. Genovese, Michael. “Margaret Thatcher and the Politics of Conviction Leadership.” In Michael Genovese, ed., Women as National Leaders, 177-210. Newbury Park: Sage, 1993. Gidney, R.D. From Hope to Harris: The Reshaping of Ontario’s Schools. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999. Gill, Becky. Losing Out Locally: Women and Local Government. London: Fawcett Society, June 2000. Goss, Sue. “Women’s Initiatives in Local Government.” In M. Boddy and C. Fudge, eds., Local Socialism, 109-32. London: Macmillan, 1984.

Selected Bibliography

Graham, Katherine A., and Susan D. Phillips. “‘Who Does What’ in Ontario: The Process of Provincial-Municipal Disentanglement.” Canadian Public Administration 41:2 (Summer 1998): 175-209. Graham, Katherine A., and Susan D. Phillips, with Allan M. Maslove. Urban Governance in Canada: Representation, Resources, and Restructuring. Toronto: Harcourt Brace, 1998. Graves, Pamela M. Labour Women: Women in British Working-Class Politics, 19181939. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994. Greed, Clara H. Women and Planning: Creating Gendered Realities. London: Routledge, 1994. Griffin, Gabrielle, ed. Feminist Activism in the 1990s. London: Taylor and Francis, 1995. Gurstein, Penelope. “Gender Sensitive Community Planning: A Case Study of the Planning Ourselves In Project.” Canadian Journal of Urban Research 5:2 (December 1996): 199-219. Halford, Susan. “Women’s Initiatives in Local Government ... Where Do They Come from and Where Are They Going?” Policy and Politics 16:4 (1988): 251-59. Hayden, Dolores. The Grand Domestic Revolution: A History of Feminist Designs for American Homes, Neighborhoods, and Cities. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1981. –. Redesigning the American Dream: Gender, Housing, and Family Life. Rev. ed. New York: Norton, 2002. Ibbitson, John. Promised Land: Inside the Mike Harris Revolution. Scarborough: Prentice Hall Canada, 1997. Isaac, Joan. “The Politics of Morality in the UK.” Parliamentary Affairs 47:2 (April 1994): 175-89. Isin, Engin F., ed. Democracy, Citizenship, and the Global City. London: Routledge, 2000. Jenson, Jane, and Susan D. Phillips. “Regime Shift: New Citizenship Practices in Canada.” International Journal of Canadian Studies 14 (Fall 1996): 111-35. Keil, Roger. “Governance Restructuring in Los Angeles and Toronto: Amalgamation or Secession?” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 24:4 (December 2000): 758-80. Kingwell, Mark. The World We Want: Vice, Virtue, and the Good Citizen. Toronto: Penguin, 2000. Lansley, Stewart, Sue Goss, and Christian Wolmar. Councils in Conflict: The Rise and Fall of the Municipal Left. London: Macmillan, 1989. Layton, Jack. Homelessness: The Making and Unmaking of a Crisis. Toronto: Penguin, 2000. Lemieux, Vincent. “L’analyse politique de la décentralisation.” Revue canadienne de science politique 29:4 (December 1996): 661-80. Lind, Amy. “Gender, Development, and Urban Social Change: Women’s Community Action in Global Cities.” World Development 25:8 (1997): 1205-23. Lister, Ruth. Citizenship: Feminist Perspectives. 2nd ed. New York: New York University Press, 2003. Little, Jo. Gender, Planning, and the Policy Process. London: Pergamon, 1994. Loveland, Ian. “The Government of London.” Political Quarterly 70:1 (JanuaryMarch 1999): 91-100.

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Lovenduski, Joni. “An Emerging Advocate: The Equal Opportunities Commission in Britain.” In Dorothy McBride Stetson and Amy Mazur, eds., Comparative State Feminism, 114-31. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995. –. “Women and Politics: Minority Representation or Critical Mass?” In P. Norris, ed., Britain Votes 2001, 179-94. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Lovenduski, Joni, and Vicky Randall. Contemporary Feminist Politics: Women and Power in Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. MacGregor, Sherilyn. “Rethinking Urban Planning to Include Diversity.” WIN News 23:2 (Spring 1997): 82. Mackay, Fiona. Love and Politics: Women Politicians and the Ethics of Care. London: Continuum, 2001. Mackenzie, Suzanne. “Building Women, Building Cities: Toward Gender Sensitive Theory in the Environmental Disciplines.” In Caroline Andrew and Beth Moore Milroy, eds., Life Spaces: Gender, Household, Employment, 13-30. Vancouver: UBC Press, 1988. MacManus, Susan A., and Charles S. Bullock III. “Electing Women to Local Office.” In J. Garber and R. Turner, eds., Gender in Urban Research, 155-77. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995. Macpherson, Kay, with C.M. Donald. When in Doubt, Do Both: The Times of My Life. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994. Magnusson, Warren. The Search for Political Space: Globalization, Social Movements, and the Urban Political Experience. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996. Malloy, Jonathan. Between Colliding Worlds: The Ambiguous Existence of Government Agencies for Aboriginal and Women’s Policy. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003. Martin, Janet M. The Presidency and Women: Promise, Performance, and Illusion. College Station: Texas A and M University Press, 2003. Matheson, Gwen, ed. Women in the Canadian Mosaic. Toronto: Peter Martin, 1976. Matland, Richard E. “Enhancing Women’s Political Participation: Legislative Recruitment and Electoral Systems.” In A. Karam, ed., Women in Parliament: Beyond Numbers, 74-83. Stockholm: International IDEA, 1998. Miranne, Kristine B., and Alma H. Young, eds. Gendering the City: Women, Boundaries, and Visions of Urban Life. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2000. Norris, Pippa, R.K. Carty, Lynda Erickson, Joni Lovenduski, and Marian Simms. “Party Selectorates in Australia, Britain, and Canada.” Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics 28:2 (July 1990): 219-45. Perrigo, Sarah. “Women and Change in the Labour Party.” Parliamentary Affairs 49:1 (January 1996): 116-29. Pimlott, Ben, and Nirmala Rao. Governing London. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Pitkin, Hanna. The Concept of Representation. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967. Praud, Jocelyne. “Affirmative Action and Women’s Representation in the Ontario New Democratic Party.” In Manon Tremblay and Caroline Andrew, eds., Women and Political Representation in Canada, 171-93. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 1998. Rao, Nirmala. “The Recruitment of Representatives in British Local Government: Pathways and Barriers.” Policy and Politics 26:3 (1998): 291-305.

Selected Bibliography

–. “The Representation of Women in Local Politics.” Policy and Politics 33:2 (2005): 323-39. Riley, Kathryn. “Equality for Women: The Role of Local Authorities.” Local Government Studies 16:1 (January/February 1990): 49-68. Ryan, Lyndall. “Feminism and the Federal Bureaucracy, 1972-1983.” In S. Watson, ed., Playing the State: Australian Feminist Interventions, 71-84. London: Verso, 1990. Sancton, Andrew. Merger Mania: The Assault on Local Government. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2000. Saundercock, Leonie. Cosmopolis II: Mongrel Cities of the 21st Century. London: Continuum, 2003. Savitch, H.V., and Paul Kantor. Cities in the International Marketplace: The Political Economy of Urban Development in North America and Western Europe. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002. Seldon, Anthony, ed. The Blair Effect: The Blair Government, 1997-2001. London: Little, Brown, 2001. Sellers, Jefferey M. Governing from Below: Urban Regions and the Global Economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Shantz, Jeff. “Fighting to Win: The Ontario Coalition Against Poverty.” Capital and Class 78 (Autumn 2002): 1-8. Siemiatycki, Myer, and Anver Saloojee. “Ethnoracial Political Representation in Toronto: Patterns and Problems.” Journal of International Migration and Integration 3:2 (Spring 2002): 241-73. Siim, Birte. Gender and Citizenship: Politics and Agency in France, Britain, and Denmark. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Singh, Sarah. “Women Plan Toronto: Making Toronto Work for Women.” Women and Environments 14 (Spring 1995): 27-28. Smith, Harold L. The British Women’s Suffrage Campaign, 1866-1928. Essex: Addison Wesley Longman, 1998. Smith, Michael Peter. Transnational Urbanism: Locating Globalization. Oxford: Blackwell, 2001. Spain, Daphne. How Women Saved the City. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001. Stacey, Margaret, and Marion Price. Women, Power, and Politics. London: Tavistock, 1981. Taylor, Beverley. “Women Plan London: The Women’s Committee of the Greater London Council.” Women and Environments 7 (Spring 1985): 4-7. Thatcher, Margaret. The Downing Street Years. New York: HarperCollins, 1993. Tindal, C. Richard, and Susan Nobes Tindal. Local Government in Canada. 5th ed. Toronto: Nelson, 2000. Todd, Graham. “Megacity: Globalization and Governance in Toronto.” Studies in Political Economy 56 (Summer 1998): 193-216. Travers, Tony. The Politics of London. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Trimble, Linda. “Politics Where We Live: Women and Cities.” In James Lightbody, ed., Canadian Metropolitics, 92-114. Toronto: Copp Clark, 1995. Vickers, Jill, Pauline Rankin, and Christine Appelle. Politics as If Women Mattered: A Political Analysis of the National Action Committee on the Status of Women. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993.

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Voet, Rian. Feminism and Citizenship. London: Sage, 1998. Walby, Sylvia, ed. New Agendas for Women. London: Macmillan, 1999. Webster, Wendy. Not a Man to Match Her: The Marketing of a Prime Minister. London: Women’s Press, 1990. Wekerle, Gerda R. “Reframing Urban Sustainability: Women’s Movement Organizing and the Local State.” In Roger Keil, Gerda R. Wekerle, and David V.J. Bell, eds., Local Places: In the Age of the Global City, 137-45. Montreal: Black Rose, 1996. –. “The Shift to the Market: Gender and Housing Disadvantage.” In P. Evans and G. Wekerle, eds., Women and the Canadian Welfare State: Challenges and Change, 170-94. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997. –. “Gender Planning as Insurgent Citizenship: Stories from Toronto.” Plurimondi 1:2 (1999): 105-12. Wekerle, Gerda R., and Linda Peake. “New Social Movements and Women’s Urban Activism.” In Jon Caulfield and Linda Peake, eds., City Lives and City Forms, 263-81. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996. Whitzman, Carolyn. “Taking Back Planning: Promoting Women’s Safety in Public Places – The Toronto Experience.” Journal of Architectural and Planning Research 9:2 (Summer 1992): 169-79. –. “‘The Voice of Women’ in Canadian Local Government.” In Caroline Andrew, Katherine A. Graham, and Susan D. Phillips, eds., Urban Affairs: Back on the Policy Agenda, 93-118. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2002. –. “Feminist Activism for Safer Social Space in High Park, Toronto: How Women Got Lost in the Woods.” Canadian Journal of Urban Research 11:2 (Winter 2002): 299-321. Wilson, Elizabeth. The Sphinx in the City: Urban Life, the Control of Disorder, and Women. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991. Women Plan Toronto, METRAC, and York University Faculty of Environmental Studies. The Women in Safe Environments Report. Toronto, 1987. Young, Iris Marion. Justice and the Politics of Difference. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990. Young, Ken. “Local Government.” In Dennis Kavanagh and Anthony Seldon, eds., The Thatcher Effect: A Decade of Change, 124-32. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989. Young, Lisa. “Legislative Turnover and the Election of Women to the Canadian House of Commons.” In Kathy Megyery ed., Women in Canadian Politics: Toward Equity in Representation, 81-99. Research Studies of the Royal Commission on Electoral Reform and Party Financing. Vol. 6. Toronto: Dundurn Press, 1991.

Index

Note: “t” stands for table. Abbott, Diane, 43 Abrar, Stefania, 21, 148n28 Access and Equity Office, 53 Ackroyd, Peter, 140n6 activists, 103, 120-25 anti-poverty, 1 antiviolence, 105-6 child care, 111 citizen, 2, 101 civic, 15 community, 74, 97 feminist, 50, 66, 112-13 grassroots, 5 local planning, 5 mainstream, 27 middle-class, 4 militant, 17 radical, 4 second-wave, 79 socialist, 4, 61 suffragist, 4, 32 urban, 58 women’s movement, 51-53, 55, 64 See also specific political parties Addams, Jane, 78 Advisory Committee on the Status of Women, 73 advocates constraint of, 15 daycare, 57 diversity, 48

feminist, 61, 82 housing, 61, 144n86 local democracy, 13, 72 women’s rights, 2 Amer, Liz, 124 Amos, Valerie, 154n42 Andrew, Caroline, 18, 62, 131, 156n63 Anisef, Paul, 24, 139n4 Arnold, Jennette, 40, 46, 108 Association of Women Electors (AWE), 33-34, 36, 147n25, 148n29 Atkinson, Hugh, 153n14 Australia, 51, 53, 55 AWE. See Association of Women Electors (AWE) Bedford, Paul J., 98, 125, 164n112 Bill 160. See Education Quality Improvement Act Birch, Tanya, 157n87 Blair, Tony Best Value scheme of, 9 and elected mayors, 104 government of, 128, 154n42 and local democracy, 2, 8, 128 and women, 150n51 Bloom, Louise, 150n56 Boudreau, Julie-Anne, 47, 72-73 Broadbent, Alan, 164n13 Bruce, Mary, 61, 155n57

174 Index

Buck, Nick, 139n4 Byers, Jim, 147n25 cabinet arrangements, 150n50 and local organization, 38, 106 mayor’s advisory (London), 43, 151n73 models, 107 women in, 38, 43 Campbell, Beatrix, 153n17 Canada Assistance Plan (CAP), 10 Canada Health and Social Transfer (CHST), 10 Canadian Federation of University Women, 59 CAO. See Chief Administrator’s Office (CAO) Capitalwoman, 53, 68-69, 110 centralization, 21, 29, 133-34 C4LD. See Citizens for Local Democracy (C4LD) Chief Administrator’s Office (CAO), 73-75, 121, 122, 158n114 Chow, Olivia, 46, 151n87-88, 152n96 Chrétien, Jean, 10 Christie, Gayle, 148n38 Citizens for Local Democracy (C4LD), 47, 113, 125, 144n81 citizenship as agency, 4, 16 claims, 28, 83 democratic, 22-27 discursive, 99, 123-24 and globalization, 15, 17-26, 75, 127, 130-32 insurgent, 4 as legal rights, 4 patterns, 48-50 and representation, 5-6, 14, 20-21, 27-30, 101-2, 109, 127 as social process, 4 status, 66 urban, 4, 16-17, 20, 25-26, 75, 84-85, 109, 130-32 and urban planning, 79-81, 83-85, 100, 135-36 women’s, 4, 13, 29-30, 63-64, 75-77, 127

City of London, 150n49 City of Toronto mayors, 46 and megacity council, 118-19 and Mike Harris, 2-3 and minorities, 60-61 and planning, 80, 81, 89-90, 162n61, 162n63-64, 162n72 progressiveness of, 11, 115 and women, 21, 59-60, 63 See also Toronto; Toronto city councils City of Toronto Act, 134 City of Toronto Committee on the Status of Women and anti-amalgamation efforts, 143n72 debates of, 74-75 and EOO, 63 and megacity leadership, 122 and Miller, 135 and policy, 162n60 and SCC, 63 visibility of, 74 weakness of, 53, 63 See also Women’s Coalition for Local Democracy; Women Plan Toronto (WPT) Cityplan ’91, 89-90, 156n67, 162n61, 162n64, 162n72 See also Metropolitan Toronto Action Committee on Public Violence against Women and Children (METRAC); Safe City Committee (SCC); Toronto city councils; Women Plan Toronto (WPT) Cole, Trevor, 139n2 Committee for ’94, 34, 148n29 community building, 16 councils, 12, 120 interests, 72, 80, 91, 124, 154n22 Conservative Party (Ontario) activists, 61 and efficiency norms, 10 elites, 131 inner-city progressives, 2-3 and Lastman, 140n12

Index

and private-sector norms, 129-30 and women’s groups, 65-66 See also Queen’s Park Conservative Party (UK) of Britain, 3, 38, 52, 57 of London, 44, 132, 142n46, 151n76 Conservative Party Manifesto (1983), 7, 57, 58 Coote, Anna, 153n17 Copus, Colin, 35 Corporation of the City of London, 6, 41 creative class, 13-14, 26 Crombie, David, 11, 53, 59, 142n56, 143n62 Dasko, Donna, 148n29 Dauphinée, Mary Margaret. See Bruce, Mary Day Care Grants Program, 155n52 decentralization, 6, 21, 29, 36 democracy civic, 5, 14, 22 local, 2, 3, 8, 24, 72, 117-20, 129 urban, 9, 13 Dill, Paula M., 98, 125, 164n112 Disero, Betty, 148n38 Dobson, Frank, 9, 41, 43, 142n46 Dominion Women’s Enfranchisement Association, 31 Downing Street, 31, 42 elites, 2 Education Act (Ontario), 10 Education Quality Improvement Act, 142n54 Education Reform Act (1988), 7 Eggleton, Art, 54, 143n62, 148n38 elections council (Toronto), 31, 46, 151n83, 151n86 federal (Canada), 133 London assembly, 37, 40, 41, 65, 132 mayoral (London), 29, 43-44, 47, 53, 65, 132 mayoral (Toronto), 3, 12, 29, 35, 50, 65, 97, 114, 133

national (UK), 3, 104, 150n51 provincial (Ontario), 50, 54, 65, 114, 125, 133 and suffragists, 31 ward-based, 150n49 electoral systems direct, 107 electoral college, 43 first-past-the-post, 34-35, 46 reconfiguration of, 128 research on, 29, 36 supplementary vote, 41 and women’s representation, 29, 37, 131 Elizabeth Garrett Anderson Hospital, 143n71 Enough of Not Enough campaign. See Toronto, Board of Trade Equal Opportunities Commission (EOC), 58-59, 123, 154n36 Equal Opportunity Office (EOO), 52, 60-61, 63-64, 155n52 Equal Voice, 34, 148n29 Falkner, Theresa, 147n22 Fawcett, Millicent, 34 Fawcett Society, 34, 150n55 Featherstone, Lynne, 151n73, 164n117 Federation of Canadian Municipalities (FCM), 135 feminism antiviolence, 82 British, 4, 79, 82 Canadian, 155n45 difference/woman-centred, 23, 51 first-wave, 28, 32, 79, 82 material, 78-79, 81-82 municipal, 51, 54, 55, 59, 69-77, 96, 97, 121, 130, 156n77 post-structural, 23 second-wave, 4, 23, 33-34, 36, 49, 51-52, 59 social, 32 urban, 27, 51-52, 82 See also franchise for women; suffragists; women’s movement feminist advocacy, 57, 112

175

176 Index

agendas, 30 groups, 6, 25, 75 mobilization, 35, 59, 72 planning, 5, 81-100, 113, 124 politicians, 21, 34-35, 148n28 presence, 65, 71, 76 priorities, 6, 25, 50, 52-53, 108, 110 protests, 12 scholars, 147n27 theories, 23 femocracy in the GLA, 54, 81, 126, 127 in the GLC, 87 in government bureaucracies, 23-24, 51-52 in London, 55-59, 109-11 in Toronto, 59-64, 120-23 Findlay, Sue Hawkins, 60-61 Fish, Susan, 148n38 Florida, Richard, 13-14 franchise for women First Nations, 147n20 and first-wave feminism, 31-35 Inuit, 147n20 in Quebec, 147n20 Status Indian, 147n20 See also feminism, first-wave; suffragists; women, in public office; women’s movement Friends of Barbara Hall, 152n93 Gavron, Nicky as deputy mayor, 43, 81 and economic development, 108 and Livingstone, 43 and mayor’s advisory cabinet, 151n73 and planning, 87, 98-99 Gelb, Joyce, 140n17 gender balance, 49 gap, 164n112 and housing, 61, 83, 161n59 and race, 80, 83 regime (system), 20-21, 44, 48 Gidney, R.D., 10 Gilchrist, Steve, 140n12

Gilman, Charlotte Perkins, 82 Gittell, Marilyn, 140n17 GLA. See Greater London Authority (GLA) GLA Act. See Greater London Authority Act (1999) GLC. See Greater London Council (GLC) GLC Labour Group, 6 GLC Women’s Committee creation of, 157n86 and ethnocultural communities, 6, 64, 66 and municipal feminism, 52, 54, 55-59, 68 and planning, 80, 85-87, 154n22 and resources, 109, 126, 153n17 visibility of, 63 GLDP. See Greater London Development Plan (GLDP) globalization and citizenship, 15, 17-27 and international economic forces, 14-16, 24 pressures of, 130-31 and Thatcher, 6-7 theories of, 15, 75, 127 Golden Task Force, 10-11, 114 Gordon, Ian, 139n4 Goss, Sue, 149n46 Graham, Katherine A., 35 Greater London Assembly creation of, 8 and gender parity, 29, 46, 48-50 and incumbency, 37 and planning, 81, 99 and women’s representation, 25, 38, 39t, 40-41, 164n117 Greater London Authority (GLA) benefits of, 102-6, 127 and central government, 126 and citizen representation, 25, 37-41, 106-9, 127 City Hall, 157n84 creation of, 2, 3, 8 and electoral systems, 142n45 employees of, 157n85 and femocracy, 53, 54, 109-11, 126

Index

and planning, 93, 95, 111-13, 126 and tax export, 139n5 and women, 39t Greater London Authority Act (1999), 38, 93, 109, 142n45 See also Blair, Tony; Greater London Authority (GLA); Labour Party; New Labour Greater London Council (GLC) and central government, 7 efforts to save, 144n81 elimination of, 2, 4, 53, 57, 155n44 and ethnocultural minorities, 92-93 and feminist initiatives, 6, 54, 55, 58, 91-92, 111 and GLA, 126 and planning, 85-87, 112-13, 159n11 responsibilities of, 6 and two-tier government, 6 See also Conservative Party (UK); GLC Labour Group; GLC Women’s Committee; Livingstone, Ken; Thatcher, Margaret Greater London Development Plan (GLDP), 85, 87, 159n11 See also GLC Women’s Group; Women Plan London Green Party, 29, 43, 44, 106, 132, 151n76 Greene, Barbara, 148n38 Hall, Barbara and amalgamation, 11-12, 21, 47 campaigners for, 65, 113 defeat of, 47-48, 120 and feminist issues, 36, 89, 115 as mayor, 46, 54, 143n62 as mayoral candidate, 29, 35 and protests, 124, 140n10 support for, 72, 152n94 vendetta against, 65 Hall, Peter, 139n4 Harris, Mike and City of Toronto, 2-3

Conservatives, 10, 133 elites, 11 government, 47, 65, 116, 125 and Hall, 140n10 and Lastman, 19 and local democracy, 10, 14, 131 reforms, 10-11, 143n64, 143n71, 143n75 and “Who Does What” panel, 11 Hayden, Dolores, 78, 81, 83, 84, 85 Heath, Samantha, 164n117 Hodge, Margaret, 36, 148n39 homelessness, 71, 139n2 House of Commons (Canada), 31, 35, 46 House of Commons (UK), 31, 35, 38, 93, 146n8, 150n55 House of Lords, 154n42 Housing Act (1988), 7 Hughes, Simon, 44 Hyde Park, 31 Ibbitson, John, 140n10 immigrants and employment, 69, 122 and feminist planning, 92 and GLC grants, 55-56 and housing, 97, 122 influx of, 16, 48, 66, 139n4 and race, 82-83 and school funding, 10 and voluntary groups, 78, 82-83 and women, 78, 83, 91, 105 incumbency, 149n45 Inner London Education Authority, 7 International Women’s Day, 68 Isin, Engin F., 5, 17, 30, 130, 144n82 Islington Women’s Equality Unit, 154n38 Israel, 149n42 Jackson, Glenda, 42, 43, 48 Jackson, Lorna, 148n38 Jakobek, Tom, 152n94 James-Hanman, Davina, 70, 154n38 Jane Doe case, 75, 118 Jenson, Jane, 16, 17 John, Ann, 41

177

178 Index

Johnson, Darren, 151n76 Johnson, Dave, 140n12 Johnston, Anne, 148n38 Jones, Jenny, 43 Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. See Persons case Kantor, Paul, 132 Kelley, Florence, 78 Kennedy, John Fitzgerald, administration of, 155n45 Kensington Society, 31 King, Jennifer, 162n64 Kleinman, Mark, 139n4 Kramer, Susan, 41-42, 43, 44, 48 Labour Party activists, 148n39 allies of, 57 and electoral backlash, 41 elites, 44 and feminist issues, 49-50 and gender parity, 58 and GLC, 7-8 nomination system of, 38, 43 strength of, 37 and Thatcher, 57 three-tier system of, 43 and urban left, 6 women, 29, 32, 147n27, 164n117 and women’s representation, 34, 38, 40, 42-43, 148n39, 151n73 See also Blair, Tony; Labour Party Manifesto (1997); Labour Women’s Action Committee; New Labour Labour Party Manifesto (1997), 141n37 section 138, 141n37 Labour Women’s Action Committee, 67 Lammy, David, 150n55 Lanphier, Michael, 139n4 Lastman, Mel and amalgamation, 113 as conservative mayor, 19, 29, 47-54, 81, 97-98, 116 and developers, 98

election of, 3, 29, 47, 50, 146n2, 148n38 as megacity mayor, 65, 71-74, 99, 113-114, 128-29 and Ontario Conservatives, 19, 118, 129-31, 134 public standing of, 20, 119 retirement of, 135 and women, 49, 53, 120-22 Latin American Women’s Rights Services, 154n22 Lawal, Amina, 74 Layton, Jack, 148n38, 151n88 Leach, Al, 142n50, 142n56 League of Women Voters, 33 Lemieux, Vincent, 18-19, 20 Lewington, Jennifer, 134n4, 165n14 Liberal Democratic Party councillors, 38, 150n56, 151n73-74, 164n117 mayoral candidates, 29, 41-42, 44 and Livingstone, 132 Liberal Party, 4, 34, 61, 133, 136 Livingstone, Ken and development, 93 election of, 29, 42-43, 132 and feminist issues, 53-54, 59, 75-76, 81, 96, 104-6, 110-12, 157n77 as GLA mayor, 2, 19, 20, 67, 128-29, 135 and GLC, 2, 6, 126, 151n74 and GLC Women’s Committee, 52, 80 as MP, 150n62 and New Labour, 7, 9, 65, 103-4, 131, 148n34 “Red Ken,” 2 and Thatcher, 11, 57 and women, 29, 41, 48-49, 65, 69-71, 107, 149n39 Local Government Act year 1988, 7 year 2000, 150n50 clause 28 of year 1988, 141n29 London autonomy of, 2, 7-8, 12-13, 20, 65, 129

Index

and citizenship, 20, 22, 24 as a city-state, 140n6 and Conservatives, 12 and electoral systems, 35, 150n49 and GLA scheme, 9 and inner-city boroughs, 7 mayors, 2-3, 19, 24-25 municipal assembly, 149n39 population, 2, 92, 139n3 and social movement organizing, 4, 13-14, 17, 24 tax export of, 139n5 and two-tier government, 6, 9 Underground, 1, 42, 68, 70, 105 See also citizenship; Greater London Assembly; Greater London Authority (GLA); Greater London Council (GLC) London assembly. See Greater London Assembly London Education Authority, 7 London National Society for Women’s Suffrage, 31, 34 London Society for Women’s Service, 34 London Society for Women’s Suffrage, 34 London Women and Manual Trades, 153n22 Loveland, Ian, 142n45 Lovenduski, Joni, 21, 148n28, 154n36, 155n44, 157n86 McCallion, Hazel, 148n38 McClung, Nellie, 32-33 McConnell, Pam, 72 McGuinty, Dalton, 133 Mackenzie, Suzanne, 79, 83 Macphail, Agnes, 31 Macpherson, Kay, 148n29 Major, John, 59, 128 Malloy, Jonathan, 51, 53-54 Manchester, 143n69 Mann, Jagdeep, 157n87 Margetts, Helen, 21, 148n28 Marjoram, Anni, 53, 67-68, 70, 75, 110-11

Married Women’s Property Committee, 31 Marshall, Pat Freeman, 61 Martin, Paul, 133 Mayhew, Judith, 41 Mayor of London, 163n104 Mayor’s Task Force on the Status of Women (Toronto), 59-60, 61, 63, 65, 155n47-48 Metro Council. See Toronto city councils Metro Task Force on Public Violence against Women and Children, 61 Metropolitan Toronto Action Committee on Public Violence against Women and Children (METRAC) and city council, 62, 63 creation of, 52, 61, 62, 156n59 and Lastman, 53 funding of, 53, 73, 75, 123 and WPT, 88 Mill, John Stuart, 146n8 Miller, David, 47, 133, 134-35 Millward, Robert, 90, 162n80 minorities and employment, 60, 95, 136 and EOO, 66 and GLC, 55-56, 85, 93, 95 and housing, 70, 83, 95 and Livingstone, 110-11 in public office, 28, 46, 48, 150n50, 150n55, 152n96 representation, 108, 110 and WPT, 91 Modlich, Regula (Reggie), 87-88, 162n64, 162n80 Mowlam, Mo, 42 Mulroney, Brian, 10 NAC. See National Action Committee on the Status of Women (NAC) National Action Committee on the Status of Women (NAC) creation of, 59 decline of, 74, 91, 123, 125 leadership of, 148n29

179

180 Index

National American Women’s Suffrage Association, 147n21 National Child Care Campaign, 57, 154n36 National Child Care Strategy, 69 National Strategy on Community Safety and Crime Prevention, 48 NDP. See New Democratic Party (NDP) New Democratic Party (NDP) and City of Toronto, 11 and electoral reform, 47, 151n88 government (Ontario), 10 mayoral candidates, 35, 47, 63 and New Deal, 133 weakness of, 37, 46 and women, 34, 37, 46-47, 72, 151n87 New Labour activists, 156n77 and citizenship, 93-94 and decentralization, 13 elites, 8, 64-65, 131 fiscal criteria of, 9 initiatives of, 54, 94 and Livingstone, 19, 42, 69, 105, 128-9 and local authorities, 9 and local cabinet organization, 38, 150n50 and local democracy, 2, 3, 8, 65, 102-4, 106 and municipal feminism, 156n77 and social policy, 136 and women’s representation, 24, 150n50, 156n77 See also Labour Party New Labour Manifesto. See Labour Party Manifesto (1997) new public management (NPM) approaches adoption of, 15 and citizenship, 17, 21, 24, 52-53, 109, 127 domination of, 15, 65 effects of, 15, 17, 54 and expectations, 26, 28 and municipal feminism, 54, 65, 84-85, 111

norms bureaucratic, 51 citizenship, 52 Conservative, 64, 69 democratic, 16, 20, 129 efficiency, 16, 19, 20, 27 market-based, 17, 21, 130 political, 13 private-sector, 129 public-sector, 129 Norris, Steven, 42, 44, 132, 142n46, 151n76 Nunziata, John, 152n94 OCAP. See Ontario Coalition Against Poverty (OCAP) Older Women’s Network, 91 O’Neill, Tip, 14 Ontario Advisory Council on Women’s Issues, 10 Ontario Coalition Against Poverty (OCAP), 139n2 Ootes, Case, 48 Ornstein, Michael, 164n4 Ottawa, 143n70 Owen, Timothy, 144n85 Pankhurst, Emmeline, 31 Pankhurst, Sylvia, 31 Peake, Linda, 91, 140n17 Pennachetti, Joe, 164n7 Pepino, Jane, 61 Persons case, 28, 33 Phillips, Susan D., 16, 17 Pimlott, Ben, 57, 153n17 Pitkin, Hanna Fenichel, 30 President’s Commission on the Status of Women, 155n45 Private Finance Initiative, 7 Progressive Conservative Party. See Conservative Party (Ontario) quangos, 58, 161n48 Queen’s Park and Lastman, 116, 129, 131 and local government, 115-16, 118 and Miller, 134-35 and private-sector norms, 129

Index

and women’s groups, 65 See also Conservative Party (Ontario) Randall, Vicky, 57, 154n36, 155n44, 157n86 Rao, Nirmala, 57, 153n17 Rauhala, Ann, 162n60-61 referendum on amalgamation (Toronto, 1997), 3, 13, 143n72 on metropolitan government (London, 1988), 2, 3, 8 Refugee Women’s Association, 157n94 representation, 5, 23-24, 28, 30, 44 bureaucratic, 24-25, 30, 51-77, 101-2, 128, 130-31 and citizenship, 23-27, 28, 30, 48-50, 101 descriptive, 30 difference, 24, 109-11, 120-23 discursive, 23-25, 79, 91-93, 102, 111-13, 123-25 diverse, 16 and efficiency norms, 19 formal, 28 liberal (electoral), 24-25, 28-50, 101, 106-9, 117-20 local, 35-41, 44-47 mayoral, 41-44, 47-48 policy, 30 political, 23, 24, 26, 34-50 proportional, 9, 36-37, 40, 47, 48, 49, 106, 149n42 and spatial planning, 78-90 theories of, 24 urban, 5, 37 See also citizenship; feminism; minorities, in public office; women, in public office restructuring and citizenship, 80-81, 91-92, 98-99 context of, 1-27 effects of, 65, 85, 101-26 municipal, 5-13, 28, 80-81, 91 and municipal feminism, 47, 53, 65, 75

neo-liberal, 15 political, 3-4, 85 urban, 10, 37 and women’s representation, 127-36 Rights of Women, 153n22 Riverdale Action Committee, 156n65 Roberts, Jane, 41 Rogers, Kimberley, 74 Rowlands, June as conservative mayor, 54, 147n23 election of, 33, 36 defeat of, 35, 63 and feminists, 143n62 and Layton, 148n38 Royal Commission on the Status of Women, 59 rules competition, 109 first-past-the-post, 40, 46 proportional, 3, 9, 37, 40, 50, 131 single-member plurality, 9, 37, 40, 46, 149n45 See also electoral systems Sabia, Laura, 59 Safe City Committee (SCC) composition of, 156n67 creation of, 52, 62, 156n65 disbanding of, 53, 123 history of, 62-63 and municipal feminism, 63-64, 73-75 and planning, 88, 90 safety audits, 156n60, 156n62-63 Saloojee, Anver, 46 Savitch, H.V., 132 SCC. See Safe City Committee (SCC) Sellers, Jefferey M., 14 Sewell, John, 53, 143n62 Shadow Minister for Women, 147n27 Shaw, Sherene, 48, 151n87, 152n96 Shawcross, Valerie, 36, 108, 149n39, 151n73 Short, Clare, 147n27 Siemiatycki, Myer, 46, 72 Simkhovitch, Mary, 78 Smith, John, 147n27

181

182 Index

Smits, Sonja, 152n93 social movement organizing, 4 social safety nets, 16 socialism, 4, 78, 81 Spain, Daphne, 78, 82 Speirs, Rosemary, 148n29 Square Mile financial district, 6 Status of Women Advisory Committee, 72 Status of Women and Gender Equity Working Group, 135 Status of Women Committee. See City of Toronto Committee on the Status of Women suffragists, 4, 23, 28, 31-33, 35, 146n8 See also specific groups Supreme Court of Canada, 28, 33 Swainson, Gail, 140n12 Task Force on Community Access and Equity, 71, 75, 158n102-3, 159n119 Task Force on Community Safety, 73, 158n102 Task Force to Bring Back the Don, 97 Taylor, Beverley, 85-86 Thatcher, Margaret and cities, 6, 106 and Conservative Party Manifesto (1983), 7 constituency of, 67 and feminist issues, 30 and GLC, 7-8, 10, 12, 57, 86 and GLC Women’s Committee, 59 and globalization, 6 government of, 91, 128 and Livingstone, 2, 7, 11, 57 policies of, 6-7 reforms of, 143n71 and urban women, 12-13, 57 years, 14 thesis buoyancy, 24, 50, 76, 100 contextual, 25, 50, 76, 100 erosion, 24, 50, 75-76, 100 Thomas, Dorothy, 155n47 Tonks, Alan, 158n103

Tories (Ontario), 3, 11-12, 47, 115, 131 See also Conservative Party (Ontario) Tories (UK), 7, 9, 106, 132, 151n76 See also Conservative Party (UK) Toronto amalgamation of, 10-13, 22, 25, 46, 113-20 anti-amalgamation efforts, 11-13, 47, 71, 144n81 autonomy of, 2, 12-13, 47, 114, 129 Board of Trade, 89, 139n5 community council, 12, 25 Megacity, 3, 96-98, 113-25, 158n114 Metro, 142n47-48 and New Deal, 133 population, 2, 92, 139n3 School Board, 33, 127, 133, 143n64, 143n75 tax export of, 139n5 two-tier government of, 6, 9, 11 See also City of Toronto; Toronto city councils Toronto city councils pre-amalgamation, 45t, 158n102-3 City of Toronto, 60-61, 81, 89 megacity, 46, 48-49, 99, 102, 117-20, 139n2 Metro, 9, 33, 37, 44, 45t, 46, 48, 102, 151n80 Toronto Women’s Call to Action, 135 Toronto Women’s Literary Society, 31 Tory, John, 140n12, 152n94 Transport for London, 9 Tree Advocacy Program, 97 Trimmer, Joyce, 148n38 Tyndorf, Ted, 165n14 UK Independence Party, 132 urban environment, 16 growth, 93 leaders, 20 mayors, 19 planning, 79-81, 91 research, 13-22, 26, 127, 140n17

Index

restructuring, 129 See also restructuring, municipal values citizenship, 17, 109, 129 cultural, 6 democratic, 13, 109, 130 free-market, 13 liberal, 36 militant, 65 neo-liberal, 16 political, 128 private-sector, 7, 21, 129 public-sector, 21, 129 right-wing, 20 social movement, 51, 56 Vickers, Jill, 35 Voet, Rian, 22-24, 30, 79 Wekerle, Gerda and activism, 84, 140n17 on citizenship rights, 83 and EOO, 155n52 on insurgent citizenship, 5 and SCC, 156n65 and spatial development, 85 on WPT, 91 and York, 88-89, 161n58-59 Wellesley Hospital, 143n71 Westminster, 9 -style systems, 33, 37, 38 White Paper, 7 Whitzman, Carolyn on METRAC, 61, 156n59 on safety audits, 62, 64 and SCC, 63, 88 and WPT, 162n60-61 Widdicombe Report, 149n47 Wilks-Heeg, Stuart, 153n14 Wilson, Elizabeth, 79, 84 Wise, Audrey, 67 Wise, Valerie, 67 women as citizens, 22 committees of, 51-55 and discrimination, 66, 95 First Nations, 60, 88, 147n20 mayors, 148n38

opportunities for, 9, 21, 59-61 in public office, 24, 28-50, 102, 106-9, 118, 126, 127, 130, 131, 150n50-51, 151n82 urban, 5, 12 and urban research, 20, 140n17 and violence, 123 See also feminism; franchise for women; suffragists; women’s movement Women and Planning Working Group, 92 Women for Political Action, 34, 148n29 Women in/and Planning, 161n56 Women Plan London creation of, 5, 34 and GLC, 62, 153n22 participatory strategies of, 86, 88 Women Plan Toronto (WPT) activists, 88-91 and anti-amalgamation efforts, 143n72 autonomy of, 92 and Cityplan ’91, 125, 162n61, 162n64 composition of, 92 creation of, 5, 34, 154n22 and funding, 73, 80, 161n56 participatory strategies of, 86, 88 and SCC, 62 See also City of Toronto Committee on the Status of Women; Women’s Coalition for Local Democracy Women’s Action Centre against Violence, 156n61 Women’s Coalition for Local Democracy, 13, 143n72 See also City of Toronto Committee on the Status of Women; Women Plan Toronto (WPT) Women’s College Hospital, 143n71 Women’s Design Service, 154n22 Women’s Health, 154n22 women’s movement, 4, 51, 68, 85 Women’s Reproductive Rights Information Centre, 57

183

184 Index

Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU) activists, 31-32, 36 East London Federation of, 31 WPT. See Women Plan Toronto (WPT)

WSPU. See Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU) Young, Iris Marion, 5 YWCA, 78, 82

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