Un estudi constata que en 53 carrers del Barri Antic hi viuen més estrangers que autòctons
La mitjana és del 50,1% de veïns immigrants, tot i que en una vintena de carrers és més elevada i fins i tot arriba al 100% |
Un estudi titulat Immigració i segregació residencial a Lleida, elaborat per Pablo Petreñas, professor d'un centre educatiu de la capital i estudiant del màster migracions i mediació social de la Universitat de Lleida, constata que en 53 carrers del Barri Antic hi viuen de mitjana més estrangers que autòctons. D'aquesta manera, superen el percentatge de població estrangera del conjunt del Centre Històric, del 43,3%, i del global de la ciutat (21,1%). L'informe cita dades del padró del 2009 i assenyala que un 49,9% de residents en aquests 53 carrers són autòctons i un 50,1%, immigrants, dels quals un 9,9% són marroquins, un 9,2% romanesos, un 1,6% colombians i el 29,4% restant, de diferents nacionalitats. En una vintena d'aquestes vies, el percentatge d'estrangers supera la mitjana i, en una, arriba fins al 100% (el carrer Sant Anastasi). El segueixen, per ordre de percentatge més elevat, els carrers Rastro, amb un 91,7% de residents immigrants, Nou (88,9%), Companyia (85,4%) i Panera (75%). En canvi, en altres carrers amb molt pocs veïns, l'índex d'estrangers és molt baix o fins i tot nul (vegeu el desglossament).
L'autor afirma a l'estudi que "es pot considerar una certa part del Centre Històric com un gueto d'estrangers, tenint en compte el percentatge de població i les condicions d'habitatge i socials que presenten". No obstant, destaca que només se centra en la quantificació de la segregació espacial dels immigrants, sense analitzar les conseqüències socials d'aquest fenomen. L'informe també estudia la distribució residencial dels tres col·lectius d'estrangers més nombrosos a la capital: romanesos (4,14% de la població), marroquins (3,43%) i colombians (1,06%). Segons l'estudi, el 7,5% dels originaris de Romania resideixen a la zona de rambla de Ferran-Estació; un 6,3%, al Barri Antic; un 5,5%, a Príncep de Viana-Clot, i un 5,2%, a Balàfia i Cappont. Així mateix, un 9% dels marroquins viuen al Centre Històric; un 7,8%, a rambla de Ferran-Estació, i un 5,2%, a la Mariola. Els colombians estan més repartits i els percentatges més elevats són al Barri Antic (1,7%) i Universitat (1,5%). Per contra, els barris amb menys estrangers empadronats, on gairebé no en viu cap, són Llívia i Ciutat Jardí.
diari segre
Un estudi constata que en 53 carrers del Barri Antic hi viuen més estrangers que autòctons
No Urbanisme // Nou Urbanisme nourbanisme@gmail.com
lunes, 14 de febrero de 2011
lunes, 7 de febrero de 2011
La Construcción y los NINIS
El auge del ladrillo disparó el fracaso escolar en España
El 31% de los jóvenes no termina la Educación Secundaria Obligatoria, según un informe de la Comisión Europea
D. BASTEIRO / A. FLOTATS Bruselas / Madrid 01/02/
España dobla la media europea en abandono escolar
La crisis llegó a la educación mucho antes que los problemas financieros o el estallido del paro. En realidad, fue durante los años de mayor bonanza económica cuando España se desmarcó de los países de su entorno en el aumento del abandono escolar. Un 31,2% de los estudiantes que tienen entre 18 y 24 años deja las aulas en España, según los datos de un informe de la Comisión Europea presentado ayer y que analiza la evolución entre los años 2000 y 2009. La tasa duplica el registro europeo y sitúa a España entre los países con peor resultado, junto a Portugal y Malta. La burbuja inmobiliaria, un reclamo para los jóvenes que buscaban dinero fácil, y la mala integración de los ciudadanos inmigrantes explican las cifras, según la comisaria de Educación, Androulla Vassiliou, que presentó ayer el informe.
Dos crisis después la educativa y la económica, el panorama es incierto para los llamados ni-ni; es decir, los jóvenes que ni estudian ni trabajan. "Muchos jóvenes en España abandonaron los estudios atraídos por la demanda de empleos de baja cualificación en sectores como la construcción señaló Vassiliou, pero con la crisis se quedaron sin trabajo y ahora no saben donde ir", lamentó ante la prensa.
La tasa de desempleo juvenil duplica la media europea
Un 51% de los estudiantes españoles que dejaron sus estudios antes de completarlos no tiene hoy trabajo, pasando a engrosar la lista del desempleo juvenil, que también duplica la media europea.
Los datos del informe indican además que, una década después, España es el único de los tres países a la cola en la estadística que no ha mejorado su marca de fracaso escolar. Mientras que Malta, con una tasa del 38%, y Portugal, con la misma que España, consiguieron retener a más alumnos en las aulas, en España el índice creció en 7,2 puntos.
"Estudiar no sirve de nada"
"Prefería trabajar y tener dinero para hacer mi vida", cuenta Abraham
Abraham Wennberg fue uno de esos alumnos que dejaron el instituto antes de tiempo. Tiene 29 años, abandonó los estudios a los 16 y desde entonces ha tenido 12 trabajos diferentes. "Era mal estudiante y muy problemático, por eso me echaban de todas partes", recuerda este barcelonés, hoy camarero con contrato mileurista. Abraham se reenganchó a la Educación Secundaria Obligatoria (ESO) tras suspender el octavo curso del anterior sistema educativo, la EGB. No terminó tampoco el nivel equivalente en la ESO (tercero) y empezó un ciclo de Formación Profesional en Electricidad. Lo echaron a los pocos meses y, con 16 años, encontró el primer trabajo de su vida: mensajero a pie y en bicicleta.
Luego lo dejó y estuvo un año sin hacer nada, hasta que su madre le obligó a elegir entre el trabajo o los estudios. Abraham escogió lo segundo, pero sólo aguantó dos trimestres de tercero de la ESO.
Esa fue su última experiencia académica. A partir de ahí, este joven empieza una lista interminable de trabajos de lo más variopinto: repartidor de pizzas, monitor de comedor escolar, auxiliar administrativo, cajero en un centro recreativo, vendedor de discos, vigilante de seguridad, mozo de cuadra, teleoperador y camarero.
En estos 12 años, Abraham vivió en pisos compartidos, volvió a casa de su madre, ocupó una vivienda abandonada y pasó varios meses en el Ejército hasta que lo echaron: "Era la manera de no gastar en alquiler ni en comida. Además, me podía sacar la ESO y el carnet de conducir", recuerda.
Abraham tratará de sacarse el "maldito" tercero de la ESO en una escuela de adultos dentro de dos meses. Aun así, no se arrepiente de haber dejado los estudios a los 16 años: "No creo en el sistema educativo. Estudiar no soluciona nada. Y si no que se lo digan a los licenciados que ahora están en la calle", sentencia. "A los 16 años, no quería hacer nada de lo que me ofrecían. Prefería trabajar y tener dinero para hacer mi vida. Ahora es diferente, hay más variedad", admite Abraham, que ahora estudia, dice, porque tiene tiempo y se lo puede permitir.
Meta en 2020
La Unión Europea se ha fijado como objetivo rebajar la tasa al 10% en 2020, una meta ya alcanzada por siete países, entre los que se encuentra Finlandia, Austria y varios de los nuevos miembros del este del continente. A los restantes, la comisaria de Educación recomendó inversión pese a la crisis para dar una segunda oportunidad a las víctimas del boom inmobiliario.
La comisaria advirtió de que el modelo productivo ha de reorientarse hacia la capacitación laboral y la competitividad, el principal punto flaco de la economía española a largo plazo. Es necesario "atraer a los jóvenes a la formación profesional", según Vassiliou, "porque en el futuro se necesitarán más calificaciones para lograr trabajo", alertó. Según ella, el Gobierno también deberá poner de su parte, mejorando el atractivo de los planes de estudio e incorporando disciplinas que interesen tanto a los jóvenes como a sus futuros empleadores.
De hecho, el ministro de Educación, Ángel Gabilondo, aseguró ayer que uno de los "desafíos" de su departamento es que el fracaso escolar se reduzca al 20% en 2013 y llegue a alcanzar el 15% en 2020. La manera de lograrlo es, según el ministro, prolongar la permanencia en la formación. Para ello, el sistema debe ser "más flexible", afirmó Gabilondo, quien recordó que la Ley de Economía Sostenible, pendiente de aprobación, ya recoge que el último año de la ESO tenga un carácter más orientador y haya "optatividad para ir en una dirección o en otra".
El ministro de Educación también advirtió que el fracaso escolar "no se valora igual en todos los países", y en ese punto coincide con el presidente de la Confederación Española de Asociaciones de Padres de Alumnos (Ceapa), Pedro Rascón, que apunta que las cifras de la Comisión Europea "son relativas". "En España cada vez hay más jóvenes titulados, lo que indica que, aunque muchos alumnos no se graduen cuando toca, algunos lo hacen más tarde y se reenganchan al sistema educativo", apunta.
La responsabilidad de los sistemas educativos es estrictamente nacional. En algunos países, como en España, está además transferida a las comunidades autónomas. En este sentido, los datos varían entre las autonomías y guardan relación con la situación económica. Por último, el informe pone de manifiesto que los hijos de inmigrantes abandonan antes los estudios. Un 26% de ellos dejan las aulas, una cifra que aumenta hasta superar el 40% en países como España, Italia o Grecia.
El 31% de los jóvenes no termina la Educación Secundaria Obligatoria, según un informe de la Comisión Europea
D. BASTEIRO / A. FLOTATS Bruselas / Madrid 01/02/
España dobla la media europea en abandono escolar
La crisis llegó a la educación mucho antes que los problemas financieros o el estallido del paro. En realidad, fue durante los años de mayor bonanza económica cuando España se desmarcó de los países de su entorno en el aumento del abandono escolar. Un 31,2% de los estudiantes que tienen entre 18 y 24 años deja las aulas en España, según los datos de un informe de la Comisión Europea presentado ayer y que analiza la evolución entre los años 2000 y 2009. La tasa duplica el registro europeo y sitúa a España entre los países con peor resultado, junto a Portugal y Malta. La burbuja inmobiliaria, un reclamo para los jóvenes que buscaban dinero fácil, y la mala integración de los ciudadanos inmigrantes explican las cifras, según la comisaria de Educación, Androulla Vassiliou, que presentó ayer el informe.
Dos crisis después la educativa y la económica, el panorama es incierto para los llamados ni-ni; es decir, los jóvenes que ni estudian ni trabajan. "Muchos jóvenes en España abandonaron los estudios atraídos por la demanda de empleos de baja cualificación en sectores como la construcción señaló Vassiliou, pero con la crisis se quedaron sin trabajo y ahora no saben donde ir", lamentó ante la prensa.
La tasa de desempleo juvenil duplica la media europea
Un 51% de los estudiantes españoles que dejaron sus estudios antes de completarlos no tiene hoy trabajo, pasando a engrosar la lista del desempleo juvenil, que también duplica la media europea.
Los datos del informe indican además que, una década después, España es el único de los tres países a la cola en la estadística que no ha mejorado su marca de fracaso escolar. Mientras que Malta, con una tasa del 38%, y Portugal, con la misma que España, consiguieron retener a más alumnos en las aulas, en España el índice creció en 7,2 puntos.
"Estudiar no sirve de nada"
"Prefería trabajar y tener dinero para hacer mi vida", cuenta Abraham
Abraham Wennberg fue uno de esos alumnos que dejaron el instituto antes de tiempo. Tiene 29 años, abandonó los estudios a los 16 y desde entonces ha tenido 12 trabajos diferentes. "Era mal estudiante y muy problemático, por eso me echaban de todas partes", recuerda este barcelonés, hoy camarero con contrato mileurista. Abraham se reenganchó a la Educación Secundaria Obligatoria (ESO) tras suspender el octavo curso del anterior sistema educativo, la EGB. No terminó tampoco el nivel equivalente en la ESO (tercero) y empezó un ciclo de Formación Profesional en Electricidad. Lo echaron a los pocos meses y, con 16 años, encontró el primer trabajo de su vida: mensajero a pie y en bicicleta.
Luego lo dejó y estuvo un año sin hacer nada, hasta que su madre le obligó a elegir entre el trabajo o los estudios. Abraham escogió lo segundo, pero sólo aguantó dos trimestres de tercero de la ESO.
Esa fue su última experiencia académica. A partir de ahí, este joven empieza una lista interminable de trabajos de lo más variopinto: repartidor de pizzas, monitor de comedor escolar, auxiliar administrativo, cajero en un centro recreativo, vendedor de discos, vigilante de seguridad, mozo de cuadra, teleoperador y camarero.
En estos 12 años, Abraham vivió en pisos compartidos, volvió a casa de su madre, ocupó una vivienda abandonada y pasó varios meses en el Ejército hasta que lo echaron: "Era la manera de no gastar en alquiler ni en comida. Además, me podía sacar la ESO y el carnet de conducir", recuerda.
Abraham tratará de sacarse el "maldito" tercero de la ESO en una escuela de adultos dentro de dos meses. Aun así, no se arrepiente de haber dejado los estudios a los 16 años: "No creo en el sistema educativo. Estudiar no soluciona nada. Y si no que se lo digan a los licenciados que ahora están en la calle", sentencia. "A los 16 años, no quería hacer nada de lo que me ofrecían. Prefería trabajar y tener dinero para hacer mi vida. Ahora es diferente, hay más variedad", admite Abraham, que ahora estudia, dice, porque tiene tiempo y se lo puede permitir.
Meta en 2020
La Unión Europea se ha fijado como objetivo rebajar la tasa al 10% en 2020, una meta ya alcanzada por siete países, entre los que se encuentra Finlandia, Austria y varios de los nuevos miembros del este del continente. A los restantes, la comisaria de Educación recomendó inversión pese a la crisis para dar una segunda oportunidad a las víctimas del boom inmobiliario.
La comisaria advirtió de que el modelo productivo ha de reorientarse hacia la capacitación laboral y la competitividad, el principal punto flaco de la economía española a largo plazo. Es necesario "atraer a los jóvenes a la formación profesional", según Vassiliou, "porque en el futuro se necesitarán más calificaciones para lograr trabajo", alertó. Según ella, el Gobierno también deberá poner de su parte, mejorando el atractivo de los planes de estudio e incorporando disciplinas que interesen tanto a los jóvenes como a sus futuros empleadores.
De hecho, el ministro de Educación, Ángel Gabilondo, aseguró ayer que uno de los "desafíos" de su departamento es que el fracaso escolar se reduzca al 20% en 2013 y llegue a alcanzar el 15% en 2020. La manera de lograrlo es, según el ministro, prolongar la permanencia en la formación. Para ello, el sistema debe ser "más flexible", afirmó Gabilondo, quien recordó que la Ley de Economía Sostenible, pendiente de aprobación, ya recoge que el último año de la ESO tenga un carácter más orientador y haya "optatividad para ir en una dirección o en otra".
El ministro de Educación también advirtió que el fracaso escolar "no se valora igual en todos los países", y en ese punto coincide con el presidente de la Confederación Española de Asociaciones de Padres de Alumnos (Ceapa), Pedro Rascón, que apunta que las cifras de la Comisión Europea "son relativas". "En España cada vez hay más jóvenes titulados, lo que indica que, aunque muchos alumnos no se graduen cuando toca, algunos lo hacen más tarde y se reenganchan al sistema educativo", apunta.
La responsabilidad de los sistemas educativos es estrictamente nacional. En algunos países, como en España, está además transferida a las comunidades autónomas. En este sentido, los datos varían entre las autonomías y guardan relación con la situación económica. Por último, el informe pone de manifiesto que los hijos de inmigrantes abandonan antes los estudios. Un 26% de ellos dejan las aulas, una cifra que aumenta hasta superar el 40% en países como España, Italia o Grecia.
jueves, 3 de febrero de 2011
Territori: dues lògiques
Publicat a Avui 26/01/11 02:00 - Josep Oliva i Casasemail
“Cal fer compatible la tecnologia, que cada dia va avançant, amb el respecte en la manera de tractar-ho tot, siguin organismes vius o elements físics inanimats”
En el tractament del territori hi ha, per una part, els requeriments i les exigències de cara al manteniment de la Terra (versió Gaia), és a dir, la preservació de les condicions de vida del planeta. És el que es pot etiquetar com a lògica ecològica. Pensem, però, que el terme ecològic es refereix, estrictament, a aspectes biològics i de medi ambient. Per altra part també hi ha la necessitat i el dret dels humans a tenir un hàbitat digne. Ho qualifico de lògica humana, o que també podríem anomenar, en general, urbanística i, en el cas específic de les ciutats, es podria parlar de lògica urbana. Ara bé, dins d'aquest apartat cal afegir els valors paisatgístics els quals pertanyen al camp de l'estètica. Pensem que el concepte de paisatge és veure el territori amb ulls culturals, i, en aquest sentit, el paisatge el fabrica l'home. Amb això encara no s'esgota aquesta lògica perquè, a part de la consideració del paisatge, hi ha un altre component que és l'economia, un factor que l'urbanista mai ha d'oblidar.
Per tant, la lògica ecològica i la lògica humana són els dos eixos al voltant dels quals gira el tractament del territori, però estan contraposats perquè responen a interessos ben diferents. El repte és conjugar-los bé, és a dir, de manera equilibrada. La veritat és que resulta difícil combinar les dues lògiques inclosos els dos elements complementaris adherits a la lògica humana, els quals, al seu torn, són imprescindibles per encaminar-nos cap a societats que subministrin qualitat de vida. I, en aquest sentit, seria bo recordar el principi budista que defensa aconseguir el màxim benestar amb el mínim consum perquè, fora d'aquest entorn òptim, caiem en el consum desaforat que porta a malmetre el planeta. En l'altre extrem, també podríem caure en el que seria l'integrisme ecològic. En definitiva, és un tractament de globalitat, sotmès a un equilibri entre els quatre factors. A més a més, pel que fa a ambdues lògiques caldria intentar frenar l'explosió demogràfica i, alhora, posar en qüestió les baixes densitats en l'edificació.
Tot això s'hauria de traduir en el fet de deixar empremtes de qualitat sobre el territori. I vol dir que cal fer-ho sense deteriorar el medi ambient, sense anar contra la sostenibilitat, tenint en compte la lògica humana, sent sensibles al paisatge i no perdent de vista les necessitats de l'economia al servei de les persones. És a dir: 1) actuar respectant el planeta, 2) construir un hàbitat adient per a la població, 3) conservar i potenciar els valors paisatgístics, 4) afavorir el desenvolupament de l'economia. Reitero que aquesta tasca no és fàcil. Sovint ens trobem amb l'enfrontament idealisme versus pragmatisme que origina molts dubtes pel que fa a les solucions a propugnar. Cal fer compatible la tecnologia, que cada dia va avançant, amb el respecte en la manera de tractar-ho tot, siguin organismes vius o elements físics inanimats.
Ara bé, aquest plantejament necessita intervencionisme polític, i ha d'anar-ne acompanyat, però amb la condició que hi hagi idees clares i amb el compromís d'implementar-les. I, naturalment, ha de posar l'interès general per sobre dels interessos particulars. Sense la gestió de l'administració pública és gairebé impossible que es facin intervencions de qualitat en el territori i amb visió de futur, és a dir, a mitjà i llarg termini. Aquesta exigència és, evidentment, contrària al liberalisme aplicat a l'urbanisme. Més que mai, avui en dia no ens podem permetre fer polítiques del laissez-faire.
“Cal fer compatible la tecnologia, que cada dia va avançant, amb el respecte en la manera de tractar-ho tot, siguin organismes vius o elements físics inanimats”
En el tractament del territori hi ha, per una part, els requeriments i les exigències de cara al manteniment de la Terra (versió Gaia), és a dir, la preservació de les condicions de vida del planeta. És el que es pot etiquetar com a lògica ecològica. Pensem, però, que el terme ecològic es refereix, estrictament, a aspectes biològics i de medi ambient. Per altra part també hi ha la necessitat i el dret dels humans a tenir un hàbitat digne. Ho qualifico de lògica humana, o que també podríem anomenar, en general, urbanística i, en el cas específic de les ciutats, es podria parlar de lògica urbana. Ara bé, dins d'aquest apartat cal afegir els valors paisatgístics els quals pertanyen al camp de l'estètica. Pensem que el concepte de paisatge és veure el territori amb ulls culturals, i, en aquest sentit, el paisatge el fabrica l'home. Amb això encara no s'esgota aquesta lògica perquè, a part de la consideració del paisatge, hi ha un altre component que és l'economia, un factor que l'urbanista mai ha d'oblidar.
Per tant, la lògica ecològica i la lògica humana són els dos eixos al voltant dels quals gira el tractament del territori, però estan contraposats perquè responen a interessos ben diferents. El repte és conjugar-los bé, és a dir, de manera equilibrada. La veritat és que resulta difícil combinar les dues lògiques inclosos els dos elements complementaris adherits a la lògica humana, els quals, al seu torn, són imprescindibles per encaminar-nos cap a societats que subministrin qualitat de vida. I, en aquest sentit, seria bo recordar el principi budista que defensa aconseguir el màxim benestar amb el mínim consum perquè, fora d'aquest entorn òptim, caiem en el consum desaforat que porta a malmetre el planeta. En l'altre extrem, també podríem caure en el que seria l'integrisme ecològic. En definitiva, és un tractament de globalitat, sotmès a un equilibri entre els quatre factors. A més a més, pel que fa a ambdues lògiques caldria intentar frenar l'explosió demogràfica i, alhora, posar en qüestió les baixes densitats en l'edificació.
Tot això s'hauria de traduir en el fet de deixar empremtes de qualitat sobre el territori. I vol dir que cal fer-ho sense deteriorar el medi ambient, sense anar contra la sostenibilitat, tenint en compte la lògica humana, sent sensibles al paisatge i no perdent de vista les necessitats de l'economia al servei de les persones. És a dir: 1) actuar respectant el planeta, 2) construir un hàbitat adient per a la població, 3) conservar i potenciar els valors paisatgístics, 4) afavorir el desenvolupament de l'economia. Reitero que aquesta tasca no és fàcil. Sovint ens trobem amb l'enfrontament idealisme versus pragmatisme que origina molts dubtes pel que fa a les solucions a propugnar. Cal fer compatible la tecnologia, que cada dia va avançant, amb el respecte en la manera de tractar-ho tot, siguin organismes vius o elements físics inanimats.
Ara bé, aquest plantejament necessita intervencionisme polític, i ha d'anar-ne acompanyat, però amb la condició que hi hagi idees clares i amb el compromís d'implementar-les. I, naturalment, ha de posar l'interès general per sobre dels interessos particulars. Sense la gestió de l'administració pública és gairebé impossible que es facin intervencions de qualitat en el territori i amb visió de futur, és a dir, a mitjà i llarg termini. Aquesta exigència és, evidentment, contrària al liberalisme aplicat a l'urbanisme. Més que mai, avui en dia no ens podem permetre fer polítiques del laissez-faire.
A case for active preservation
An op-ed from Barcelona by Mario Ballesteros
Is preservation really inertia as Koolhaas maintains? Perhaps it's time that architects take on the task of giving life to innovative prospects for the reinterpretation of the past
Who would have thought it: The Past is the Next Big Thing.
Historic preservation is all the rage in avant-garde design journals and in the core curriculums of chic new architecture schools (Strelka), a hot conversational topic in online forums and art-crowd dinner parties. How exactly has preservation made a comeback and what opportunities does it hold for contemporary architecture?
At last year's Venice Biennale, in typically timely fashion and under a title worthy of a Mexican wrestling movie villain (Cronocaos), Rem Koolhaas approached the "under-explored" theme of preservation with his infallible mix of hard facts, intentionally messy collage and pumped-up rhetoric. He described 2010 as a point of "perfect intersection" for two tendencies in architecture: preservation and destruction.
Preservation isn't a new theme for Koolhaas. In 2004, he published a short piece titled Preservation is Overtaking Us. Along with Cronocaos, this text sums up the architect's views on the subject, which can be outlined schematically as: 1) The interest in preservation rises from a continued obsession with the past, 2) Preservation offers architects the possibility of inaction, and 3) Everything is now susceptible to preservation. To what degree are these assumptions, developed four years before the current economic debacle, practically at the height of the boom, still valid?
1. Obsession with the past
The budding interest and newfound relevance of preservation in architecture isn't born from an "obsession with the past," as the brief for Cronocaos affirms, but from a wariness of the present and concern for the immediate future.
The recession has pushed many architects away from building, and forced them into a standstill. Moments of uncertainty often lead to pause and careful consideration of what should or shouldn't be done next, what should be kept and what should be discarded. Coincidentally, this is also the basic focus of architectural preservation. In the deepest sense, preservation is a perfect strategy for moments of radical transition: it stems not only from fear or nostalgia, but also from a survival instinct. (Self-preservation, anyone?)
2. Inaction
Is preservation really a matter of inaction, "an architecture that does nothing," (Preservation is Overtaking Us) as Koolhaas has implied? In a way, preservation does oppose specific actions (destruction or construction), but it is never about "doing nothing." Preservation requires recording and studying and choosing and debating and occasionally fighting.
Preservation might oppose destruction or construction, but it always turns to reconstruction: of buildings, their histories, their briefs, their contexts. In this sense, preservation is as much about research, documentation, interpretation, and disclosure, as it is about physical conservation.
Perhaps it is time for architects to assume a role in generating critical, innovative, and relevant approaches to reconstructing the past. (Particularly the recent past.) Go out! Recover! Collect! Dig! Document! Hurl the important questions to the faces of those that got us here: developers, financiers, politicians, supposed role models and mentors.
Look in front of you: thousands of empty, crappy apartments in the peripheries of just about any city. Piles of construction debris from interrupted projects, and piles of paperwork detailing dubious transactions and backroom deals. Suburban tract houses and mini McMansions left to the wilderness like Mayan ruins. Towering resort skeletons left standing at half their projected height. The obscene, gaping holes of base excavations for failed skyscrapers, waiting hungry for a totem that will never come to fill them up.
In contexts of crisis, architectural preservation—of buildings, but also of structures, archives, discarded or abandoned plans, as well as other minutiae and ephemeral documentation—becomes an indispensable tool for critical, political, and historical disclosure. Historical value, in this sense, transcends formal architectural merit. Preservation needs to move away from nostalgia and surface; it needs to be cold, clinical, and combative.
A call to account, not to inaction.
3. Preserve everything?
If indeed "preservation is overtaking us," if it is no longer a retroactive, but proactive activity, if "everything we inhabit is potentially susceptible to preservation," then, the key question is not what to preserve, but if we should preserve everything. At a time when preservation no longer focuses only on buildings, but "on human experience itself" (Jorge Otero-Pailos), the task of preserving everything seems daunting, bordering on the absurd.
Should we preserve everything? Koolhaas says no. Both "Preservation…" and Cronocaos propose alternatives: a "bar code" for cities with random, alternating, strips of space that "could either be preserved forever or systematically scraped," or a number of guidelines for the obliteration of what AMO considers "Insignificant Universal Junk": "parts of the cultural or natural heritage [that] are insignificant and transient and therefore need to be demolished to facilitate the growth and development of mankind as a whole…" (Designboom) These might be controversial, thought-provoking measures, but they aren't viable solutions. Preservation cannot be left to chance, and the truth is that, in some cases, even junk needs to be preserved, because it's bad for us, and we have to remember that. Leftover or discarded products of corporate or official culture might seem insignificant, but they are never devoid of meaning and cues.
Preserving the ruins of the contemporary is no romantic endeavor. Architects and preservationists should keep in mind Kevin Lynch's simple yet powerful observation: "wastes are full of information." (Wasting Away. An Exploration of Waste: What It Is, How It Happens, Why We Fear It, How To Do It Well , San Francisco, Sierra Club, 1990, 79). An active, almost immediate move in preservation (or at least documentation, analysis, etc.) is needed to salvage evidence among the spoils of the current building debacle and finding ways out of it. If we can't achieve any sort of consensus as to what is, or what might be valuable or not, and if the "wrenching simultaneity of preservation and destruction [is] destroying [our] sense of a linear evolution of time" (Venice Architecture Biennale 2010) is sandwiching past, present, and future together at a dizzying speed; perhaps we need to begin by asking ourselves how to preserve everything, to which degree, through which strategies.
Perhaps it is time that, instead of lingering on naive utopias, or fixating on formal acrobatics, experimental and digital practices in architecture were put to a better use. Designing mechanisms for preservation and disclosure—through digital reconstruction, archiving and safekeeping, opening up workflow and legal records, building community-based architectural repositories, open spatial registers, digital memory imprints, etc.—could be a good way to begin. Just a thought.
Mario Ballesteros is an editor and researcher based in Barcelona. He sporadically blogs at Mañanarama
lunes, 17 de enero de 2011
Minimalism, An Obituary " the death of nothing"
The Death of Nothing
Architectural Minimalism rose again from the ground this week. Still not dead, it is 38.
Of course, the undead usually don’t get obiturized. That’s because the undead exist outside of those fundamental human frameworks of beginning and end, outside of the narrative arcs that we project onto the world around us. For the undead, there’s no life support machine to turn off, no last words, no final curtain.
In myths, we can finish off the undead with silver bullets, a stake through the heart or by slicing their heads clean off. In real life though, the undead are harder to destroy. They drift on, unchecked through eternity like debris through space. But maybe, in the real world, an obituary might just be the thing to do it. Maybe an obituary is not just a catalogue of the slings and arrows of a particular life form. Maybe it could gain a little agency. Maybe, in some occult manner, an obituary could perform proactively.
So, we come here to bury Minimalism, despite its own protestations. Don’t listen to its pleas as we throw handfuls of soil onto its grave. For all of us, even for Minimalism, scratching against the lid of its sublime onyx coffin down there, this is really for the best.
According to previous architectural obiturists, Modernism died at 3 p.m. on March 16, 1972, in St. Louis, with the demolition of the Pruitt-Igoe housing complex. But unnoticed at the time, something rose from the clouds of dust, a spectral architectural form. Minimalism was born—not alive, not dead—in this moment, a ghostly incarnation of one half of its genetic forbear just at the moment of death, like a soul leaving a corpse.
Minimalism sprung from the loins of an unlikely union. On one side of its heritage lies Modernism. The Big M, Continental Modernism, complete with revolutionary zeal and commitment to social progress, bearing its utopian dream and its belief that the very substance of architecture might be able to deliver this shining vision.
The other half of its DNA derives from a condition of totalized and singular aesthetic refinement—of high taste, of aesthetic rightness, of absolute disengagement with the world. A kind of nihilist perfection where things, rather than lives, are ordered, whose grand family tree stretches back through the ages. Its names have been legion, though we might call its secret constancy ”Aesthetic.” Throughout time, its power has operated through slight of hand, its invisible maneuvers assimilating opposition and threat through deployment of the most despicable of all tactics: irresistible cold-hearted beauty.
That Minimalism should emerge from these progenitors is the kind of tragedy that would have resonated with the Greeks. Earlier in the century, Modernism had attempted to assassinate Aesthetic, to overthrow its grip on the throat of culture and society, on the hierarchies of power and economics. Minimalism then was born out of this troubled relationship: out of Aesthetics’ anger at Modernism’s murderous intent, like a child of Hera whose sole purpose was to enact matriarchal revenge.
Out of the dust of Pruitt-Igoe, out of the collapse of belief in architecture’s social program, out of the dissolution of planning and the state, out of everything that Modernism had hoped for architecture—and the world—rose Minimalism. To look at it, you might be forgiven for mistaking it for its dead parent. It has the same eyes, the same frame, the same build. It is, as they say, the spit. This, of course, is part of its curse. Minimalism is condemned to reenact the aesthetics of Modernism cut free from politics and program. Its emptiness is a statement of victory of Aesthetics over everything else. Each iteration is a victory party, a dance on the grave of what will now never happen.
Minimalism is the undead form of Modernism, animated by Aesthetics. Like Ed Gein cavorting in suits made from the skin of his victims, Minimalism is a perverted and psychotic condition. It is there every time we look at something beautifully Modern. Its simplicity, its order, its calmness, its smoothness are displayed like the severed heads on Traitors’ Gate: a beautiful warning to architecture. The real perversion? Architects willingly and joyfully enact this macabre ritual.
Though it’s not really alive, it’s all around us, multiplying with a fury. It’s there in every bathroom ever designed by John Pawson—especially those fucking baths. It’s written huge as though it were real by David Chipperfield. It swirls around in the Conran Shop. Its shadow falls over the IKEAn mass-dissemination of design. It’s there whenever you see a shadow gap. Its there when critics type the word “elegant.” It haunts us all.
Minimalism then is the erection of false history, a zombie culture, a hollow laugh at the failure of architecture. A kind of anti-architecture, replaying Modernism’s tropes to opposite ends. Not utopia, not social progress, not a better world, but an ultimate and mesmerizing nihilism.
Like all the undead, we can suppose its only real desire is for death’s release, for an end, for its animation by an external agent to cease. Which is where we started: an obituary for something that isn’t dead, but was never alive, yet is everywhere, all the time. Maybe we should write obituaries where once we wrote manifestos.
Edited by Strange Harvest is edited by Sam Jacob
Sam is a director of FAT, contributing editor to Icon, columnist for Art Review and teaches at the AA and Yale
Architectural Minimalism rose again from the ground this week. Still not dead, it is 38.
Of course, the undead usually don’t get obiturized. That’s because the undead exist outside of those fundamental human frameworks of beginning and end, outside of the narrative arcs that we project onto the world around us. For the undead, there’s no life support machine to turn off, no last words, no final curtain.
In myths, we can finish off the undead with silver bullets, a stake through the heart or by slicing their heads clean off. In real life though, the undead are harder to destroy. They drift on, unchecked through eternity like debris through space. But maybe, in the real world, an obituary might just be the thing to do it. Maybe an obituary is not just a catalogue of the slings and arrows of a particular life form. Maybe it could gain a little agency. Maybe, in some occult manner, an obituary could perform proactively.
So, we come here to bury Minimalism, despite its own protestations. Don’t listen to its pleas as we throw handfuls of soil onto its grave. For all of us, even for Minimalism, scratching against the lid of its sublime onyx coffin down there, this is really for the best.
According to previous architectural obiturists, Modernism died at 3 p.m. on March 16, 1972, in St. Louis, with the demolition of the Pruitt-Igoe housing complex. But unnoticed at the time, something rose from the clouds of dust, a spectral architectural form. Minimalism was born—not alive, not dead—in this moment, a ghostly incarnation of one half of its genetic forbear just at the moment of death, like a soul leaving a corpse.
Minimalism sprung from the loins of an unlikely union. On one side of its heritage lies Modernism. The Big M, Continental Modernism, complete with revolutionary zeal and commitment to social progress, bearing its utopian dream and its belief that the very substance of architecture might be able to deliver this shining vision.
The other half of its DNA derives from a condition of totalized and singular aesthetic refinement—of high taste, of aesthetic rightness, of absolute disengagement with the world. A kind of nihilist perfection where things, rather than lives, are ordered, whose grand family tree stretches back through the ages. Its names have been legion, though we might call its secret constancy ”Aesthetic.” Throughout time, its power has operated through slight of hand, its invisible maneuvers assimilating opposition and threat through deployment of the most despicable of all tactics: irresistible cold-hearted beauty.
That Minimalism should emerge from these progenitors is the kind of tragedy that would have resonated with the Greeks. Earlier in the century, Modernism had attempted to assassinate Aesthetic, to overthrow its grip on the throat of culture and society, on the hierarchies of power and economics. Minimalism then was born out of this troubled relationship: out of Aesthetics’ anger at Modernism’s murderous intent, like a child of Hera whose sole purpose was to enact matriarchal revenge.
Out of the dust of Pruitt-Igoe, out of the collapse of belief in architecture’s social program, out of the dissolution of planning and the state, out of everything that Modernism had hoped for architecture—and the world—rose Minimalism. To look at it, you might be forgiven for mistaking it for its dead parent. It has the same eyes, the same frame, the same build. It is, as they say, the spit. This, of course, is part of its curse. Minimalism is condemned to reenact the aesthetics of Modernism cut free from politics and program. Its emptiness is a statement of victory of Aesthetics over everything else. Each iteration is a victory party, a dance on the grave of what will now never happen.
Minimalism is the undead form of Modernism, animated by Aesthetics. Like Ed Gein cavorting in suits made from the skin of his victims, Minimalism is a perverted and psychotic condition. It is there every time we look at something beautifully Modern. Its simplicity, its order, its calmness, its smoothness are displayed like the severed heads on Traitors’ Gate: a beautiful warning to architecture. The real perversion? Architects willingly and joyfully enact this macabre ritual.
Though it’s not really alive, it’s all around us, multiplying with a fury. It’s there in every bathroom ever designed by John Pawson—especially those fucking baths. It’s written huge as though it were real by David Chipperfield. It swirls around in the Conran Shop. Its shadow falls over the IKEAn mass-dissemination of design. It’s there whenever you see a shadow gap. Its there when critics type the word “elegant.” It haunts us all.
Minimalism then is the erection of false history, a zombie culture, a hollow laugh at the failure of architecture. A kind of anti-architecture, replaying Modernism’s tropes to opposite ends. Not utopia, not social progress, not a better world, but an ultimate and mesmerizing nihilism.
Like all the undead, we can suppose its only real desire is for death’s release, for an end, for its animation by an external agent to cease. Which is where we started: an obituary for something that isn’t dead, but was never alive, yet is everywhere, all the time. Maybe we should write obituaries where once we wrote manifestos.
Edited by Strange Harvest is edited by Sam Jacob
Sam is a director of FAT, contributing editor to Icon, columnist for Art Review and teaches at the AA and Yale
viernes, 7 de enero de 2011
Los Angeles boasts lowest homicide rate in 40 years
Los Angeles boasts lowest homicide rate in 40 years
Emily Henry | 1-4-2011
The LAPD reported a total of 297 homicides in the city this year, making it the quietest year for murder since 1967.
“I am proud to announce that last year the City suffered fewer murders than at any point since 1967," said Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa during press conference. "This is not just a year-end statistic; it is perhaps the most powerful statement on the state of our city and our Police Department."
More than 40 years have passed since the total number of homicides in the city equaled less than 300.
LAPD Chief Charlie Beck hailed the men and women of the police force for their part in homicide reduction, but added: "There are more lives that can be saved. Working together with our communities, the LAPD will be committed to doing just that in 2011."
The drop in homicides represents a five percent decrease since 2009, and a 22 percent decrease since 2008. Murder rates have continued to fall in the past few years, declining by one third since 2007. With fewer than 300 murders in 2010, the city has experienced a 75 percent drop in homicides since 1992, when murders peaked to 1,092.
Homicides have been decreasing throughout the county, with a total of 596 murders in 2010. The year previous, 2009, saw 739 homicides in L.A. In 2008, there were 879 murders and in 2007 there were 939. Factoring in population, 2010 represents the lowest homicide rate per capita since 1964. In 1992, the most recent peak of violent crime in Los Angeles, there were 3.09 homicides per 10,000 people. In 2010, there were 0.74 homicides per 10,000 people.
“Even during tough economic times, we have kept our sights on a more hopeful, promising and safer future and the statistics once again shed light on a much brighter outcome for our City," said Villaraigosa. "Our unwavering commitment to public safety has yielded tangible results and has saved lives.”
The LAPD Valley Bureau saw the greatest reduction in homicides, with an 11.76 percent drop since 2009. The Central Bureau, however, reported an increase from 93 to 95 killings in the area from 2009 to 2010.
Although the year ended well statistically, a slew of murders around the Christmas period included four killings on Christmas Eve and five murders on Christmas Day. Both 2007 and 2009 had fewer murders on Christmas Day, with 10 murders on Christmas Day in 2008.
Statistics and graph from LAPD Online.
Emily Henry | 1-4-2011
The LAPD reported a total of 297 homicides in the city this year, making it the quietest year for murder since 1967.
“I am proud to announce that last year the City suffered fewer murders than at any point since 1967," said Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa during press conference. "This is not just a year-end statistic; it is perhaps the most powerful statement on the state of our city and our Police Department."
More than 40 years have passed since the total number of homicides in the city equaled less than 300.
LAPD Chief Charlie Beck hailed the men and women of the police force for their part in homicide reduction, but added: "There are more lives that can be saved. Working together with our communities, the LAPD will be committed to doing just that in 2011."
The drop in homicides represents a five percent decrease since 2009, and a 22 percent decrease since 2008. Murder rates have continued to fall in the past few years, declining by one third since 2007. With fewer than 300 murders in 2010, the city has experienced a 75 percent drop in homicides since 1992, when murders peaked to 1,092.
Homicides have been decreasing throughout the county, with a total of 596 murders in 2010. The year previous, 2009, saw 739 homicides in L.A. In 2008, there were 879 murders and in 2007 there were 939. Factoring in population, 2010 represents the lowest homicide rate per capita since 1964. In 1992, the most recent peak of violent crime in Los Angeles, there were 3.09 homicides per 10,000 people. In 2010, there were 0.74 homicides per 10,000 people.
“Even during tough economic times, we have kept our sights on a more hopeful, promising and safer future and the statistics once again shed light on a much brighter outcome for our City," said Villaraigosa. "Our unwavering commitment to public safety has yielded tangible results and has saved lives.”
The LAPD Valley Bureau saw the greatest reduction in homicides, with an 11.76 percent drop since 2009. The Central Bureau, however, reported an increase from 93 to 95 killings in the area from 2009 to 2010.
Although the year ended well statistically, a slew of murders around the Christmas period included four killings on Christmas Eve and five murders on Christmas Day. Both 2007 and 2009 had fewer murders on Christmas Day, with 10 murders on Christmas Day in 2008.
Statistics and graph from LAPD Online.
The Place Making Dividend (La identidad del lugar )
The Place Making Dividend
22 December 2010 - 2:29pm
Edward T. MacMahon of ULI explains why cities and towns with unique character have an economic advantage over the sameness of chain stores and malls, and why people should fight to preserve and create a sense of place.
It took Apple eight months to build its new store, but it took them more than twice as long to get design approval (19 months) for the new building which replaced the former clothing store. The protracted design review process began when Apple proposed their standard (off-the shelf), modern façade (they are, after all, a high-tech company) that they use in suburban stores all over the country. The Georgetown Design Review Board balked at this and reaped a heap of criticism for letting historic preservation stand in the way of retail progress.
The new building, which is now complete, looks pretty much like dozens of other historic commercial structures that line Georgetown main commercial thoroughfares. Some may think the façade is bland. Others will say it fits right in. Whatever you think, one of the things the new design proves is that when a chain store developer comes to town it generally has at least three designs (A, B, or C) ranging from Anywhere USA to Unique (i.e., sensitive to local character).
According to retail consultant, Bob Gibbs, "which one gets built depends heavily upon how much push back the company gets from local residents and officials about design and its importance."
While the Apple store owners were no doubt frustrated by the community's demands and the design review process, they will assuredly do very well in their Georgetown location. As local blogger Toper Matthews said, "Most simply won't notice the building's architecture at all and will instead hone in on the toys inside."
The Apple Store in Georgetown. Image courtesy of Flickr user trekkyandy.
Georgetown is one of the single best retail locations in the nation. Why? Because the historic neighborhood is one-of-a kind. It is charming, walkable, and filled with tech savvy young adults. Georgetown is the kind of neighborhood that provides "a place making dividend." This simply means that people will stay longer, spend more money, and come back more often to places that attract their affection.
We sometimes forget that every building has a site, every site has a neighborhood, and every neighborhood is part of a community. Georgetown is a successful retail location primarily because it has a unique sense of place. What would happen to the Georgetowns of the world if every chain store operator could build their standard, off-the-shelf building? Georgetown would simply cease to be a special place. It would lose its place-making dividend. Place is more than just a location or a spot on a map. A sense of place is a unique collection of qualities and characteristics – visual, cultural, social, and environmental – that provides meaning to a location. Sense of place is what makes one location (e.g., your hometown) different from another location (e.g., my hometown), but sense of place is also that which makes our physical surroundings worth caring about.
Land use planners have spent too much time focusing on numbers: the number of units per acre, the number of cars per hour, the number of floors per building, and not enough time on the values, customs, characteristics, and quirks that make a place worth caring about. Unfortunately, many American communities are suffering the social, economic, and environmental consequences of being places that simply aren't worth caring about. The more one place (one location) comes to be just like every other place, the less reason there is to visit or invest.
Just take tourism, for example: the more a community comes to look just like every other community, the less reason there is to visit. On the other hand, the more a community does to enhance its distinctive identity, whether that is natural, cultural, or architectural, the more reasons there are to visit. Why?
Because tourism is about visiting places that are different, unusual, or unique; if one place was just like everyplace else, there would be no reason to go anyplace. Similarly, when it comes to 21st century economic development, a key concept is "community differentiation." If you can't differentiate your community from any other community, you have no competitive advantage. Capital is footloose in a global economy. Natural resources, highway access, locations along a river or rail line, have all become less important.
Larry Goldman, a leading authority on economic development, has said, 'How people think of a place is less tangible, but more important than just about anything else.”
Where is this? Image courtesy of Flickr user ravenksy.
Today, however, the subtle differences between places are fading and larger regional differences hardly exist. Now, if you were dropped along a road outside of most American cities or towns, you wouldn't have the slightest idea where you were, because it all looks exactly the same: the building materials, the architectural styles, the chain stores, the outdoor advertising.
Building materials can be imported from anywhere. Hills can be flattened and streams put in culverts. We can transform the landscape with great speed and build anything that fits our budget or strikes our fancy. Technological innovation and a global economy make it easy for building plans drawn up at a corporate headquarters in New Jersey to be applied over and over again in Phoenix, Philadelphia, Portland, or a thousand other communities.
Over the past 40 years America’s commercial landscape has progressed from unique to uniform, from the stylized to the standardized. Author Wallace Stegner once said, paraphrasing his friend Wendell Berry, "If you don't know where you are, you don't know who you are." We all need points of reference and orientation.
A community's unique identity provides that orientation, while also adding economic and social value to a place. To foster a sense of place, communities must plan for built environments and settlement patterns that are uplifting and memorable – and that create a special feeling of belonging and stewardship by residents. A community also nurtures sense of place by understanding and respecting its natural context, such as rivers and streams, hills and forests, native flora and fauna, but also its community landmarks, whether historic or unique.
This is what heart and soul planning is all about. It is about helping communities adapt to change while maintaining or enhancing the things they value most. It is both a process and a philosophy. The process seeks to engage as many citizens as possible in community decision making. The philosophy recognizes that special places, characteristics, and customs have value.
As Lyman Orton, owner of the Vermont Country Store, and Chairman of the Orton Family Foundation, likes to say, "When a community takes the time to get to know itself, it gains a sense of identity and purpose that informs decisions about the future."
Similarly, for me, heart and soul planning is about helping communities ask the question: "Do you want the character of your community to shape the new development – or do you want the new development to shape the character of your community?"
Given the opportunity, I think I know how most communities will answer this question.
Edward T. McMahon is Senior Resident Fellow/Charles E. Fraser Chair for Sustainable Development and Environmental Policy with the Urban Land Institute.
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