Landscapes are always shaped by political ideologies. Sometimes, it can be a real puzzle to identify just what kind of system produced the given space. Other times, it is quite impossible to ignore.
Sunday, 5pm. For lack of a bench, I crouch down on the cold concrete to listen to the steady hum of passing vehicles, breathe in a lung full of their fumes, try to ignore the advertisements for “free” things next to those for “green growth”. I had intended to make a scene on this bustling yet dead intersection. I thought I would bring a lawn chair, a nice book, perhaps a G&T, maybe slip into my bathing suite. As it turned out, being still for longer than the duration of a red light was obscure enough.
A man approaches me, stands a few meters away talking into his phone before kneeling down next to me, placing Google translate into my field of view. We chat for a few minutes like this, his phone the abiding translator. He has just arrived from Turkey, he wants to buy bread but it’s Sunday, he doesn’t have any friends here, do I want to be his friend?
Mike is less timid. Speaks to me in English, wants to know what I’m doing, thinks I’m a good girl for doing my university homework. Mike doesn’t spend much time here. He lives alone and it’s not much fun to go out alone. He gets what he needs and returns home.
It’s been about two hours and I am exhausted from simply sitting on this corner. Everything I hear, smell, feel, see - it reeks of global capitalism.
I wonder: can landscape activate political ideology? Could this space bring neighbours together? Could we produce healthy food here? Who (human and non-human) would live here if we removed the biggest obstacles? What would this space look like if we chose to prioritize life-affirming institutions?
Abolition as a political movement and ideology offers a critical and productive lens and framework to ask these questions.
