The Third Megacities lecture:
November 19 1999

Identity in the city

Deyan Sudjic

 

 
 

[go to the co-review by Len de Klerk]
[go to report on discussion]

IDENTITY IN THE CITY

A NEW KIND OF GROWTH

The one great unpredicted urban phenomenon of the 1980s was the astonishing growth of the cities of the Pacific Rim. In the course of a couple of decades Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Guanzhou, Jakarta, Singapore, Shanghai and half a dozen other cities in the region, were transformed. They went from sleepy ex colonial backwaters with cricket grounds and an atmosphere of tropical torpor, or down-at-heel ideological gulags infested by bicycles and Mao suits, with nothing on the shelves in the Friendship Stores, into the economic and urban power houses of the world.
It was a phenomenon that took the analysts of the urban world by surprise. They had been too busy worrying about the spectacle of the hollowing out of the cities of Europe into doughnuts dominated by tourism if they were lucky, and dereliction if they weren't. In their eyes, the mega city meant the relentless tide of the poor swarming through the shanty towns of Latin America and Africa, stretching ancient infrastructure beyond breaking point. And here was something that they had never predicted, and which they were very late to discover. A new crop of giant cities, some of which they could barely place on a map, was sprouting almost overnight. And they were driven not by economic decline or desperate poverty, but by economies growing at more than seven per cent a year for a decade or longer. Rural workers found jobs that paid better than they could ever have hoped for, first making shirts or shoes, later simple plastics mouldings, before moving on to assembling electronics, finally manufacturing cars and computers. The next stage, already reached 15 years ago in Singapore and Tokyo, was an assault on the services industries too, from stock markets to fashion design.
A by product of the process was the way in which this new generation of giant cities, or mega cities, provoked a shift in the language of discussion of urban affairs among western observers. The phenomenon of the city with a population bigger than that of many European nations had once seemed to be an exclusive product of the basket case economies, of starving peasants overwhelming cities incapable of supporting them, and of ecological and social collapse. They seemed to be places in which all sense of order and cohesion had broken down. They were cities in which like , Rio de Janeiro, you could find the entrance to a favella ruled by machine gun toting drug dealers , threatening to burst out into the city of boulevards and street lights and Coca Cola advertising through any crack or opening between one fortified mansion and the next that concealed their outer limits from view. The lurking paranoia of urban observers since William Morris and Ebeneezer Howard, is that behind the thin crust of urban order is another, nightmarish world ready to engulf us. It is an image brought vividly to life by the raw, livid mouth of a Brazilian favella. To contemplate such a spectacle now is to stare into the same sort of abyss that so terrified the Victorians, and who developed their attachment to the rural dream as an antidote. It was also to excite Frederick Engels in Manchester so much in 1850. And it is just as misleading now as it was then.
But this was something else. These new cities in Asia were not like Rio or Mexico City. Their rapid expansion was the signal of the birth of a new economic order. The economic balance of power seemed to be shifting away from a eurocentric world toward Asia. Both California and Australia suddenly wanted to join the chorus line of the Pacific century, no longer to see themselves as espousing essentially European values. Australia discovered that Indonesia and Japan were not the "Far East", as they had always assumed, but were in fact "the near North".
Actually these new Asian cities were not in fact as alien as they might initially seem to European eyes. They were a distant reflection of the accelerated growth of the industrial cities of north west Europe and eastern seaboard America in the nineteenth century. In Manchester, Glasgow, and Chicago in the 1880s , as in Bangkok or Guanzhou, in the 1980s, the population doubled every generation. These cities were machines that transformed the rural poor to urban proletariat and put them on the first steps to relative affluence. They attracted the ambitious from around the world. The cities generated a lot of money very quickly, and they spent much of it on creating cities whose form matched their enormously high ambitions. Grids were driven into the empty fields to accommodate growth still to come. The future was mortgaged to pay for sewers , power lines , and transit systems. Universities, galleries, hospitals and museums were erected to convert these upstart newcomers into civilised world cities. This was very different process from the endless aimless despairing sprawl of Mexico City, or Lagos. And it served to create the impression that these new cities were a model that offered positive lessons for Europe and America, rather than an awful warning.
There is no one single formula for Asia's cities. Bangkok teeters on the edge of self induced sclerosis, its urban motor ways choking in traffic, construction of a long delayed mass transit system has stalled, its canals are polluted and poisoned. Its unregulated banks fuelled frenzied property speculation in the 1980s that has left the place littered with bankrupt empty mirror glass office buildings. There is whole new suburb, Mung Than Thani , close to the airport, where the supremely ambitious developer Bangkok Land, built a laser straight main street of high rise apartments one kilometre long, overlooking a lake with multi storey factory buildings. What could be home to 100 000 people and provide workplaces for them now stands empty, marooned by the receding tide of the economy, with tumbleweed blowing across the boulevards.
Jakarta, if Indonesia survives its current political instability, and perhaps even if it doesn't , is a city that will grow even more rapidly than Bangkok. On top of its colonial core of Batavia, with its facsimile Amsterdam canal houses, and its art deco relics, and the Soviet era boulevards of the Sukarno era that radiate out from it, are the high rise banks of the 1980s, rising out of squatter settlements.
The economic crisis that overtook the Asian tiger economies one after another, in the wake of the bursting of the Bangkok property bubble in 1996, has recently tended to divert attention from what has happened in the region. Mohammed Mahattir's grand plans for turning Malaysia into a high tech linear city, his twin tower monumentalism in Kuala Lumpur, the finger wagging authoritarian Asian regimes telling the west where their decadence had taken them and to mind their own business when lecturing them on human rights abuses, were suddenly left looking like the personification of hubris. And it was a chance for the sceptical to write the whole episode off. The world had not been overturned after all. Europe could go back to assuming that its cities were the most relevant model for the future development of the world.
Yet step back a moment from the fluctuations of share prices and the roller coaster ride of Asian currencies, and it is clear that something irreversible and enormously important has indeed happened to the history of cities in the last 20 years. Just look at the transformation of the Pearl River Delta, now a fire storm of development spreading 100 kilometres from Hong Kong , across what was once the international frontier with China through the Special Economic Zone of Shenzen to Guanzhou, and back down the other side of the delta through Zhuhai to Macao. This was farmland in the 1970s, a network of fruit orchards, and fishing villages. The whole landscape has shifted, with mountains levelled, and land reclaimed. Four brand new international airports have been built in the last ten years, all within ten minutes flying time of each other. Theme parks, gold faced skyscrapers, new roads and railways have spread in all directions, leaving very much the same sense of cultural dislocation that Charles Dickens portrayed with the coming of the railways to London in the early 19th century in Dombey and Son. If its growth rate continues, the Pearl River will soon be home to 40 million people accommodated in a continuous ribbon of development. Check points every ten kilometres are used to keep economic migrants at bay, attracted by the factories of the area.

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WHAT IS A CITY?

Of course there have been mega cities before. As Peter Hall pointed out in his lecture in the first of this series for the Mega Cities Foundation, Rome may easily have had one million people before the time of Christ. But a city of 40 million has no historic parallel. When Rome had one million residents, the whole of Europe was less than 40 million people. Now a single city can reach that size. These are urban organisms whose scale, geography, form and institutions makes them entirely new in the history of human experience. And we need to find new ways of living in such places, and new techniques of analysis to understand them.
Pinning down a city is a notoriously difficult undertaking. How do you define a conurbation on this scale? Is it defined by political boundaries? Clearly not entirely. In some cases these new cities are taking the place of the nation state. They have more in common with each other, than with the nation state in which they are located. They are the principle economic engine , rather than the national economy as a whole. Is such a city based on continuously built up areas? Not any more. It is clear that the contemporary city is capable of leap frogging large tracts of open country.
Certainly there is a mismatch between the official city, reflected by political boundary lines and electoral constituencies, and the reality of the way in which a contemporary city actually operates. It is the cracks and the inconsistencies that cause some cities to flourish, just as in some cases it is the vigour and strength of a single municipal administration. In Los Angeles there are so many different administrative entities that set out to govern various aspects of the city, none of which coincide, and none of which adequately describe the dynamic force that fuels the city's life. To name just a few within the metropolitan area, there are the three cities of Los Angeles, West Hollywood, and Beverly Hills, there are the five counties of Los Angeles, there are the school districts, and the water districts on which the city depends that stretch all the way to Colorado. You might also consider the air traffic control systems as another crucial level of local government.
What do all residents of LA share? What is the symbol or the mental map that citizens of LA all carry in their heads? Disney? The Getty? The view from Griffith Park observatory looking out over the endless lights of the city grid at night? The beaches, the Watts towers, the Marlboro Cowboy on Sunset? Los Angeles does have a powerful mayor, and a strong, small council, but it also has the apparently all powerful Community Redevelopment Authority, established with draconian powers of eminent domain that a Ceausescu might have envied. Its tax districts have been drawn up by an affluent class reluctant to support the schools of the poor. Its police forces act like private armies to defend the interests of those who pay them. By many standards Los Angeles is a city that is regarded as dysfunctional, and yet almost alone among North American big cities, it has continued to grow in population, even in it its run down centre.
Barcelona might be seen as the mirror opposite from the point of view of administration. It has had a series of strong, far sighted mayors who between them have recreated the city as the image of the progressive modern metropolis with a single unified intelligence. But even here there is the continual tension between the city itself, with its left leaning politics, and the more conservative nationalists of Catalonia itself, and a turf war between the two over who is responsible for what in the city.
In the absence of shared assumptions its hard to be certain about even the most basic questions of whom to count as living in a city and whom to regard as a suburbanite is in doubt. The published figures on the population for Milan for example vary from 1.6 million to 4 million. Frankfurt by some estimates is a city with just 600 000 inhabitants. But if you count Offenbach and Hanau which are functionally if not administratively part of the city the total is almost one million. And getting on for 1.6 million live in a twelve mile ring around the cathedral. Yet this issue of population is vital. It colours and shapes almost all consequent analysis. Milan for example is a dynamic, thriving city because of course of its financial institutions represented by sombre stone banks, and its sophisticated consumers with their svelte shopping streets. But an equally important aspect of the city is the anonymous sprawl of sheds housing clusters of specialist manufacturers, injection moulders , metal formers, tool makers, foam blowers that support each other, and allow Milan to live up to its boast as design capital of the world. It may be invisible, but take it away, or threaten its survival, and what we see as Milan will inevitably atrophy.
Most accounts of inner city decline begin with a barrage of statistics that show how far and fast the population of a city has fallen without pointing out that what might actually be happening is redistribution rather than an absolute decline. London as defined by the boundaries of the old greater London council area for example lost 739 000 of its people during the ten years to 1981. But 17 million people live in a continuously urbanised area within a 50 mile radius of Trafalgar Square and logically the entire area must be considered as much London as Santa Monica. Pasadena and Irvine are counted physically if not politically part of Los Angeles or Tskuba and Yokohama are part of Greater Tokyo. Defined like this London has actually been growing.
And in this sense, there is a similar phenomenon taking place in the Pacific Rim cities, and in some of the older cities that are spreading ever further across the landscape.
Despite the survival of the physical fabric of the traditional European city it has become clear in the past decade that its meaning has been completely transformed. The ancient purposes of the city; the market hall, the banking halls, stock markets, warehouses may still exist in brick and stone, but they are no longer used for their original purposes. These functions have been distributed and atomised. Some have been spread in an amorphous cloud of new development that has rewritten the geography of the city. Others have become centralised in a few global centres that have taken on control of finance, entertainment and manufacturing. And of course such structures also had a symbolic purpose, they were the landmarks that gave a city its identity and its meaning. Now those meanings and that identity are under threat. The experience of the last decade shows that the nation state as a political and intellectual entity is weakening. Will the giant city replace the nation state, or will the city itself break up and be subject to what might be called Balkanisation, with one giant suburb in conflict with the neighbouring giant suburb.
What is it that continues to provide a sense of identification with an individual city in the midst of this increasingly formless urban landscape. What community of interest and feeling is there between those who live in these places. And what physical steps are there that cities can take to create that sense of identity and identification on which they depend for their success. when fewer citizens are interested in taking part in local democracy and when they live in ways that are less and less defined by the community of interest of the city can the megalopolis survive ?
There are examples of cities that have grown from the beginning as fractured settlements, and others that have developed in that way. Both offer lessons for understanding the development of the burgeoning contemporary mega city.
Shanghai is perhaps the most conspicuous example of the former. The British happened on the ancient walled Chinese city of Shanghai towards the end of the war that they fought for their right to sell the opium they cultivated in India to the citizens of the Chinese empire in 1842 unchallenged. Under the guns of the British navy, the city was quickly taken. British traders, envious of the constant traffic of junks plying up and down the Yangtse and its tributaries, linking inland China, and the trade routes from Europe, America and japan, persuaded their government to insist on their unhindered access to the port. Access brought with it almost colonial rights. The Chinese were not allowed to maintain military forces in the area, and Chinese laws did not apply to British nationals in the British concession in Shanghai. They were quickly followed by the French and the Americans who also established their own territories , each of them fronting on to Shanghai's river front that is now known as the bund, and fossilised through the Mao years still looks like a hallucinogenic transplant of a European city of the Victorian era transplanted to Asia. An effect whose strangeness now is compounded by the mushrooming of the new financial district of Pu Dong with its forest of high rises sprouting across the river. But Shanghai was never a colony . In 1854 Shanghai's foreign business community staged what amounted to a coup d'état as much against their own governments as against the Chinese. In contradiction of the letter of the original treaty, they established a municipal council, its councillors elected by a franchise that was limited to those wealthy enough to pay taxes to the council. But the place was run, in so much as it was run at all by a series of different administrations. They were administrations that allowed an astonishing hybrid culture to flourish in the cracks between regimes. In its hey day in the 1920s, Shanghai was a city that had a cluster of onion domed Russian orthodox churches, Japanese dance halls, German delicatessens and a modern tram system. In living memory, the westerners had demonstrated the efficiency of their fire brigade to a native culture that was more used to chasing away the fire devil with cymbals and drums than using a hose pipe. The British maintained a hunt, which set out on horse back every week complete with fox hounds and riders in red coats, and with horns, although without a fox. None were locally available so they chased paper trails instead.
In 1853 the triads took over Chinese Shanghai, and wealthy Chinese residents bought their way into the international settlement, to save their lives and the fortunes. Eventually there were 70 000 of them, who had no vote in the municipal elections, but still had to pay taxes. There was a Japanese community almost as large, made up not just of traders and government spies, but also of those Japanese looking for an escape from the social control of their homeland. It supported night clubs, and laundries, geishas and sushi restaurants. Because Shanghai was an open city, it continued to attract Jewish refugees from Europe, who maintained several orchestras. An army of White Russians fleeing from the Bolsheviks sailed a fleet across from Vladivostock, and after being confined to the harbour were finally welcomed ashore to help fight off the Chinese nationalists. But once the 35 000 Russians had settled, they found themselves subject to the legal system of China rather than the international settlement.
The French concession was next to the original Chinese walled city. The British, and beyond that the American settlement were a little further down stream. The two English speaking communities merged to became the Shanghai international settlement in 1863, it is said, because the Americans wanted to use the jail in the British settlement. The French created a slice of France with second empire villas and tree lined boulevards, while the British built rustic cottages, and neo classical banks.
In the international settlement, the Shanghai municipal police force was run under British control, and recruited from every community in the city. The Sikhs were responsible for traffic and crowd control. There were Chinese and Japanese sections, and a foreign branch of British, Russian and Americans officers whose job was to deal with the European brothels, and to protect the property of the tax payers. The police wore thin blue uniforms in spring and autumn, khaki in summer and thick blue for winter. The Sikhs directed traffic in red turbans, while the Chinese refused to wear shorts. But of course the Chinese had their own completely separate police system, as did the French , in kepis and capes, as did the Chinese.
In 1925 you needed three different driving licences to negotiate your way by car across Shanghai from the Chung Hwa Road to the Boulevard des Deux Republiques to Edward VII Avenue and then Broadway.
There are echoes here of Berlin with its division into Soviet, French American and British sectors, and its subsequent division and unification by the wall. But Berlin was a city deliberately created by the Prussian kings as an imperial capital for Germany, that was subsequently seized by the Soviets, who were quick to occupy the symbolic seats of power, the Riechstag, the University the Hohenzollern Palace, the Altes Museum, while the west was left with the zoological gardens, the affluent suburbs, and all the elements of the national museum collections portable enough for fleeing curators to take with them. Other cities that have become divided have been sliced up in different patterns. The sectarian divisions of Belfast between working class catholic and Protestants leave the city centre as neutral ground, whereas in Beirut, the green line of conflict cut right through the city centre.
Everywhere we see the potential for cities to divide in ways like this. Think for example about Los Angeles. Look at the way its privileged seek to extract themselves from the city's taxes, and its ghettos: Beverly Hills and West Hollywood have escaped from LA jurisdiction, as could be seen only too well when the rioters from Compton were left to burn their own neighbourhoods, but were repelled by force from Beverly Hills .
Or look at the twin cities on either side of the Rio Grande, especially the El Paso Ciduad Juarez complex where cheap Mexican labour, and the dismantling of tariff walls has not been accompanied by the free movement of labour, with language and legal walls interrupting what are becoming more and more of a single entity. America is content to build its cars on one side of the border , but would rather keep the labourers who assemble them out. But the close proximity of two societies with such different economic prospects cannot but result in the leakage of money people and ideas between the two, in everything from the cuisine, to crime and corruption.
The factors that provide cohesion within a city, can in the long term cease to be a positive influence, and turn into problems for a city. Look for example at the phenomenon of twin city rivalry around the world. Between Sydney and Melbourne, between Montreal and Quebec, between Los Angeles and San Francisco, or between Liverpool and Manchester. This phenomenon has its origins in the civic boosterism that allows cities to grow in the first place. But circumstances change, and in many cases co-operation is the way ahead now , co-operation which would see the pooling of two identities into a single larger whole, a phenomenon prefigured by the Randstadt, or the Bos - Wash corridor on the eastern seaboard of the United States. But these entities have rarely taken on any natural life of their own, beyond official prescriptions. The Bos Wash corridor remains little more than a figure of speech. The Randstadt is less than the sum of its parts It is still Amsterdam, Rotterdam and the Hague that are the cities that really mean something. In the same way the sprawling Ruhr conurbation has ten million people, enough to be counted in the same league as Paris.But large numbers of people living in close proximity do not in themselves constitute a city.
Four years ago I moved from London, a city, depending on how you define it, of eight million, to Glasgow, another city, which is home to less than 600 000 people. Glasgow is Scotland's largest city, its world city, the closest it has to a metropolis. A hundred years ago, it was as much at the edge of urban invention as the pacific rim cities are now. Like them, it once grew at breakneck speed. Every generation it doubled in population. Now it is shrinking, and looking for a new role. It had a peak of 1.2 million people, most of whom I suspect have moved just outside the tax boundary. Meanwhile, just 50 minutes away is Edinburgh, a city with, depending on how you define it of perhaps 500 000. Every 15 minutes throughout the day, trains set off in each direction between the two. The trains are constantly full of people shuttling back and forth. In the morning thousand of people who live in Glasgow set off to their jobs in Edinburgh. And at the station in Edinburgh, thousands of more set off in the opposite direction, leaving their homes behind to spend the day at their desks in Glasgow. The people moving from Edinburgh to Glasgow read the Scotsman in the morning, and the Edinburgh Evening News, on the way back. And their counterparts set out in the morning with the Herald, in the morning, and the Glasgow Evening Times on the way back.
These two cities together hardly add up to the size of a medium size European city, and yet the tension between the two is palpable. Different education systems, different football teams, different newspapers. Two minor airports, rather than one major hub between them. And yet imagine what they could be together. But they would rather sink individually than swim together.
Its something rather like a phenomenon that we may be about to see in Sweden and Denmark, where a new city is about to be born. When the fixed bridge connecting Denmark with the Swedish province of Scania is completed very soon, Sweden's southern province focused on Malmo, which is 620 kilometres from capital Stockholm, will find itself just 20 minutes from the centre of Copenhagen. The Oresund fixed link, begins by plunges from the beach close to Copenhagen Airport beneath the sea, and diving into the waters of the Oresund, surfacing on an artificial island, and then crossing the remaining section sea to Sweden on a bridge.
Scanians were once part of Denmark, annexed by the Swedes in the seventeenth century. Now it seems that they will again become not two countries, but one region. Perhaps not even a region but a city. Oresund maybe takes over the pharmaceuticals, biotechnology medical research environmental science and information technologies, businesses that depend on networking, close communication and exchange of knowledge. EuroLille was a deliberate attempt to threaten the old definition of the boundaries of a city, 800 000 square metres of office space on top of the TGV station, Lille is in one hour of a catchment area of 30 million people where better to build low rent offices "The train will destroy the idea of an address, people will say their office is 50 minutes from Disneyland or 100 minutes from London.
In the end, EuroLille has not been quite the success that its creators hoped. In fact much of the job creating potential of the Channel Tunnel has been in the opposite direction. French small business have set up in Kent, where they can operate in the much freer business environment of the UK, rather than in the bureaucratic French system.

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THE LANDMARKS OF THE NEW CITY

One of the most important defining landmarks in this new urban landscape is the airport. The airport, alongside the museum, and the shopping mall, is one of the key public spaces that serve to define the contemporary city. An airport is a city gate, as well as being a national front door. It is a monument that celebrates the act of arrival and departure. It is an assertion of the nation state's prestige. It is a surrogate for the public realm, one that offers at least the illusion of a meeting place in which the rich and poor are in closer proximity than almost anywhere else in an increasingly economically segregated world. Nor does the airport have just a purely symbolic role to play. It is an important bargaining counter in the economic competition between one city and another for trade and influence. There is an official, and an unofficial side to the airport. Beneath the carefully burnished image of technocratic but wholesome modernity that creates a reassuringly secure atmosphere for the nervous traveller, there is a darker side. With their perpetually transient, anonymous population, airports are places in which crime of all kinds can flourish. To accommodate such a complex, and multilayered environment, the airport has developed social hierarchies of public, private and semi-private spaces that are as intricate as any devised in the hidden world of Beijing's imperial forbidden city. There is the boundary set by customs and immigration officials that designates national from international territory. Even though they may overlap spatially, both sides have their own circulation routes, their own restaurants, and shops, their own identity. There is the chaotic public world of the arrival and departure halls on the so called 'land side' of this boundary where people congregate without needing to invest in the price of a ticket to gain access. The commercial world now fills such places with restaurants and supermarkets, and shops selling everything from Rolex watches to motorcars, and salami to soft toys, in some cases , even casinos and sex cinemas. And behind the immigration security line, there is an even more tightly guarded boundary, the one that restricts access to the aircraft, defending them against the threat of terrorism and hijacking as well as from the unwelcome attentions of smugglers. Thus while an airport appears to be a public space, it is in fact experienced entirely differently by different groups of people as a series of different private spaces. From the point of view of the cleaners who use one entrance, the airport is a very different place compared with that of the flight crew, who have another way in. Regular passengers learn to interpret the geography without needing to have it explained to them through signs and directions. But first time travellers, especially those with limited experience of decoding the design clues that architects use to make airports legible, will anxiously look for every sign, puzzling over the symbols devised to explain the layout without the need for written language, and often failing in the attempt. Like non swimmers clinging to the rail on the side of the swimming pool, this group can find the airport a place of paralysing anxiety, especially when they are worrying about missing the plane, and at the same time perhaps a little nervous about the very idea of flight itself. In this hierarchy of space, the airlines have added yet another layer by offering their most valued customers the flattering illusion of access to at least part of the private world of the airport, away from the democratic scrum of the main halls, with their noisy commerce, and their back packers, and slumbering migrants, sprawled out on the floor, their luggage barricaded around them. They offer plastic membership cards, or gold embossed parodies of invitation cards that provide access to the not so hidden world of the airport lounge. It is a world guarded by a discretely signalled door. Once you have passed through it, or even once you know of its existence, it becomes the sign of admission to an elite, a place in which to relax between and before flights, and in some cases, after them too. There is food, drink, something to read, a screen to watch and space to stretch out in. There are flowers, telephones, computers, desks, and perhaps showers. All of these amenities are carefully graded to the customer's importance to the airline. Business Class passengers don't do as well as First Class, but both of them do better than mere frequent flyers. The treatment is flattering. It's supposed to build loyalty, and it's also meant to be reassuring. Experienced from the subdued comfort of the lounge and insulated from all the noise, the airport doesn't seem to be quite the same stressful madhouse as it can appear on the outside. And when you are escorted by deferential ground staff, there is no need to get to the departure gate until minutes before the flight goes. Chek Lap Kok is Hong Kong's new airport, built partly on reclaimed land. It replaces the territory's notorious Kai Tak, where the runway was so close to the city, that descending jets appeared to skim the washing lines stretched between the surrounding high rise apartment towers. Designed by Norman Foster, Chek Lap Kok is vast, covering as much land as a decent sized European city. Its first runway is designed to handle 35 million passengers a year, but later phases will more than double that capacity. Hong Kong is within five hours flying time of half of the world's population, and it is determined to become the place where as many of those people as possible either catch, or more likely, change planes. Every airline that flies into the city reinforces Hong Kong's pre eminence as an airport hub, offering yet more destinations, just as every passenger passing through earns the Hong Kong Airport Authority more money. But Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, and Bangkok are all fighting to make themselves the primary hub for Asia. To this end, Hong Kong's outgoing colonial administration invested 19 billion American dollars in Chek Lap Kok, which involved building 34 km of expressways, and tunnels, a high speed rail link, a brace of suspension bridges, to say nothing of a new town to accommodate airport staff. It took 20 000 workers to build it all. The terminal sprawls over 0.5 million square metres. Inside its elegant glass and steel structure, global and local cultures are on a collision course. Foster's architecture has given Hong Kong a landmark of international significance. It is not its sheer size that makes Chek Lap Kok so impressive. It is the sense of order and calm that Foster has brought to the interior that makes it so memorable. He has eliminated as much of the visual noise as possible, restricting the structure and the range of finishes to the minimum. At the same time he has brought sunlight right into the heart of the building. The structure is planned to make it as clear as possible in which direction passengers should be heading at every stage of their journey. Inside this vast space you find almost all the elements of a contemporary city; offices, police stations, restaurants, and bars. But the space is so big, that despite Foster's urge for order, the chaotic quality of the contemporary Chinese city outside has managed to find its way into the very heart of the airport without diluting the strength of the original conception. Alongside two Harrods boutiques, and outlets for Cartier, and Gucci, there is the Fook Ming Tong tea house, and a restaurant that seeks to evoke a back street dim sum bar from the Shanghai of the 1940s, complete with moongate and ancient bicycles. There is giant fibre glass giraffe poking its neck over the glass wall of the mezzanine in the departure hall , and the Sport Bar with giant video screens and a basket ball court jostling Foster's pristine flight monitors around which cans of cooking oil and empty vegetable boxes are stacked above head height. All this took just three years to build, less time than the lawyers have spent on the public inquiry into the construction of a fifth terminal at Heathrow. Hong Kong celebrated the opening of Chep Lap Kok in 1998, shortly after the handover of the colony back to Chinese sovereignty. Li Peng the Chinese premier flew in from Beijing to cut the ribbon. Within the terminal building John Pawson's lounge for Cathay Pacific was a deliberate attempt by the airline to live up to the architecture of the new airport, but also a commercial move in the highly competitive travel market. By making its lounge as distinctive as possible, it is trying to persuade passengers to choose to fly with it in preference to other airlines. On long haul flights to and from the far east, there is almost always a choice of route, and airline connections. Flying to Australia from Europe, the refuelling stop can be in Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, Bangkok or Hong Kong. Cathay wanted to make sure that passengers choose Hong Kong. The lounge that passengers encounter on the transit stop is a critical deciding factor persuading them to opt for one route over another. It is an extraordinary demonstration of the way that architecture can be used to warp space. A single room can have the effect of altering the flow of traffic, diverting hundreds of thousands of people every year, thousands of miles across the globe. Its a phenomenon that is mirrored by the use of the museum as a bargaining counter in the constant competition by cities looking for global attention. Think for example about the Bilbao effect, that persuaded the Basque government to pay the Guggenheim to lend it a selection of its collection, and to license the use of its name, just like a Holiday Inn franchise.

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WHO DOES THE CITY BELONG TO

Life in the city has never been stable. Given the extraordinarily rapid turnover of people and households, urban communities are more symbolic expressions than physical realities. The ideal urban community is presented as if urban families occupied a dynastic homestead for life, which they would pass on to their children and their children's children. It presupposes a Mediterranean fishing village social organisation with land held in common, and a strongly hierarchical social structure in which elders are natural leaders, deferred to by their younger contemporaries. Even if the kind of stability on which a community of that kind depends did exist, it is by no means clear that it would present a desirable option for most city dwellers,
All the evidence is that this is the very form of social organisation that, given the choice , the vast majority of the motivated and the ambitious are only too eager to leave behind. The emptying of the countryside and the enormous growth of the cities that continues in the developing world is based precisely on the attraction of social mobility that the city offers. What we call urban communities are by no means the static , homogenous places that we assume. Even without undergoing massive physical transformations, from generation to generation families move up and down the social scale, they come and go, lose touch and reform. Parents attempt to pass on their skills to their children, but do not always succeed siblings drift apart. Family concerns and preoccupations change and inevitably their horizons are not bounded by the limits of neighbourhood and turf.
The population structure of a big city goes through almost continuous change, through immigration, through economic prosperity or decline. The single most arresting feature of life in all developed society has been the dramatic decrease in the size of the average household, which in significant areas of London and New York is already less than two. This can be explained partly by an ageing population, partly by the weakening of the institution of marriage.
The massive shift of people away from the inner city provides ample evidence that the traditional idea of the urban community does not exist. Cities in reality are constantly fluctuating places. Homeowners in America move on average every four years, in Britain every six, a reflection of the quicksilver nature of life in the modern city.
With Europe now almost completely urbanised, the successors of the country people who came to the cities of London and Paris in the 19th century, to Tokyo after world war two, and to Los Angeles after 1970 come from the other side of the world. They are from peasant villages in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Turkey, from Somalia. They are wealthy refugees from Iran and boat people from Vietnam. They have triggered a bout of urban restructuring just as dramatic as that which changed the face of Manhattan when the eastern Europeans arrived.
According to the 1981 census, the 700 000 people of Indian origin then living in Britain made up the largest single immigrant group, there were 547 000 Caribbean, 406 000 from Pakistan, 99 000 from Bangladesh, 122 000 Chinese, 100 000 Africans. The census showed that people who were not born in Britain made up eighteen per cent of London's population. But their distribution was very uneven, some boroughs had 37 per cent born out of the UK, others had as few as three per cent.
At the same time, the number of foreign born people living in France was more than four million, eight per cent of the population, not counting the illegals.
The five counties of the Los Angeles area had 11 332 400 inhabitants in 1980, of which nineteen per cent were foreign born, and fewer than half were born in California, and only twenty per cent were from LA itself. As we know, Los Angeles has within it a Singapore and a Managua, a Detroit and a Boston, rust belts, third world sweat shops, and the highest concentration of PhDs and engineers in the world. The ethnic diversity has created new and complex antagonisms. Asian owned stores have prospered in areas of the city core abandoned by the national chains, where their customers are mainly the poorest members of the black underclass, who sometimes see the shopkeeper as a parasitic outsider. Ethnic tensions have become far more tortuous than simple issues of black against white. Asian Orange County saw petitions from both anglo and black locals trying to ban foreign language business signs, as a rash of exotic alphabets began to spread over the city's strip malls. Given the city' s Spanish origins of the city, it was a curious response.

The geography of New York as understood by a Haitian or a Korean immigrant describes a different place to that experienced by an expatriate British banker living on central park west, or a native born Jewish American on the upper east side, just as London is a collection of landmarks that have a different significance to a middle class family in Clapham, a Bengali migrant in Southall, or a child of the East End, transplanted to Essex. It is in fact an essential property of the authentic metropolis that it can support this complex overlapping set of meanings.

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MAKING MAPS FOR THE CITY

We are seeing the growth of larger and larger cities. In the next decades we are likely to see what must be defined as cities with populations approaching 40 million. Do these the cities belong to the same species that we have always known as cities, or are they something entirely new. The question is wether they will actually continue to function as cities as we have previously known them, or will they break down into dysfunctional aglomerations. Not Singapore, or Tokyo, but Shanghai as it was in the 1920s, or Berlin split in two by history, or Beiruit divided by hatred.

There is no answer yet. And as things stand, it is clear that similar phenomena of population growth can lead to very different outcomes. And the strategies for keeping such cities healthy seem to owe as much to understanding the history of the city, as speculating about its past.

The earliest cities involved transport nodes, just as the newest ones do. The airport as an urban generator can begun to be understood in much the same terms as a railway station , or in the earliest days of cities, a river crossing. The scale and reach it has transform it into a very different scale, and also have the effect of concentrating economic energy into fewer and fewer centres.
There are other such generators, and it is interesting that they are cultural as well as industrial or economic. Giant shopping centres, or massive new museums have the effect. These generators are not the cause of the growth of massive cities, but they have the effect of giving structure, form and identity to cities.

The other issue in city identity that looks back as well as forward is governance. Successful cities seem to belong to a self selected group that organise their futures. The old city boosters, and their present day equivalents, the big city mayor, a Giuliano from New York, a Maragall for Barcelona, or even more effectively, the national leaders who concentrate on capital cities, Mitterrand in Paris, Mahattir in Kuala Lumpur. Britain is now following this pattern with a directly elected mayor for London.

They have a repertoire of tools and techniques that if deployed with skill stand at least a chance of preventing the collapse of the very qualities that make the city such a valuable asset. But the most important of them is the sense of vision, of understanding the potential of what a city can be.

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References

  • Brunet, Roger Les Villes Europeennes Paris (Reclus 1989)
  • Collins, George and Crasemann, Christiane: Camillo Sitte: The Birth of Modern City Planning New York (Rizzoli 1986)
  • Dogan, Mattei and Kasarda, John: The Metropolis Era, Mega Cities Newbury Park, California ( Sage Publications 1988)
  • Fishman, Robert: Urban Utopias in the Twentieth Century Cambridge, Massachusetts (MIT Press 1989)
  • Frieden, Bernard and Sagalyn, Lyne: Downtown Inc, How American Rebuilds Cities Cambridge Massachussets (MIT Press 1989)
  • Hall, Peter: Cities of Tomorrow, An Intellectual History of Urban Planning and Design in the Twentieth Century Oxford (Basil Blackwell 1988)
  • Hall, Peter: The World Cities Third Edition; London (Weidenfeld and Nicolson 1984)
  • Harvey, David The Urbanisation of Capital Studies in the History and Theory of Capitalist Urbanisation Oxford (Basil Blackwell 1985)
  • Hebbert, Michael and Nakai, Norihiro: How Tokyo Grows: Land Development and Planning on the Metropolitan Fringe London (LSE 1988)
  • Howard , Ebenezer: originally published 1898 as Tomorrow, A Peaceful Path to Real Reform. Reissued as Garden Cities of Tomorrow Bluith Wells (Atc Books 1989)
  • King, Anthony D Global Cities: Post Imperialism and the Internationalisation of London London (Routledge 1990)
  • Mumford, Lewis The City in History London (Penguin 1966)
  • Savitch HV Post-industrial Cities; Politics and Planning in New York Paris and London (Princeton University Press 1988)
  • Sudjic, Deyan The 100 Mile City London ( Harper Collins 1992)
  • Whyte, William H: City: Rediscovering the Center New York (Doubleday 1988)

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