“The lessons from the anarchist experiences on urban social cohesion”1
André Carmo2
Abstract:
During recent years anarchist political philosophy has regained a new strength not only in terms of the
political action conducted by multiple movements and projects of anarchist inspiration (e.g. Chiapas,
Seattle, Food not Bombs, Reclaim the Streets, etc.) but also within the rather rigid boundaries of the
academia. Undoubtedly, one has to acknowledge that there has been a rise in anarchist scholarship in
recent years (Amster, R. et al., 2009). This paper seeks to shed light upon the mutual relations which
can be established between those two distant worlds. In order to do that some anarchist influenced
experiences in terms of sociopolitical organization, whose main goal is to foster and consolidate urban
social cohesion are discussed. This transversal analysis considers the multiplicity of scales where
experiences operate, while trying to highlight their most relevant aspects for contemporary urban
social cohesion. It is argued that some of the fundamental historical principles of anarchist thought and
action (e.g. opposition to hierarchy, decentralization, commitment to freedom and autonomy,
opposition to vanguardism as expressed in authoritarian socialist traditions) are still relevant today if
one aims at developing social innovative strategies. Hence, one should not neglect the lessons from
past experiences if the goal is to build a better future.
Keywords: anarchism, urban social cohesion, hierarchy, decentralization, autonomy
1
DRAFT VERSION: 06/07/09.
2
Researcher at the CEG-UL. E-mail: andrecarmo83@gmai.com
Preliminary remarks: Anarchism is back, with a vengeance!...or maybe not
When submitting the abstract for this paper I did lie or, to put it gently, I wrote it with a high
dose of wishful thinking. Contrarily to what I argued there, anarchism renewed strength still has to
work its way inside the rigid boundaries of the academia. Despite the fact that it has indeed become a
fashionable idea among contemporary social movements, it still as not managed to be as popular
among researchers. Arguably, during the last couple of decades, anarchist principles and praxis have
replaced Marxist ones as propellers of social intervention, as catalysts of social movements and
projects willing to change the hegemonic social order. Specifically talking, it has become the heart and
soul of the anti-globalization movement (Graeber, 2002).
There are various reasons explaining this 21st century anarchist renaissance, since during the
final years of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th it was highly influential inside workingclass organizations and other radical experiences. According to Graeber and Grubacic (2004), the
single most important reason for this to happen was the failure and somewhat catastrophic outcomes
of the attempts conducted during the 20th century to overcome capitalism through gaining control of
governments and state apparatus. This modern(ist) understanding of historical development has been
replaced by the sense that ‘the revolution’, i.e. that whole encompassing event able to radically
transform power relations in a single blow has to be understood as a very long process constitutive of
human history which maybe does not even has to have a conclusion. This understanding has obvious
consequences not only for the visions about societal transformation but, more than that, for the guiding
principles of action, i.e. for radical praxis.
On the other hand, Manuel Castells (2005) suggested that anarchism historical shortcomings
were the result of its anachronic character, i.e. because anarchism was ahead of its time. Basically, he
believes that contemporary technological transformations, while changing the way people
communicate and relate to each other, also allowed network economic structures and organization to
flourish. In addition, instead of having nation-states controlling and managing territory we now have
city-states. This represents a scalar change allowing social autonomous organizations to develop, and
individuals to organize and discuss using interactive communication networks. Thus, anarchism seems
to be in tune with two of the trends, one socioeconomic and the other political, shaping contemporary
historical contexts. Thus, as Castells suggested, ‘el neoanarquismo es un instrumento de lucha que
parece adaptado a las condiciones de la revuelta social del siglo XXI’.
In relation to academia, things are not that clear and there is no consensus regarding its
relations to anarchism. On the one hand, some events seem to imply that anarchism has been
recognized as a relevant research/praxis subject, namely, the foundation of the Institute for Anarchist
Studies in 1996, the creation in the UK of a specialist group for the study of anarchism (i.e. Anarchist
Studies Network), more recently, in 2008, the organization of its first conference at Loughborough
University and also, and perhaps surprisingly, the recent creation of a MA programme in ‘Activism
and Social Change’ at the department of Geography at the University of Leeds (for a critique of
‘anarchist studies’ see Shukaitis, 2009). This illustrates the development of what Amster et al. (2009:
5) called ‘a distinctly anarchist scholarship’ whose contemporary roots can be traced back to Noam
Chomsky, Murray Bookchin, Howard Zinn, Harold Ehrlich, Colin Ward, among others.
On the other hand, the academia still shows some signs of resistance towards the
dissemination of anarchist ideas. For instance, it is still possible to ‘get a PhD from a major American
University without knowing anything about anarchism’ (Zinn, 1997a: 644). David Graeber, from an
anarchist anthropologist stance, carefully examined some of the reasons why there are so few
anarchists in the academia. In his view, most academics have only vague and stereotyped ideas about
what anarchism is about. It is usually understood as being Marxism’s poorer cousin both in terms of
analytical development as well as theoretical depth, although it seeks to overcome its intellectual
shortcomings with a passionate commitment to social transformation. As a result, Marxism ‘has
tended to be a theoretical or analytical discourse about revolutionary strategy’ (Graeber, 2004:6) while
anarchism ‘has tended to be an ethical discourse about revolutionary practice’ (ibid.). Therefore, both
possess a different character and since the academia is predominantly concerned with the production
of knowledge its institutional culture never quite suited anarchism. Nevertheless, this does not mean
that anarchist theory should be dismissed or neglected as being of less importance. I believe the
opposite to be true with the difference being the fact that anarchist theory requires a different
understanding of what research, in particular, and the academy, in general, should be like.
In accordance, and against this contested and continuously evolving background, I will try to
contribute to strengthen the linkages between anarchism and the academia through an exploration of
some anarchist experiences and their contributions for urban social cohesion.
This paper consists of six sections. In the first one I start by providing some arguments with
regards to what the anarchist political philosophy is not. I do this by identifying some of the most
common features constituting what I think one can call the mainstream vision on anarchism. Four
topics are identified and deserve close attention as I consider them to be representative of the kind of
misconceptions underlying this widely spread understanding of anarchism. After these preliminary
clarifications, the second section is concerned with the multiple and sometimes contradictory
meanings of anarchist, drawing on its historical developments. Despite this fact, it is argued that there
are some common features which constitute what can be called the foundations of anarchist
perspectives.
Thirdly, I will look into urban social cohesion from a critical point of view. I start by
describing some of the most recent developments on this topic, and after I deal with the fundamental
constitutive dimensions of social cohesion. Fourthly, a number of anarchist influenced urban
experiences are described. Experiences are taken from different historical contexts, i.e. the description
will look upon historical as well as contemporary experiences. In addition, they also belong to
different ‘categories’, namely, ‘urban laboratories’ and urban movements, which are taken out of
different contexts. Fifthly, drawing on the anarchist influenced experiences previously described I
elaborate on the possible linkages between anarchism and urban social cohesion. It is argued that
anarchist experiences can be considered important in terms of research on urban social cohesion as
they can provide some relevant and innovative insights on a number of relevant issues related to social
cohesion. I end up with some brief concluding comments focused on the possibilities of utopian
visions and experimentation goals.
1. Anarchism: what’s wrong with the mainstream vision?
Anarchism always meant different things to different people. Using an analogy with semiotics,
it is a signified with several different and often contradictory signifiers, i.e. the concept is many
associated with different formulations, thus making hard to acknowledge. Even if one chooses to
consider only those who consider themselves and are recognized by other as being anarchists, there are
some topics which have been addressed more often than others and whose content is contested.
Nevertheless, the main objective in this section is to contrast what one can call the mainstream vision
about specific anarchist topics with the assumptions and themes which are usually shared within the
anarchist framework, thus representing the ‘anarchist canon’.
After presenting some general remarks concerning the mainstream understanding I then deal
with each one of the four specific topics: i) anarchism and chaos; ii) anarchism, violence and
destruction; iii) anarchism and societal development; iv) anarchism and utopia.
1.1. General remarks on the mainstream understanding
In the beginning of the 20th century Berkman (1972) highlighted that anarchism was not
supposed to be equivalent to bombs, disorder or chaos; robbery and murder; a war of all against all;
and a return to barbarism of to the wild state of man. Almost half a century later, Zinn (1997a: 645)
also wrote: ‘the word anarchy unsettles most people in the Western world; it suggests disorder,
violence, uncertainty’. More recently, in a more comprehensive and broad account, Marshall (1993:
ix) noted that
Anarchy is terror, the creed of bomb-throwing desperadoes wishing to pull down civilization.
Anarchy is chaos, when law and order collapse and the destructive passions of man run riot.
Anarchy is nihilism, the abandonment of all moral values and the twilight of reason. This it the
spectre of anarchy that haunts the judge’s bench and the government cabinet. In the popular
imagination, in our everyday language, anarchy is associated with destruction and
disobedience but also with relaxation and freedom. The anarchist finds good company, it
seems, with the vandal, iconoclast, savage, brute, ruffian, hornet, viper, ogre, ghoul, wild
beast, fiend, harpy and siren.
This brief historical review shows that there are some persistent formulations with regards to
the meaning of anarchy and/or anarchism (used here interchangeably). It seems that the mainstream
vision is haunted by Hobbesian nightmares about anarchism. It always surprised me that this has been
the case and that the dominant formulation has often been associated to chaos, violence and
destruction. It surprises me because it is as if the world, throughout the 20th century and at the
beginning of the 21st, has not been violent, destructive and chaotic. In fact, the era running from 1914
up to 1991 has even been labelled ‘the age of extremes’ (Hobsbawm, 1994) and there has never been a
time in which chaos has been so profoundly inscribed in socio-political reality. The First World War,
the mass impoverishment of the 30s, the rise and dissemination of Nazism and fascism throughout
Europe, the Stalinist regime with its ‘gulag archipelago’, The Second World War, the obliteration of
Hiroshima and Nagasaki through the use of atomic bombs, wars in Korea and Vietnam, the destruction
caused by colonial powers in Algeria and Mozambique, tens of thousands killed by death squads in El
Salvador, Guatemala and Argentina, hundreds of thousands of dead in civil wars in Croatia, Kosovo,
Sierra Leone, Ethiopia, Liberia, Afghanistan (Harman, 2008), the list is almost endless and keeps
pilling up.
Thus, we find ourselves in a conundrum: despite the fact that anarchism is rejected as being a
negative and destructive political philosophy, if we apply the mainstream interpretative grid to the
reality just described we would have a perfect match. Therefore, either the mainstream vision is
correct and, as a result, its advocates should assume that anarchism is not that bad since we already
live under anarchist principles of chaos and destruction, or, the mainstream vision is filled with
contradictions and fallacious interpretations and what anarchism really stands for is another world,
different from the one we have today. Obviously, this is a caricature but one which will hopefully help
me to demonstrate, that the mainstream vision differs from the ‘anarchist canon’ in that it fails to see
the complexity of the subject, thus reducing it to an over simplistic and narrow understanding based on
prejudice and misconception.
1.2. Mainstream anarchist principles
1.2.1. Anarchism is chaos
As we have already seen, popular visions tend to associate anarchism with chaos. In fact, the
mainstream discourse often uses both words as synonyms. This raises interesting questions related to
the legitimacy of power, its relation to authority, the role of organizations and even about ‘human
nature’.
The mainstream vision suggests that government and rulers are always needed. Without them,
there would be turmoil and mayhem. As a matter of fact, daily evidence seems to show that people are
individualistic, selfish and combative ‘by nature’ and that without rule and coercion things would
eventually degenerate into confusion, distress and, ultimately, chaos (Bouchier, 1996). People need
rules, orders and obviously rulers able to maintain order, if necessary, through the use of coercion
and/or violence.
The failure to understand the necessity of what can be broadly called government also means
that the mainstream vision considers that anarchists have a narrow understanding of what human
nature is, i.e. they tend to think, rather naively, that human societies can live without authority and
coercion. Actually, this does not seem to be the case since the majority of anarchists believe that
human beings are products of their own environments, but are also capable of changing them. There is
no essential pre-fixed human nature, thus, people become the result of specific and time-space
bounded structure-agency articulations.
Moreover, contrarily to the mainstream vision, anarchists do believe that organization is
necessary, and, more than that, that it is totally necessary if one wishes to increase the management
capacity of complex societies such as our own.
This understanding can be translated into the so called theory of spontaneous order, i.e. ‘the
theory that, given a common need, a collection of people will, by trial and error, by improvisation and
experiment, evolve order out of the situation – this order being more durable and more closely related
to their needs than any kind of externally imposed authority could provide’ (Ward, 2008: 39). Thus,
anarchists seem to have no problem with uncertainty and experimentation, both necessary to develop
consistent and durable forms of organization. On the other hand, authority and coercion are quite
contested making their understanding completely at odds with the mainstream one.
On the whole, it seems that the key misconception that we can find in this mainstream
principle is the incapacity to understand the complex relation between authority and organization,
perhaps because ‘mainstreamers’ fail to see that organization does not depend on authority. In fact,
according to Walter (2002) it seems to work much better without any authority at all. Thus, if we were
to re-write this 1st principle we would follow Pierre-Joseph Proudhon and, instead of ‘anarchy is
chaos’, we would have ‘anarchy is order’.
1.2.2. Anarchism means violence and destruction
Closely related to the previous principle, this one suggests that anarchism is necessarily
associated to violence and destruction. Even today, the old stereotype of the anarchist with a bomb
under his cloak still manages to persist. Without denying the historical role of violence in relation to
the transformation of specific power relations, what I intend to do here is to show that this
understanding fails to grasp contemporary changes in the political praxis of anarchism.
One of the key aspects to take into consideration when discussing this issue is that anarchists
have no monopoly of violence. Nevertheless, it is true that many have used violence to help them
destroy the current system. As Walter (ibid: 45) said ‘there is a dark side to anarchism, and there is no
point denying it’.
According to Uri Gordon (2005) there has been a change in the anarchism-violence nexus.
Whereas in the past anarchist political praxis was often associated to armed mass insurrection,
assassination of heads of state, industrialists and other members of the affluent class, nowadays,
anarchist violence is almost exclusively mentioned in the context of violent protests and
demonstrations. Frequently these are related to police confrontations and/or destruction of property.
This qualitative transformation of violence is a result of wider relational transformations between
socio-political contexts and anarchist praxis.
From the anarchist point of view, and I believe this constitutes another key aspect
differentiating both visions, violence is not an absolute concept, i.e. it has to be considered in relation
to the socio-political contexts in which it may operate. In simple terms, the violence of the oppressor is
not the violence of the oppressed, i.e. one is legitimate and the other is not. On the other hand, the
mainstream vision makes an immediate association between violence and anarchism, regardless of the
contextual relations. Obviously, this makes it blind to specific relational contexts in which the use of
violence may be legitimate.
1.2.3. Anarchism is antithetical to developed societies
This principle is qualitatively different from the previous two. Whereas these were clearly
negative towards anarchism per se, this one, in line with what was said before, reduces anarchism to a
rather simple and puerile radical political philosophy. This is not to say that this principle is less
harmful to anarchism, although its subtleness does seem to make it easier to recognize as being true.
Basically, this principle suggests that it is possible to ‘imagine [anarchism] existing in a small,
isolated, primitive community [but] it cannot possibly be conceived in the context of large, complex,
industrial societies’ (Ward, 2008: 57). I believe that it has two basic flaws: on the one hand it, fails to
see the linkages between anarchism and societal and technological development (see Castells, 2005),
on the other hand, it commits an anthropological hara-kiri as it completely neglects the complexity of
the so called ‘primitive communities’.
In this respect, Graeber (2004) seeks to ‘blow up the wall’ separating us (i.e. the ‘dominant
species’) from others, by asking, from an anthropological point of view, ‘what makes us so special?’.
In other words, he asks why do we still believe in the modernist, and I would add Eurocentric,
assumption that there are fundamental moral, social and political differences between us and, for
instance, the Piaroa, the Tiv, the Dinka or the rural Malagasy?
Therefore, what distinguishes the anarchist vision from the mainstream one is the fact that
whereas the former is able to consider the possibilities and the socio-political experiments conducted
by ‘others’ and is willing to translate and incorporate them into its own formulations and projects, the
later, dismisses them has being too naïve, simple and primitive.
All in all, the sense we get is that whereas the mainstream model attempts to solve its
problems ‘by fusion, amalgamation, rationalization and coordination’ (Ward, 2008: 67), the anarchist
alternative is that of ‘fragmentation, fission rather than fusion, diversity rather than unity, a mass of
societies rather than a mass society’ (ibid.).
1.2.4. Anarchism is a utopia
Finally, I will deal with the mainstream argument saying that anarchist principles are utopian,
i.e. they will never be fulfilled because they are not realistic, overtly idealistic and sometimes mere
fantasies. To this, anarchists would most probably answer that ‘nothing is more utopian than trusting
representatives from the owning class to solve the problems caused by their own dominance, and
nothing more impotent than accepting their political system as the only possible system’ (CrimethInc,
2008b).
This rejection is clearly targeted at those who think that utopias are representations of perfect
societies, with no conflicts or mistakes, while being managed by perfect people (Price, n.d.). In a
sense, this represents a strongly conservative stance very similar to the famous Margaret Thatcher
motto ‘there is no alternative left’. It is almost as if the human capacity to think and act creatively
should be reduced to an instrumental and pragmatic sense of reality.
Anarchists tend to dismiss this kind of visions as being less important than real
transformational praxis. Instead, they tend to perceive utopias as dynamic processes and not as static
places, thus the refusal to elaborate blueprints or to sketch rigid models of society (Amster, 2009;
Seyferth, 2009). As a matter of fact, for most anarchists the question is not whether or not anarchism is
possible but whether it is possible to widen the scope of influence of its principles.
This understanding underlined Daniel Guérin’s (1970: 41) argument that ‘anarchism [was] not
utopian’ because it was constructive, i.e. based on a consistent historical analysis of society. In
addition he also believed that, although constrained by hegemonic power structures, anarchist
principles were still performed in the interstices of power. As CrimethInc (2008a) suggests, ‘being an
anarchist doesn’t mean believing anarchy, let alone anarchism, can fix everything—it just means
acknowledging it’s up to us to work things out, that no one and nothing else can do this for us:
admitting that, like it or not, our lives are in our hands—and in each others’.
Instead of looking at utopia with the sense of incapacity which characterizes the mainstream
perspective, anarchists are imbued with a sense of agency animating their political praxis.
2. No Gods, no Masters: what does anarchism really stands for?
Now that I have deconstructed some of the key tenets of the mainstream vision on anarchism,
it is time to state what, at least to my understanding, anarchism really is. However, one should bear in
mind, that it does not constitute a fixed and ossified terrain but a rather dynamic and fluid one. As a
result, this personal interpretation should be seen as representing a necessarily incomplete portrait of
such a wide and complex political philosophical perspective.
Moreover, I would argue that it is not possible to follow anarchist roots without noticing that
they are arranged in a network fashion, i.e. a multiplicity of perspectives coexists, becoming dominant
within specific historical and political contexts. Thus, historically, anarchism ‘presents the appearance,
not of a swelling stream flowing on to its sea of destiny...but rather of water percolating through
porous ground – here forming for a time a strong underground current, there gathering into a swirling
pool, trickling through crevices, disappearing from sight, and then reemerging where the cracks in the
social structure may offer it a course to run’ (Woodcock 1962: 15).
As a result of that discontinuity, anarchism can almost be seen as a dynamic polyhedric
assuming several shapes throughout its relatively long history. Moreover, in general terms, it can also
be argued that the anarchist influence has always emerged and been stronger during times of sociopolitical unrest and discontentment. Therefore, anarchist influence could almost be seen as a way to
measure societal transformation.
This section has two main objectives: i) briefly present different types of anarchist traditions in
order to capture their common traits, i.e. the foundational principles of anarchism as a whole; ii) based
on the just mentioned principles, build and examine the vision-goals nexus.
2.1. Anarchist traditions
2.1.1. Individualism, egoism, libertarianism
For Walter (2002) individualist anarchism represents the view held by those believing that
society is a collection of autonomous individuals. Hence, they have no obligations whatsoever towards
society as a whole, only towards each other. He also suggested that this constitutes the most basic
anarchist point of view, as its advocates simply wish to destroy authority without elaborating on what
should replace it.
However, the most extreme form of individualism was developed by Max Stirner. While
praising the intrinsic value of the unique individual, he completely discarded the existence of abstract
entities such as the state, society, morality, duty and reason. For Marshall (1993) this means that he
rebelled against the rational tradition of Western philosophy and instead of abstraction he proposed the
satisfaction of immediate personal experience. Of particular importance for anarchist thought is his
rejection of the political party as an entity responsible for fostering conformity and obligation.
Also corresponding to a further development of individualism, libertarianism corresponded to
a moderate tendency praising all forms of liberty. Ward (2004) suggests that this vision was associated
to 19th century American figures that mistrusted American capitalism and supported the free
association with others for common advantages.
From the beginning of the 1970s the concept of libertarianism has been appropriated by
American free-market philosophers such as Robert Nozick, Murray Rothbard, and David Freedman in
a current which is also became known as anarco-capitalist (Préposiet, 2005). Being despised by the
majority of anarchists, particularly those who are socially committed, anarco-capitalists were also
responsible for providing the Right with the philosophic-ideology supporting market capitalism.
2.1.2. Mutualism and federalism
Mutualism corresponds to that view considering that, ‘instead of relying on the state, society
should be organized by individuals entering into voluntary agreements with each other on a basis of
equality and reciprocity’ (Walter, 2002: 55). Although it is not necessarily anarchist per se, mutualism
has been one of the single most influential tenets of anarchist political thought and praxis.
Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, the first self-denominated anarchist, was also a prominent thinker of
mutualism. In fact, he dealt extensively with mutualist economic systems, intended to explore the
possibilities of private property and collective ownership. For him, state control and laissez-faire
should be replaced by an economic system based on work and equality, similar to forms of socialism
based on exchange and credit (Marshall, 1993). For some, this is a view which makes sense but it does
not constitute a real challenge to the status quo as it is incapable of challenging the complex
hegemonic power structures.
Proudhon was also one of the first authors dealing with federalism, i.e. ‘the view that society
in a wider sense than the local community should be co-ordinated by a network of councils which are
drawn from the various areas an which are themselves co-ordinated by councils covering wider areas’
(Walter, 2002: 57). Therefore, the federal system is seen as being simultaneously opposed to
governmental centralization and capable of managing issues that take place at scales larger than the
local one.
2.1.3. Collectivism, communism, syndicalism
According to Walter (idib.), collectivism goes further than individualism and mutualism in
that it directly threats both the state and the class system. It corresponds to the view that ‘society can
be reconstructed only when the working class seizes control of the economy by a social revolution,
destroys the state apparatus, and reorganizes production on the basis of common ownership and
control by associations of working people’ (ibid: 58). Its slogan would be the one used by the French
socialists of the 1840s, ‘from each according to his ability, to each according to his work’.
Further developments contributed for the emergence of a more sophisticated perspective, that
of communism. The main difference in comparison with collectivism is that whereas the later stresses
the necessity to share the instruments of labour, the former also considers that the products of labour
should be held in common and distributed according to the other well known socialist maxim, ‘from
each according to his ability, to each according to his needs’. However, anarchists are keen to establish
a distinction between their own communism and the one under the influence of Marxist doctrine. One
of the main principles of authoritarian socialists is the necessity of a central authority, something
which is anathema to anarchists.
For more than a century, anarco-communism constituted the dominant force within anarchism
and some of its most important figures (e.g. Mikhail Bakunin, Piotr Kropotkin, Errico Malatesta,
Élisée Reclus, and Emma Goldman) considered themselves communists.
Syndicalism is a vision that stresses the power of organized industrial workers and considers
that society should be structured around trade unions and administrated according to the principle of
workers control. In fact, anarco-syndicalism tends to over emphasize the meaning of work and it
seems to be rather at odds with contemporary societies in which work lost the meaning it once had.
Contrary to the previous types of anarchist principles, these ones are not passive, quite the
opposite, as they defend the necessity of proactive bottom-up political intervention in society in order
to destroy the capitalist system (specifically regarding its organization of labour) and its key structural
pillar, the state.
2.1.4. Situationism, social ecology, feminism, anti-globalization
This type entails a multiplicity of completely different perspectives, constituting what some
call post-classical perspectives, and thus it is not as coherent as the previous three. Moreover, some of
them are not de facto anarchist but, instead, remain on the borders of anarchism. Actually, this seems
to be a demonstration of Epstein’s (2001) conjecture that anarchism has lost its ideological consistency
and nowadays, more than anything else, it has become a collection of ‘anarchist sensibilities’.
The first of these ‘sensibilities’ is Situationism. The Internationale Situationniste was founded
in 1957 by a group of experimental artists and young intellectuals, influenced by Dadaism and
surrealism. Situationism became very influential during the May 68 events, particularly because of the
writings of two of its members Guy Debord (The Society of the Spectacle) and Raoul Vaneigem (The
Revolution of Everyday Life). They believed that ‘all individuals should construct the situations of
their lives and release their own potential and obtain their own pleasure’ (Marshall, 1993: 552).
Although more sophisticated, this uncompromised commitment to liberty and autonomy seems to have
been somewhat close to the aforementioned individualism perspective advocated by some anarchists.
More than a ‘sensibility’, Social Ecology is field of knowledge which, unlike deep ecologists,
primitivists, and orthodox environmentalists does not criticize the origins and progress of civilization.
It also suggests that the causes of ecological crisis are fundamentally social in nature and, as such, can
be solved using the societal resources available. As Murray Bookchin (2007: 19) noted, ‘social
ecology is based on the conviction that nearly all of our present ecological problems originate in deepseated social problems’. However, its major contribution for anarchist reasoning has been its political
dimension, i.e. libertarian municipalism, a program for restoring the latent political possibilities in
existing local governments transforming them into direct democracies (Biehl, 1998; 2006).
Feminism also contributed to develop the libertarian message of traditional anarchism
(Marshall, 1993). The subtle but somewhat clear analysis of hierarchies and systems of domination
developed by many anarchists has also been appropriated by many feminists. In fact, ‘both see social
and economic inequality as rooted in institutionalized power arrangements; both stress the necessity of
changing those arrangements as a precondition for liberation; and both work for the realization of
personal autonomy and freedom within a context of community’ (Ehrlich, 1996a: 137).
Finally, the so called ‘anti-globalization movement’ which has been emerging during the last
decade also contributed to reinvent and to renew the anarchist tradition. Its origins are uncertain but
there is a widespread perception that they can be traced back to the 1994 Zapatista rebellion.
Afterwards, Seattle, Washington, Prague, Québec and Genoa were its privileged stages (Graeber,
2007). Of particular importance, in my view, is the importance given to prefigurative politics, i.e.
modes of organization and praxis which reflect the future society that the movement is aiming for.
Arguably, it can be said that these forms of political action resemble what we can call ‘real utopias’
where the process is as important as the goals one wishes to achieve. To illustrate what I mean, I will
use a description provided by David Graeber (2001: 84):
When protesters in Seattle chanted “this is what democracy looks like,” they meant to be taken
literally. In the best tradition of direct action, they not only confronted a certain form of
power, exposing its mechanisms and attempting literally to stop it in its tracks: they did it in a
way which demonstrated why the kind of social relations on which it is based were
unnecessary. This is why all the condescending remarks about the movement being dominated
by a bunch of dumb kids with no coherent ideology completely missed the mark. The diversity
was a function of the decentralized form of organization, and this organization was the
movement’s ideology.
2.2. Vision-goals nexus
The examination of the different anarchist traditions just made allow us to build the visiongoals nexus. In order to do so, I rely on Chomsky’s (1996: 190) formulation, whereby vision means
‘the conception of a future society that animates what we actually do, a society in which a decent
human being might want to live’, and goals means ‘the choices and tasks that are within reach, that we
will pursue one way or another guided by a vision that may be distant and hazy’. In other words, goals
are concerned with the instruments and the methods used, i.e. the means used to achieve the vision.
The spirit underlying this sketch is one that, in Mueller’s (n.d.: 123) own words, perceives
anarchism as ‘a set of practices and actions within which certain principles manifest themselves’, i.e.
the goals are not constrained by rigid principles. Instead, the principles are built in relation to them,
means and ends having the same weight within the process of political praxis. As a result, the
following interpretation privileges goals in relation to vision.
2.2.1. Vision
Despite all the differences one can find in the various anarchist traditions described above,
there are some recurrent themes, and some shared similarities in terms of a unified, holistic vision,
responsible for keeping the goals emerging. Thus, I believe that it is possible to identify two pairs of
interrelated themes which, considered as a flexible whole, can be held as the constitutive nodes of the
anarchist fabric. I am talking about freedom and equality, on the one hand and, on the other, of power
and authority.
Since anarchism can be perceived as being a synthesis of the most influential political
philosophies developed during the last two centuries, i.e. liberalism and socialism, anarchist’s vision is
one of freedom and equality. One cannot be conceived without the other, i.e. since one reinforces the
other, both can only be fully achieved if in a simultaneous fashion. In a brilliant and very vivid
account Walter (2002: 29) suggested that ‘freedom without equality means that the poor and weak are
less free than the rich and strong, and equality without freedom means that we are all slaves together’.
However, anarchism is not just a mere mixture of both liberalism and socialism. As it rejects the
institutions of government, it is qualitatively different, meaning that above all anarchists reject all
coercive forms of external authority.
The challenge is how to deal with the tensions between freedom (either in its individual or
collective form) and equality, as a concept which goes way beyond the liberal formulation associated
to equality before the law or equality of opportunity. Therefore, although celebrating personal and
social freedom as a supreme ideal, anarchists are aware that it cannot easily be achieved as there are
numerous cultural, political, and social obstacles. However, following the aforementioned definition, a
vision does not need to be immediately achieved, it only needs to exist.
All in all, it was Marshall (1993: 50) who better explained the relation between freedom and
equality when he pointed out that ‘because [anarchists] adopt a principle of justice that everyone has
an equal claim to a maximum of freedom they reject all political authority as an illegitimate
interference with freedom’.
Power and authority are also fundamental tenets of an anarchist vision. Basically, authority is
one among many possible manifestations of power (e.g. political influence, charismatic leadership,
intellectual recognition). As such, power (individual or organizational) may be perceived as the ability
to achieve certain ends even if those complying do not accept the arguments supporting them.
Additionally, anarchists are also opposed to all forms of coercive, non reciprocal power as this
necessarily implies a relation of domination, something which is obviously obnoxious to anarchism.
As a result, anarchism is also suspicious of political authority (e.g. a specific manifestation of power),
especially if it is illegitimate and imposed from above. However, this does not mean that anarchists
have a naïve understanding of power. On the one hand, it is assumed that, although unequally
distributed power permeates society, on the other, there is a general consensual understanding that
power has a corruptive effect and that is why anarchists distrust its delegation into the hands of leaders
and rulers.
Daniel Guérin (1970) identified three domains which I believe can help to shed some light
upon the power-authority relationship from an anarchist point of view: i) horror of the state; ii)
hostility to bourgeois democracy; iii) critique of authoritarian socialism (see also Carter, 2000).
The first represents the classical tenet of the anarchist tradition. For Stirner (cited in ibid: 15),
‘every state is a tyranny, be it the tyranny of a single man or a group (…) the state as always one
purpose: to limit, control, subordinate the individual and subject him to the general purpose’.
Likewise, for Bakunin (ibid.) the state was ‘an abstraction devouring the life of the peoples’. Although
contemporary anarchists are also anti-statists they have somewhat replaced these visceral
understandings by others, more sophisticated and less embedded in the 19th century zeitgeist,
characterizing anarchist ‘theology’ (see Graber, 2007).
Unsurprisingly, this critique is related to the second domain, i.e. hostility to bourgeois
democracy. Anarchists are very suspicious of bourgeois democratic theory because if there truly was a
popular sovereignty the distinction between governed and government would no longer be necessary.
That is why some anarchists do not believe in emancipation by the ballot. Nevertheless, the anarchist
attitude towards universal suffrage is far from logical or consistent and some would argue that under
certain circumstances, voting can be seen as a progressive instrument for challenging power relations
(Guérin, 1970).
Finally, anarchist’s critique of authoritarian socialism is usually associated to the discussion
revolving around the figures of Marx and Bakunin, related to the internal disputes for gaining control
over the International (1870s) and also concerning the organizational strategies which should be
followed after the destruction of the dominant power structures. Basically, in opposition to the Marxist
dictatorship of the proletariat, anarchists deny the need for provisional and temporary stages after
seizing power. Bakunin summed his own understanding on this issue as follows: ‘take the most radical
of revolutionaries and place him on the throne of all the Russias or give him dictatorial powers…and
before the year is out he will be worse than the Czar himself’ (ibid: 26).
2.2.2. Goals
Anarchists have always been very creative and imaginative with regards to the mechanisms
and instruments they have used to materialize their vision, hence to challenge and contest power
relations within the framework of power-authority/freedom-equality relations. I believe that it is
possible to distinguish two periods in terms of anarchist goals: i) classical/modern period, which starts
in the 19th century and lasts until around the 1960s; ii) contemporary/postmodern period, extending
from the final years of the 1960s until today.
In terms of anarchist goals, the classical/modern period, is somewhat similar to other
socialist/syndicalist traditions as it was closely linked to wide scale labour organizations such as the
IWW in the States and the CNT in Spain. Despite the obvious differences associated to its particular
vision, mass demonstrations, organized by labour unions, strikes, and other forms of more or less
democratically organized collective action were the predominant form of anarchist goals during this
period.
The postmodern period witnessed an explosion in terms of political praxis, a continuous
renewal of anarchist methods encompassed by a culture of experimentation, celebration of freedom
and contestation of authority. It did not replace modern anarchist goals. Notwithstanding, it
represented an input of vitality in these consolidated forms of praxis. Thus, the complexity of
postmodern goals has increased significantly and I believe that one should pay further attention to its
defining features.
In my understanding, anarchist goals tend to privilege socio-political experimentation in
relation to other possible spheres of influence, such as the economic. This happens because since the
groups holding power have shifted their attention to the economic sphere, therefore neglecting the
political one, anarchists and those with anarchist sensibilities have been filling up the empty gaps with
alternative political possibilities. However, there are some theoretical proposals for more durable and
sustainable transformations concerning economic systems, such as Participatory Economics (Albert,
2003). Nevertheless, these have yet to face the test of empirical-contextual experimentation.
Therefore, within the scope of what has been already ‘tested’, I believe that it is possible to
highlight three relevant postmodern goals: i) consensus; ii) direct action; iii) prefigurative politics.
Consensus is a process of direct democratic decision-making based on the existence of
horizontal networks instead of top-down structures as in the case of conventional democratic processes
run by states, parties or corporations. It refers to a condition of agreement by all members of a group
on the decisions made about specific issues/problems. Accordingly, it has been widely used within the
anti-globalization movement, several indigenous communities in Latin America, and other projects of
anarchist inspiration.
Therefore, although consensus is somewhat at odds with western democratic processes of
decision-making, outside western tradition it is rather usual. However, it still does not seem to count as
a form of democracy. The reasons for this understanding were described by Graeber (2004: 87) as
follows:
We are usually told that democracy originated in ancient Athens – like science, or philosophy,
it was a Greek invention. It’s never entirely clear what this is supposed to mean. Are we
supposed to believe that before the Athenians, it never really occurred to anyone, anywhere, to
gather all the members of their community in order to make joint decisions in a way that gave
everyone equal say? That would be ridiculous. Clearly there have been plenty of egalitarian
societies in history – many far more egalitarian than Athens, many that must have existed
before 500 BC – and obviously, they must have had some kind of procedure for coming to
decisions for matters of collective importance. Yet, somehow, it is always assumed that these
procedures, whatever they might have been, could not have been, properly speaking,
“democratic”.
In fact, according to the anarchist power-authority relationship mentioned earlier, consensus
seems to be a much more legitimate form of making a decision because it lacks the coercive apparatus
structuring traditional forms of democracy. Likewise, it also tends to challenge conventional political
wisdom, as it is based on the belief that each person has some part of the truth and no one has all of it
(Estes, 1996). It must also be acknowledged that because it is unarguably a much more complex
process than the traditional one it may be more time consuming but, as the Curious George Brigade
(2003) noted, ‘consensus may take more time than voting, but then voting is not as time-efficient as
totalitarianism’.
Last, consensus has also contributed to foster the development of a wide array of
organizational instruments all aimed at the same goal, i.e. the creation of ‘forms of democratic process
that allow initiatives to rise from bellow and attain maximum effective solidarity, without stifling
dissenting voices, creating leadership positions or compelling anyone to do anything which they have
not freely agreed to do’ (Graeber, 2002:71).
Direct action is a form of action with no intermediaries which can have multiple and very
distinct meanings. Boycotts, civil disobedience, sit-ins, freedom rides and freedom walks, street
demonstrations, are all forms of direct action. Thus, as a method, it has been used by several radical
groups and projects for many years.
Howard Zinn (1997b: 617) believes that it has numerous qualities because ‘it disturbs the
status quo, it intrudes on the complacency of the majority, it expresses the anger and the hurt of the
aggrieved, it publicizes an injustice, it demonstrates the inadequacy of whatever reforms have been
instituted up to that point, it creates tension and trouble and thus forces the holders of power to move
faster than they otherwise would have to redress grievances’. Therefore, it can be perceived as being a
form of praxis which is simultaneously political and symbolic.
Nevertheless, this goal has to deal with several misunderstandings. Some of them were
identified by CrimethInc (n.d.), namely: i) it is terrorism; ii) it is violent; iii) it is not political
expression, but criminal activity; iv) it is unnecessary where people have freedom of speech; v) it is
alienating; vi) people practicing it should work through the established political channels instead; vii)
it is exclusive; viii) it acts cowardly; ix) it is practiced only by college students/privileged rich
kids/desperate poor people/etc.; x) it is the work of agent provocateurs; xi) it is dangerous and can
have negative repercussions for others; xii) it never accomplishes anything. Obviously, there are no
definite answers able to refute all these accusations. Like we have already seen direct action is not an
absolute and immutable political goal, instead it is polysemic and polymorphic, therefore only the
analysis of specific and contextualized events allows one to evaluate them.
Finally, prefigurative politics means the process of building today the society one wants to
achieve in the future, in other words, making one’s vision become true. I believe it resembles what
Ehrlich (1996b: 331) called ‘transfer culture’, i.e. an ongoing process of revolutionary change. In his
understanding revolution is not an end, but rather a constant process of transforming everyday life.
As such, I consider this particular anarchist goal to be a rather temporary and incomplete
crystallization of their vision. This is quite different from the classical socialist traditions, as it can be
perceived as an abandonment of the grand modern revolutionary narratives (i.e. vision) animating their
goals.
Prefigurative politics refer also to a concern with the coherence between means and ends, i.e.
goals and vision. For anarchists, it is not possible to achieve freedom and equality through the use of
authoritarian and coercive methods. That would be a completely unsustainable contradiction violating
their understanding of the goals-vision nexus. This reasoning is synthesized in Ehrlich’s (ibid: 332)
‘radical catechism’ as follows:
We must view revolutionary change as a process, not an end.
We must develop a view of the “good society”.
We must act on the principles of the society we would like to see.
Our means must be consistent with our ends.
We must act as if the future is today.
To conclude this section, it seems possible to assume that as we move on towards the
contemporary age anarchist traditions have also shaped and adapted their goals (more than their
vision). In my understanding, the major transformation was the abandonment of the great unifying
collective projects which characterized the anarchist traditions of communism, syndicalism and
collectivism. During the last couple of decades we have witnessed a pulverization of that unity, a
fragmentation of anarchist goals which are increasingly resembling the swarm intelligence Hardt and
Negri (2005) referred to. As a result, the understanding of the nexus also seems to have changed.
Starting with the situationists, I believe that what happened was a progressive compression of the
nexus, i.e. vision and goals are increasingly closer to each other. Symptomatic of this transformation is
the fact that, although I considered prefigurative politics as a goal, I still doubt whether it should be in
its own category, since it blurs the separation between goals and vision.
3. Urban Social cohesion
In this section I address social cohesion from an urban perspective, i.e. considering it within
the framework of urban socio-spatial contexts. In order to do so, and considering the linkages we need
to establish between anarchism and urban social cohesion, a number of general remarks concerning
some of the most relevant theoretical proposals made about the later concept are presented. Social
cohesion is first and foremost understood as a very complex and dynamic phenomenon. Thus, not only
it is hard to grasp in conceptual terms but also in relation to the construction of operative analytical
instruments allowing the examination and comprehension of specific urban contexts. Nevertheless, an
effort has been made to synthesize and to simplify urban social cohesion breaking it down to its most
relevant dimensions.
In the second part of this section, some proposals are described and criticized from an
anarchist perspective. This is deemed to highlight some of the conceptual shortcomings present in the
proposals analysed if they were to be understood from an anarchist point of view, i.e. framed by the
constitutive elements of the anarchist vision. After, I end up this section with a short presentation of
the social cohesion perspective which will be used afterwards while examining anarchist experiences.
3.1. General remarks on social cohesion
To my understanding, social cohesion could be placed right at the top of the list of the most
difficult words in the English language. A survey of the literature reveals that it is used in manifold
ways and there is no consensus regarding its definition and the way it links to other related concepts
(Jenson, 1998; Friedkin, 2004). The fact that it has also been used as a key concept for the design and
elaboration of policies, either by governmental and non-governmental institutions, also seems to have
contributed to the sense of confusion around the meaning and content of social cohesion. That is why,
for Bernard (1999: 2), social cohesion ‘presents the characteristic signs of a quasi-concept, that is, one
of those hybrid mental constructions that politics proposes to us more and more often in order to
simultaneously detect possible consensuses on a reading of reality, and to forge them’.
Under similar lines, Kearns and Forrest (2000: 996) also suggested that social cohesion if
often ‘used in such a way that its meaning is nebulous but at the same time the impression is given that
everyone knows what is being referred to. The usual premise is that social cohesion is a good thing, so
it is conveniently assumed that further elaboration is unnecessary’. The same understanding is held by
Bessel (2001: 183) when arguing that ‘social cohesion can be described as the glue that bonds society
together, thus promoting harmony, a sense of community, and a degree of commitment to promoting
the common good’. It is my contention that these common assumptions about social cohesion are
partially responsible for its lack of theoretical depth. This, in turn, has contributed to obstruct the
relevance of social cohesion in terms of research as it does not possess the required consistency and
analytical rigor.
There are, however, other understandings about social cohesion. An extensive analysis
allowed Jenson (1998) to identify a number of distinct theoretical approaches about social cohesion.
Whereas the predominant vision, as we have already seen, associates it with a set of shared values and
a strong sense of commitment to a particular community, thus being understood as the foundational
rock of social order, other perspectives tend to relativize the importance of values. Instead, they
valorize mechanisms such as the role played by institutions and conflicts for the construction and
dynamic of social cohesion within specific contexts.
Thus, on the one hand, the former understanding encompasses issues such as the construction
of collective identities, which is closely related to feelings of belonging, and the capacity shown by a
society to guarantee the inclusiveness of all its members, thus fostering equality and reducing
marginality. On the other hand, the latter understanding, privileges issues such as those related to the
democratic practices associated to political praxis and also those associated to the mediation of
conflicts related to issues such as the access to power and resources (ibid.).
In a latter report, Beauvais and Jenson (2002) reviewed and updated the previously elaborated
‘state of the research’. They were able to distinguish two positions with regards to the role played by
social cohesion. For some analysts and policy-makers, social cohesion is seen as an independent
variable in a given polity, therefore responsible for generating outcomes. For others, it is perceived as
a dependent variable, therefore, understood as the result of actions conducted in one or more realms. It
does not seem to make much sense to trace such a stark distinction between both poles as probably
they should be understood in terms of their interrelations, i.e. how is social cohesion fostered or
hindered within certain specific contexts and how can we influence the outcome through the
‘manipulation’ of some of the inputs. In fact, according to Beauvais and Jenson (ibid.) one of the most
significant changes in the literature about social cohesion produced in the last years has been the
increased attention to the capacity of well-designed strategic action to foster social cohesion.
I consider that another important idea developed in this latter report was the recognition that
since social cohesion can be understood as a ‘quasi-concept’ (see Bernard, 1999) it has to be flexible
enough to allow that its analytical rigor as well as its utility are taken into consideration when studying
it within a specific urban context. Therefore, as the Council of Europe (2005) suggests, social cohesion
should not be acknowledged as a scientific or technical concept but rather as the result of interpretative
exercises carried out by relevant actors while solving conflicting situations. In that sense, the Council
of Europe (ibid: 26) ended up by suggesting that social cohesion, rather than a concept, should take the
form of a dynamic and flexible ‘reference framework’. Although I believe that a more flexible
understanding of social cohesion is necessary, I also reckon that there is a necessity to have some
unifying aspects underlying a broad definition of social cohesion. Hence, in order to grasp it as a
whole, social cohesion should be understood simultaneously as a concept and as a framework.
Notwithstanding, a holistic definition of social cohesion should not neglect the fact that it is a
contested concept/framework, i.e. it has also to be understood in the context of the neoliberal policymakers which have been developing and using it to sustain the policies being conducted during the last
couple of decades. One should bear in mind that cohesion ‘alludes to social bonds and trust but not
necessarily equity’ (Fainstein, 2001: 884). For Bernard (1999) it may even be used to mask a whole
range of inequalities and social injustices. He contends that ‘social cohesion and related nebulous
expressions such as social capital and mutual trust rightly attract attention to the perils of
neoliberalism, but in most cases they implicitly prescribe a dose of compassion and a return to values
rather than a correction of social inequalities and an institutional mediation of interests (ibid: 3).
In this sense, the definition provided by Judith Maxwell (1996) offers an understanding which
is wide enough to entail not only the multiple perspectives about social cohesion but also its conceptframework tension. For her, ‘social cohesion involves building shared values and communities of
interpretation, reducing disparities in wealth and income, and generally enabling people to have a
sense that they are engaged in a common enterprise, facing shared challenges, and that they are
members of the same community’ (ibid: 13).
Specifically talking from the point of view of urban research, Kearns and Forrest (2000)
underline that the reasons why social cohesion has become such a relevant topic are connected to the
effects of global economic and technological transformations. Of particular importance in this respect
is the reorientation of social policies and state intervention towards competiveness, thus putting more
pressure on cities and neighbourhoods. Therefore, current concerns about social cohesion tend to be
associated with urban problems, particularly those related to poor neighbourhoods. Underlying this
rationale is also the assumption that there is less social cohesion now than somewhere in the past.
According to Forrest and Kearns (2001: 2127) the so called crisis of social cohesion is linked to the
‘breakdown of Keynesian capitalism, an end to the progressive recruitment of households to the
traditional middle classes and the lifestyles and living standards associated with such status, growing
inequality and social fragmentation and a perceived decline of shared moral values. Rising crime rates,
the growth of organised crime, long-term unemployment and underemployment particularly among
young people, rising divorce rates and lone parenthood are all taken as signs of an increasingly
stressed and disorganised society’.
As we have seen earlier, this somewhat idyllic and naïve understanding of past communitarian
relations and human networks has been seriously contested. However, only a discussion about the
constitutive dimensions of social cohesion may shed some light upon this issue.
3.2. Constitutive dimensions of social cohesion
In addition to the absence of consensual definitions of social cohesion, there are a number of
proposals with regards to its fundamental contents and/or dimensions.
After conducting an in-depth textual analysis, Jenson (1998) was able to argue that social
cohesion has five dimensions: i) belonging/isolation, as feelings of isolation from a specific
community are perceived as a threat to social cohesion; ii) inclusion/exclusion, related to the ability to
fully participate in contemporary market societies particularly in terms of access to employment; iii)
participation/passivity, linked to the relations between different scales of political influence whereby
non-involvement in conventional political participatory mechanisms is perceived as a threat to social
cohesion; iv) recognition/rejection, connected to the inherent pluralism of contemporary societies
requiring institutional environments contributing to practices of recognition of difference which is in
itself considered a virtue; v) legitimacy/illegitimacy, related to the role of institutions in conflict
mediation which, if questioned, could represent a threat to social cohesion.
From an anarchist point of view, some of the dimensions identified above are problematic,
namely, the assumption that conventional mechanisms of participation are intrinsically connected to
social cohesion. This understanding seems to ignore the fact that political praxis is not necessarily
attached to the existent channels allowing one to intervene in the public sphere, i.e. there are informal
mechanisms of political intervention which do not seem to constitute barriers to social cohesion.
Likewise, an anarchist vision would probably be suspicious of the foundations of the legitimacy of
some institutions dealing with conflicting situations.
Kearns and Forrest (2000) offer another perspective in which social cohesion entails five
constituent dimensions as follows: i) common values and a civic culture, whereby a cohesive society
‘is one in which the members share common values which enable them to identify and support
common aims and objectives, and share a common set of moral principles and codes of behaviour
through which to conduct their relations with one another. Furthermore, in a cohesive society, one
would observe widespread support for political institutions and general engagement with political
systems and institutions rather than indifference or disaffection towards them’ (ibid: 997); ii) social
order and social control, referring ‘to the absence of general conflict within society and of any serious
challenge to the existing order and system’ (ibid: 998); iii) social solidarity and reductions in wealth
disparities, implying a conscious effort to tackle poverty and unemployment, to increase opportunities
for income-generating activities, to reduce income disparities, and to foster social solidarity through
the construction of a sense of shared responsibility and interrelation; iv) social networks and social
capital, as there is a consensual belief that a cohesive society contains high density and high intensity
of socialization processes maintained through social and civic engagement networks fostering social
capital. It is believed that ‘many collective action problems can be overcome through co-operation,
and voluntary co-operation is easier and more likely to be spontaneous where social capital exists’
(ibid: 1000); v) place attachment and identity, associated to a discussion on notions of belonging,
place attachment and spatial mobility as it is usually assumed that social cohesion benefits from the
existence of a strong attachment to places sharing a common past giving a unifying meaning to those
living on it.
From an anarchist perspective this proposal raises even more doubts than the previous one. To
begin with, it shows a concern with moral values, perceived as the cement linking the various
members of a given society. However, this requires the existence of rather homogenous communities
in which diversity tends to be associated to the disruption of social order. In addition, the authors also
consider that cohesiveness is associated to a general support for the existing institutions. An anarchist
would say that they completely miss the point, since they were not able to notice that more often than
not social unrest is caused by the absence of valuable communication between the conventional
institutional apparatus and its citizens. The authors also refer that the absence of conflict and
challenges posed to the social order is a necessary condition for social cohesion. This understanding is
completely at odds with the anarchist rationale which would probably perceive conflict as a necessary
condition for widening up the conditions necessary to foster social cohesion. Moreover, the existent
social order, revolving around market fundamentalism and authoritarian government structures, is
often seen as the underlying cause for the absence of social cohesion. However, their understanding of
social networks and social capital seem to resemble some of the ideas already presented anarchist
ideas about autonomy and spontaneous order.
The Council of Europe (2005) also identified five basic components of social cohesion: i)
confidence, understood as a tripartite dimension in which confidence simultaneously relates to oneself
and its personal relationships, to institutions and to the future; ii) social bonds, linked to the capacity to
developed bonds that cut across traditional separations between non-communicative groups, thus
fostering a culture of dialogue and mutual respect; iii) values, i.e. ‘the dissemination of civic values,
which guide social behaviour and its development, such as a sense of justice and the public good,
solidarity and social responsibility, tolerance and respect for difference’ (ibid: 56); iv) knowledge,
under the assumption that shared knowledge contributes to the development and continuity of a sense
of belonging; v) feelings, i.e. ‘the feelings of satisfaction resulting from leading an autonomous,
dignified life that is actively connected with public issues through the assimilation of civic values, as
opposed to feelings of frustration, resentment, hatred’ (ibid.).
From an anarchist perspective, the five dimensions put forward by the Council of Europe are
problematic mainly because they do not challenge the status quo, i.e. they take for granted that social
cohesion can be achieved and sustained within the existing social order. This would not be consistent
with an anarchist vision of the ‘world’.
A more flexible and synthetic proposal was put forward by Woolley (1998) who identified
three recurrent aspects in the literature about social cohesion, namely: i) absence of social exclusion,
as a necessary condition for the existence of social cohesion; ii) intensity of social interaction, because
cohesion is closely linked to interaction; iii) shared values and communities of interpretation as
cohesion can be associated to group identity. Although simpler than the previous proposals, this one
has the merit of being able to identify the three broad areas where social cohesion operates, i.e.
socioeconomic, political and cultural.
More recently, Andreas Novy et al. (2009) did a similar effort to clarify social cohesion both
in conceptual as well as in political terms. In order to grasp the concept of social cohesion, the authors
identified three dimensions, namely: i) socioeconomic, associated to inequality, poverty and social
exclusion (see also Costa, 2004); ii) cultural, linked to common values, diversity and social capital; iii)
political, concerning citizenship, rights and participation. In addition to this tripartite
conceptualization, and due to the various ways to understand and apply the concept of social cohesion,
the authors consider it as a problématique, i.e. ‘a range of questions and challenges posed by the
political and methodological use of the concept’ (ibid: 8). Basically, this understanding aims at
addressing social cohesion within the broader framework of the capitalist system and its incessant
dynamic of ‘creative destruction’. In other words, ‘to understand social cohesion as a problématique
means to accept the contradictory dynamics inherent in all efforts to foster solidarity in capitalist
societies which need cooperation as well as competition’ (ibid: 9).
This somewhat fluid understanding of social cohesion seems to suit an anarchist understanding
of social cohesion because, more than any of the previous perspectives, it is able to combine the
material aspects related to socioeconomic status with apparently more immaterial and symbolic
aspects such as those under the cultural or the political labels. Moreover, instead of advancing a
‘passive’ conceptualization without challenging the existing social order, by understanding social
cohesion as a problématique, it is able to put forward an ‘active’ notion of social cohesion. Its
foundations can be found in the three challenges proposed by the authors.
The first challenge concerns the socioeconomic dimension. It stresses the need to introduce a
utopian perspective if one wishes to build a socio-economic order in which all can participate.
Accordingly, there is a need to foster a culture of experimentation with regards to alternative economic
systems. For Novy, et al. (2009: 14), ‘a concrete utopia of social cohesion has to advance towards a
society which accommodates freedom, equality and solidarity’. The second challenge is a cultural one,
whereby ‘society has to overcome a single-language, monoethnic norm and embrace a society which
accommodates diversity, equality and order’ (ibid.). Finally, the political challenge consists ‘in
advancing from an essentialist and exclusionary concept of national citizenship to a scale-sensitive and
inhabitant-centred conception of citizenship’ (ibid.).
Considered as a whole, these challenges have the potential to reconfigure the way social
cohesion has been theorised during the last decades. However, our main concern here is on how
assemble their underlying dimensions (i.e. socioeconomic, cultural and political) with the anarchist
rationale developed earlier in order to understand how can anarchist experiences provide some
relevant and socially innovative insights in terms of urban social cohesion.
4. Anarchist influenced experiences
This section corresponds mainly to a description of a number of anarchist influenced
experiences. They were chosen on the basis of their apparent capacity to illustrate specific anarchist
praxis (vision-goals nexus). This ‘impressionist’ option is the base for a somewhat heuristic exercise
in which, although the experiences chosen were considered as being representative of an ‘anarchist
sensibility’, only the next section is able to provide a more rigorous and systematic understanding of
these urban experiences.
Furthermore, there is a concern to bring to the fore both historical as well as contemporary
experiences. This happens for two reasons: on the one hand, I do not want to be a victim of the kind of
collective historical amnesia characterising many of the analysis being made nowadays; on the other
hand, I also believe that some contemporary experiences are sometimes misunderstood and that their
singularities are often neglected.
Experiences can acquire multiple forms and crystallize differently in urban contexts. They can
take the form of social movements, projects, collectives, organizations, cultural centres, and so on. In
order to narrow the scope of our examination, thus reducing the complexity, two domains of anarchist
influenced experiences are distinguished, namely: i) urban laboratories; ii) urban movements (see
Castells, 1977; Estanque, 1999; Harvey, 2001; Pickvance, 2003; Hamel, 2008). This distinction allows
us to grasp both ‘solid’ and ‘liquid’ urban experiences, i.e. those who are attached to a specific locale
and those having the capacity to stretch and move all around urban spaces. With this in mind, it is now
time to start by examining a number of historical urban experiences and after some contemporary
ones.
4.1. Historical urban experiences
In my opinion, an historical experience is one which does not exist anymore but, nonetheless,
still manages to preserve some features interesting enough to be examined. In other words, they
possess a kind of archaeological importance because through their comprehension one may understand
better what is going on in the present.
I also believe that the so called utopian socialist experiences can be understood as urban
laboratories within the framework of anarchism. In the context of the industrial revolution, new
problems emerged (e.g. lack of sanitation, undeveloped water infrastructures, fast dissemination of
contagious diseases, high levels of mortality in some urban areas, increasing levels of poverty, etc.)
which needed to be answered, thus, multiple responses were elaborated but only few were really
‘tested’, i.e. put to practice.
According to Bookchin (2005) this era witnessed an immense proliferation of utopias, with
different characteristics, such as the completely authoritarian communistic utopia of Mably, the
patriarchal ascetic one of Cabet, and the technocratic and hierarchical vision of Saint-Simon.
However, he also pointed out that there were two ‘utopians’ that were more influential than any others,
Charles Fourier, one of France’s great libertarian thinkers, and Robert Owen, a welsh social reformer.
Whereas the former was the main source of inspiration for many utopians but never managed to go
beyond theoretical elaborations, the latter was responsible for some of the most interesting utopian
experiences ever to be made. Some even advocate that, unlike that of Fourier, Owen’s doctrine
proceeded from practice, experiment and experience (Buber, 1996).
Although not necessarily an urban thinker, since his thought revolved around industrial cooperation and he had an organicist vision about the universe, Fourier, however, was relevant because
he paved the way for further understandings on communitarian life. For some, like Marshall (1993), he
went far beyond the ideas of liberty, equality and fraternity put forward by the lawyers of the French
Revolution, recognizing that social liberty without a degree of economic equality is meaningless, for
others, such as Bookchin (2005: 426), ‘Fourier turns out to be the most libertarian, the most original,
and certainly the most relevant utopian thinker of his day, if not of the entire tradition’.
Marshall (1993) provided a vivid account of Fourier’s rational/romantic schemes which were
based on the existence of communities where ‘there would be agreeable and voluntary labour, nonrepressive sexuality, communal education and communal living’ (ibid: 150). Each community would
be a phalanx housed in a phalanstery. In turn, each phalanx
would consist of a self-managing and self-sustaining association of co-operative workers. The
members would work in voluntary groups of friends or a series of groups who have gathered
together spontaneously and who are stimulated by active rivalries. Work would be made as
attractive as possible, and the division of labour would be carried to the supreme degree in
order to allot suitable tasks to different individuals. While work would be co-operative and
property enjoyed in common, members would receive dividends proportional to their
contributions in capital, work and talent. Everyone would have a right to work and as a key
principle Fourier insists on a ‘social minimum’, a guaranteed annual income. Every effort
would be made to combine personal with social freedom and promote diversity in unity. The
equality of unequals would prevail (ibid: 150-151).
However, for this ideal to be fulfilled, rigorous lifestyle had to be followed by the members of
the phalanx. According to Bebel (1880, quoted in Freitag, 2001: 9), the standard daily routines of the
phalanstery during summer were: ‘3:30 – wake up and get dressed; 4:00 – animals breeders working
session; 5:00 – gardeners working session; 7:00 – morning coffee; 7:30 – wheat farmers working
session; 9:30 – horticultures working session; 11:00 – another session with animal breeders; 13:00 –
lunch; 14:00 – works conducted in the woods; 16:00 – manufacture works; 18:00 – irrigation of plants;
20:00 – accounting; 20:30 – dinner; 21:00 – conversation; 22:00 – go to bed and sleep’.
Fourier never lived to see the practical applications of his theories but Owen who had similar social
ideals, although he was more flexible, i.e. not as obsessed with setting precise specifications for every
single possible activity, was able to materialize his own ideas.
New Lanark, which is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was originally the name of a
Scottish cotton mill owned by David Dale. After getting married to Dale’s daughter, and thus
becoming co-owner of New Lanark, Owen started to introduce some modifications according to his
own ideas. His main contribution was linked to the importance he attributed to education. Education
and community were deeply interrelated, since the progressive education he championed required a
communal context for its success (Kumar, 1990).
One should also not forget the context where he lived, which constituted a rather suitable
environment for making his doctrine so appealing. Indeed, the great resonance of Owenism was due to
the fact that it was a social philosophy with significant grounding in traditional practice (ibid.).
Moreover, and contrasting with Fourierism and other similar experiences, it was deeply rooted in
Owen’s practical experience as an industrial manager.
At the time, New Lanark did manage to incredibly raise the living and well-being standards of
its workers. As Bookchin (2005: 430) noted, ‘cleanliness, decent pay, benign discipline, relatively
short working hours, cultural events, company schools and nurseries – all tailored to the worker’s
stamina, sex (most of the operatives were women), and physical condition – demonstrated to a deluge
of admiring visitors from all parts of Europe that factory towns could not only be free of
demoralization, alcoholism, prostitution, rampant disease, and illiteracy, but they could also yield
substantial profits, even in periods of economic depression’. Nevertheless, three years after being
acquired by Owen, i.e. in 1828, it went out of his control and from then onwards lapsed into obscurity.
New Harmony, another social experiment conducted by Owen was indeed the greatest American
Owenite experiment. Using most of his fortune to establish his American utopia, soon after arriving,
Owen declared: ‘I am come to this country to introduce an entire new system of society; to change it
from an ignorant, selfish system to an enlightened social system which shall gradually unite all
interests into one, and remove all causes for contest between individuals’ (Holloway, 1966: 104).
Additionally, demonstrating his own belief in the transformative power of education he argued
that through education ‘a whole community can become a new people, have their minds born again,
and be regenerated from the errors and corruptions which ... have hitherto everywhere prevailed’
(Harrison, 1968, quoted in Kuman, 1990: 17). Notwithstanding, as an integrated community, New
Harmony lasted less than a year since by March 1826 (it had started in May 1825) it was already
divided in three minor communities. Its disintegration continued during the following years and it
would completely disappear after Owen’s departure in June 1827. Afterwards, most of New
Harmony’s lands and buildings were sold or rented.
All things considered, Owenite communities were doomed to disappear. However, I do agree
with Kuman (1990: 20) when he suggests that ‘to regard the communities as failures on the criterion
of long-term survival is to mistake their purpose, and their value’.
The historical urban movement I will address has a rather peculiar origin. It emerged from
within the revolutionary context existing after the revolution on the 25th of April, 1974. Therefore, it
has to be understood as being part of what Fortuna and Silva (2005: 415) called ‘spontaneity cycle’.
For them, this was a short cycle but, nonetheless, marked by the most vibrant exaltation of popular
intervention in public life ever to be witnessed in Portugal. During this period, ‘to participate’ was the
maxim and this meant that people were actually reshaping their own political understanding of public
events.
In July, 1974, Nuno Portas, i.e. the secretary of state of housing and urbanism at the time,
launched a document aimed at reorienting the FFH (Fund for Housing Development), which had
recently been purged and restructured. In it, he defined a number of priorities for the housing sector,
the most important being the rehabilitation of degraded neighbourhoods. It also created SAAL (Mobile
Service for Local Control), which was directed towards the poorest layers of society, providing state
support with regards to land, technical infrastructures and financing (Mailer, 1977; Portas, 1986;
Ferreira, 1987).
One of the reasons why I consider SAAL to be an urban movement, or maybe the catalyst
underpinning them, is because it was launched in several urban areas involving architects, engineers,
jurists and students, but, first and foremost, the inhabitants of poor or degraded neighbourhoods which
were organized in local commissions which shared responsibilities regarding the definition and
application of new rights and new living standards. Thus, it can be acknowledged as being one of the
first experiences of democratic popular participation if we consider that the country had just come out
of a dictatorship lasting 48 years.
As part of the revolutionary dynamic the SAAL operation assumed a particular importance in
the urban areas of Lisbon, Setúbal and Oporto. This last, was also where the operation was more
developed in theoretical terms (Rodrigues, 1999). A detailed analysis of the Oporto SAAL, which can
also be used to illustrate more general features present in the other SAAL’s, was provided by Nunes
and Serra (2005), who highlighted several aspects of the SAAL. Firstly, it meant a rupture with the
past, because it channelled the contextual conditions existent at the time thus fostering the
development of spontaneous popular movements vindicating their rights in various spheres of life and,
at the same time, creating the conditions for a procedural democratization and elimination of
hierarchical cleavages between different actors. Secondly, it was the outcome of an actor/dynamic
convergence, i.e. the SAAL comes out of a convergence of interests between the organizations
managed by the inhabitants of poor neighbourhoods, the scientific and technical bodies connected to
housing and urban policies, the state, through its services and sectorial departments, parties and other
political organizations. Thirdly, among the objectives underlying the SAAL interventions were: i)
decentralization, i.e. connecting the state to the most dynamic sectors of the civil society; ii) link
technique and intervention, i.e. those who had the technical and scientific know-how were expected to
cooperate with those with the capacity to intervene at the local scale; iii) work against previous urban
tendencies, i.e. recognizing the ‘right to place’; iv) maximize the use of all possible resources in terms
of housing intervention. Fourthly, despite the multiple ambiguities and divergences between all the
actors involved, the SAAL should be seen as an experience of social emancipation and participatory
democracy. Finally, on the 27th October, 1976, the SAAL was extinguished due to three conjectural
reasons of social, political and historical nature, namely, the state incapacity to accompany o rhythm
of the process, the inexistence of past experiences of participation, open confrontation, dialogue and
debate, and the dynamic of ‘normalization’ underlying the post-revolutionary period.
4.2. Contemporary urban experiences
I consider contemporary experiences to be those despite different levels of consolidation still
exist and exert their influence in contemporary societies and urban spaces. The two contemporary
laboratories examined are apparently very different from each other. However, some of the tenets
underlying their organization and functioning seem to present a number of similarities.
Mondragon is a Spanish complex of worker-owned industrial cooperatives located in the Basque
Country, owing its name to the town where the first cooperatives were developed. It was founded in
1956 ‘when the first factory was incorporated as a cooperative, a business form in which workers were
self-employed owners of the firm and had legal rights to participate in decision making’ (Kasmir,
1999: 384).
However, the foundations of this process had already been laid down by Don José María
Arizmendiarrieta, a catholic priest who, with the help of Mondragon citizens, founded an elementary
technical school in 1943. Five of the first graduates were then responsible for the foundation, in 1956,
of a small worker-owned and managed factory named ULGOR (nowadays Fagor Electrodomésticos).
The success of the organization made it develop into the flagship enterprise of the whole system which
later was to come into being (Benello, 1996; Errasti, et al., 2003).
Nowadays, it has become a cooperative corporation (the MCC) of 147 cooperatives, structured
around four sectors (industrial, distribution, financial, research & training) employing nearly 60 000
persons with a 2007 turnover of more than 15 000 million Euros3.
Thus, the MCC has shown great economic dynamism and vitality, opposing the conventional
wisdom with regards to worker cooperatives. According to Whyte (1995) there are three weaknesses
normally associated to this kind of organizational model, thus hindering the possibilities they have for
being successful in the modern industrial framework, namely: i) lack of human, financial and technical
resources to compete effectively with the large multi-national private firms; ii) worker-owners
tendency to favour immediate income over reinvestment of profits directed at research and
development; iii) tendency to conversion into a private company.
Recently, Gibson-Graham (2003) traced back this debate to the 19th century antagonisms
between the traditional pragmatic union labour discourse and the utopian socialist one, which we
previously addressed. For them, the traditional discourse criticized the utopian on the basis of four
mains topics: i) the absence of planning on how to replace the existent competitive capitalist system
with socialized ownership, cooperation and voluntary associations of producers; ii) flawed economic
analysis because it was based on the assumption that workers could appropriate the whole product of
their labour; iii) ownership of the instruments of production by the workers could bring with it the
possibility of group individualism; iv) worker cooperatives seemed not to last for long.
The MCC, however, has been able to cope with some of those problems/weaknesses. In effect,
if one considers the broader logic underlying the capitalist system in which it operates today, either in
terms of productivity or efficiency the MCC stands out as an extremely successful industrial
corporation. This happens due to multiple factors. For example, some of the MCC workers argue that
it was the cohesiveness and communitarian traditions of the Basque culture which allowed things to
work out as they do because these ‘values’ are embedded in the MCC organizational culture. Further,
one of the other reasons pointed out was the lack of ideological conscience among the workers. In fact,
‘the secret of Mondragon is, above all, organizational, not ideological: it is how-to knowledge that
makes it work’ (Benello, 1996: 217).
On the other hand, Itçaina (2002) highlighted what I consider to be a somewhat thin
connection between the religious roots of Mondragon, as it was founded by a catholic priest, and its
working ethics and values. He referred four characteristics underlying this value system: i) creativity,
associated to the interrelations between the MCC tactics and its strategic movement; ii) solidarity,
concerning the limitations imposed by the organization to capital, the social affectation of its results,
and so on; iii) oecumenicity, i.e. the importance of a socio-religious system of values and beliefs
despite the cooperative principle of religious and political neutrality; iv) responsibility, related to the
existent tension between the moral of results and the moral of intentions.
3
Information gathered from the official MCC website: http://www.mcc.es/
To my understanding, a more solid reason for the MCC ‘phenomenon’ is the ‘life story’ of its
founder. I am specifically referring to his interest in cooperatives and horizontal forms of organization.
This, I believe, in addition to the aforementioned contextual singularities of the Basque country,
contributed strongly for the development of Mondragon. His main influences were Robert Owen and
the Rochdale principles of cooperative organization which are still, although with some modifications,
the guiding principles of the MCC4.
Taken as a whole, these organizational principles have had remarkable consequences in
several dimensions. Gibson-Graham (2003) highlighted the following: i) production, as the MCC has
shown great concern with the necessities of the region. In effect, production is relatively adapted to the
regional context. This is made through a remarkable diversification of products, contributing to
strengthen the regional economy; ii) payment, as the MCC strategy reflects a communitarian decision
to balance income comparing it to the regional context, to minimize wage differentials, etc., indicating
a valorisation of community sustainability over and above immediate personal consumption; iii) profit,
since a large share of it is channelled to the enhancement of social services provision and also to the
creation of new cooperatives. This is deemed to connect the MCC members to the wider community
while expanding and strengthening its economy; iv) innovations, because the MCC principle of capital
subordination has meant that technical transformations do not threat individual jobs. ‘While there is no
question that innovation must take place to remain competitive, the cooperatives were designed
primarily to gainfully employ people and not only to make profitable returns’ (ibid: 147); v)
management, as the self-management principle means that many issues related to the direction of work
and discipline in the work place are ignored. Workplace behaviour obeys to a number of regulations
achieved through agreement by the members of the cooperative; vi) disputes, because, although it is
not always easy to determine working conditions, wage levels and job classifications, the MCC’s
willingness to discuss them in an open and democratic fashion has contributed to its success; vii)
membership, because even despite the global market pressures to widen up membership, the MCC
strategy is primarily aimed at protecting employment and operations in the Basque country, thus
remaining committed to the sovereignty of labour over capital principle, while engaging in operations
elsewhere along mainstream lines.
The second urban laboratory I will present is Christiania, a somewhat different case of
anarchist influenced experiences since it seems to be primarily concerned with a broader
understanding of what life should be in all its spheres, not only the socioeconomic one. Further,
whereas the MCC is not a self-denominated anarchist experience, Christiania has been created on the
basis of anarchist principles.
4
The MCC guiding principles: i) open admission; ii) democratic organization; iii) sovereignty of labour; iv)
instrumental and subordinate character of capital; v) self-management; vi) pay solidarity; vii) group cooperation;
viii) social transformation; ix) universality; x) education (Gibson-Graham, 2003).
Christiania is the name of a Danish self-governing neighbourhood located in Copenhagen. It
covers an area of 85 acres and has approximately 1 000 inhabitants. Its origins date back to September
26, 1971, when a former army camp, close to the city centre, was occupied by a group of young
people in protest against the city’s shortage of available housing (Miles, 2005). Among them was
Jacob Ludvigsen, a young publisher at the underground newspaper Head (Hovedbladet), who
passionately wrote
Christiania is the land of the settlers. It is the so far biggest opportunity to build up a society
from scratch – while nevertheless still incorporating the remaining constructions. Own
electricity plant, a bath-house, a giant athletics building, where all the seekers of peace could
have their grand meditation – and yoga center. Halls where theater groups can feel at home.
Buildings for the stoners who are to paranoid and week to participate in the race…Yes, for
those who feel the beeting of the pioneer heart there can be no doubt as to the purpose of
Christiania. It is part of the city which has been kept secret to us – but no more (Miles, 2005:
195).
Soon after, in November, he also the co-authored of a declaration saying: ‘the aim of
Christiania is the development of an autonomous society in which each individual can evolve freely,
but remains responsible to the community as a whole. The society should be economically
independent; the shared aim must always be that we should try and show that it is possible to prevent
the spiritual and physical environmental pollution of people’ (Girardet, 1996: 124).
The Danish government was pretty conservative, and this alternative community was at odds
with the dominant socio-political discourse. The whole experiment was seen as a threat to the
established order and to traditional Danish values. Thus, in 1976, after four years of indecision and
permissiveness towards Christiania the authorities decided to terminate it. However, they met strong
opposition from residents and a wide section of the public favourable of continuing Christiania as a
‘social experiment’ (Sanoff, 2000: 194), and were forced to retreat. Although facing the continual
threat of eviction due to the successive government positions towards some perceived problems,
namely the consumption of cannabis, but also because of tax benefits and other permissive regulations
applied to its inhabitants, in 1989, a law institutionalized Christiania’s status as a ‘social experiment’.
Recently, however, in 2004, the centre-right government nullified the law. After all, it seems that the
political power structures find it hard to cope with alternative communities and concomitant lifestyles.
Despite the uncertainties it had to face regarding its own future, according to Bengtson and Hulgard
(2001), Christiania witnessed the emergence of several social enterprises such as bars, restaurants,
theatre companies, and bands which have contributed to enhance Copenhagen’s image as a cultural
city. Further, it was also the birthplace of a number of innovative products (e.g. Christiania bike,
Christiania oven).
Arguably, its openness to heterogeneity has contributed for its ‘social success’, i.e. the fact
that Christiania accepts those who are not willing or able to comply with societal demands is one of
the reasons for its success, since non-conformity seems to be somewhat linked to creativity and
innovation (André and Abreu, 2006). Therefore, as Sanoff (2000: 192) suggested, ‘instead of a
community based on institutional rules, orders, and control, [Christiania’s inhabitants] want to create a
society based on the acceptance of everyone without asking about the past, on nonintervention, low
standards of material consumption, reuse of materials, byodinamic food, and so on’. All in all,
Christiania is ‘a model of autonomy based on the plural non-hierarchic knowledges of dwellers’
(Miles, 2005: 198).
Also related to this anarchist atmosphere is the traditional way of doing politics in Christiania.
Recently, Parker et al. (2007) described the single most important feature of Christiania’s political
praxis which is the fact that the community is governed by a series of meetings which all residents
may attend. In addition to a larger common meeting there are fifteen smaller area meetings and
functional meetings to deal with many issues (e.g. rocker violence, banning cars, zone restrictions to
cannabis dealing, prohibition of heroin and the introduction of a local currency). Christiania’s political
model also incorporates a concern with housing. If, by any reason, a room/house becomes empty,
advertisement is sent to the local newspaper and if somebody applies a meeting takes place followed
by an interview with the applicants. Thus, housing within Christiania’s walls is not treated as a
commodity.
Nowadays, however, the risk faced by Christiania is that it can become a commodity in itself.
Progressively, its relations with the state have become less contentious not only because it has started
to be seen as an area where those considered to have deviant behaviours may go to but, more than that,
because it has become one of the most important tourist sites in Denmark. Nevertheless, as Parker et
al. (ibid: 44) noted, ‘whether it can avoid being incorporated as a merely bohemian quarter of a liberal
city is probably the important issue for the next part of its history’.
Despite their differences in terms of strategy, not only the urban movements examined next
have interwoven paths but they also share the same driving force, i.e. underlying their actions is a
concern with urban public spaces. Therefore, they are taken into account as a whole, although here and
there I do identify some of their distinctive traits.
Reclaim the Streets (RTS) is an urban movement of resistance which emerged out of the
collusion between multiple agents (e.g. deejays, anti-corporate activists, political and New Age artists,
radical ecologists, etc.) battling against the commodification of streets and public spaces. What had
started has an ecologically rooted anti-road movement rapidly shifted towards broader political issues
such as corporate globalization, anti-capitalism, and the politics of space and as now become one more
among many ‘anti-globalization’ movements (see Klein, 2001; Harvie et al., 2005).
Therefore, RTS was originally formed in London, 1991, by a group which was involved in the
campaign against the construction of the M3 motorway link. Activists were supporting the
preservation of Twyford Down’s landscapes which featured ‘unique chalk escarpments called the
Dongas’ (Moxham, 1996). Until that date it remained has one of the biggest direct action campaigns
ever to be made in the UK. Activists were living on site and eventually a strong connection developed
between them and the local community which ‘solidified unity in the anti-road movement’ (ibid.).
Two year later, in 1993, the second campaign was both quantitative and qualitatively different.
Whereas the former campaign was only able to mobilize a small number of activists and local
residents, this one, would attract many more. The campaign, aimed at stopping the construction of the
new M11 link, as it would cut through one of London’s last ancient woodlands forcing the
displacement of several thousand people, lasted more than a year (18 months) and involved constant
direct-action resistance. On the other hand, whereas the Twyford campaign was essentially motivated
by environmental concerns with the preservation of landscape, this one entailed wider social and
political issues as people were defending their homes and community.
The tactics used involved the transformation of Claremont Road into a ‘living sculptural
fortress’ (Klein, 2000). This involved the artistic transformation of space using objects, such as cars
and trees, which could also be used to delay or at least temporarily old back the decision already taken
by the government. Then, in late 1994, the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act (CJPOA) was
passed criminalizing civil protest, contributing to unite and motivate even more the resisting groups.
In the end, however, the M11 link road campaign was to be lost in what became later known
as the ‘battle of Claremont Road’ in which all the activists were evicted. Nevertheless, as Klein (ibid:
314) pointed out, ‘when Claremont Road was levelled in November 1994, it had become the most
creative, celebratory, vibrant living street in London (…) by the time all the activists had been cherrypicked out of their tree houses and fortresses, the point of the action – that high speed roads suck the
life out of a city – could have had no more graphic or eloquent expression’.
This campaign also marked a turning point, since hereafter the RTS would become more and
more concerned with widening the debate beyond anti-road protests, addressing the political and
economic forces underlying the politics of streets and public spaces thus attracting activists of
different radical sensibilities. Regarding its modus operandi, revolving around street parties, the RTS
started to be acknowledged as the crystallization of what Hakim Bey (1991) called ‘temporary
autonomous zones’, i.e. temporary spaces eluding formal structures of control. After all, ‘the idea of a
street party is simple enough: decide a date and a venue, get as many people as possible to turn up, and
empower everyone involved by taking away public space from cars and showing that the seeming
uncertainties of everyday life can be altered to everyone’s benefit and pleasure’ (SchNEWS, 2000:
113-114).
Thus, following the same assumptions, in May 1995 the RTS organized its first street party
assembling five hundred people on Camden Street. With the CJPOA in full effect, RTS attracted many
of those belonging to the increasingly politicized rave scene since raves were also targeted by the
CJPOA. As a result, the next RTS event mobilized three thousand people and electronic music was on
the background creating the atmosphere. Klein (2000: 315) believes that this combination of ‘rave and
rage’ seemed to have been contagious since the whole RTS dynamics started spreading across Britain
(reaching its high point with the 1997 Trafalgar Square event where twenty thousand people showed
up) and eventually internationally with events held in cities such as Tel Aviv, Helsinki or Sidney.
In a RTS agitprop written in 1996 one could read: ‘we are basically about taking back public
space from the enclosed private arena. At its simplest, it is an attack on cars as a principle agent of
enclosure. It’s about reclaiming the streets as a public inclusive space from the private exclusive use of
the car. But we believe in this as a broader principle, taking back those things which have been
enclosed within capitalist circulation and returning them to collective use as commons’ (Fourier, 2003:
54). This, I believe, sums up well what the RTS is all about and the political underpinnings of the
actions committed by them.
On the other hand, Critical Mass (CM) is an urban movement consisting of hundreds of
cyclists riding together through specific routes within urban spaces, predominantly, those considered
more problematic in terms of traffic congestion. Although there were previous similar experiences in
the early 1970s, in its contemporary form, CM started in San Francisco in 1992 and rapidly spread to
other cities in North America, Europe, and Australia thus sharing a similar timeframe to the RTS
movement.
The methodology employed by CM starts with a pre-arranged gathering at a designated
intersection on the last Friday of every month near rush hours. However, these gatherings are regarded
by the CM as large-scale coincidences (Boyd, 2002). Then, due to the sheer force of numbers, bikers
form a critical mass and drivers are forced to concede them priority.
According to Stevens (2004) each month the CM follows a different route, unknown even to
most participants, ‘they gradually explore the city’ (ibid: 142), while occupying whole streets,
ignoring traffic signals, and temporarily blocking vehicular traffic at a series of major intersections.
For her, this event can be perceived as a political critique, promoting the rights of cyclists to freely use
streets and public spaces.
On similar grounds, Switzky (2002: 186) contends that CM ‘demands a democratization and
re-visualization of streets as vital public space, rightfully the domain of human civilization. CM acts
out as a re-occupation of streets under new ground rules regarding the balance between movement and
destination, participant and spectator, serious dialogue and clowning levity. And above all, Critical
Mass reintroduces the joyous spontaneity of living in contact with other into the regular course of city
life’. Therefore, one of its main tenets is the capacity to blend celebratory and serious political
intervention in urban public spaces. However, the separation between both is not that clear and that is
how things are supposed to be according to the predominant CM political understanding. First and
foremost, CM is acknowledged as being a celebration of prefigurative politics in which social
interaction is fostered and perceived as the desirable paradigm for urban spaces. As Ferrell (2001: 115)
suggested, most of all, CM ‘constitutes a cultural conquest, an attempt to inscribe new values, new
images, new pleasures in the street – and thus to construct new cultural space’.
Another relevant aspect regards the synergies and complementariness existing between RTS
and CM at the strategic level. Due the great overlap between both movements it has become rather
common for the streets to be cleared of traffic by the CM movement, moments before the area is
bounded by the RTS through the use of barricades and other obstacles and the participants arrive
(Klein, 2000).
Finally, I would like to mention a specific feature of the CM movement, namely, its nonvertical organizational structure. On the one hand, it has no leadership and there are no requirements in
terms of formal association with the movement. On the other hand, some of the routes taken by the
participants are spontaneously decided by whoever is leading the group, while others are previously
determined through voting after a prior discussion. This way the CM seeks to build up interactivity
while disrupting possible restraint procedures taken by the official authorities.
5. Anarchist influenced experiences as innovative strategies for urban social cohesion
The purpose of this section is to put all the pieces back together. It seeks to examine how can
anarchist influenced experiences be useful in terms of research on urban social cohesion. In other
words, it questions whether or not the abovementioned experiences do present innovative strategies to
deal with a number of problems associated to urban social cohesion. Obviously, all this is done within
a rationale incorporating the anarchist vision-goals nexus as well as the social cohesion theorisation
described earlier.
The key underlying assumption one has to have in order to establish the linkages between
anarchism and urban social cohesion has to do with the understanding of the later. As we have seen
earlier, conventional (i.e. mainstream) conceptualizations of (urban) social cohesion present some
shortcomings in terms of alternative thinking, i.e. they do not seem able to overcome/transcend the
existent dominant rationale. In my understanding, that is absolutely necessary if the linkages between
the anarchism and urban social cohesion are to be consolidated and strengthened. In other words, from
an abstract point of view, anarchist vision-goal requires a conceptualization of urban social cohesion
willing to challenge the existent social order.
In that sense, the three dimensions/challenges presented earlier, i.e. socioeconomic/povertinequality-social exclusion, cultural/common values-diversity-social capital, political/citizenshiprights-participation, need to be connected to the anarchist vision ‘pillars’ (power-authority and
freedom-equality) and to its goals (modern-postmodern). In order to grasp this interrelation, I will start
by comparing and contrasting the various anarchist inspired experiences described before.
The urban experiences chosen present a considerable number of anarchist-social cohesion
articulations regardless of the chronological ‘position’ they occupy in the timescale or their ‘type’ (i.e.
laboratory or movement). If anything else, this serves to remind us that the existent possibilities are
context-dependent but only up to a certain extent. In other words, the experiences seem to show that
there are some singularities enabling them to become relatively successful. Obviously, this success is
not evaluated using the same measures that are used by the analysts working for the hegemonic ‘belief
system’ (Peet, 2007) which tend to think in terms of competitiveness, instrumental usefulness and
efficiency.
Despite all their differences, according to the constitute pillars of the anarchist vision, the
historical experiences of Fourier and Owen can be understood in terms of their proximity towards the
freedom-equality dichotomy. I believe that it is possible to suggest this closeness because they were
not aimed at fully challenging the hegemonic power structures of the industrial capitalist system which
was still emerging at the time. Instead, they were primarily focused on tackling some of the most
severe problems associated to conventional working sites at the time.
In other words, they wanted to change without transforming power relations. In order to do so,
an archaic form of prefigurative politics was used as it was not negotiated or contested. The ideas
developed supporting the proposals put forward by Fourier and Owen had to be taken by their face
value with no further critique or possibility for changing. Thus, in terms of anarchist goals it does not
seem to fit contemporary understanding of what they should be. Nevertheless, this does not mean that
they should be immediately dismissed as ineffective or useless.
Regarding social cohesion they do provide some ‘archaeological’ examples of ways to deal
with its socioeconomic dimension, mainly in terms of mitigating inequalities and diminishing social
exclusion levels, since the ones fortunate enough to be living within those urban laboratories were at
the time allowed to experience some truly innovative practices and had access to facilities usually only
accessible to the ruling elites. Nevertheless, this does not eliminate the patronizing sense involving all
these projects. Further, in terms of the cultural dimension of social cohesion they do seem to have
some relevance as they managed to foster a sense of communality among the dwellers. Nevertheless,
due the lack of information about the daily lives of dwellers according to their own understanding it is
not possible to say much more about this specific issue.
In addition, these historical urban laboratories can be connected to the socioeconomic
challenge requiring a culture of experimentation. This was exactly what the ‘utopian socialists’ were
seeking, i.e. an alternative to what existed in a few domains of life. As suggested earlier, this
alternative is not an all encompassing one because it still operates within broader systemic forces
sustaining the dominant order which it fails to address. However, the willingness to experiment and
take risks is something which should be regarded as being positive. At the time, imagination and
creativity were still allowed some space to create alternative models and to experiment new
arrangements in terms of social relations.
On the other hand, SAAL seems to represent a paradoxical vision as it occupied a gap within
the power-authority structures which were still trying to figure out the best way to manage internal
political affairs in Portugal. It shows how the anarchist vision can operate within more or less
authoritarian state structures. On the one hand, the SAAL was originally produced by the state
apparatus thus having quite rigid limitations in terms of its possibilities. On the other hand, it rapidly
gained a life of its own due to the popular mobilization developing around its objectives. Hence, it was
also an arena where freedom and equality were being played since there was freedom to intervene and
participate in the public sphere thus contributing to maximize equality, at least from a strictly political
perspective. However, as soon as it became uncomfortable for the just consolidated state apparatus to
continue supporting such an audacious and innovative process the SAAL was extinct and the housing
problem was institutionalised differently, in a more controlled and manageable fashion.
As to anarchist goals, as soon as the SAAL was ‘appropriated’ by popular powers, direct
action emerged as a way to immediately address the housing question. Many people took the initiative
to build their own houses, sometimes even without any help from the official authorities. Such an
urgent matter (i.e. housing) was not able to be organized under the same rigid rules guiding
conventional political praxis and to follow the same timelines. Moreover, the process involved the
creation of more or less spontaneous cooperative organizations responsible for the decision-making
process. This is very important because control over one’s habitat is one of the main sources of
empowerment and well-being (Ward, 1983).
Despite that fact, Garnier (2006) pointed out some of the problems associated to
‘autoconstrucción’, namely the fact that most of the times the self-built environment is one where
aesthetic mediocrity and banality predominate. Thus, the mere fact that people gain the possibility of
intervening in their environment does not means that they immediately gain the technical and
conceptual instruments allowing them to proceed correctly. Sometimes, during the SAAL process,
damages were made to landscapes that still exert their influence in the contemporary urban spaces of
Lisbon, Oporto and Setúbal.
The SAAL also presented some interesting features associated to the socioeconomic and the
political dimensions of social cohesion. Regarding the former, managing the fact that people had
access to proper housing probably played a significant role influencing their future options in terms of
employment, family, perspectives for the future, etc., thus reducing inequalities. Notwithstanding, first
and foremost, it was relevant because it minimized the many risks associated to social exclusion. In
political terms, although I already referred some of the implications associated to it, the SAAL process
contributed to enhance the rights of citizens by giving them access to a fundamental right but also by
allowing them to have real decision power, not only the cosmetic one associated to conventional
democratic political praxis (see Peet, 2007).
As a result, the SAAL also meant that the conditions of access to proper housing were
intrinsically linked and determined the widening of the citizenship horizons. To my understanding,
this relationship seems to be crucial to produce the kind of political challenge associated to a
conception of citizenship centred on the conditions of inhabitancy. Looking back, the whole SAAL
philosophy constituted the basis for this kind of challenge. The control over urban space or, in other
words, the right to the city (Lefebvre, 1996; Harvey, 2008), is a necessary condition for the control
over one’s life.
Moving on towards contemporary experiences, the MCC experience seems to resemble some
of the historical laboratories which were examined before because, in terms of anarchist vision, it
operates, quite successfully indeed, within a system which stands at odds with some of its principles.
In other words, the organizational logic and the principles guiding the MCC whole conduct contrast
with the dominant capitalist logic (i.e. capital over people). This way, just like Owen (Fourier is not
considered as it never really put his ideas to practice) presented alternative models that did not truly
challenged the dominant social order, so does Mondragon which maximizes freedom and equality
within the broader context. As we have seen already the tension between principles and profit is
constantly threatening the MCC experience. Nevertheless, until now it seems that the former is more
successful than the latter.
On the other hand, anarchist goals are always emerging since the procedural guidelines allow
consensus to be used as a political method of decision-making, although it is not the only method
used. In general terms, I believe that it is also possible to suggest that the MCC can be acknowledged
as a particular form of prefigurative politics. On the one hand, it remains firmly attached to the
‘original vision’ of its founder which was influenced by historical ‘utopian’ experiences, although
rooted in the regional cultural environment. On the other hand, it demonstrates that it is possible to
build an alternative future today, i.e. to work under a different logic even within a dominant and
hegemonic context which functions according to totally different rules.
Although I believe that the MCC experience is able to influence the whole range of social
cohesion dimensions, it is my contention that the ones which are more influenced are the cultural and
the political ones. In what concerns the cultural dimension the MCC is rooted in a set of common
values underlying and encompassing the strategic options it takes but perhaps more significant is the
importance the MCC has for the Basque Country. Basically, the MCC works as a regional economic
network imbued by a cultural significance which simultaneously is the product and the producer of its
existence. With regards to the political dimension, the MCC has obviously taken very seriously the
participatory process engaging all the workers in it ever since it was founded. This, in turn, contributes
to develop a sense of commitment and responsibility towards it which is mutually beneficial since the
workers have control over all the steps taken by the MCC while, at the same time, the working process
runs much more smoothly than in conventional corporations.
As a result, the MCC also poses relative cultural and political challenges to the dominant
order. It shows that a substantially different organizational model, associated to failure within the
dominant rationale, can be successful (and here I am considering the mainstream vision of what
success is all about) and, more than that, it can be more successful than conventional practices as it is
reasonable to expect that it extends its influence outside the MCC boundaries. Thus, it is this diverse
political culture which can be understood as a challenge because it values an alternative model which
seems to be more close to the political aspirations of workers while being embedded in the Basque
Country territory thus promoting urban social cohesion.
Christiania due to its very singular history can be regarded as an example of the fulfilling of
the anarchist vision. On the one hand, it clearly entails a power-authority relationship since it has
always counterpoised the dominant political structures of power. In fact, due to that rather fragile
position its existence has been threatened many times. Until recently, i.e. until Christiania became yet
another commodity, the Danish authoritarian powers in charge questioned the legitimacy of
Christiania. In return, Christiania has been doing the same throughout its entire history. This clash, I
believe, also entails another relevant characteristic as it promotes the development of a particular
conception of what freedom should be like.
When compared with the other urban laboratories examined Christiania is perhaps the one
with the wider variety of anarchist goals. In fact, I believe that it incorporates all the postmodern goals
identified earlier. First, consensus, since many of the decisions taken there are the result of assemblies
that use many different methods to take a decision, including consensus. I am specifically thinking
about the processes related to the ‘recruitment’ of new dwellers as being good examples of this kind of
goal. Secondly, direct action, not only because the foundation of Christiania was in itself an act of
direct action but also because this specific goal is used by many as the do-it-yourself ‘alternative
entrepreneurial’ culture bears witness. Lastly, prefigurative politics, because ever since it was founded,
Christiania has been a clear example of an alternative future being constantly made and re-made. In
fact, nowadays, Christiania is perhaps the best case of an alternative urban laboratory within the
European territory.
However, despite its whole encompassing character, i.e. the fact that it is able to touch all the
spheres of life of its residents, it is my contention that the capacity it shows in socioeconomic terms is
much smaller than the capacity is seems to have with regards to the cultural and political dimensions
of urban social cohesion. For example, Christiania seems able to valorise both diversity as well as a set
of common (anarchist influenced) values which built up its alternative community identity. Likewise,
it enhances social capital as the success shown by some of its initiatives seems to suggest. On the other
hand, it fosters participation enhancing a sense of citizenship which is closely attached to Christiania’s
urban space.
Therefore, Christiania is also a synonym of cultural and political challenges. The fact of the
matter is that, despite some problems it had to face related to drugs Christiania has been able to
demonstrate that order can emerge out of territories not subject to conventional regulatory structures.
Further, it has also shown that participatory models not based on the conventional mechanisms of
representative democracy can increase the sense of belonging to a community thus benefiting the
overall politics of its space.
Regarding contemporary urban movements, both RTS and CM seem to have a much stronger
connection to the anarchist vision concerning the dialectic of power and authority. This is not to say
that freedom and equality are not among their concerns but it I believe that the general attitude
underpinning their actions is one of contestation of power and even one of explicitly confronting its
apparatus. The use of ‘celebratory’ strategies by both movements is not only an innovative way to
address issues of power but also of exposing the contradictions and the hypocrisies within those same
power structures.
In terms of goals, it is also interesting to note that both movements combine modern goals
associated to massive demonstrations occupying public spaces with postmodern goals such as direct
action and consensus. This innovative combination seems to have already proven to be fruitful as it
incorporates the impact of a massive number of participants with the horizontal, non-authoritarian
goals characterizing anarchist political praxis turning its interventions harder to predict thus to stop.
Furthermore, they also seem to incorporate a prefigurative politics concern since they tend to act as if
the public spaces were subject to a completely different rule from the one which prevails nowadays,
i.e. they enact an anarchist influenced public space.
Obviously, although at least the RTS takes economic issues into consideration, to my
understanding they are only capable of influencing urban social cohesion in its cultural and political
dimensions. Regarding the former, because they are also aimed at fostering diversity (in political,
cultural, ideological terms) although it seems to me that social capital is not something that is
considered as being relevant since their actions are clearly marked by a sense of anonymity in which
the goals are guided by many different visions and multiple ideological underpinnings. As to the latter
dimension, it suffices to say that the kernel of both movements is the active engagement of all those
involved in every stage of their actions. Particularly important are the rights associated to public space
but from a completely different point of view when compared with the conventional rational
prioritizing privatization and commodification of public spaces.
Thus, the only major challenge posed by these movements is a cultural one. On the one hand,
they raise a collection of questions regarding the nature of politically movements since diversity
becomes the alternative predominant paradigm. On the other hand, by proceeding like this they are
able to shake the epistemological foundations of the hegemonic cultural paradigm, i.e. essentialist
conceptions of socially constructed categories.
This extensive in-depth interpretation of anarchist influenced experiences from the perspective
of urban social cohesion, allow us to get to grips with a number of ways through which these
experiences may contribute in an innovative fashion to reinvent and to reconfigure urban social
cohesion. In other words, these experiences do seem to present various innovative strategies to achieve
urban social cohesion, understood as the development of its three constitutive dimensions and the
concomitant pursuit of the challenges associated to each one of those dimensions.
Nevertheless, a number of problematic and disputed areas still continue to exist. Firstly, the
problems associated to scale, since most anarchist influenced experiences seem to be firmly attached
to the local scale despite the broader reverberations of their actions (e.g. the MCC effects in the
regional, national and international scales). Recently, a wide array of problems associated to multiscalar perspectives (i.e. neighbourhoods, cities, metropolises, urban regions, countries, and so on) has
been raised by many scholars and has become one of main sources of debate within the broader field
of regional and urban studies (see Mingione, 1996; Kearns and Forrest, 2000; Moulaert et al., 2000).
Thus, it seems to me that it would be useful to incorporate anarchist influenced experiences within this
rationale since because, using Klein’s (2005: 36) argument, it is fair to say that the contemporary
experiences examined have contributed to ‘the reconstruction of the social from the bottom, based in
collective actions able to awake or intensify territorial conscience’.
Secondly, apart from a few exceptions (e.g. Albert, 2003) anarchist experiences appear to be
incapable of seriously addressing issues within the economic sphere. This is not to say that, for
instance, the MCC experience does not presents itself as an alternative economic mode of functioning,
quite the opposite. Nevertheless, as already argued, it does not seriously challenge the hegemonic
economic order. To my understanding, at least from a theoretical point of view, this can be linked to
the classical distinction between the Marxist concept of exploitation and the anarchist concept of
domination. Whereas the former is a political economic concept, the latter is has a broader scope since
it can be understood as referring to ‘oppressive power relations’ (May, 2009: 12) which may not have
an economic basis (e.g. patriarchal power relations, racism, etc.). In other words, anarchist experiences
seem to be more concerned with this broader understanding of power relations than the one primarily
concerned with economic exploitation.
Finally, the issue of sustainability associated to the fact that most anarchist experiences are not
able to endure in time. As we have seen earlier, this indicator is not the most suited to assess the
qualities of alternative experiences. To my understanding this is somehow connected to the wider
question about the effects of institutionalisation on bottom-up processes of resistance such as those we
have been analysing here either in their laboratory of movement arrangement. From a perspective
rooted in urban movements and the possibility of their ‘ossification’, Milstein (2000) suggests that
it is time to push beyond the oppositional character of our movement by infusing it with a
reconstructive vision. That means beginning, right now, to translate our movement structure
into institutions that embody the good society; in short, cultivating direct democracy in the
places we call home. This will involve the harder work of reinvigorating or initiating civic
gatherings, town meetings, neighborhood assemblies, citizen mediation boards, any and all
forums where we can come together to decide our lives, even if only in extralegal institutions
at first. Then, too, it will mean reclaiming globalization, not as a new phase of capitalism but
as its replacement by confederated, directly democratic communities coordinated for mutual
benefit.
Thus, she is advocating the progressive transformation of urban movements into more stable
and durable organizations. In other words, it means that one should capture the momentum gained
from the intervention of urban movements and use it to build forms of resistance which are not fluid,
i.e. build urban laboratories, to employ the notion used earlier.
In the end, however, these issues are not unsolvable and the anarchist praxis has been able to
show how to deal with them, although not always in a successful manner. What I am trying to say is
that most probably the best way to successfully address them is engaging with the resistance practices
associated to anarchist inspired experiences. By the same token, it would also be important to consider
the implications these problems have for the impact of anarchist experiences in urban social cohesion.
6. Concluding comments
Hopefully I was able to show how anarchist ideas are useful to think about new issues such as
those within the field of urban social cohesion. I believe that research focused on urban social
cohesion has much to gain from a more open-minded and comprehensible attitude towards anarchist
ideas and theoretical proposals.
To conclude, I would like to suggest that the analysis conducted before raises a number of
possibilities in terms of further developing the relations between anarchism and urban social cohesion
both in terms of research and political praxis. Up to a certain extent, this represents possible
contributions towards future urbanities encompassed by a long-term vision and an operational goal.
A vision is something that is usually dismissed as being merely a rhetorical artifice of scholars
and those interested in really intricate theories and complex and obscure understandings about what
the world is all about. Theoretical political thinking seems to have been replaced by the sense that
politics should be reduced to some sort of administrative management of bureaucratic affairs guided
by ideas of competitiveness and efficiency.
In fact, following Friedman (2000), and against this rationale, I would suggest that in order to
address issues related to urban social cohesion it is indispensable to abandon that understanding and to
regain the sense of an idea, of a vision about how the world should be. Obviously, this defence of
utopian thinking does not consider utopias as fixed and immutable blueprints. Instead, it looks at
utopias with a sense of ongoing processes of transformation of everyday life. Thus, anarchist
experiences are relevant as they let us have a glimpse at the future while we are still in the present. In
that sense, even though utopias are non-existent they are not fiction as well. As Jameson (2000: 54)
noted, utopias ‘come to us as barely audible messages from a future that may never come into being’.
As a goal I would like to point out the culture of experimentation which, to my understanding,
has to underline any serious alternative project. In a sense, it allows for creativity, inventiveness and
imagination to emerge and pulverize urban practices. Thus, anarchist experiences demonstrate how to
foster innovative strategies of urban social cohesion just by experimenting and playing around with
different possibilities. Creativity and imagination are also decisive as they allow alternatives to go
beyond the conventional barriers posed by the hegemonic ‘belief system’.
Experimentation is the key to unlock the possibilities present in the fissures opening up in
contemporary urban spaces. According to Swyngedouw and Kaika (2003), it is on these gaps that new
urban experiments are constantly being developed, in their own words, ‘it is here that the radical
margins emerge that have become an integral part of the new forms of the 21st century urbanity. It is
exactly these practices that require attention and nurturing’ (ibid: 19). Thus, if we aim at developing
urban social cohesion maybe we should start by paying more attention to what the anarchist influenced
experiences have been telling us.
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