While industrialization has prompted unprecedented economic growth and allowed for the rise of a new middle class in China, urbanization has also left some 9 million children in the countryside alone as their parents work in cities far from home.
Down from the Mountains chronicles the lives of three children who when not in school live often unattended on a farm in Liangshan. With their parents working in the distant city of Huizhou, only their grandmother, who lives a 40-minute walk away, is able to supervise them. Director Max Duncan brings us into the lives of this fractured family as Jiajia, the mother, considers a permanent return home.
The Maeklong Railway Market, nicknamed ตลาดร่มหุบ Talat Rom Hup (“umbrella pulldown market”) is one of the largest fresh seafood markets in Thailand. Whenever a train approaches, the awnings and shop fronts are moved back from the rails and replaced once the train has passed.
When nation-states default on their national sovereignty, cities have to step up. They can’t wait. And they don’t need to ask for permission. They can exert their own sovereignty. They understand that the local and the global have really, truly come together, that we live in a global, local world, and we need to adjust our politics accordingly. At this moment of extraordinary international uncertainty when our multilateral institutions are paralyzed and our nation-states are in retreat, cities and their leaders are our new 21st century visionaries.
The early techno scene in post-unification Berlin was something out of Mad Max. East Berlin had wasted for years, and by the time Reagan said, “tear down this wall,” a pack of club kids had inherited the empty war-torn city.
“That’s one big historical accident. Nobody could have anticipated anything like that,” says Tobias Rapp, pop culture editor at Der Spiegel. “The wall falls down and a small scene in West Berlin takes over huge empty spaces in East Berlin, so they celebrate the freedom.” A perfect experiment, reuniting kids from both sides. Rapp remembers squatting with friends, “running through this empty city looking for a party” (video).
The space was reclaimed eventually, but not before techno took root. Rapp and other pioneers have since legitimized the industry, which now accounts for a serious chunk of Berlin tourism.
Look at Detroit today, where techno began, and you’ll see 80s East Berlin staring back at you. In 2013, the city became the largest in U.S. history to file for bankruptcy. It’s seen growth since, but some parts are so empty the city has a hard time providing services. Worst case scenario? Slipping into perpetual decay. In other words, becoming a giant slum that happens to be the 21st most populous city in the country.
Dimitri Hegemann, founder of Berlin’s legendary club, Tresor, sees potential. “There’s a really good moment in Detroit now because there’s a new generation looking for an alternative way to start something,” he tells Thump in this 2014 interview. “The vibe is good. We could open some doors. We share similar energies, Detroit and Berlin.”
The tale of these two cities underscores both the fragility and promise of urban settlements everywhere. Santa Fe Institute’s Luis Bettencourt asks if the challenge of slums, “the face of contemporary urbanization,” is more than just a phase. He believes a city should always enable socioeconomic creative potential. Techno’s migration to Germany ignited scenes in New York, London and Paris. Considering how club kids helped to shape Berlin, anything is possible for the city that inspired them.
Now, Detroit’s a case study on revitalization, innovative governance and co-design. Like Berlin, Detroit needs a new scene. What can the city learn from the pioneers of techno? I don’t know, why don’t we ask them?
A quarter of Rio de Janeiro’s residents live in informal communities called favelas. Not fully slums but not fully integrated either, favelas are home to both horrific gang violence and some of the city’s most creative and resourceful people.