Neighbourhoods

Time 2020-10-03 21:04:51

Web Name: Neighbourhoods

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After something like thirteen years, I ve decided to stop writing this blog. When The Divide was screened about a year ago, I started to wonder if neo-liberalism might just be on the way out. But then came Brexit and Trump, a double-whammy that has left me feeling more bruised than at first I would have expected. Maybe Mr Trump himself might bring about the end of neo-liberalism, by accidentally signing the wrong document or something, who knows...But thanks to Typepad, the blog will stay here, for the time being, in this rather different livery, like a patient wearing a hospital gown. Will the patient recover and be discharged - to re-emerge elsewhere perhaps in bright light with fresh ideas - or is it a question of a quiet transfer to the hospice...? It s been fun anyway. Thoughts on individual action and collective interestsOn no, what have we done? We were so angry, we just… We did what?? You mean, we fecked up the future of our country for our kids and their kids?? Just like that? How the heck did we do that? We didn’t realise, I mean… And messed things up for the rest of Europe too? Ooh. Ooh dear. Just wanted to have a go at those Westminster types, that’s all.There seems to be some substance in the analysis that concludes that many voters felt disenfranchised and chose ‘Leave’ to express their sense of disconnection from the establishment. (I don’t know if it is true, as suggested in various places, that these were predominantly older people in middle and low income areas. Do I hear the sound of Zimmer-frames, incontinence pads and false teeth being thrown out of prams?) They have at the same time, whoops, voted for a dire future for themselves.This is not just collective self-harm on a spectacular scale, it also perversely and unjustly condemns young people and subsequent generations. It’s ‘profoundly irresponsible’ as one young man said among several other insightful remarks on The World This Weekend today (from about 48 mins).The force of a protest vote can look rather unfortunate when the issue is your country’s future. It leaves a lot of residual anger towards the people who distorted the reality of issues for their own interest in power, essentially in pursuit of some laughably quaint notion of ‘sovereignty’; and for the leading politicians over a couple of decades who allowed this situation to arise.So we are left with the hard-to-deny accusation that we are a nation dominated by racists, who by definition are stupid (that seems to have been one of the most widely-used words in commentary since Friday morning).As for democracy, well it’s been pulled and pushed around a bit lately. The extraordinary scenes of the sit-in at the US Congress have provided a focal point for the tensions between individual interests (the right to carry a gun) and collective interests (er, what about random massacres?) giving rise to the apparent need to try and twist the rules for the latter views to be heard. Here in the UK there are also attempts to twist the rules – or rather, in this case, agree them post hoc.Many voices have lamented the poverty of the referendum process: what a way to demonstrate that turning from representative to plebiscite democracy maybe doesn’t work on such a scale or with such a historically resonating issue.Or was it such a big issue? I certainly thought so; but the turnout was only 72 per cent, so more than a quarter of Brits either couldn’t be bothered or didn’t think it affected them. Christ what a country.The principle that people vote in their own economic interest seems to have been trumped (I shudder to use that word) by fear of the Other. But the key word is still ‘individual’. The crazed recklessness of this result seems like trying to shout down anyone who suggests that ‘No man is an island’ and that no country can be a cultural or economic island. The people who will suffer most for it will be people on low incomes, people with disabilities, and the young who will become old without privileges. Many asylum seekers and refugees will be turned away when we should be offering them sanctuary and succour.Could we not invent a form of democracy that encourages decision-making in the collective interest? Talk about working in mysterious ways. Following my quick chat about Yerp with yer actual almighty the other day, one of his senior agents, an Archbish, no less – has come up with some words of wisdom in response to Nigel ‘I’m-Not-Racist-I-Just-Peddle-Racism’ Farage. Monsieur Farage (on a council estate, should we pronounce this to rhyme with ‘Garridge’?) is so concerned about the ‘cultural’ differences between British society and migrants.In a scenario curiously resonant with critical moments in the history of this country, this not-at-all-upstart priest sat before the House of Commons Home Affairs Select Committee: quizzed by the upstart democratic representatives. Yes it’s Archbishop Justin Welby – how reassuringly English the name sounds by comparison with his protagonist. He spoke about the ‘burden’ of immigration on communities and the role of government (emphasis added): It s a national issue not a local issue - not only for the direct cost of those who are coming in as immigrants but to strengthen the stability and infrastructure around particularly education, health and housing of those communities that are accepting people. That actually, in my experience, liberates the natural generosity of people to welcome, once the causes or the reasons for fear have been dispelled - and they are quite easily dispelled. Thou art so right, squire: by strengthening the stability and infrastructure around communities, you liberate people’s natural generosity to welcome others.And let’s be clear, the opposite applies: if you allow the infrastructure to weaken and atrophy, you stifle that natural generosity to the point of animosity. We have already come dangerously close to the tipping point, allowing too much purchase for those like Farage, Boris Johnson and Michael Gove, who would exploit people’s sense of vulnerability to the Other, in the cynical interests of their own political power. I have nothing but contempt for their readiness to jeopardise the prospects of at least the next couple of generations for their own saliva-dribbling glee at being seen as Important. Hi, how ya doin?Not so bad thanks, same as always I guess. As I’m eternal, it’s not all relative. And obviously as I’m omniscient I already know how you’re doing, so it would be insincere of me to ask. I say, this instant messaging is pretty cool. How can I help?It’s this European referendum business…Ah yes, I noticed unusual levels of antagonism. What some of the young angels call ‘bad vibes’.Well as you know I don’t believe in you - it s nothing personal - so this may come across as a little cheeky... we all have our weaknesses…Is that so?…but I was wondering, with all that bountiful munificence and stuff…Yes…whether it could be, er, arranged, so to speak…Yes… in the interests of the future of humanity… if that is something you’d like to see, well, furthered, so to speak…?… would it be possibleYes… er, arranged I mean, for Boris Johnson and Michael Gove, after 23 June, to be sent permanently into that Wilderness place we heard about - or sooner if it suits you..?I see what you’re getting at. That’s the problem with omniscience, I can’t not see what you’re getting at.… there to perish in excruciating, never-ending, multiplied-medieval sandpaper-under-the-foreskin agony which could be publicly viewed universally in high definition, freely available on all channels anywhere in the galaxy at any point in history? It’s not too much to ask is it?I’m afraid it is. Well, not afraid exactly, I don’t qualify for fear, that’s a figure of speech.You made an assumption about my interest in the future of humanity.(Damn!)I’m god, I created the world, I can’t have this species crawling all over it messing things up for many more millennia.I suppose you think Johnson and Gove are the beginning of the end do you? Well, you’re right.And I’ve still got Trump up my sleeve. Ha.OMG. So there’s nothing to be done?No.God help us.No. The curious tale of Boaty McBoatface may soon be forgotten, but it might possibly mark a significant moment in the history of participative democracy. The Natural Environment Research Council invited members of the public to put forward and vote on names for its new polar research vessel. Someone suggested ‘Boaty McBoatface’ and I guess lots of people thought, that’s a laugh. Through digital media, endorsement is almost effortless, and it easily topped the poll.Personally I’d have favoured one of the alternatives, ‘It s Bloody Cold Here’ – but anyway it doesn’t look as though the vote-winning suggestion will be adopted.This modestly silly saga reminds us of the manifest lack of wisdom of crowds, which is effectively what Stuart Heritage seems to be on about in this recent Guardian piece. More pointedly I think, it is a little reminder that the ways in which organisations push notions of ‘public engagement’ and democratic participation can lead them into difficulties: and in so doing, perhaps they are exposing the limits of democracy. As Sophie Blake noted on the Involve blog,‘engagement that hasn’t been thought out can damage the reputation of public engagement as a whole.’Meanwhile, there’s been much ado about today’s 400th anniversary of the death of William Shakespeare, a man who understood clearly that crimes (or sins) and their forgiveness or payment of dues are often not equalised. In this respect, I do wonder with what forcefulness he might have written about the ways in which global corporations can buy and sell the right to pollute. Here I just want to draw attention to further, and more powerful, insights into the evolution of democracy, with reference to Gabriel Chanan’s marvelously lucid and readable book Shakespeare and democracy.Gabriel explains how Shakespeare played a fundamental role in building the culture that underlies modern democracy: he also argues that that contribution ‘continues to be essential to its survival and further progress’. This point is well worth pondering on the day when Barrack Obama visited the Globe Theatre in London.At its conclusion, the book offers a delightful reading of The tempest, first performed before King James and his courtiers. Gabriel suggests that perhaps the playwright is saying:‘As for me, Shakespeare, all I have done is write harmless plays and given free rein to my imagination. You kings and nobles, on the other hand, have made aggressive wars, oppressed the poor, condemned the innocent and killed helpless people.’ Just as I’ve been pondering the impact of the neo-liberalist project lately - in reviewing The Divide and also in a review of social media and community action that I’m working on – up pops George Monbiot with an analysis based on his forthcoming book, How did we get into this mess?What fascinates me about the effect of neo-liberalism is the way in which it enforces its punishment through claims about freedom and by the rhetoric of distributing power, for example through insistence on the empowerment of the consumer. The widespread (and lingering) disaster that was New Labour managerialism must have felt like a total endorsement to those of the neo-liberal faith. So to return to the question raised earlier in the week, can anyone see the beginning of the end of neo-liberalism? I think if he could see it, Monbiot would tell us. Here’s what he writes in the article:‘What the history of both Keynesianism and neoliberalism show is that it’s not enough to oppose a broken system. A coherent alternative has to be proposed. For Labour, the Democrats and the wider left, the central task should be to develop an economic Apollo programme, a conscious attempt to design a new system, tailored to the demands of the 21st century.’ Here’s a short message. The Divide, a film about the damaging effects of income inequality, is about to be released and there are screenings scheduled up and down the country. The sub-title is ‘What happens when the rich get richer?’ There’s an intro clip here.Get your eyeballs on it, encourage others to do likewise, and encourage screenings wherever possible – here’s the how-to info for community screenings. I was lucky enough to see it last night and was hugely impressed. Given that the film was inspired by The spirit level I was expecting a kind-of glossed-up Richard Wilkinson lecture (not that there s too much wrong with that) – but it’s reassuringly accessible, a cleverly woven mixture of human stories combined with some raw political and economic context. It’s essentially a mini-exposure of the devastating effects of the neo-liberalist project.It’s also superbly, sensitively made. When you’ve seen the forceful monologue from the imprisoned man (seen in the image above) you will not forget it, either for its artistic power or for its moral and socio-political resonance.Here’s a longer message. Last week I was at a conference on ‘the future of community work’, arranged following the announcement of the closure of my former organisation, Community Development Foundation (and before that, Urban Forum). In between the organising and the event itself, we heard the announcement of the closure of Community Matters.Despite the sense of crisis given the collapse of so much community development infrastructure in England, one of my former colleagues was arguing with fervent optimism that the battle is not lost. I must admit that - without analysing what any of us means by ‘the battle’ (was it just a skirmish? Some skirmish) – my sense has been for some time that the neo-liberals have won. There’s a lot of wound-licking and dazed regrouping to be done. Then following the premiere last night, in discussion with Kate Pickett, Richard Wilkinson and the film’s director Katharine Round, someone asked if The Divide represents the beginning of the end for neo-liberalism. And again I confess that, like a few others in the theatre, I chortled momentarily at what seemed like naïve optimism. But I wonder. It’s hard to detect the beginnings of things, perhaps the seeds will take.Neo-liberalism was quite strategic, as Noam Chomsky emphasises in the film. And it’s not that we need an alternative vision. We now have our sustainable development goals and as Kate Pickett pointed out last night, they include ‘Reduce inequality within and among countries’. The Divide website includes a Take Action section. We need roles that we feel we can play.As I crossed London on my way home, a squatting figure asked me if I could spare some change. I gave him roughly the value of the glass of wine that I had been given at the reception after the film. ‘Good luck,’ I said, feeling immediately how pathetic were my gesture and words, in the context of what I had seen, heard and been thinking about. Yes, we need more meaningful roles. Last autumn I referred to Alison Gilchrist’s work on formal and informal modes of operating. Alison’s main paper is still under revision, but the TSRC have just published a 4-page summary which – albeit necessarily somewhat theoretical – offers a wealth of insights into a theme that is both broad and complex. It’s also downright fundamental to community development.This paper crystallises a range of aspects in very clear language and I think it will be read and referred to for a very long time.Meanwhile I can point immediately to one application, by referring to my recent post about formality and informality in relation to Good Neighbour schemes. Alison rightly draws attention to the significance in community development work of negotiating between and managing these modes. She calls this practice ‘blending, braiding and balancing’:‘Astute choices are needed as to how formal and informal modes are blended or balanced against each other. The study revealed a praxis – bringing together skills, judgements, techniques and understanding - that is applied in specific situations. This praxis may be a ‘knack’ acquired over a lifetime’s experience or it may be a deliberate strategy implemented through a combination of conscious decisions, group exercises and behaviours. It involves judicious braiding of informal processes with formal procedures to create the optimal conditions for collective discussion, agreeing goals, making and measuring progress, involving people, keeping going, being fair and so on.’ I’ve been interviewing several development workers in rural areas, about how they develop and support Good Neighbour schemes. Inevitably, a key set of tensions that they have to negotiate is around formal and informal arrangements.These schemes sit sweetly in the space between the ancient informality of neighbouring and the post-industrial formality of organised care services.Central to the tensions that arise in this space is a widely-anticipated (though not always evident) negative response from community groups to expectations that they should adopt formal procedures. Formal procedures can range from requiring safeguarding checks to maintaining monitoring records.There are a couple of issues to disentangle here. The first concerns the unpredictable variety of responses at the area level, which I do not think can readily be explained by the worker’s approach.Thus in one county, in helping about half a dozen new schemes to become constituted, one worker told me that there had been no difficulty in getting groups to accept the requirements of systematic evaluation, for example in administering questionnaire surveys; in another county, I was advised to reduce my expectations to the minimum, because the groups would not take to it. In a third county, one of the schemes was not interested in any form of preliminary information gathering about client needs or availability of volunteers, they just decided to get on with it. I was told of another scheme whose representatives had decided to go beyond just a committee and constitution, turned their first meeting into an agm, and were set on applying for charitable status. It also seems to be the case that most groups expect if not demand safeguarding checks, and this can extend to some non-risk roles for which it is illegal to have someone checked.It s not clear to me how this variation can be explained.The second issue is even more nuanced and rather more tricky. It concerns the risk that sensitivities to community groups’ responses can come across as patronising: you don’t want to be implying that they should be protected from some kinds of information because it’s too complex for them or too demanding.Within the groups that express an interest in forming Good Neighbour schemes, it’s common to find retired people with professional backgrounds – often from the medical and care professions – for whom the generation of a little administrative bureaucracy is an expectation not an issue; who would anticipate the requirement for monitoring data; and who, if it were not provided to them, might well invent their own system for evaluation because they can see in advance that it would help to demonstrate their achievements with a view to future funding. I am told that this configuration and outlook can often be found in low income areas as well as the more affluent neighbourhoods.At the same time it’s unsurprising that many groups might find administrative tasks a burden; and anything that threatens a group’s sustainability might need rethinking. But it’s fair to say that lack of funding in the future could be as much of a threat as the burden of collecting evidence to justify that funding.The establishment of a Good Neighbour scheme depends on local volunteers coming forward, with time, energy and commitment. We cannot predict with accuracy what kinds of people these will be, although with an open and empowering approach we can inform and seek to influence what they choose to do.What one of us might call encouragement or support, another might call coercion. Much of the professional rhetoric may be filtered of dusty heresy, but I’m not sure it’s possible in community development to allow light in, without casting the shadow of coercion. As I recall, Jeremy Brent was very good on this. I’ve lived in the same street for almost 30 years. Last week was the first funeral we’ve had, from these few homes, in all that time. I suppose a higher proportion of these rituals take place from care homes, than used to be the case.This was the funeral of my next door neighbour: a straightforward, intelligent, easy-going working-class Irishman for whom I had a deep respect. We had a sound neighbourly relationship of mutual support and keeping an eye out.Last week I asked my fellow neighbours to join us at the end of the street, when the cars left to go to the church. There were about 20 of us, not arrayed like soldiers but stood informally in silence, as the cortege passed. It was just a simple gesture from residents to one of their own and for the family. And the simplest of community organising exercises. This looks fascinating:‘The first session of The Living School, a mobile project on questions of living together, will focus on the theme of The Expelled, and will include presentations by Jane Rendell and Irit Rogoff. They will consider the question of expulsion, eviction and displacement, giving a broader view onto the systematic upheaval of people. In addition, a participatory workshop called Gentrifiers Anonymous will be led by the urban art collective zURBS, which will engage with the local neighbourhood and open up a dialogue between our own positionality and spatial politics.’ Unfortunately I only just found out about this and it takes place tomorrow – 12.00 – 18.00 in London, SE15 5DE. More here about zURBS. It’s sometime since I blogged anything about popular surveys of neighbouring, but this detail offered in a news-related source today caught my eye:‘29% homeowners aged over-45 leave a key with a neighbour, compared to just 19% aged 25-44 and 18% aged 18-24’.Unfortunately the article seeks to make an issue out of the fact that younger people tend to be less active at neighbouring than do middle-aged and older people – tsk, I know, astonishing – and doesn’t give a total percentage. Thus far, the sponsors of the survey have not made any information about this available on their website.So I’ve dipped back into some of the examples I’ve accumulated over the years from this peculiar popular statistical genre, and I find very little consistency.Here is a summary table of those I came up with, giving percentages of people who let their neighbours hold a set of keys to their home (NB: in several cases the exact question wording is not given):A surprising proportion of the links for this information have rotted.Looking at the ‘negative’ side doesn’t seem to help, with a range between 78 and 36 per cent. In a 2013 survey for Swinton Insurance, ‘nearly two thirds of the adults polled said they wouldn’t dream of leaving a house key with a neighbour.’For Legal and General in 2010 - another insurance company, you notice – ‘78% of respondents said they do not share keys with their neighbours’.For the BBC in 2008 – a more neutral client, you might say - ICM asked ‘How many of your neighbours, if any, would you trust with a spare set of keys?’ The proportion who said ‘None’ was 36 per cent.In the Manchester Neighbourliness study (2004) which I co-authored with Toby Gale, for some reason we did not publish a total figure but we did conclude that‘the proportion both holding keys and having keys held increases with age, up to the oldest age group. Key holding is more prominent among owner-occupiers than renters… The propensity for holding a neighbour’s key also seems to increase with length of residence’.Looking at the survey data or reports listed above, I note that the ICM-BBC survey had over 1,000 respondents and the one carried out by Fresh Minds had 3,400. All things considered, I think we can place more trust in the higher figures given, but it’s not very satisfactory.A final thought for the time being. If one implication of living in a post-welfare society is that more people age in their own homes and are visited by carers, who in most such cases will hold keys, that is one area where we can expect to see an increase, and one area which needs to be distinguished statistically. Back in 2009, in government guidance on meaningful social interaction, we were told that‘for interaction to be meaningful it needs to go beyond a superficial level and be sustained.’I was never satisfied with this and have occasionally wondered if there was a missed opportunity to champion non-meaningful interaction. I have long argued that superficial interaction is the essential ingredient in neighbouring.It could be time to return to this theme. I’ve been exploring some of the social benefits of Good Neighbour schemes, and this has encouraged me to dust-off another, related theme – gender differences in the sense of aloneness among older people. In one scheme for which I happen to have figures to hand, 79 per cent of clients live alone.Here’s how the two themes seem to come together, incorporating recent research I have come across. First, two papers by Sandstrom and Dunn published in 2014:Is efficiency overrated? Minimal social interactions lead to belonging and positive affectSocial interactions and well-being: the surprising power of weak tiesIn the first, they found that ‘people who had a social interaction with a barista (i.e. smiled, made eye contact, and had a brief conversation) experienced more positive affect than people who were as efficient as possible.’ The authors conclude that people ‘are happier when they treat a stranger like a weak tie.’ No surprise there, but as so often it is helpful to have some things confirmed by robust research.As an aside, it may be worth noting that the sincerity of the exchange could be important. When a supermarket checkout assistant asks me ‘How are you today?’ the most they are likely to get in return is a grunt, because I know they won’t really want to know but their wretchedly-unimaginative managers have decided it’s a good idea to fill the air with unwanted vapours. There is a difference.In the second paper, Sandstrom and Dunn report on three further experiments and note that‘community members who had, on average, more weak tie interactions than others reported greater feelings of belonging. Furthermore, people reported greater feelings of belonging on days when they interacted with more weak ties than usual.’The sampling in this study leaves me wanting further research, but still it’s tempting to say – ‘it’s official’: weak ties are good for you. Of course they are.Next, here’s a recent paper by Sorensen and Poland, exploring ‘the space between acquaintanceship and strangerhood’. It starts by quoting Francesca Cancian who suggested that, in relationship research in later life, ‘men’s behavior is measured with a feminine ruler’. A little light went on, for me, when I read that.Sorensen and Poland’s research used photographs to explore nuances of everyday encounters of older men living alone. The men attributed significance to what might seem to others like fleeting interactions; and all were exposed to various opportunities to form other closer relationships and friendships but ‘they sometimes described specifically choosing not to do so.’The authors suggest that it is not the case that the men had no meaningful relationships,‘nor can their relationships be considered inferior compared with women’s relationships, but they are clearly different, in terms of mutuality and intimacy, from the reportedly more meaningful relationships that women may enjoy and may be much less visible.’Which brings us back to the meaning of meaningful interactions.All this makes perfect sense to me. Interactions that are apparently shallow and ephemeral, to some observers, not only have benefits in terms of social capital (and hence in terms of health and well-being); they may also be a chosen, deliberate strategy to retain human connection with what Sandstrom and Dunn call a ‘minimal cue of belonging’.Perhaps this kind of behaviour is sufficiently strongly evidenced to characterise older men who live alone in particular, I don’t know. But either way, it is something that practitioners need to take into account, for example when it comes to designing ‘age-friendly’ environments, or when trying to organise social support at local level.Notably, for me, it helps us to start challenging the way that as a society we have come to pathologise aloneness. Which reminds me, in my book on Neighbouring and older people I quoted the striking example from Tony Parker s The people of Providence, of 87-year-old Mrs Williams:‘The person I like best is my neighbour next door, the one who goes and gets my pension from the post office for me. She never says anything apart from “Good morning…” She comes back and comes in and puts the money on the table and says “Good morning” again, and then out she goes.’Previously:on meaningful interaction (on the Joe Public blog)Try a little MSIUntraceable near-neighboursAcquaintances: book review Recently I’ve had the privilege of meeting several clients of good neighbour schemes. I thought I’d share a couple of insights.I met I man, I’ll call him Danny, who had experienced mental health difficulties for many years following crushing in a crowd incident, which left him so damaged and with so many broken bones that he was assumed dead. He now can’t face people very easily, yet spoke to me with a lively, if battered, intelligence. Vulnerable to encounters on a difficult estate – he’d had an intruder a few nights previously - he lives with his dog in dismal poverty. He could do his shopping on the internet but makes himself go out to get it, between three and four in the morning.So how does he use the internet? His next door neighbour lets him use his wifi password. Isn’t that brilliant? I’d love to know about the conversation that led to this. Talking about poverty, Danny said it’s a blessing he has no relatives, Christmas would be such a trial if he had to buy things for people.Danny told me he’d like to go and live at the sea-side. “Even if I lock myself away I could still open the window and see people.” When was the last time you saw the sea? “I’ve never seen the sea.”“Without the helpers from the scheme, I don’t see anyone, except once a fortnight I see my mental health worker.”The organiser told me he had said to her – obviously reluctant to make demands of the scheme,“I need someone to come round once a fortnight, in case I die.”This relates to the ‘request scruple’ – the reluctance to ask for help – which I have mentioned before with reference to the research of Lilian Linders. This arises also in the second instance. One woman who uses the scheme, I’ll call her Annie, talked about her hesitation:“Why should they have the time for me? … I grew up the old-fashioned way, ‘thou shalt not ask’. It’s not pride. It’s just not proper. You don’t beg… I’m not feeling sorry for myself, I’m just frustrated because I can’t do the things I used to do.”Following a serious fall, Annie needed help of various kinds, and first had to overcome the misunderstanding that the scheme was just about providing transport. She takes care not to risk over-demanding: “I work out what’s important, don’t pile it up.” She spoke with delight about how a simple bathroom shelf had made so many things easier for her.Annie says she has learned that“If you have a problem, talk to them about it. If they can’t help then they will tell you what you can do.”This points to the importance of information-sharing and advice that arises in the way the schemes work. The scheme organiser told me it is not uncommon for people to assume they could make only one request of the scheme. Under this misconception they could be holding back from making a modest demand for help, reserving the option for the possibility of a more serious need in due course. I’ve been wondering what happened to Margaret. I used to see her in her powered wheelchair with the wee dog trotting along. A few words, then on. And John, I’d see him on the corner down by the bank. And that woman with the funny walk, who would sit outside the pub with a beer in hand, on a summer’s eve. Sometimes she’d say hello, sometimes nowt.These are people I came to recognise in my neighbourhood. They are not weak ties; they’re not ties at all. We have or had no particular responsibility towards each other beyond that of common humanity. But the acknowledgement in passing encounters, the occasional greeting - these always contribute to the sense of neighbourhood, of context and belonging. And these in turn contribute to the accretion of potential support that in theory could be called on in time of need.Except I don’t know enough about them. This is a category of people who I would not say I ‘know’ (as in survey questions like ‘how many of your neighbours would you say you know?’) And since I don’t know where they live or lived, unless perhaps vaguely, then in most cases of need I couldn’t have ‘called on them’ in any sense. They are acquaintances not neighbours: they occupy the space on the continuum between intimates and strangers.Of course, I can easily think of relationships that have graduated from this kind to friendship. But there are many passing acquaintances that remain just that.When they stop appearing in the neighbourhood, it may take a while to miss them, until something makes you think… I wonder what happened to her? For some people, faith groups or clubs or third places can help to make such relations recoverable. But in most cases you’re not in a position to find out: they’re untraceable.Previously : Acquaintances: book review I’ve not seen this done before (although Google helps me discover that there have been a few comparable examples) – a construction company has engaged positively with local schools and parents.Apparently this has involved site visits from infant and primary school groups – what a great learning opportunity – and the chance for some of the children to have their pictures displayed on the boarding.From what I can see, this doesn’t seem to have come from the NHBC or any other industry lead. But I think it’s brilliant. For many people in urban and suburban areas, rapid change in their visible environment often goes on at bewildering pace without their knowing much about it, which is disempowering in a vague, creeping sort of way. This goes some way to addressing that.Usual apologies for the wretched quality of my hurried photography. How much do tensions between formal and informal modes of operating affect what happens in the community sector? People in community groups tend to feel more comfortable with informality and may be intimidated by formal processes, codes and context. But formal regulations, structures and policies, as Alison Gilchrist made clear in her William Plowden Fellowship lecture at NCVO this week, can rightly be seen as ‘necessary mechanisms for mitigating risk and maintaining standards’.Red tape and the sins of bureaucracy can restrict, delay and hinder progress. But if emotions are curbed and personal biases constrained, sometimes that can be a good thing; and formality may well protect collective goals so that these can be pursued regardless of the individuals involved.Likewise, reflecting on the effect of informal processes we may see that while they can be liberating and creative, allowing people to nurture trust and loyalty, they can also mask and perpetuate hidden power imbalances.Alison set out to challenge the default position of ‘formal as normal’ and concludes that‘informal and formal modes are best regarded as neither opposite ends of a spectrum nor a dichotomy. A more nuanced, dialectical approach is needed.’Watch out for her report and hopefully a few short articles expounding on this work. For the moment, I’d select the following from her recommendations:For policy: seek to enable, not controlInformal as valid and valuable;Be aware of power/status issues;For practice: uphold responsive flexibilityEncourage opportunities for informal learning and exchange;Use ‘just enough’ formality where functionally useful;Build in conviviality - fun, food and face-to-face interactions. The good folk at the Glasshouse have announced a new series of debates, ‘around the common elements in place that bring us together, the points of tension within them, and the role of the individual and the community.’‘In partnership with the Open University and the Academy of Urbanism, we want to explore how we design and shape our environment today to create a place for everyone and what that means for concepts like shared assets and common good, alongside individual aspirations, ownership, diversity and, rights and responsibilities.’Edinburgh / 21 October 2015 Place: designed for sharing?Manchester / 11 November 2015 Place: the sum of parts?Nottingham / 3 February 2016 Place: a shared responsibility?London / 9 March 2016 Place: who belongs here? Here’s a wee tale about responses to incivility in public space. I was on a train the other day – corridor carriages, seats facing – and sat almost opposite a young couple who were dozing, the young man rather slumped with his legs sticking out.Some ticket inspectors came through, and then at the next stop a woman got on and the first I knew was to hear her cursing the young man: “tuck your legs in you silly sod! What am I supposed to do, jump over them!?” Etc. But she sat next to him even though there were other places available.He apologised quietly and pulled himself up. She was still cursing. I stared at her dark glasses and suggested that if she took her glasses off she might be able to see well enough to notice that there is plenty of room to pass. I said that her remark was unfair. She said “I’ve got arthritis.” The young man kept saying “I’m sorry.”Then one of the ticket inspectors appeared from beside the doors – I had not realised he was still with us – and suggested to the woman that she apologise. “I thought that was very rude,” he said. And she did. ‘Supermarkets are crucibles of snobbery’ wrote Harry Wallop, author of a book on ‘how we buy class in modern Britain’. I came across two examples of supermarket snobbery recently – the first of which still has me chuckling. Apparently there is a pseudo-posh neighbourhood in the west midlands where residents are ‘up in arms’ (i.e. community action has been mobilised) because their Tesco is threatened with closure, to be replaced by an Aldi.I’m quite a promiscuous and experienced food shopper meself and I suppose favoured in having branches of most chains within easy reach. Tesco is the nearest but always the very last resort in desperation, largely because I find their implied assumptions about food quality insulting. Call it reverse snobbery if you like. Aldi and Lidl always impress me. I know that for certain things (but not everything I need) I can get unfussy good quality – and without all the extra layers of packaging that certain outlets like to use (naming no names, the phrase ‘Marks and Spencer’ would never come to mind in this context).According to Wallop, drinking coffee is an indicator of social class, and ‘even within coffee there are gradations of snobbery.’ It s probably worth noting though that interest in - even proccupation with - the relative quality of something is not the same as being snobbish about it.My second anecdote came a while ago when I was staying in a guest house and complemented the hostess on the coffee she served at breakfast. She told me I was the third guest recently to have made that observation - since she had switched from buying Waitrose coffee to Aldi’s Italian.Image from Lucas Varela.

TAGS:Neighbourhoods 

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Kevin Harris on neighbourhoods, neighbouring, social capital, social inclusion, and life at local level

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