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Urban Politics of Human Rights

September 2022

DOI:10.4324/9781003315544

ISBN: 9781003315544

Authors:

Janne E. Nijman

University of Amsterdam

Barbara Oomen

Utrecht University

Elif Durmuş

University of Antwerp

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URBAN POLITICS OF HUMAN RIGHTS

Edited by Janne E. Nijman, Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet and Lisa Roodenburg

URBAN POLITICS OF

HUMAN RIGHTS

Edited by Janne E. Nijman, Barbara Oomen,

Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet and Lisa Roodenburg

Cities and Global Governance

‘With contributions from a stellar roster of established and emerging

human rights scholars, this book puts urban communities and govern-

ance at its center. The results are riveting, and illuminating for both

theory and practice. From Istanbul to São Paulo, from San Francisco

to Nairobi, the topics covered are broad. At the same time, there is

exceptional depth to the analyses, in large part because the chapters are

positioned in dialogue around key issues of spatial inequalities, norm dif-

fusion, mobilisation, housing, urban politics, and more. This remarkable

volume expands our understanding of the human rights-urban nexus in

ways that will reverberate far beyond its pages.’

Martha F. Davis, University Distinguished Professor of Law,

Northeastern University

Increasingly, urban actors invoke human rights to address inequalities,

combat privatisation, and underline common aspirations, or to protect

vested (private) interests. The potential and the pitfalls of these processes

are conditioned by the urban, and deeply political. These urban politics

of human rights are at the heart of this book.

An international line-up of contributors with long-term engagement

in this eld shed light on these politics in cities on four continents and

eight cities, presenting a wealth of empirical detail and disciplinary the-

oreticalisation perspectives. They analyse the ‘city society’, the urban

actors involved, and the mechanisms of human rights mobilisation. In

doing so, they show the commonalities in rights engagement in today’s

globalised and often deeply unequal cities characterised by urban law,

private capital but also communities that rally around concepts as the

‘right to the city’. Most importantly, the chapters highlight the condi-

tions under which this mobilisation truly contributes to social justice,

be it concerning the simple right to presence, cultural rights, accessible

housing or – in times of COVID – health care.

Urban Politics of Human Rights provides indispensable reading for

anyone with a practical or theoretical interest in the complex, deeply

political, and at times also truly promising interrelationship between

human rights and the urban.

Janne E. Nijman is a Professor of International Law at the Graduate Insti-

tute of International and Development Studies, Geneva, and Professor

of History and Theory of International law at the University of Amster-

dam. She is the former chairperson of the board and academic director

of the Asser Institute in The Hague. Here she headed the research pro-

ject, ‘The Global City: Challenges, Trust and the Role of (International)

Law’, which consisted of four individual PhD research projects (Global

Cities). Together with Helmut Aust, she chairs the ILA Study Group on

‘The Role of Cities in International Law’. Aust and Nijman are the editors

of the Elgar Research Handbook of International Law and Cities (2021).

Urban Politics of Human Rights

Nijman is the author of numerous publications including ‘Renaissance of

the City as Global Actor. The role of foreign policy and international law

practices in the construction of cities as global actors’, in The Transforma-

tion of Foreign Policy: Drawing and Managing Boundaries, ed. by Andreas

Fahrmeir, Gunther Hellmann and Miloš Vec (2016) pp. 209–241.

Barbara Oomen holds a chair in the Sociology of Human Rights at Utre-

cht University and was the project leader of Cities of Refuge, a five-year

project that investigates the role of human rights in how local authorities

throughout Europe welcome and integrate refugees. Professor Oomen has

published extensively on human rights cities, including an entry in the Sage

Handbook of Human Rights (2014) and articles in journals such as Human

Rights and International Legal Discourse. She also co-edited Global Urban

Justice: The Rise of Human Rights Cities (2016). Recent publications con-

cern themes such as the role of transnational networks and constitutional

dispensations in strengthening refugee reception by local authorities. Bar-

bara Oomen sits on the Advisory Council of International Affairs and is a

board member of the Human Rights Cities Network. After having taught

at University College Roosevelt for 15 years, she is now president of the

HZ University of Applied Sciences.

Elif Durmuş is a postdoctoral researcher at Antwerp University. Her cur-

rent work is on the conceptualisation of new duty bearers in human rights,

in a larger Flemish inter-University (iBOF) project titled ‘Future-Proofing

Human Rights: Developing Thicker Forms of Accountability’. Previously,

she has been a PhD Researcher at Utrecht University, in the Project Cities

of Refuge, together with fellow editors Barbara Oomen and Sara Miellet.

She holds an LLB from Ankara University and an Advanced LLM (cum

laude) from Leiden University in Public International Law. Her doctoral

research explored local governments’ and transnational city networks’

engagement with international law, human rights and migration, with a

particular focus on how practices turn to norms, and norms to law locally,

trans-locally and internationally. She is a Founding Editor of Human Rights

Here, the blog of the Netherlands Network of Human Rights Research.

Sara Miellet postdoctoral researcher at Utrecht University in the ‘Welcom-

ing Spaces’ project. Previously she completed a PhD in the ‘Cities of Ref-

uge Project’ at Utrecht University with co-editors Barbara Oomen and Elif

Durmuş. Her researcher examines the interplay between the local politics

of forced migration and the local politics of human rights in urban and

rural localities. She is the co-editor of Theorizing Local Migration Law

and Governance together with Dr. Moritz Baumgärtel and has published

articles in The Journal of Legal Pluralism and Unofficial Law (2019), The

Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies (2021), The Journal of Refugee

Studies (2021) and Territory Politics and Governance (2021).

Lisa Roodenburg completed a PhD in the ‘The Global City: Trust, Chal-

lenges, and the Role of Law’ project at the T.M.C. Asser Institute. Her

research explores the role of human rights in urban debates on migration,

with a focus on empirical methods. She has published on cities and human

rights in the Special Issue ‘Cities and the contestation of human rights

between the global and the local’ of The Journal of Legal Pluralism and

Unofficial Law (2019) and in the edited volume International Law’s Col-

lected Stories (2020).

Cities and Global Governance

The Routledge series Cities and Global Governance is composed of

contributed volumes covering key areas of study at the intersection of

urbanism and global governance. Each title explores dimensions of the

relationship between the local and the global, between urban landscapes

and global dynamics. Authors in the series make empirical and theoret-

ical contributions that advance our understanding of the role of cities as

sites and actors in global governance.

3. Global Cities and Climate Change

The Translocal Relations of Environmental Governance

Taedong Lee

4. The Urban Climate Challenge

Rethinking the Role of Cities in the Global Climate Regime

Edited by Craig Johnson, Noah Toly, and Heike Schroeder

5. The Global City 2.0

From Strategic Site to Global Actor

Kristin Ljungkvist

6. Greening Post-Industrial Cities

Growth, Equity, and Environmental Governance

Corina McKendry

7. The Globalisation of Urban Governance

Legal Perspectives on Sustainable Development Goal 11

Edited by Helmut Philipp Aust and Anél du Plessis

8. Urban Politics of Human Rights

Edited by Janne E. Nijman, Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş,

Sara Miellet & Lisa Roodenburg

Edited by Janne E. Nijman,

Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş,

Sara Miellet and Lisa Roodenburg

Urban Politics of

Human Rights

First published 2023

by Routledge

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Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group,

an informa business

Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet and Lisa Roodenburg;

individual chapters, the contributors

The right of Janne E. Nijman, Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara

Miellet and Lisa Roodenburg to be identified as the authors of the

editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters,

has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the

The Open Access version of this book, available at www.

taylorfrancis.com, has been made available under a Creative

Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-No Derivatives 4.0

license.

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks

or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and

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ISBN: 978-1-032-29903-7 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-032-32543-9 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-003-31554-4 (ebk)

DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544

Typeset in Times New Roman

by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

List of images

List of contributors

1 General introduction: Urban politics of human rights 1

BARBARA OOMEN, ELIF DURMUŞ, SARA MIELLET, JANNE E. NIJMAN

AND LISA ROODENBURG

PART 1

Exploring the urban 23

2 Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations

of cities and local governments: Apartheid divestment

ordinances in the United States, 1975–1994 25

ANDREW NOVAK

3 Human rights within the context of urbanisation:

Focusing on the cultural rights of Abdals in

Kırşehir (Turkey) 51

ALBENIZ TUĞÇE EZME GÜRLEK

4 A tale of two cities: Comparison of Istanbul and San Francisco

through right to housing 74

AYSEGUL CAN

PART 2

Urbanising human rights 95

5 Urban politics and the human rights city: The case of Bologna 97

TIHOMIR SABCHEV

Contents

xii

6 Beyond minimum protection: The politics

of housing rights in the city 120

PAULA FERNÁNDEZ-WULFF

PART 3

City society 139

7 How urban law deflects rights claims: A case study

of the eviction of a Roma squatter settlement in

Malmö, Sweden 141

KARIN ÅBERG, FREDERICK BATZLER AND MARIA PERSDOTTER

8 Decolonising human rights: The rise of

Nairobi’s Social Justice Centres 163

PERIS SEAN JONES AND GACHEKE GACHIHI

PART 4

Mechanisms of mobilisation 185

9 Resisting marginalisation in the global city: Eking

out a legal right to public presence in the City

of Cape Town 187

MARIUS PIETERSE

10 Human rights mobilisation in São Paulo’s policy

response to COVID-19 205

PEDRO VORMITTAG

Index 227

x Contents

Images

3.1 Bağbaşı neighbourhood: Abdals’ settlement and the new

TOKI blocks behind them. 60

3.2 and 3.3 Abdal Musicians from Bağbaşı. 62

3.4 Most common housing typology in Bağbaşı and TOKI Blocs. 66

3.5 The construction of the new TOKI apartments. 67

7.1 Banners to protest the pending demolition. 150

Karin Åberg is a doctoral candidate in international law at the School

of Business, Law and Economics at Gothenburg University. Åberg’s

dissertation project ‘Care and Control: Humanitarianism, Economy

and European Migration Law’ explores the development of asylum

as expressed in EU law and under the ECHR. She specically examines

how law and legal expectations interact with humanitarianist values

as well as ideas of the irregular migrant as an economic actor. Besides

European asylum law, Åberg also writes about the correlation between

law and grassroot activism and is active in public debates on these

subjects. She has previously practised law in Greece and Sweden and

worked with human rights advocacy for irregular migrants in Brussels.

Frederick Batzler is a Trade Union Lawyer with the Central Organisation

of the Workers of Sweden (SAC). He earned his LLM from Lund

University in 2017. As a law student, Frederick co-founded the Center

for Social Rights together with Karin Åberg. His work for the Center

involved strategic human rights litigation, community organising and

legal outreach and training.

Aysegul Can holds the position of lecturer in the Department of Urban

and Regional Planning in Istanbul Medeniyet University. She received

her PhD degree in urban studies from the University of Sheeld, the

United K ingdom. Her resear ch interests i nclude gentri cation, housing

policy, urban resistance movements, authoritarian urbanism, social

injustice in marginalised areas, and precarity in higher education. Her

latest project was titled ‘Being an Istanbulite: The Value of Resistance

during a Time of Urban Governance through Massive Projects’ and

she is part of the authoritarian urbanism research cluster in Rosa-

Luxemburg-Stiftung Foundation.

Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek earned a BS degree in urban and regional

planning from Mimar Sinan Fine Arts University, in 2009. She

received her MCP degree in community planning from the University

of Cincinnati, in 2014. Now, she is a PhD candidate in Urbanism

at MSGSU, and also she is a research assistant in Urbanism and

Environmental Issues Department at Kirsehir Ahi Evran University,

Contributors

Turkey. She has a variety of articles and conference papers based on

urban renewal, urban political economy and urbanisation issues in

developing countries. Also, in 2014, she published her rst book based

on her master’s thesis Advocacy Planning in Urban Renewal: Sulukule

Platform as the First Advocacy Planning Experience of Turkey.

Paula Fernández-Wul is a Scholar in Residence at NYU School of Law’s

Center for Human Rights and Global Justice and Senior Advisor to the

UN Special Rapporteur on extreme poverty and human rights. Prior to

this position, she was a Hauser Fellow and Visiting Assistant Professor

at NYU, a Fulbright-Schuman Fellow at Harvard Law School’s Food

Law and Policy Clinic, and worked as an international consultant

for a variety of organisations conducting research and advocacy on

socioeconomic rights. Her research, published among others in the

Journal of Human Rights Practice and Politics and Governance, focuses

on the municipal aspects of socioeconomic rights, critically conceived.

Gacheke Gachihi is the Coordinator of Mathare Social Justice Centre

(MSJC) and a member of the Social Justice Centers Working Group

Steering Committee in Nairobi, Kenya. He is also involved in regional

social movements and politics. He is the coordinator of the project

‘Capitalism in my city’ (run on africasacountry.com, with support of

Shuttleworth Foundation). He researches and writes about human

rights, police violence, criminalisation of the poor, social justice and

social struggles, among others. His articles and video interviews have

been published in Review of African Political Economy (ROAPE);

Africa Is a Country (AIAC), Pambazuka News and others.

Peris Sean Jones is a Professor in the Norwegian Centre for Human

Rights, Faculty of Law, University of Oslo, and is Director of the MA

Programme: Human Rights in Theory and Practice. He has worked on

dierent multi-disciplinary aspects of human rights and development,

especially socio-economic rights, as well as the application of human

rights in urban contexts, in Kenya and South Africa in particular, and

the United Kingdom. Jones has published in leading journals and is

the author of Human Rights and Development (Routledge, 2023), AIDS

Treatment and Human Rights in Context (2009) and Democratising

Development – The Politics of Socio-Economic Rights in South Africa

(2005, with co-author, Kristian Stokke).

Andrew Novak is a Instructional Associate Professor of Criminology,

Law and Society at George Mason University, where he teaches

courses on international law, social justice and human rights. He has a

Juris Doctor from Boston University School of Law and a PhD in law

from Middlesex University. His research is primarily on comparative

constitutional law, in particular in the realm of criminal punishment.

He is the author of, among other books, The African Challenge to

Global Death Penalty Abolition and Comparative Executive Clemency.

Contributors xiii

Maria Persdotter is a post-doctoral researcher in welfare law at Linköping

University, Sweden. In 2019, she completed a joint PhD degree

in Urban Studies at Malmö University and Roskilde University.

Her dissertation, entitled Free to Move Along, investigated the

local government response to the presence of impoverished Roma

EU-migra nts in Mal mö between the ye ars 2014 and 2016, and developed

an analysis about how bordering takes place in cities. Persdotter is

currently involved in a project on social rights and service provision to

irregularised migrants in Swedish municipalities.

Marius Pieterse is a Professor of Law at the University of the

Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, South Africa. He has published

extensively on various aspects of urban law and socio-economic

rights, including Rights-based Litigation, Urban Governance and Social

Justice in South Africa: The Right to Joburg (Routledge, 2017). He is

joint global coordinator of the International Research Group on Law

and Urban Space (IRGLUS – www.irglus.net).

Tihomir Sabchev is a is a post-doctoral fellow at the University of Ottawa

Refugee Hub. His current research focuses on the settlement and

integration of privately sponsored refugees in Canada. In the period

2017-2021, Tihom ir was membe r of the ‘Cities of Refuge’ tea m at Utrecht

University, where he completed his PhD titled ‘Local authorities,

human rights, and the reception and integration of forced migrants in

Greece and Italy’. Tihomir’s work has been published in the Journal of

Ethnic and Migration Studies, the Journal of Immigrant and Refugee

Studies, and Territory, Politics, Governance, among others.

Pedro Vormittag holds a Master of International Aairs degree from

Columbia University’s School of International and Public Aairs, as well

as a Master in International Management degree from the São Paulo

School of Business from Fundação Getulio Vargas, in Brazil. At the São

Paulo School of Com merce (FAC-SP), Pedro taug ht introductory courses

on Sustai nable Development, Inte rnational Law and Int ernational Trade.

Pedro has worked at the São Paulo City Hall, both as a Deputy Youth

Policy Coordinator at the Secretariat of Human Rights and Citizenship

and as the Policy Advisor Coordinator and Head of Department at

the Secretariat of Sports and Leisure. Under the leadership of former

President of Brazil Fernando Henrique Cardoso, Pedro has worked as a

Head of Research and Content with the LEGADO Project. In the realm

of social movements, Pedro gathered extensive experience in human

rights mobilization as student activist. Currently, Pedro is a Researcher

with the BRICS Studies Group from the University of São Paulo School

of Law, where he got his Bachelor of Laws degree from, and an Editor of

Columbia’s Journal of International Aairs.

xiv Contributors

DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-1

Introduction

Human rights and the urban – two concepts that both seem to quiver

with hope, promise and potential. Songs, seles and cinematography

praising city life conjure images of growth, freedom and emancipation.

Similarly, it is dicult to read the preamble of the Universal Declaration

of Human Rights without being touched by how its language seeks to

emphasise how recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and

inalienable rights of all members of the human family forms the founda-

tion of freedom, justice and peace in the world. Behind these promises

loom, however, perhaps inevitably, the disappointments of the world’s

stark reality. The failure to deliver on human rights by the very states that

signed so many solemn pledges and took on so many treaty obligations

becomes clearly visible in cities. The slums behind the shiny facades, the

people begging next to high rise banks, the divergent life-worlds and

opportunities of children in a single city.

These two concepts and the realities behind them are increasingly con-

nected, one shaping the other. The ‘everyday’ of human rights surface in

street art, park protests and mayors’ speeches that confront urban ine-

qualities; they are claimed in newspapers, town halls and district courts.

Equally, we see cities claim a role in the promotion and protection of

human rights in global (policy) fora. Similarly, human rights and the

urban conjoin in the self-identication of ‘human rights cities’ and in the

invocation of the ‘right to the city’ to attain social justice. However prev-

alent the interconnection between these two concepts, there is nothing

self-evident about it. The seemingly neutral concepts of both ‘urban’ and

‘human rights’ are so abstract and vague that we risk losing sight of how

their interrelationship and their individual and combined manifestations

on the ground are deeply political, with politics understood as the process

by which individuals and other actors negotiate and compete in the pro-

cess of making and implementing shared decisions (Hague et al. 2019, p. 4).

Urban politics of human rights lie at the heart of this volume. We

seek to understand who mobilises human rights, via which mechanisms,

General introduction

Urban politics of human rights

Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet,

Janne E. Nijman and Lisa Roodenburg

2 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

in and through which urban spaces, over which conicts and – perhaps

most importantly – to what eect? To what extent do urban actors realise

their articulated visions of justice, equality and democracy? The insights

this volume generates are grounded in urban experiences across the

world: in Kırşehir in the Asian part of Turkey, in Istanbul, Bologna and

Malmö in Europe, in Cape Town and Nairobi in Africa, in São Paulo in

South America and in New York, San Francisco and other cities in North

America and the Bay Area in North America.

This ambition calls, rst, for a close examination of ‘the urban’, under-

stood as a contested object and concept, a scale of analysis, a process and

a ‘collective project in which the potentials generated through urbanisa-

tion are appropriated and contested’ (Brenner and Schmid 2015, p. 65)

(Section ‘Exploring the Urban’). Subsequently, there is the need for a

closer examination of the multi-faceted notion of human rights and its

interrelationship with the urban: by what political processes are norms,

discourses and practices of human rights urbanised, and how is the urban

aected by human rights mobilisations (Section ‘Urbanising Human

Rights’)? After this groundwork, we turn to the urban politics of human

rights, focusing rst on ‘city society’ – the individuals and other actors,

both with in and outside public and private i nstitutions in the city, involved

in mobilising human rights (Section ‘City Society’). Subsequently, we

set out the various mechanisms of mobilisation, ranging from framing,

protests and strategic litigation to democratic deliberation and institu-

tionalisation (Section ‘Mechanisms of Mobilisation’). This background

then allows for a closer examination of the actual politics and the legal,

discursive, physical struggles at play in dierent urban contexts (Section

‘A Matter of Politics’). Finally, in this chapter, we explore the conditions

under which the urban politics of human rights can further the underly-

ing objectives of urban (social) justice (Section ‘To What Eect?’).

The analysis presented in this introductory chapter is not merely based

on the growing literature on cities and human rights, but foremost on the

nine rather complementary chapters that make up this volume. These

chapters are written by authors who do not only represent very dierent

disciplines, but also all have a long-term engagement with the cities and

the political and legal struggles that they analyse. In addition, the rich

empirical accounts highlight various rights at stake, dierent mecha-

nisms of mobilisation and outcomes; they theorise dierently the politics

at play and the relationship with the urban.

Situating This Volume

This volume engages with scholarly debates over cities, human rights,

urban governance and urban politics, all of which situate the urban

as an indispensable scale and site of political struggle and human

rights mobilisation. Our inquiry touches upon dierent (empirical)

General introduction 3

developments and by extension, dierent strands of literature. The

rst of such developments and relating scholarship is the globalisation

of urban law, governance and politics soon after accompanied by the

emergence of cities as global actors (Blank 2006a,b, Frug and Barron

2006, Porras 2009, Acuto 2013a,b, Barber 2013, Aust 2015, Curtis 2016,

Nijman 2016, Aust 2017, Ljungkvist 2017, Oomen and Baumgärtel 2018,

Coenen et al. 2019, De Losada and Galceran-Vercher 2021). This lit-

erature has helped establish the importance of the city, often equated

with ‘the local authority’ within international law and global govern-

ance structures. The present volume speaks to and complements this

literature by examining not only how human rights are urbanised in

the local and transnational levels but also the actual on-the-ground

mobilisations in and impact of human rights on the urban. This way

the – at times unspoken – hypothesis that the local level is the one most

t to implement international laws and policies on the ground as well

as see the results thereof is faced with nuanced reality checks through

the empirical ndings. It is, in addition, important to note that while

this strand of literature does not focus explicitly on human rights as a

normative framework and concept to analyse in relation to the urban,

which is what the present volume aims to do, it does shed light on the

dual character of cities as part of the problems characteristic of the

‘urban age’ and the solutions to such problems (Aust and Du Plessis

2018). Exceptionally, some scholarship on the emergence of cities as

global actors point to the need for pluralist understandings of urban

agency that look beyond the role of (local) state authorities (Derudder

et al. 2018). The argument then is to expand the understanding of urban

politics as ‘what local state agencies do’ to include ‘the external, mobi-

lised social groups which try to inuence th[e] policies’ as developed

by local authorities (Savage et al. 2003, p. 153 as cited by Bassens et al.

2018, p. 10).

Second, the increasingly local engagement with human rights and its

implications for international law is another phenomenon that this vol-

ume speaks to. The localisation of human rights has been examined and

theorised, albeit rarely with an explicit focus on urban politics (Merry

2006, De Feyter 2011, Brysk and Stohl 2019). This literature oers many

useful insights and theories of local human rights practice, social mobi-

lisation (Rajagopal 2003), vernacularisation (Merry 2006) and contesta-

tion (Brysk and Stohl 2019). While the ‘local’ rather than the ‘urban’ has

garnered more attention in this research, some studies examine global

urban justice and specic phenomena, such as the emergency of human

rights cities (Oomen et al. 2016). In his pathbreaking work on the human

rights cities of San Francisco, New York and Barcelona, for instance,

Grigolo sets out how a human rights city can be understood as a process

dened by the competition and collaboration between dierent stake-

holders, with the institutionalisation of human rights as an objective

4 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

(Grigolo 2019). Roodenburg, in her work on the role of human rights in

urban debates on migration, distinguishes ve functions of human rights

in the urban: to legitimise actions that deviate from national policies, as

legal standards that guide local policy, to bind actors to a shared goal, at

times under the radar and nally to promote a city (Roodenburg 2021).

Still, most research on human rights cities focuses more on the legal and

sociological phenomenon and the normative legal implications of human

rights cities (Hirschl 2020), and much less on the politics of how they

come about in diverse urban contexts across and beyond the ‘Global

South’ and the ‘Global North’.

Third, this volume also engages with analytical and normative debates

beyond urban studies scholarship. Scholarship on human rights, espe-

cially research conceptualising human rights (only) as law, and a branch

of international law in particular, has been criticised for its state-cen-

tricity (Alston 2005, De Feyter 2005, De Brabandere 2009, Clapham

2013, Gal-Or et al. 2015, Fraser 2019). While the engagement of human

rights scholarship with an international legal background with cities has

brought about attention towards local governments as a relevant actor

in human rights (Accardo et al. 2012, Marx et al. 2015, Starl 2016, Oomen

and Baumgärtel 2018, Homan 2019, Durmuş 2020), the scholarship still

focuses its attention on state actors at the local level, mostly disregard-

ing dierent non-state actors and dynamics within the city. The chapters

in this volume address in dierent ways the critique of state-centrism

that has been levelled against the international human rights regime

by bringing into focus the urban politics of human rights. The dier-

ent contributions highlight the involvement of a myriad of actors who

use human rights, for instance, to respond to urbanisation processes

(García Chueca 2016). At the same time, this volume is mindful of critics

who argue, for instance, that human rights city initiatives may preserve

the state-centric human rights framework, by emphasising local ‘state

actors’ and by only indirectly recognising the role of other local actors,

such as community-based groups and social movements (Grigolo 2016,

Fernández-Wul and Yap 2020). They caution against top-down and

programmatic understandings of local human rights engagements and

against ‘merely substituting the city for the state as the responsible actor’

(Grigolo 2016, p. 285, García Chueca 2016, p. 108 as cited by Goodhart

2019, p. 151). Some sharing this criticism of state- centrism and the con-

ceptualisation of the local government as a monolithic ‘actor’ in the

analysis of the localisation of human rights questions have looked at the

role of the individuals within the local state authorities (Sabchev et al.

2021; Miellet 2019). The challenge we attempt to tackle in this volume is

therefore to examine the complex interactions and negotiations between

various non-state and state actors within cities, including key individ-

uals within and outside those ‘actors’ that shape the urban politics of

human rights.

General introduction 5

Finally, this volume engages with and speaks to post-colonial critiques

of urban studies that call for more ‘global’ urban studies and debates on

theorising urban politics, struggles and justice from a more diverse range

of geographical and historical urban contexts (Robinson 2016, 2021). This

also calls for, among others, much more attention to post-colonial urban

contexts and reections on urban informality (Roy and Alsayyad 2004,

Roy 2011). This volume responds to this invitation, by bringing recent

debates on theorising the urban and comparative urbanism as a prac-

tice in conversation with scholarly work on the urban politics of human

rights. The individual chapters do so by empirically examining the urban

politics of human rights in a diverse range of cities across and beyond

the Global South and North in relation to dierent urban processes and

phenomena. Some chapters explicitly engage with post-colonial critiques

of comparative urbanism, and others zoom in on historical translocal

manifestations of the urban politics of human rights.

Having situated this volume vis-à-vis these broader debates, the

remainder of this chapter zooms in on key themes and concepts and pre-

sents a theorisation of the urban politics of human rights on the basis of

the volume’s chapters.

Exploring the Urban

The urban condition is often argued to dene future life on the planet

(Gleeson 2014). We have entered an epoch of new scales of urbanisa-

tion: ‘the urban represents an increasingly worldwide condition in which

political-economic relations are enmeshed’ (Brenner and Schmid 2011).

In this situation of ‘planetary urbanisation’, no natural or socio-space on

earth remains untouched or unrelated to the urban. We value how this

analysis opens up urban research beyond the city in a strictly territorial

sense. The present volume does not take the urban or the city as an onto-

logically xed or pre-dened category or object of study. Urban scholars

have long warned against presenting the urban as a singular condition

(Brenner and Schmid 2015, Brenner 2016). Instead, their work traces

‘processes of urbanization that are bringing forth diverse socioeconomic

conditions, territorial formations and socio-metabolic transformations

across the planet’ (Brenner and Schmid 2015, p. 152). Conceptually, this

involves ‘destabilizing the terms of the urban’ (Robinson 2018, p. 236) and

interrogating diverse processes and its dierent dimensions, the urban

as a concrete abstraction and as lived experience (Brenner 2016, p. 280).

As Robinson (2021, p. 98) notes, as a concept, the urban ‘can only ever

exist as emergent and multiple, in a state of constant, strong revisability’.

Returning to this volume’s ambition to examine and theorise the urban

politics of human rights, this also necessitates being attentive to the

diversity, distinctiveness and interconnectedness of urban engagements

with human rights across various urban settings.

6 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

While the analyses in this volume loosely depart from an understand-

ing of the urban ‘as a key scale of analysis and political activities’ (Darling

and Bauder 2019, p. 5), the case studies turn to urban spaces where ‘con-

crete struggles over the urban are waged’ (Brenner and Schmid 2015,

p. 178). On the basis of the empirical contributions of these case studies,

at least four urban dynamics stand out.

First of all, neo-liberalisation has come to shape the urban (Sassen 2001,

Brenner 2019). If there is one site in which neo-liberalisation has taken eect,

it is in cities around the world. Global capital ows in and out, often in the

form of property investments that push out local owners and tenants. This is

demonstrated, for instance, in Gürlek’s description of the local Abdal com-

munity being pushed out of their homes due to a neo-liberal repurposing of

the valuable area upon which they had resided (Chapter 3). Furthermore,

decrease in public spending and faith in free market fundamentalism have

led not only to the privatisation of public goods such as transportation, edu-

cation and housing, but also to the privatisation of spaces that were once

public, often with the assistance of modern surveillance. Take Cape Town’s

waterfront and beaches as shown by Pieterse (Chapter 9) in this volume,

where cameras and other forms of surveillance exclude certain urbanites

while openly welcoming others. Another aspect of neo- liberalisation that

has strongly aected urban governance is the combination of decentrali-

sation and deregulation. While the former empowered local authorities by

giving them a vast array of competences and responsibilities previously

centra lised, the l atter le d to an outsourcing of the se responsibi lities to public -

private arrangements empowering private actors in the long run. This trend

also strengthened the growing technocratic urban law, as demonstrated by

Åberg and others in their discussion of squatter eviction in Malmö in this

volume, that serve to support property ownership. Neo-liberal policies gen-

erate and exacerbate inequalities in cities. The global structuralist dynamic

of neo-liberalisation is however met by a more context-specic dynamic of

the urban, grounded in local histories and shaped by the specic congura-

tion of space and actors in a given setting.

Second, spatialised inequalities are (re)produced and contested in cities

both in the Global North and Global South. Socio-economic inequali-

ties are etched into the urban landscape. The latter in turn also deepens

them. On the one hand, we see city centres with high-rise commercial

buildings, ample opportunities for consumerism and citizens blurring

into hurried masses. On the other hand, if one looks away from the cen-

tres, there are the banlieues, the slums and the areas that never make

it to city marketing folders with inhabitants that often struggle to meet

daily needs. The contrasts within cities are often enormous. Some areas

are spotlighted and developed, while other areas are to be avoided, bull-

dozed or hidden out of sight. In all these areas, there are people whose

lives are aected by their surroundings, whether these are the slums or

the shady lawns of Nairobi (Chapter 8 by Jones and Gachihi) or the old

General introduction 7

quarters and streets in Kırşehir once home to characteristic song and

dance of the Abdals, now bulldozed to make way for the modern Turkey

(Chapter 3 by Gürlek). These spatialised inequalities have implications

for the enjoyment of human rights around the globe, in the Global North

and South, both within and between cities.

Third, cities are also socio-spaces where communities develop localised

identities. Often, city dwellers identify more closely with the neighbourhood

and city in which they live than with the state in which their city is located.

The cultural minority ‘Abdals’ associated with and embedded in the fab-

ric of Kırşehir, for instance, have reported not being the same commu-

nity when uprooted from their ancient neighbourhood to the modernised

high-rise buildings (Gürlek, Chapter 3). The São Paulo Pacaembu sports

stadium, home to soccer matches and pop concerts, was converted to host

emergency beds for COVID patients. Vormittag (Chapter10) describes this

as an instance of how specic landmarks – and the stories, symbols, songs

and sentiments connected to them – create a sense of belonging: an identi-

cation that is often enthusiastically promoted by city administration and

commerce alike. As such, scholars have pointed to the emergence of urban

citizenship, that – as is the case of national citizenship – shapes legal status

and political membership, sets out rights and obligations and stimulates

civic virtues and ways of engagement via discourses of inclusion and par-

ticipation (Oomen 2020, Shachar et al. 2017, p.5, Vrasti and Dayal 2016).

Lastly, all the ab ove – the global c onnections, the free ow of capit al, the

challenges faced and the strengthening of urban identities – contribute to

a strengthening of urban autonomy in the relations between cities and the

nation state. This becomes apparent, for example, in the human rights

city of Bologna in the decoupling of urban migration policies from those

developed at the national level, as described by Sabchev in Chapter 5.

This theme also emerges when cities and urban actors take on the role

of ‘norm-entrepreneurs’ on such international matters as the apartheid

regime, claiming space and agency on a topic that would traditionally

be considered within the jurisdiction of national foreign aairs policy

(Novak, chapter 2 in this volume). Even if, under classical international

law, states are the main actors in international relations and those that

traditionally make international law, urban actors increasingly and col-

lectively seek to inuence the global human rights agenda, as is the case

with the right to housing (Fernández-Wul, chapter 6 in this volume).

Let us now turn to a discussion of how these combined dynamics of the

urban relate to the second key concept in our investigations – human rights.

Urbanising Human Rights

The relationship between human rights and the city runs deeper and fur-

ther back into time than can be set out here. After all, it was in the context

of cities, and city-states, that rights and duties of those who inhabited

8 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

them vis-à-vis those who ruled them were rst carved out (Prak 2018).

Etymologically, the term citizenship is derived from the Latin word for

city, and in Europe, the term citizen was a synonym for town dweller in

the early Middle Ages. After the Second World War and the deep sorrows

brought about by fascism and virulent nationalism, nation states were

ready to agree upon the universal, inalienable and indivisible rights of

their citizens, they did so within cities. The United Nations were founded

in San Francisco, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was for-

mulated in Paris, the binding nature of human rights treaties was agreed

upon in Vienna, monitoring of these treaties takes place in New York

and Geneva and the interpretation of socio-economic rights was devel-

oped in Maastricht. This overview, while demonstrating the importance

of the city for human rights, also makes clear why human rights critiques

focus, among others, on the actual or perceived Western roots of these

so-called universal norms (Rajagopal 2003). That said, these norms are

met by local contestation, practices and localised understandings of

human rights in cities around the globe (Oomen and Durmuş 2019).

As has often been discussed in human rights scholarship, it took dec-

ades for the promises penned up after Second World War to be actually

mobilised to address injustices. Even if civil society organisations such

as Amnesty International are often credited with making the move

from norm-setting to implementation of human rights (Moyn 2010),

local authorities also played a role. Novak illustrates this in chapter 2 of

this volume where he points out how cities in the United States played

an important role in combating Apartheid from the 1970s onwards.

Cities passed divestment ordinances, lobbied with national authorities

and worked with activists, academics, international organisations and

collaborated within the context of city-to-city networks to strengthen

human rights in South Africa. Similar types of (trans)local human rights

engagement, which can be found today, often in explicit reference to

human rights norms, can, however, partially constitute ‘human rights

exportism’, seeking to strengthen the human rights of others while help-

ing to create foregoing business opportunities that contribute to realising

human rights (Ignatie 2005).

Logical as it may seem, the legal responsibility of local authorities for

human rights of all city dwellers long received little attention, eclipsed

behind the state as the subject of international (human rights) law (Blank

2006a,b, Nicola 2012, Aust 2018, Aust and Nijman 2021). The main rea-

son for this was the state-centricity of classical international law, and by

extension, international human rights law, which placed the responsibil-

ity to respect, protect and full specic human rights obligations vis-à-vis

individuals within national jurisdictions squarely on states (Smith 2016).

Over the past decades, however, following the trend of scholarly attention

to other non-State duty bearers (Alston 2005), the formal responsibility of

local authorities for human rights has received more and more attention

General introduction 9

in both scholarship and practice (Oomen and Baumgärtel 2018, Hirschl

2020). This has a wide variety of reasons. The most recent UN human

rights treaties, for instance, concerning the rights of children, or persons

with disabilities, explicate responsibilities of all governmental authorities

for rights protection. Decentralisation has also caused local authorities

to often carry primary responsibility for, for instance, socio-economic

rights such as the right to housing which in turn has taken on increased

legal signicance (Coomans 2006). In the eld of international law, UN

bodies have recognised increasingly local authorities as duty bearers,

stipulating their responsibilities and stimulating them to accept these

duties within a range of reports and processes (UN 2015, Council of

Europe 2019). Second, and perhaps more interestingly, urban actors have

also become more and more central to the advocacy, contestation and

negotiations around existing and new human rights norms, often devel-

oping their own collective normative understandings on (specic) human

rights and advocating for their acceptance in international law and global

governance (Durmuş 2020, 2021a, Durmuş and Oomen 2021).

While this volume zooms in on the urban scale and the urban politics

of human rights, we believe that the use of and engagement with human

rights by urban actors is best understood not in strictly scalar terms, but

as linked to various processes and spaces. The chapters in this volume

focus on dierent urban processes, such as mobilisations, contestations

and negotiations, through which human rights are urbanised (also see

Darling 2016), and less on comparing the use of human rights by urban

actors in dierent urban contexts or on comparing local authorities’

engagement with human rights with that of states.

The interconnectedness of cities, and the degree to which they function

as a hub, explains the rise of self-designated ‘human rights cities’ across

the world. The idea of such a city originated in Rosario, Argentina, in

1997, but swiftly travelled to Europe, where Barcelona became one of

the cities driving the European Charter for the Safeguarding of Human

Rights in the City in 1998, with Gwangju currently functioning as one of

the hubs in the global human rights cities movement in Asia and globally,

hosting annual conferences and working towards further institutionali-

sation of the concept (García Chueca 2016, Oomen et al. 2016). Montréal,

to oer one example, took the European Charter as inspiration for its

Charter of Rights and Responsibilities. The networks that connect these

cities also include a broad spectrum of international and regional organ-

isations, businesses, donors and other norm entrepreneurs, as becomes

apparent in the case studies on New York, São Paulo, Cape Town and

Bologna, presented by Fernández-Wul, Vormittag, Pieterse and

Sabchev, respectively, in their chapters.

Bringing into sight the four dynamics of the urban set out above, the

chapters of this volume show how these dynamics call for and stimulate

engagement with human rights.

10 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

Neo-liberalisation stimulates engagement with human rights in many

dierent ways. The harsh eects of neo-liberalisation on cities in the eld

of access to basic needs and the increased inequalities resulting from

free market reign are met urban actors who contest neo- liberalisation by

invoking human rights principles such as equality and human dignity,

and the civil, political, social and economic rights to which these prin-

ciples gave rise. Both Can (Chapter 4) and Fernández-Wul (Chapter 6),

for instance, show how invoking the right to housing in the Bay Area and

in New York was essentially a response to the hardship on home owners

resulting from the move towards housing as a private commodity instead

of a public good. Similarly, the homogenising forces of the global econ-

omy call for a pushback by means of an invocation of cultural rights,

for instance, in the case of Roma rights presented by Åberg and others

(Chapter 7) and the rights of the Abdals in Gürlek ’s cas e study (Chapter 3).

While this concerns claims against local governments, decentralisation

and the felt need to safeguard public interests in times of privatisation

and deregulation has also caused many local governments to explicitly

include human rights in their policies, politics and ordinances.

Large spatial inequalities characterise today’s cities and play a key role

in both the engagement with human rights and how these engagements

play out. The cases of São Paulo, Nairobi and Cape Town all show how

the material conditions in these cities threaten the right to life, and vio-

late a long list of other rights, of people who live in the slums and squatter

camps and are wilfully kept from wealthier parts of town. It were the

conditions in the Roma squatter camp in Malmö that caused activists to

embark on a set of court cases to improve their condition.

It is moreover the city as imagined, dreamed up, and as the breeding

ground of localised identity that cause actors to call in human rights, be

it for the purpose of city marketing or as a rallying call for a more just

city (Fainstein 2010, Roodenburg and Stolk 2020). This localisation, as

we will see, calls for renegotiation of both terminology and content of

the rights concerned, a recasting of the global language in the vernacular

(Merry 2006). The urban renegotiation of human rights can also lead

to the emergence of new urban rights. One could think of home-grown

notions such as the ‘right to the city’ that calls for the right to belong

and co-produce the urban, which originates from the work of Lefebvre

from 1968 (Mayer 2009), but also of the Cape High Court’s interpreta-

tion of the right to public presence in the context of urban resistance as

described by Pieterse (Chapter 9). Other examples of new urban rights

can be found in charters that were created by urban actors, such as the

European Charter for the Safeguarding of Human Rights in the City and

the Global Charter-Agenda for Human Rights in the City.

A nal urban dynamic, the stronger emphasis on urban autonomy,

explains the degree to which urban engagement with human rights takes

place in an active dialogue with a wide range of national and international

General introduction 11

actors. Urban actors increasingly team up nationally and internationally,

claim a place at the international negotiating table and insert their under-

standings in norm-setting and norm-interpretation processes (Blank

2006a,b, Aust and Nijman 2021, Novak, in this volume). One reason is

to take these reworked understandings home, but there is also the sepa-

rate desire to make a mark on global governance and the international

development of human rights.

Let us now turn to the actors and the mechanisms involved in the

specic ‘pathways’ (Brysk and Stohl 2019) of rights mobilisation in urban

settings.

City Society

Classic legal human rights understandings involve binaries. There are

rights holders and duty bearers; individuals and authorities; civil society

and the State. All the chapters in this book show how this binary struc-

ture hardly holds true for urban realities. At times, as in the cases pre-

sented by Can, Jones and Gachihi, Åberg and colleagues and Pieterse,

civil society is indeed the driving force in holding the local government

accountable for human rights violations. But even then, it does so with

the involvement of, for instance, national and international authorities.

In other cases, such as Sabchev’s description of Bologna (Chapter 5),

or Novak’s discussion of US anti-Apartheid cities (Chapter 2), local

authorities, civil society and even the courts come together to collectively

strengthen human rights. The dierent roles local governments take in

the cases within this volume demonstrate that it would be not only sim-

plistic but also inaccurate to place local governments permanently and

solely under the category of duty bearers. Instead, local governments,

urban civil society and other urban actors are complex and exible con-

structs taking diverging roles depending on context.

Norm entrepreneurs can be found at community centres, universi-

ties, in town halls, in elected oces, municipal councils or among civil

servants, in businesses, religious organisations, with individuals and all

forms of organisations. In order to be successful, they forge alliances that

not only cross the classic binary of state and civil society, but also are

essentially multi-sited and literally or guratively multilingual, forged

not only within the urban connes but also at conferences and meet-

ing places elsewhere. This volume abounds with such novel partnerships,

which collectively work towards the mobilisation of human rights and

that could be called city society. Such city society consists of many frag-

ments. In Nairobi, as Jones and Gachihi set out (Chapter 8), it is polit-

ical society made up of the urban poor that, in contrast to civil society,

rallies for rights in the context of Nairobi’s Social Justice Centres. Most

importantly, the city society, as opposed to merely civil society, can be

constituted of both public and private actors, institutions, collectives and

12 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

individuals, any and everyone who engages in human rights mobilisa-

tions and contestations.

What becomes apparent in virtually every analysis of the city soci-

ety driving the mobilisation of human rights is the role of networks.

Some argue that access to networks through which rights-based norms

and practices are disseminated and the availability of cooperation with

dierent actors who can oer funding, resources and know-how are cru-

cial ingredients for successful human rights mobilisation and institu-

tionalisation in the city (Durmuş 2021b). The classic horizontal, national

city and mayoral networks have increasingly given way to transnational

networks such as those of human rights cities. Novak (Chapter 2) explores

an ancestor of human rights cities by mapping a transnational network of

norm- entrepreneurs that encompasses horizontal local government net-

works as well as universities, local, state and federal government ocials,

pre-existing advocacy networks on civil rights and businesses. Jones and

Gachihi (Chapter 8) and Åberg Batzler and Persdotter (Chapter 7) show

that horizontal networks among local NGOs, local communities and

activists are crucial as well for an exchange of knowledge and resources.

In the international law-making arena, there are also multi-level govern-

ance assemblages active, which include international organisations, UN

special rapporteurs, private funders and business, that engage in a per-

manent dialogue on how human rights should be understood and mobi-

lised within the urban context (Marcenko 2019).

The interplay between human rights and the urban, however, can be

strongly informed by national and local party politics. Sabchev and

Vormittag, for example, present cases in which networked human rights

cities join forces to distance themselves from more restrictive national

policies driven by right-winged populism. In Pieterse’s analysis of Cape

Town (Chapter 9), it is civil society, in conjunction with national ANC-

forces, that takes on the local government led by the Democratic Party,

in order to ensure equal access to urban spaces for all residents.

In short, to understand the urban politics of human rights, it is impor-

tant to make an eort to unpack ‘the urban’, to map the actors involved

in the politics of mobilisation and their national and international

connections, in addition to considering the mechanisms of mobilisation.

Mechanisms of Mobilisation

Mobilisation of human rights can, as sociologists and political sci-

entists have pointed out, socialise states and strengthen social justice

(Simmons 2009, Goodman and Jinks 2013). Any attempt to focus on the

urban politics of human rights can build on these insights on national

processes. Such insights involve the interplay between global and local

actors – the human rights spiral invoked and rened by Novak in his

contribution (Risse and Sikkink 2013) and also the combination of

General introduction 13

material inducement, persuasion and acculturation that causes states

to comply with human rights and the importance of considering culture,

structure and agency in any analysis (Goodman and Jinks 2013, p. 9,

Sabchev et al. 2021). Localisation of human rights is, to a large extent,

about ‘vernacularisation’, the uneven, negotiated translation of global

and abstract norms into a language that is accepted and in line with

local culture and traditions (Merry 2006, Goodale and Merry 2007, De

Feyter et al. 2011). According to Haglund and Stryker, it involves specic

mechanisms (informational, symbolic, power-based, legal and coopera-

tive), actors (individuals, groups and organisations) and pathways, that

concretise and specify processes of rights translation by ‘spatially and

temporarily locating the relevant actors and mechanisms in distinct

contexts’ (Haglund and Stryker 2015, p. 3). In the process of vernacu-

larising human rights, grassroots organisations continuously renegoti-

ate the terms of their engagement with municipal governments and their

policy processes, in order to redene what traditional human rights prin-

ciples, such as participation and accountability, mean at the local level

(Fernández-Wul and Yap 2020). Mobilisation of human rights, also by

urban actors, involves politics by denition.

If city society – in all its forms and manifestations – mobilises rights, the

process of mobilisation can be understood as a social, discursive, spatial and

material construction that foregrounds human rights over other normativi-

ties. This is often done in conjunction, or even competition, with other strat-

egies, as Jones and Gachihi set out. Such foregrounding of human rights

can, as becomes apparent in this volume, be done via a wide range of mech-

anisms, such as, framing, protests, visualisation, public interest litigation,

democratic deliberation and institutionalisation (Brysk and Stohl 2017).

Wherever, whenever and by whomever rights are mobilised, one key

rst step is that of framing, the consideration of urban problems as human

rights challenges. Gürlek’s contribution illustrates how – in the absence

of such framing (or other normative framings) by the stakeholders – a

mobilisation to protect the interests of those vulnerable in the face of an

urban challenge is highly unlikely to occur. There is nothing self-evident

about this mobilisation, nor is there about the specic rights picked out

of the human rights catalogue. Even with the foregrounding of one par-

ticular right, such as the right to housing in Fernández-Wul’s study of

New York City, and Can’s analysis of the Bay Area, there is need for

reinterpretation, renement and/or lling in of the global norm to ensure

that it leads to the desired local outcomes. This involves political choices.

As Can’s comparison with Istanbul shows, the framing process within a

specic socio-spatial and political context can also lead to a choice of a

dierent vocabulary, such as the right to the city. Essentially a discur-

sive act, framing can take place in many places: the mayor’s speech, the

twitter hashtag (#Right2City), the title of a policy report or a slogan on a

protest sign. It can unify constituencies and alienate others.

14 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

Human rights mobilisation can also be about physical protests that

support implementation of human rights or posit an alternative vision

towards the one that is dominant. In Nairobi’s Social Justice Centres,

in the streets of Istanbul, at the University campuses lled with concern

about Apartheid, human rights made their way into urban politics by

means of protests. Within urban spaces, the mobilisation of rights is

material as much as it is social. It can be done not only by putting the

spotlight and cameras on agrant injustices, but also by means of art-

work and creative protests that arm human rights and contest visually

their violation.

A classic way of invoking human rights, and one that sets human rights

apart from other normativities, is that they can be readily invoked in the

context of public interest litigation. Here, too, there are wins and losses in

terms of the underlying objectives. In Malmö, those pitting Roma rights

against urban nuisance law to secure dignity for those living in squatter

camps came out empty-handed, wondering whether political processes

would not have been more helpful. In Cape Town and Bologna, on the

other hand, carefully framed rights claims, with enough social support,

did lead to wins in courts and later to improvement of rights compliance

by the authorities.

Another mechanism of rights mobilisation consists in so-called dem-

ocratic deliberation. The call for such deliberation, on equal terms, gives

way to concepts such as the right to the city, to the invocation of rights

and to claiming a seat at the international table. At the same time,

as becomes apparent in Fernández-Wul’s discussion of the right to

housing in New York, this deliberation forms a key process in reworking,

vernacularising, given local meaning to a universal claim.

Finally, institutionalisation is a mechanism of mobilisation that

emerges in many of the studies in this volume. There is the São Paulo

secretariat of Human Rights and Citizenship, described by Vormittag,

with roots dating back to the early nineties. There is Bologna’s Oce

of New Citizenship, Cooperation and Human Rights, in Sabchev’s case

study. Here, human rights are not invoked against local authorities, but

underlie local decision-making processes and institutions.

All of these mechanisms of mobilisation of human rights, importantly,

may also constitute the contestation of human rights in the urban con-

text. This is because the very notion of state-centricity underlying inter-

national human rights law, as well as the dichotomy of rights holders

vs. duty bearers, and many other practices restraining human rights to

the legalistic, apolitical, technocratic, international, public or institu-

tional realms and excluding actors and processes that are outside such

formal spheres, are challenged by a multiplicity of urban actors claiming

the space and the voice to shape a localised understanding of human

rights. As such, the mobilisation of human rights in the urban context,

challenges the very fundamental assumptions about human rights, and

General introduction 15

opens constructive spaces of criticism, and thus ‘urbanises’ human rights

(Section ‘City Society’).

A Matter of Politics

However rights are mobilised, mobilisation is essentially a political

process. Human rights are used to claim and to contest. Mobilisation

of human rights involves struggles and negotiations. Let us now turn

to explicit struggles that actors engage with when they mobilise human

rights, and to how the urban context ties into each of these struggles.

First, it is important to recognise the power dynamics that come with

rights talk, and that are behind human rights framing. The interests of

private capital in Malmö benetted from the prevalence of the right to

property over other human rights. Seemingly ‘neutral’ urban law leads

to the exclusion of not only individuals, but also specic groups of peo-

ple, and positing rights-based claims against it constitutes quite a radical

counternarrative.

Also, which right to mobilise is a matter of politics, explicitly mulled

over by actors in city society. Can, for instance, convincingly shows why

those seeking to combat homelessness in California’s Bay Area turned

towards claims based upon the right to housing, whereas the same cause

in Istanbul was put forward as being about the right to the city.

One of the choices to be made here, particularly in the context of strate-

gic litigation, is whether the emphasis should be on rights as laid down in

the national constitution, or the international human rights framework.

This, of course, depends on the constitutional dispensation, and domes-

tic understandings of the justiciability of, for instance, socio- economic

rights; similarly, focus on either national or international law can also

be a matter of politics. At times, domestic constitutional frameworks

can be interpreted in more progressive ways than international human

rights law, as demonstrated by Pieterse. In the examples he describes,

South African courts are developing an interpretation of constitutional

rights that are urban-specic, such as ‘the right to be present’, which

aligns with previously non-codied discourses on the ‘right to the city’.

This example also proves that strategic decisions in human rights mobi-

lisations can invent or develop ‘new urban rights’ rather than existing

codied law.

In all this, the image of human rights as alien, and wester n in origin, can

denitely play a role, as becomes clear in Jones’ and Gachihi’s analysis

of how activists in Nairobi’s Social Justice Centres reect on these rights,

and their (in)ability to truly address the colonial legacy of inequality.

All chapters show how human rights politics play out in the cityscape.

Via marches, artworks, rainbow-coloured zebra crossings, occupation of

beaches and buildings. The shanty towns by which university students

in Novak’s case study draw attention to apartheid injustices shows the

16 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

interplay between the material and the normative, the spatial and the polit-

ical. The urban politics of human rights involves many actors, and occurs

by a variety of mechanisms, it always involve struggle. Here, an outstand-

ing question then is how these struggles and mobilisations play out.

To What Eect?

The urba n engagement with human rights can count on high expectations,

as well as on critique and concern, as with human rights engagement in

general. In terms of expectations, there is the promise in equal treatment,

recognition of human dignity and participation for all. Human rights

may also function as a discursive umbrella under which to unite a wide

variety of interests, a clear and globally agreed set of goals, and to uphold

the law in court and thus to guide and constrain governmental power.

Critiques of human rights focus on their poor track record in terms of

delivery (Moyn 2018), their lack of attention for underlining structural

causes of injustices, and the fact that they even run the danger of under-

mining other more emancipatory strategies for (social) justice struggles

(Kennedy 2002). Human rights critics focus moreover upon their origins

in Western Enlightenment thinking (Rajagopal 2003) as well as their

legalistic, state centric and even totalitarian focus (Handmaker and

Arts 2018).

The million-dollar question on the mind of everyone with a stake in the

urban politics of human rights – as an activist or an academic, a council-

lor or a citizen – is of course whether mobilisations of human rights make

a dierence. The chapters which we discuss and introduce here paint a

nuanced but ultimately armative picture. While each of the chapters

addresses all of the themes set forward in this introduction – relevant

processes of urbanisation, the urbanisation of human rights, the dynam-

ics of city society, mechanisms of mobilisation – they are organised with

a focus on the themes predominant in each article.

First, three chapters set out clearly how, over time, processes of urban-

isation such as neo-liberalisation, spatialised inequalities, localised

identities and strengthened urban autonomy have paved the way for a

discussion of urban politics of human rights. The often-neglected histor-

ical perspective on the potential of the urban for the realisation of human

rights is provided here by Novak in his chapter on US cities joining forces

against the Apartheid. The politics of this process, involving intracity

mobilisation, city-to -city collaborations and international lobbying many

decades ago, foreshadow current urban politics. The case also shows how

such inter-city mobilisations can ultimately lead to strengthening human

rights, even in faraway places.

Processes of urbanisation – starting with the way in which neo-

liberalism has led to the privatisation of public space and the erosion

of the public good – are at the heart of Gürlek’s description of Kırşehir.

General introduction 17

Here, the bulldozers bringing modernisation to this Turkish town also

ploughed away communal, cultural life, the song and dance of the Abdals

in the streets, to be replaced by a homogenised, consumerist and priva-

tised alternative in the new high-rise buildings. Nevertheless, political

countering of these processes of urbanisation by means of the mobili-

sation of human rights can take many forms, as Can shows in her study

of Istanbul (where protesters foregrounded the right to the city) and the

Bay Area (with the emphasis on the right to housing). These dierent

mobilisations, inevitably, also lead to dierent outcomes.

How human rights are urbanised forms a key theme in the next two

chapters. Sabchev, discussing the rights of migrants in the human rights

city of Bologna, also shows how rights-based cooperation of city society

leads to more just outcomes. In the case of Bologna this involves a gen-

eralised human rights discourse, but urbanising human rights can also

focus on one human right in particular. In this regard Fernández-Wul,

in her analysis of the politics of the right to housing, shows how this

right makes its way into democratic deliberation in New York, leading

to adjustment of policies. In both cases, the understandings of human

rights are developed and contested within a multi-level context, but also

these understandings are very much tailored to the local situation.

The following two chapters make clear to what extent the urban pol-

itics of human rights comes out of an interplay between actors in city

society that does not always lead to the intended results. Åberg and col-

leagues critically reect on how strategic litigation based on Roma rights

in Malmö could not stop evictions, due to a construction of urban law

that foregrounds concepts such as property and nuisance, and openly

wonder whether such litigation can address underlying structural injus-

tices. Similar concerns are raised by Jones and Gachihi in discussing

urban protests against extrajudicial killings in the postcolonial context

of Nairobi. Are human rights not too limited, too Western, too little

political to truly lead to urban justice, their respondents wonder.

The two nal cases presented, however, do show the potential of

human rights to contribute to urban justice, by mechanisms of mobili-

sation ranging from strategic litigation to institutionalisation. Pieterse,

in a detailed study of Cape Town, shows how the homeless, beggars

and sex workers managed to claim the right to public presence through

a range of court cases. Vormittag, nally, shows how São Paulo, con-

fronted with one of the biggest human rights threats in its history in the

context of COVID-19, could draw on institutionalised human rights pol-

icies in order to foreground human rights, equal treatment and dignity

in its response.

And so it becomes clear that the urban mobilisation of human rights

can make a dierence, in particular when these mobilisations have deep

historical roots, are framed as such, carried forward by a wide range

of well-connected actors in the context of ‘city society’, and socialised

18 Barbara Oomen, Elif Durmuş, Sara Miellet, et al.

and institutionalised by being woven into the collective imagination,

praxis, city ordinances, institutions and the cityscape alike. Cities lie

within nations, and what happens within them will always be condi-

tioned by these nations and by the connes of global economy, this

volume points to the politics of human rights that comes with the urban

mobilisation of human rights and how it may lead to a strengthening

of urban justice.

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Part 1

Exploring the urban

DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-3

Introduction

From 1948 to 1994, apartheid was a central operating principle of the

South African government, which enforced labour exploitation, racial

segregation and limitations on human rights (Hostetter, 2006, pp. 2–3).

In the United States, the foreign policy of President Ronald Reagan pre-

ferred ‘constructive engagement’ with the apartheid regime over confron-

tation to protect a large American economic stake, about $14.5 billion

by the early 1980s, one-fth of South Africa’s foreign direct investment

(Seidman, 1990, pp. 60–62). To change US foreign policy towards the

apartheid regime, a nationwide grassroots movement convinced local

and state governments, universities, corporations and other entities to

reassess their ties to South Africa (Culverson, 1996, p. 127). By the early

1980s, more than 2,000 local, state, regional and national organisations

in the United States were engaged in the issue, including in at least 35 of

the 50 US states and aecting $100 million in leverage (Lansing, 1981,

p. 321). Cities, counties and towns ‘created the momentum’ for change at

the federal level, as they were early adopters of at rst symbolic and later

stricter anti-investment and anti-procurement policies against South

Africa (Grey, 1987, p. 401). By the end of the apartheid period, more than

140 state and local jurisdictions in the United States passed legislation or

ordinances divesting in economic relations with South Africa, including

withdrawing bank loans, contracts and pension funds, on the theory that

this economic activity symbolically and materially contributed to the

perpetuation of apartheid (Fenton, 1993, p. 564).

Using network and diusion theory, this chapter addresses the involve-

ment of US cities and local jurisdictions in the movement to divest in

South Africa beginning in the late 1970s. In the 1960s, the international

norm against apartheid gradually became more specic, to include

non-cooperation with the apartheid regime (Goldberg 1985, pp. 4–5).

Blocked by Reagan’s ‘constructive engagement’ policy at the federal

level, US states and local jurisdictions took increasingly aggressive

Reconsidering extraterritorial

human rights obligations of

cities and local governments

Apartheid divestment ordinances

in the United States, 1975–1994

Andrew Novak

26 Andrew Novak

action against corporations doing business in South Africa or with South

African operations whilst simultaneously lobbying the federal govern-

ment to adopt a more confrontational policy (Culverson 1996, p. 143).

The historical episode of local anti-apartheid ordinances raises several

themes that appear throughout this volume. First is the importance

of networks among advocates and local government ocials, a causal

mechanism that helps to explain how the divestment idea quickly dif-

fused in American local policymaking (see Culverson 1996, pp. 136–137;

Johnson, 1999, pp. 6–8). Apartheid divestment networks activated rela-

tionships rst formed during the civil rights movement in US South, as

the struggle for racial equality became a global cause. Notable civil rights

leaders such as Rev. Jesse Jackson, Jr., became outspoken opponents of

the South Africa’s white regime at a time when the American relationship

with newly independent black majority-ruled African countries was still

ill-dened (Klotz 1995, p. 466). Apartheid divestment organising also

took advantage of links between cities, activating pre-existing alliances

such as the US Conference of Mayors, and through non-governmental

organisations such as TransAfrica Forum and the American Committee

on Africa (ACOA) that were coordinating protests, circulating model

ordinances and testifying before city councils (Klotz 1995, p. 466; Larson

2019; Lopez 1985).

The local apartheid divestment movement was also related to the spatial

geography of American society, another theme in this book, which in turn

helped dene the networks that formed. Urban jurisdictions, especially

large cities, had become bastions of diverse, progressive Democratic Party

leadership that served both as a political counterweight to conservative

Republican federal policy and as an incubator for African American civic

leadership and participation (Biles, 1992, p. 114; Grant, 2019). At the same

time, ‘college towns’ such as Madison, Berkeley and East Lansing, with

strong links to student organisers, reinforced a ‘town/gown’ diusion of

the divestment idea. College towns were the rst local jurisdictions to pass

divestm ent ordinance s as universit y campuses explo ded in thei r own battl es

over university endowment funds, leading to the largest nationwide pro-

tests on college campuses since the end of the Vietnam War (Altbach and

Cohen, 1990). This rai ses another th eme in thi s volume. Divestment t argeted

money: activists attacked corporations with South African subsidiaries or

business operations, shareholders who invested in South African-aected

businesses, and contracts that sold goods to the South Afr ican military a nd

police (Lansing 1981, pp. 306–307). American local jurisdictions are mar-

ket participants, with public pension funds, procurement contracts with

private companies and local investment by foreign businesses. However,

they are also regulators that can use licensing and tax powers to determine

local policy, aecting even the largest US corporations such as General

Motors in Detroit and Coca-Cola in Atlanta (Blank, 2006, pp. 276–277).

Although the direct economic impact of local apartheid divestment

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 27

ordinances was perhaps debatable, symbolically it attacked neo- liberal

capitalist forces that underpinned President Reagan’s ‘constructive

engagement’ policy. Localities, especially large cities, had beneted from

economic globalisation after World War Two and were forced to reckon

with how these same global forces sustained apartheid (see Fry 1990,

pp. 120, 123–125).

The nal theme that recurs throughout this chapter, as it has through

this volume, is the construction of a local identity dened by the net-

works that developed in the apartheid divestment battle, distinct from

state and federal identities. In this instance, local concern for events that

took place in South Africa could better be described as a global-local,

or ‘glocal’ identity, as cities and towns ‘establish a competitive, cosmo-

politan identity in the contemporary world’ (Paganoni, 2012, p. 14). The

‘boomerang’ theory of transnational advocacy posits that local, on-the-

ground actors will seek out international assistance in an attempt to

‘bypass’ the nation-state, thereby applying pressure for change from

above and below (Keck and Sikkink, 1999, p. 93). The local apartheid

divestment movement subverted the traditional power structure of the

‘boomerang’ advocacy model: local advocates and ocials based in

the Global North sought assistance to promote an international norm

from South African political exiles and nationalist leadership and from

international organisations such as the UN Sanctions Committee (see

Culverson 1996, pp. 136–137). The supreme irony is that the local apart-

heid divestment ordinances likely violated the US Constitution because

they infringed on federal powers to regulate foreign commerce and con-

duct foreign aairs (see Denning and McCall, 2000, pp. 750–751). Yet,

the diusion of the divestment idea became so widespread and uncon-

tested in American society that business associations, trade councils and

corporations resisted directly challenging the constitutionality of these

divestment ordinances lest they risk public ire (Caron, 2003, p. 183). This

is evidence of just how widely the divestment norm diused by the time

the US Congress overrode President Reagan’s veto in 1986 and installed

sanctions on the apartheid regime (Klotz 1995, pp. 458–460).

Using network and diusion theory

to explain apartheid divestment

UN resolutions rst articulated a norm against apartheid in the early

1960s, beginning with General Assembly resolution 1761 in November

1962, which created the Special Committee Against Apartheid and

called for sanctions on South Africa. In 1965, the General Assembly

condemned apartheid as a ‘crime against humanity’. The UN Security

Council also condemned apartheid in a series of resolutions through

the 1970s (Goldberg, 1985, pp. 4–5). International treaties, including the

Convention on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination (Article 3) and

28 Andrew Novak

the Convention Against Apartheid (Article 1), were also explicit. Falk

(1966, p. 790) explained that the UN General Assembly resolutions con-

tributed to ‘a process of norm creation that improves the chances for

norm implementation’ to pressure Western powers to take more robust

action against apartheid. In 1985, the UN Security Council (Resolution

569) called on states to refrain from investing in South Africa, trading in

kruggerrands, selling computer equipment to the South African police

and military and oating new loans (Schechla, 2015). Anti-apartheid

activists certainly perceived a moral obligation not to cooperate with

the apartheid regime (Caron, 2003, p. 176). The UN Human Rights

Committee has claried that obligations that are binding on national gov-

ernments are also binding on all subsidiary organs of the state, including

sub-national governments, regardless of the state’s internal organisation

(A/HRC/30/49, 7 August 2015). However, a direct international legal obli-

gation, even construed as binding, is insucient to explain the expansive

arena of local lawmaking against apartheid in the United States.

The theory of ‘transnational advocacy networks’ helps explain how

non-state actors articulated an international norm against apartheid

divestment and succeeded in altering the behaviour of the US federal

government (Keck and Sikkink, 1998). Activists and other non-state

actors help to dene international legal obligations: they indirectly inu-

ence state behaviour by lobbying and calling for boycotts; set the agenda

for international conferences and treaty negotiations and monitor com-

pliance by investigating and publicising breaches (Roberts, 2001, p. 775).

Scholars have provided several causal mechanisms as to how norms and

ideas may spread. One example is through ‘epistemic communities’, sci-

entic or technical elites that diused knowledge by virtue of their exper-

tise, often in technical, public health or environmental elds (Haas, 1989).

However, this paper uses ‘transnational advocacy networks’ to capture

the dialogic and dynamic nature of human rights norms, which may be

culturally contingent or subject to interpretation or evolution (Betsill and

Bulkeley, 2004, p. 474). Here, we are tracing the evolution and diusion

of a single idea, an apartheid divestment norm, which makes network

theory analytically useful. Whilst the messy interaction of NGOs, states,

international organisations, voluntary associations and sub-national

governments may be conceived in a less structured, more dynamic way

(see Berman 2010, p. 12), network theory provides a structure to show

how a specic norm can spread. ‘Transnational advocacy networks’ use

grassroots advocacy, bargaining and strategic alliances to pressure states

to comply with new norms (Keck and Sikkink, 1998, pp. 8–10). Unlike

epistemic communities, advocacy networks promote a normative or

moral agenda rather than a factual or objective one (Klotz, 2002, p. 51).

Like civil society actors and other ‘norm entrepreneurs’, local gov-

ernments can shape and proliferate human rights norms (Oomen and

Durmuş 2019). In the constructivist school of international relations,

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 29

non-state actors (or in this case, sub-state actors) can be agents of a par-

ticular rule and can convince other social actors to adopt the rule (Adler,

1997, pp. 322–323; Klotz 1995, pp. 459–460). Ideas and identities can alter

state behaviour through a learning and adoption process as principles

and decision-making processes known as ‘norms’ are internalised (Risse

and Sikkink, 1999, p. 5). A norm ‘life cycle’ proceeds from emergence

through cascade to internalisation as people embrace the specic norma-

tive argument (Finnemore and Sikkink, 1998, p. 895). ‘Norm dynamics’

is the study of how these international norms, including those relating

to human rights, emerge, diuse and crystallise, changing state policy

(Wunderlich, 2013, p. 20). Unlike the competing frames of international

relations – realism’s balance of power dynamics and liberalism’s institu-

tions that reduce transaction costs and ensure compliance – the causal

variable in constructivist theory are these non-state and non-institutional

actors that promote the new ‘norm’ (Price, 2003, p. 583). These advo-

cates, or ‘norm entrepreneurs’, seize the opportunity to advance their

normative agendas and alter the prevailing regime (Wunderlich, 2013,

p. 20). A sizable academic literature describes why and how certain states

come to adopt norms whilst others resist (Risse and Ropp, 2013, pp. 5–9).

Norms need not have any specic content (Sanders, 2016, p. 168), and

may benet from existing advocacy networks (Carpenter, 2007, pp. 103–

105) and existing values and beliefs: the more generalisable and universal

the better (Finnemore and Sikkink, 1998, pp. 897, 908).

In the ‘transnational advocacy network’ frame, local governments may

be agents of norm adoption separate and distinct from the national gov-

ernment and from non-governmental civil society. Local governments can

broker norms through public advocacy and education, as well as through

internal policy implementation and lobbying of higher-level governments

(see Och 2018, p. 428). Local human rights commissions hear complaints,

carry out audits and human rights impact assessments, and require

reporting from other local government agencies (González, 2016, p. 385).

Networks of local governments ‘shape norms, policy preferences, and

statutory and regulatory schemes’ by collecting information, sponsoring

conferences and organising distribution of services (Ibid., p. 401). Local

governments have a dual role as state agents and as democratic expressions

of the local community. Localities reect local knowledge and culture

within the limits of their powers as state agents, such as in the local budget,

licensing and education (Blank, 2006, pp. 276–277). Local governments

have unique characteristics: they vary in size with non-uniform internal

structures and they provide functionally specialised direct services, such

as infrastructure and public utilities (Briault, 1993, pp. 341–342). Local

government actors and city-to-city and municipal networks are not simply

passive implementers of human rights norms, but active contributors to

the content of those norms. Oomen and Durmuş (2019, p. 142) noted that

‘cities and towns can act as agents, as norm entrepreneurs in introducing

30 Andrew Novak

specic understandings of human rights’. Cities and their networks have

helped to dene new rights and expand conceptions of existing rights

(p. 145). Cities and towns can also have dierent understandings of rights

than even their own national governments (p. 146). In addition to their

role as ‘mediators’ of norms (Blank, 2006, p. 276) between the community

and higher-level governments, local governments may also be conceived

as hubs or ‘loci’ that bring together the private sector, international organ-

isations, NGOs, citizens and voluntary groups (Nijman, 2016). Local gov-

ernments have characteristics both of sub-state and non-state actors: they

exist in a pre-existing constitutional and legal framework, but they also

have autonomy to form agendas, pursue interests and even push the limits

of their subordinate position (Durmuş, 2020, pp. 38–39).

When a state resists human rights advocacy, domestic activists may

‘bypass their state and directly search out international allies to try

to bring pressure on their states from the outside’ (Keck and Sikkink,

1998, p. 12). This ‘boomerang’ pattern of transnational advocacy unites

local activists and international allies ‘around’ the recalcitrant govern-

ment to apply pressure from above and below. A later critique of this

model conceived of a more dynamic ‘spiral’, several throws of the boo-

merang, to describe the complex process of human rights advancement,

retrenchment and negotiation (Risse and Sikkink, 1999, pp. 18–20). The

‘boomerang’ (or the derivative ‘spiral’ pattern) may involve a power dif-

ferential between the global actors and the local actors, as transnational

NGOs from the Global North often have privileged access to media,

donors and policy formulation compared to their Global South coun-

terparts (Gready, 2004, pp. 348–349). However, the ‘boomerang’ model

nonetheless gives some agency to local activists as change agents (Waites,

2019, p. 387). The ‘boomerang’ model of advocacy is useful to explain the

multifaceted nature of the American anti-apartheid divestment network,

but a simple ‘call-and-response’ model in which actors in the Global

South call on assistance from organisations based in the Global North

is too simple in this instance (Stevens, 2016, pp. 14–15). In the United

States, local governments worked with South African nationalists and

global anti-apartheid institutions to advance a norm that was originally

conceived outside the Global North. Compared to human rights norms

with putatively Western origins, the norm against apartheid came from

principles of anti-imperialism and self-determination (see Rajagopal,

2006, p. 769). Rather than calling on international NGOs for assistance

back home, apartheid divestment involved an ‘inverse boomerang’ in

which norm entrepreneurs in the United States called on partners in

South Africa to bolster the divestment agendas in the eyes of American

policymakers (Pallas, 2017, p. 281). As Stevens (2016, p. 107) writes, the

rst calls to boycott apartheid came from activists and NGOs outside

of South Africa, revealing to the resistance movement the promise of

a globalised anti-apartheid campaign.

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 31

Theme 1: The importance of networks

The apartheid divestment movement in the United States reveals the

importance of networks for the diusion of ‘norms’ or ideas among local

governments themselves and with higher-level authorities, civil society

and other aected entities like universities and corporations. Networks

reduce transaction costs inherent in advocacy through circulating best

practices and eective strategies for lobbying (Diani, 2003, pp. 1–11).

Networks also engage individuals who share certain norms and values;

in turn, the network cultivates identities for members. Activists may

be connected to new ideas and strategies as well as a forum to resolve

dierences (Passy, 2003, pp. 23–25). During the period of apartheid

divestment, local governments brought together community organis-

ers, church groups, labour unions, international organisations, South

African political exiles, student groups and many others. Using the

frame of Acuto and Leel (2020, p. 5), we go beyond thinking of locali-

ties as ‘hubs’ to recognising local government networks as ‘institutions’

that ‘are not just connections but actual producers of a vast variety of

policy outputs and knowledge mobilisation mechanisms’. Similarities

among South African divestment ordinances among local governments

are evidence of coordinating networks (Caron, 2003, p. 178). The net-

works that promoted apartheid divestment resembled subsequent local

lawmaking encouraging US ratication of international human rights

treaties, membership in the global ‘Human Rights Cities’ movement,

and alliances on gun control and climate change (Barber, 2013; Oomen

and van den Berg, 2014).

The apartheid divestment movement beneted from pre-existing

networks, reecting the observation that norms diuse more widely

when they coincide with existing discourses and conduits for advocacy

and messaging (Carpenter 2007, pp. 103–105). The US-based apart-

heid divestment movement drew on the 1960s civil rights movement.

Organisations such as the Council on African Aairs and ACOA chan-

nelled Pan-Africanist sentiment in the United States, linking the domes-

tic struggle for equality with decolonisation and African nationalism

(Houser, 1976; Johnson, 2013). Black activists promoted Pan-African

intellectual currents, culminating in the 1972 Africa Liberation Day

March on Washington, which targeted US policy towards Rhodesia. Pan-

Africanist conferences brought together black intellectuals, policymak-

ers, student organisers and radical activists in a call for divestment from

South Africa, resulting in the founding of TransAfrica Forum in 1977, a

major inuencer of US-Africa foreign policy (Johnson, 1999, pp. 6–8).

As elsewhere, anti-apartheid activists in the United States took advan-

tage of existing religious, labour and anti-colonial organising (Thörn,

2006, p. 293). ACOA helped connect local and state policymakers with

anti-apartheid activists. The idea to pass out pass cards to members of

32 Andrew Novak

the Georgia legislature, for instance, in a symbolic representation of

apartheid pass laws originated with ACOA (Moran, 2014, p. 120).

City government ocials used existing city-to-city networks to amplify

the divestment message. In August 1984, Boston Mayor Raymond

Flynn wrote to 100 other American mayors to advocate a version of

Boston’s apartheid divestment ordinance, with no exception for cor-

porations complying with the ethical business principles proposed by

Rev. Leon Sullivan in 1977 (Walsh 1984, p. 778).1 Flynn also lobbied the

US Conference of Mayors to pass a sanctions ordinance and, when he

became president of the Conference in 1991, encouraged member cities to

pass divestment ordinances even after federal sanctions on South Africa.

Other cities used the National League of Cities and state alliances of city

governments to spread the divestment message (Lopez 1985). Mayors

joined forces. In 1991, Boston Mayor Flynn, New York City Mayor David

Dinkins and Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley sent letters to the South

African Ambassador to the United States to release political prisoners

(ACOA, 29 April 1991).

In time, the apartheid divestment movement became more organised

(Klotz, 1995, p. 195). On November 21, 1984, the ‘Free South Africa

Movement’ was formed when TransAfrica President Randall Robinson,

Rep. Walter Fauntroy (D-DC), US Commissioner of Civil Rights Mary

Francis Berry and former chair of the Equal Employment Opportunity

Commission Eleanor Holmes Norton were arrested in a protest inside the

South African embassy in Washington, DC. Simultaneous sit-in protests

occurred in two dozen other cities; demonstrations continued weekly at

the South African embassy and consulate for years (Feld, 2014, p. 110).

Three days after the rst embassy protest, on the other side of the country,

the International Longshoremen’s and Warehousemen’s Union (ILWU)

Local 10 chapter refused to unload cargo from South Africa, sparking

an 11-day boycott. The Local 10 chapter strongly supported divestment

by the San Francisco Bay Area’s three largest municipalities, Berkeley,

Oakland and San Francisco, and inspired the months-long protests at the

University of California, Berkeley, then the largest student protest since

the Vietnam War (Cole, 2015, p. 173). Grassroots mobilisation occurred

among civil rights groups, organised labour, religious organisations and

college students. Over the next 12 months, more than 5,000 protestors

were arrested; on a single day, April 4, 1985, about 4,000 demonstrators

marched outside the South African embassy in Washington, DC (Metz,

1986, pp. 382–383; Nesbitt, 2004, pp. 123–124).

The similarities among local apartheid divestment ordinances are evi-

dence of network formation among activists and local government o-

cials. At least 36 local governments, including Chicago, Houston, Los

Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco and Washington, DC, enacted ‘selec-

tive procurement’ laws that denied city bids to organisations that did

business in South Africa (Caron, 2003, pp. 162–164). The earliest of these

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 33

laws were passed in 1976 (Madison, Wisconsin) and 1977 (East Lansing,

Michigan), but the bulk dated between 1984 and 1987. These policies var-

ied in their specicity and strictness. Caron (2003, pp. 178–179) noted that

non-governmental organisations circulated language for a model ordi-

nance, which evolved over time towards greater strictness. Some ordi-

nances specically referenced other jurisdictions: Topeka copied Kansas

City; Raleigh referred to Rochester; and Houston’s resembled New York

City’s. The Sacramento City Council instructed the City Attorney to

prepare a draft ordinance similar to that passed by Oakland, California

(Caron, 2003). In its role as a conduit between local government o-

cials and activist groups, ACOA circulated model laws and coordinated

lobbying eorts. In 1983, legislative action was underway in 21 states

and 8 cities and counties. The previous year, Massachusetts, Michigan

and Connecticut, along with the cities of Philadelphia, Wilmington and

Grand Rapids, had divested $300 million in South Africa (Boyer, 1983).

City governments beneted from activist expertise, and activists in

turn beneted from local ocials’ enforcement power. One city gov-

ernment that beneted from strong connections with civil society was

New York City. Activists worked with the city’s Commission on Human

Rights to challenge South African job advertisements that appeared in

the New York Times, as only white applicants could be considered, contra

the city’s expansive non-discrimination law. ACOA agged job postings

in the Times as early as 1970. Eleanor Holmes Norton, later head of the

US Equal Employment Opportunities Commission and an elected ocial

from Washington, DC, was then head of the New York City Commission

on Human Rights. The Commission beneted from pro bono legal assis-

tance, whilst activists relied on the Commission’s enforcement power over

an expansive non-discrimination statute (Grisinger, 2019, pp. 1671–1675).

These early links between city ocials and civil society paved the way for

a stronger posture. Frederick Schwarz (2008, pp. 403–404), Corporation

Counsel of New York City between 1982 and 1986, recalled pressuring

Mayor Ed Koch to consider South African divestment. Koch appointed

a panel to review city policy, which concluded that whilst ‘cities do not

have the authority to conduct foreign policy, foreign events may, at some

point, become a matter of civic and municipal concern’. The report, ulti-

mately approved by the Mayor and City Council, recommended phased

divestment, starting with suppliers to the South African military and

police (Schwarz, 2008).

Another key feature of the anti-apartheid divestment campaign

was that local governments lobbied the state to divest, and state gov-

ernments lobbied the federal government to sanction South Africa, a

reection of the US federal system. In April 1985, the City Council of

Portland, Oregon, voted to support bills pending in the Oregon state

legislature to divest in South Africa. The state bills passed in June 1985

(Johnson, 2016, pp. 172, 175). Localities also supported one another.

34 Andrew Novak

In 1983, a South African company sought to build a casino in Atlantic

City, New Jersey, triggering public outrage. As a result, the city coun-

cil adopted an ordinance barring investment of city funds in banks or

companies that did business with South Africa (Janson, 19 April 1983).

Support for the Atlantic City ordinance came from other local leaders

in New Jersey. Mayor Kenneth Gibson and Councilman Donald Tucker

of Newark sent letters, and the city councils of Newark and Jersey City

passed resolutions opposing the South African-funded casino. The New

Jersey state legislature also considered bills to block future South African

stakes in casinos (Janson, 19 April 1983). Boston, Massachusetts, pro-

vides another example in which city councillors lobbied state representa-

tives to adopt anti-apartheid laws. In 1973, Massachusetts Assemblyman

Mel King introduced a bill in the state legislature to deny access to the

Port of Boston for ships carrying Rhodesian chrome. In 1981, the MASS-

DIVEST campaign advocated complete divestment in South Africa,

a bill that passed in 1982 over the governor’s veto. King worked with

Boston City Councilman Charles Yancey to pass a city ordinance in 1984

that divested city pension funds, prohibited bank deposits with South

African lenders and extended the Massachusetts law to include occupied

Namibia (Johnson, 1999, p. 9; C. Sullivan, 20 September 1984).

Links between city council members and federal government ocials

also appeared in the San Francisco Bay Area. US Rep. Ron Dellums

(D-CA) spoke at the ILWU chapter protests in 1984; his father had

been a member of the union chapter and his uncle was a prominent

civil rights leader. During the Oakland City Council debates on apart-

heid divestment, many union members spoke in favour of the Council’s

divestment ordinance. Dellums, previously an Oakland city council-

man, had introduced a South African sanctions bill in Congress every

year since he was rst elected to federal oce in 1970. In 1986, following

President Reagan’s veto of South African sanctions, Dellums played a

leading role in the Democratic Congress’s override (Cole, 2015, pp. 172–

173). One US Senator commented during the debate over the 1986

Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid Act that adoption of local anti-apart-

heid ordinances helped shape legislators’ views and created additional

sources of pressure to change federal policy (McArdle, 1989, pp. 845–

846). In 1989, conservative US Senator Jesse Helms (R-NC) threatened

to punish US cities that divested in South Africa by denying federal

transportation funds. In response, US Senator Frank Lautenberg

(D-NJ) stated, ‘nancial concerns must at some point yield to moral

standards’ (Leel, 2018). Another US Senator, Daniel Patrick Moynihan

(D-NY), described apartheid divestment as a grassroots view spread

by citizens and communities that feel ‘strongly about moral or ethical

issues in world aairs’ (Leel, 2018). The localities had successfully

made their normative case, and they did so through existing and newly

formed networks.

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 35

Theme 2: Local government divestment

ordinances in urban context

Another important theme that appears in the debate over apartheid

divestment ordinances is that of local autonomy and control. Local ordi-

nances against apartheid challenged the prevailing conception of fed-

eralism, and specically the degree to which sub-national governments

could aect or alter foreign policy (Fenton 1993, pp. 563–564). In this

context, ‘local’ distinguishes city and county governments, creatures of

US state constitutions, from state, federal and tribal governments, which

have powers explicitly or implicitly dened by the US federal constitution

(Sutton, 1999, pp. 48–49). Because of a tradition of local self-government

in the United States, state governments have rarely interfered with the

international competence of local government units, allowing localities

to, for instance, seek foreign investment, form sister city partnerships and

go on foreign trade missions (Kincaid, 1999, p. 115). During the 1980s,

local governments greatly expanded international operations. Large cit-

ies such as Philadelphia and Seattle created international aairs oces to

organise trade missions, hosted visited delegations and appointed their

mayors as international trade negotiators (Fry, 1990, pp. 122–123).

Although the term ‘local government’ in this context does not nec-

essarily mean ‘urban’, the apartheid divestment movement also had a

distinctly urban dimension. The rst urban element involves African

American political organising. By the 1980s, large cities were centres of

African American political leadership and civil society. Between 1940

and 1970, African Americans went from among the most rural popula-

tions to the most urbanised ethnic group in American society; by 1980,

fully 85% of the African American population lived in urban areas

(Adler, 2001, p. 4). Unlike rural areas, urban jurisdictions provided legal

protections for African American and Latino voters that allowed them

to exercise their political strength; additionally, the civil rights movement

bequeathed to urban areas a ‘a new cohort of black oce seekers and

politically active volunteers’ (Biles, 1992, p. 114). US civil rights activ-

ists and the wave of African American congressmen rst elected in the

1960s after election and voting reforms saw the struggle for racial equal-

ity as global and took special interest in South Africa’s apartheid regime

(Moran, 2014, p. 22). For this reason, large city and municipal govern-

ments were well-connected to the civil rights networks that formed the

skeleton of the anti-apartheid movement.

One notable exa mple of the deep con nections bet ween civil r ights lead-

ers and apartheid divestment networks comes from Atlanta, Georgia.

Atlanta Mayor Andrew Young, once a close associate of Martin Luther

King, Jr., possessed signicant links both to the foreign policy estab-

lishment and to Atlanta’s African American political establishment.

As the US Ambassador to the United Nations under President Jimmy

36 Andrew Novak

Carter, Young advocated stronger sanctions on South Africa and fre-

quently attended anti-apartheid events. The hostility of the Georgia

state legislature to state-wide divestment spurred Atlanta’s city council

to act on a divestment ordinance. In 1986, Atlanta-based Coca-Cola

announced that it was selling its South African bottling operations,

a move that the Reagan Administration had opposed because contin-

ued business links were crucial to the success of ‘constructive engage-

ment’ (Moran, 2014). In June 1985, Atlanta Councilmen John Lewis

and Bill Campbell introduced a resolution to sever Atlanta’s ties with

local banks that had outstanding loans with South Africa. A second

resolution the next month divested the city’s pension funds (Moran,

2014). Bringing together his knowledge of foreign aairs and city lead-

ership, Mayor Young testied before the US Senate Foreign Relations

Committee in May 1985 in support of sanctions, drawing on his time as

UN ambassador (Moran, 2014). Mayor Young’s testimony shows that

local government ocials directly lobbied their federal counterparts to

place sanctions on South Africa.

The second way in which apartheid divestment networks took advan-

tage of the spatial geography of the United States was in college towns.

College towns are ‘alike in their youthful and comparatively diverse pop-

ulations, their highly educated workforces, their relative absence of heavy

industry, and the presence in them of cultural opportunities more typical

of large cities’ (Gumprecht, 2003, p. 51) – all ingredients that favoured

adoption of apartheid divestment ordinances. The rst apartheid divest-

ment ordinances appeared in medium-size cities with large agship

state universities. In December 1976, the Common Council of Madison,

Wisconsin (home to University of Wisconsin), passed an ordinance to

deny city contracts to companies with economic ties in South Africa. This

was followed in 1977 by a similar one in East Lansing, Michigan (home to

Michigan State University). The Madison ordinance was the brainchild

of the Madison Area Committee on Southern Africa, formed in 1969

(Pfeifer, 2010, pp. 20–21). In 1978, Davis, California (home of University

of California, Davis), passed a non-binding resolution in favour of divest-

ment; subsequently, in 1980, the city council passed a binding investment

policy that precluded new investments in South Africa (Boyer, 1983). In

California, Mayor Loni Hancock of Berkeley, California, rst introduced

an anti-apartheid ordinance in the city council in 1973, though the ordi-

nance did not pass until 1979 (Drummond, 24 June 2013). Other early

divestment resolutions succeeded in Cambridge, Massachusetts (1979),

home to Harvard University and Massachusetts Institute of Technology,

and Hartford, Connecticut (1980), home to University of Connecticut

Hartford. These ea rly ‘college town’ ordinanc es varied. W hilst Cambr idge

and Hartford city governments opted not to invest in corporations that

did business in South Africa, others such as Berkeley (home to University

of California, B erkeley), and Charlottesvil le, Virginia (home to University

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 37

of Virginia), withdrew public funds from nancial institutions with oper-

ations in South Africa (Walsh, 1984, pp. 777–778).

The proliferation of the divestment idea among colleges and universi-

ties reinforced divestment by local governments. By the early 1980s, col-

lege campuses erupted over apartheid at elite schools like Dartmouth,

Columbia and Cornell, at large public universities like Berkeley and

Wisconsin, and at regional schools such as University of Utah, Purdue,

and University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign (Martin, 2007, p. 330).

Well over 10,000 students participated in a one-day strike at University of

California, Berkeley (Altbach and Cohen, 1990, p. 40). At Columbia, stu-

dents blockaded Hamilton Hall for three weeks in April 1985 until a court

order forced them to desist. Other universities that saw apartheid protests

included Harvard, Tufts, Brandeis, Iowa, University of Massachusetts,

Rutgers, UCLA and Louisville. In 1977, 700 students were arrested at

campuses nationwide in anti-apartheid protests, 295 of whom partici-

pated in a single protest at Stanford University (Martin, 2007, pp. 334,

336). At Princeton University, students blockaded Nassau Hall, resulting

in ninety arrests for trespassing and obstruction (Lloyd and Mian, 2003,

p. 112). At Washington, DC-area universities, students joined the regular

protests at the South African embassy in addition to on-campus protests

(Novak, 2020). University divestment in South Africa often preceded

and inuenced divestment by local governments. For instance, the suc-

cessful divestment campaigns at Florida State University in 1985 and

University of Miami in 1986 closely preceded in time divestment by Dade

County, Florida, in 1987. Dade County, home to Miami, passed an ordi-

nance requiring corporations to disclose their business connections with

South Africa, which became a model for other Florida cities including

Tallahassee (home to Florida State University) and Gainesville (home to

University of Florida) (Billington, 26 June 1990). Ultimately, under pres-

sure from student groups and local activists, more than 120 colleges and

universities divested their endowments partially or fully from businesses

with operations in South Africa (Massie, 1997, p. 621).

One of the most visible and enduring symbols of the apartheid divest-

ment movement was rst born on college campuses: the ‘shanty’. An infor-

mational network of anti-apartheid student activists helped transmit the

mock ‘shanty’ as a protest tactic, designed to be a symbolic representa-

tion of living conditions in South Africa (Martin, 2007, pp. 345–348).

Building shantytowns on campus spread in informal, unstructured ways

among college student organisations (Soule, 1997, pp. 861, 876). At least

46 shantytown events occurred on college campuses between 1985 and

1990, beginning at Cornell University in the spring of 1985, followed by

University of Washington that fall. Shantytowns, as ‘the dening fea-

ture of the divestment struggle’s movement culture’ were a controversial

and confrontational tactic from the perspective of university adminis-

trators (Martin, 2007, pp. 330). Construction of the shanties even led to

38 Andrew Novak

violence with conservative factions, such as at Dartmouth College and

Johns Hopkins University, or lawsuits with authorities over freedom of

expression limits, especially at public universities such as University of

Virginia (Soule, 1997, p. 858).

Theme 3: Apartheid divestment as ‘Glocal’ identity formation

The anti-apartheid cause started ‘global’ and ended ‘local’. Apartheid

divestment promoted a global citizenship or an urban identity that

embraced global connections, distinct from state, regional or national

identities (see Introduction, this volume). Cities are instrumental in

developing what might be called a ‘glocalised’ identity: that is, a glo-

balised local identity, a term rst used in the business world and mar-

keting (Robertson 1994, pp. 36–38). Local governments are ‘mediators’

between communities and higher-level governments; this mediation is

‘the means by which these communities negotiate their values, prefer-

ences and normative vision with the larger national polity’ (Blank, 2006,

p. 276). With the increasing ‘international competence’ of local gov-

ernments (see Kincaid, 1999); however, local governments also mediate

between local communities and international actors. Nijman (2016) uses

the term ‘global cities’ to describe cities that have developed a shared

global identity in concert with other cities. ‘Globalization changes local-

ities’ true allegiances by turning them into mediators not only between

the national and the local, but also between the international and the

local. Localities are thus faced not only with national concerns but also

international concerns, and must harmonize all such concerns with their

own knowledge, culture, and interests’ (Blank, 2006, p. 277). Local gov-

ernment divestment ordinances were an instance of ‘mediation’ between

local interests and global causes.

The role of local governments as ‘mediators’ in the apartheid divest-

ment movement was an expression of this ‘glocalised’ identity. Pan-

Africanist organisations such as TransAfrica Forum and ACOA

became versed in local government policy-making (Larson, 2019). By

passing apartheid divestment ordinances, local governments on behalf

of their communities articulated a shared international identity rather

than just a national one: ‘the federal government’s lack of sucient

anti- Apartheid measures constituted nation-state failure to enforce uni-

versal non- discrimination norms, thus prompting local authorities to

codify and enforce those norms through divestment eorts’ (Loeel,

2018). The individual agency of activists in the local divestment move-

ment was another form of social capital that helped bind local govern-

ments to international human rights norms (Sabchev et al., 2021). The

apartheid divestment movement trained a generation of future public

servants, who continued their principled coalition building and activ-

ism after they moved into local government positions themselves.2

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 39

Local government action on global issues and the increasing interna-

tional presence of many large cities may also contribute to a ‘global city’

identity for citizens based on their local culture, preferences and inter-

ests (Nijman, 2016). This ts with the greater theme of this book: cities

and local governments may contribute to a distinctive identity forma-

tion as rights-respecting globalcitizens.

Even international institutions became involved at the local level. The

case of local apartheid divestment ordinances is an early example of

United Nations encouragement of the internationalisation of city gov-

ernance and relationships between UN agencies and local authorities

(Acuto and Leel, 2020, p. 12). With leadership drawn primarily from

Africa, Asia and Latin America, the UN Special Committee Against

Apartheid in New York hosted representatives of liberation and solidar-

ity movements even over the objections of the US government (Thörn,

2009, p. 424). The UN Special Committee encouraged local government

divestment. In 1975, the City Council of Washington, DC, considered a

selective purchasing law that divested the city from four US corporations

that did business in South Africa. At issue were millions of dollars of

IBM computers and removal of scores of Motorola radios in police cars.

Representatives from the UN Spe cial Committee, includi ng Edwin Ogebe

Ogbu, Nigerian ambassador to the United Nations, spoke to the DC City

Council in support of the resolution (United Nations Centre Against

Apartheid, June 1975). In 1981, the UN Special Committee funded an

ACOA conference in New York attended by 40 state legislators from

14 states to build connections and strategies about eective lawmaking,

followed by a second conference in Boston two years later with nearly

200 state legislators (Larson, 2019).

Another link between local governments and the global realm were

South African political exiles, who became deeply involved in the

American divestment movement. South African exiles were ‘key play-

ers in the local nodes of the movement’ (McClendon and Scully, 2015,

p. 7). In Boston, the African National Congress (ANC) representative

Themba Vilakazi worked with Boston Coalition for the Liberation of

Southern Africa and other activist groups to reach students and faculty

on Boston-area campuses (Ibid.). South African exiles and ANC ocials

also worked with activists in the United States to develop local govern-

ment anti-apartheid ordinances. In 1969, ANC President Oliver Tambo

met with activists in Boston and encouraged a picket of ships carrying

Rhodesian chrome (Larson, 2019). Whilst in Massachusetts, Tambo met

with Professor Williard Johnson of MIT and State Assemblyman King

to conceive of a strategy to use local and state legislative power to change

the US federal government’s policy towards Southern Africa. King

rst sponsored legislation in 1973 to prohibit Rhodesian chrome from

the port of Boston, and ultimately succeeded in passing a broad South

African divestment bill in 1982 over the governor’s veto (Larson, 2019).

40 Andrew Novak

South African exiles even participated in city-to-city (and state-to-state)

network formation. King and fellow Massachusetts Assemblyman Jack

Backman befriended Tandi Gcabashe, a prominent anti-apartheid

activist in Atlanta and daughter of former ANC president Chief Albert

Luthuli. Gcabashe worked with local state representatives including

State Reps. Julian Bond and Tyrone Brooks on divestment legislation in

Georgia (Ibid.). Brooks and Atlanta City Councilman John Lewis were

arrested at a demonstration outside an Atlanta meeting of IBM share-

holders in April 1985. Brooks recalled traveling to the UN and to col-

lege campuses to promote divestment. When he introduced a divestment

bill in the Georgia legislature in 1987, Brooks credited King: ‘It really

was the Massachusetts legislation that started all of this’ (Moran, 2014,

pp. 118–120).

ACOA, one of the Pan-Africanist organisations most closely associ-

ated with local apartheid divestment, also promoted links between the

local and the global. In 1979, South African exile Dumisani Kumalo

(much later South Africa’s ambassador to the United States) became

Project Director at ACOA, where he testied before city councils and

state legislatures encouraging divestment. Under Kumalo’s direction,

ACOA served as a clearinghouse on divestment for student groups and

local activists. Reportedly, the Pittsburgh city council backed divestment

because of Kumalo’s testimony (Larson, 2019). Other scholars have found

the local activists to be the primary agents of diusion of the divestment

idea, rather than ACOA, which remained strongest in its home base of

New York. Cooper (2000, p. 185) explains that the driving force behind

local divestment ordinances was the grassroots anti-apartheid groups

such as the Madison Area Committee on Southern Africa, which suc-

ceeded in passing a selective purchasing ordinance that became a model

for other cities. Regardless of where the agency lies, the smaller symbolic

victories at the local level ‘indirectly forced major nancial, educational,

and governmental institutions to alter their routine, uncritical ways

of dealing with South Africa’ (Ibid., quoting Culverson, 1999, p. 158).

The work of ACOA and local divestment groups was heavily aided by

prominent South Africans such as Desmond Tutu, Chris Hani and Alan

Boesack who did speaking tours across the United States (McClendon

and Scully, 2015, p. 7).

Theme 4: Capitalism and globalisation as driving forces

Yet another theme that recurs in the apartheid divestment debate is the

role of capitalism and globalisation. Local governments possessed sig-

nicant and multifaceted economic links to South Africa. Many major

American businesses with a South African presence were based in US

cities. City governments signed procurement contracts and invested pen-

sions and other public funds in South African banks and corporations

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 41

or those that did business with South Africa (Caron, 2003). The grass-

roots anti-apartheid movement in the United States proceeded on ‘two

tracks’ simultaneously, targeting nancial interests and government

policy (Klotz 1995, p. 464). These two tracks were not wholly sepa-

rate. Rev. Leon Sullivan, the rst African American on a major corpo-

rate board of directors when he was appointed to the board of General

Motors in 1971, was himself closely tied to the civil rights movement

and African American political leaders such as Rep. Adam Clayton

Powell (D-NY), who represented Harlem in Congress (Stewart, 2011,

pp. 68–71). Articulated in 1977, the ‘Sullivan Principles’ provided guid-

ance for large US corporations doing business in South Africa to prevent

‘petty apartheid’ and to require, among other things, non-segregation

and equal pay (Sullivan, 1983). Local divestment directly targeted the

globalised economic forces that made cities and other sub-national units

into global players. Total divestment and sanctions gradually replaced

the Sullivan Principles as a strategy to oppose apartheid, including from

Rev. Sullivan himself, as the Reagan Administration tried to maintain

business links with South Africa (Stewart, 2011, pp. 81–83). Apartheid

activists and supportive lawmakers directly challenged corporations.

US Rep. Charles Diggs of Detroit (D-MI), founder of the Congressional

Black Caucus, toured a segregated General Motors factory in South

Africa and remarked ‘General Motors can do a hell of a lot more’ at a

time when it controlled 18% of South African automobile sales (Morgan,

2006, p. 527).

Why divestment? The growth of South Africa’s economy after World

War II enabled it to maintain a system of racial and labour exploita-

tion by relying on foreign investment (First et al., 1973, pp. 290–291).

American investment in South Africa had grown from about $660 million

in the 1960s to $14.5 billion by the early 1980s (Ibid., pp. 130–133). In the

United States, the divestment movement called on public entities, banks,

corporations, universities and subnational governments to end busi-

ness relationships with the apartheid regime. A divestment strategy was

possible because South Africa’s heavy debt load made it uniquely vul-

nerable to shifts in foreign lending (Levy, 1999, p. 416). Most local gov-

ernment divestment was indirect and comprised relatively small sums,

but it came when South African ination was high, currency weak and

credit scarce (Gosiger, 1986, pp. 524–527). In 1971, Polaroid Corporation

in Cambridge, Massachusetts, became the rst major US company to

condemn apartheid after employees discovered that South African police

used the lm to enforce pass laws. By 1977, a group of African American

workers at Polaroid convinced company executives to end business rela-

tionships in South Africa (Morgan, 2006). Apartheid divestment also

implicated the private sector through corporate social responsibility.

Shareholders encouraged sale of South African-aected stock and other

assets (Kaempfer et al., 1987, pp. 467–469). Activists targeted pension

42 Andrew Novak

funds and charitable institutions, including private universities, which

were managed by trustees with duciary duties of prudent investment

(Deeks, 2017, pp. 340–343; Ennis and Parkhill, 1986, pp. 30–35; Troyer

et al., 1985, p. 129).

The apartheid divestment norm diused so widely that corporations

and business associations never directly targeted the constitutionality of

local apartheid divestment ordinances, on the belief that they were too

politically popular (Caron 2003, p. 183). In this regard, the apartheid

divestment movement succeeded in subverting the market and capitalist

forces that underpinned President Reagan’s ‘constructive engagement’

policy. Today, many of the stronger local anti-apartheid ordinances would

be unconstitutional. The federal government alone, not states or locali-

ties, can regulate foreign commerce (Article 1 of the US Constitution) and

conduct foreign aairs (Article 2). Subnational legislation was arguably

‘preempted’ by Reagan’s ‘constructive engagement’ policy (Bernaz, 2013,

pp. 243–244). The most senior US court to pronounce on the constitution-

ality of a local divestment ordinance before the end of apartheid was the

Maryland Court of Appeal, the highest court of the state of Maryland.

The Court upheld Baltimore’s divestment of a $1.1 billion pension fund on

the grounds that it was ‘broadly consistent’ with US foreign policy towards

South Africa and had only a ‘tangential’ foreign policy impact (Board

of Trustees of the Employees’ Retirement System v. City of Baltimore, 317

Md. 72, 1989). This case is likely no longer good law. In 2000, the US

Supreme Court found Massachusetts’s Burma divestment law unconsti-

tutional, as it infringed on the foreign aairs power and undermined US

sanctions on Burma (Crosby v. National Foreign Trade Council, 530 U.S.

363, 2000). As under many apartheid divestment laws, Massachusetts

could not buy goods and services from corporations that did business in

Burma (see Hirschhorn, 2008, pp. 350–352). Even when the United States

did apply sanctions on South Africa in 1986, state and local divestment

ordinances went far beyond what US federal law authorised. For instance,

both California and the City of Los Angeles required their public pension

funds to divest from South African investments even though federal law

did not require this (Fischer, 1988, p. 702). It is a testament to the strength

of the anti-apartheid divestment norm – and to the advocates and net-

works who promoted it – that the idea of apartheid divestment ‘cascaded’

to the point where it was too popular for business interests to challenge

directly (see Caron 2003; Finnemore and Sikkink, 1998, p. 895).

Conclusion

Between 1975 and 1994, state and city anti-apartheid ordinances were a

signicant assertion of local power that challenged prevailing concep-

tions of constitutional federalism in the United States. Activists worked

with city policymakers, taking advantage of city-to-city networks and

Reconsidering extraterritorial human rights obligations 43

local enforcement powers to target businesses and city investments con-

nected to a ‘glocal’ moral cause (Caron, 2003; Lopez 1985; Moran, 2014).

The apartheid divestment movement shows the importance of creating

the globalcitizen, one who sees that the same forces that produce home-

lessness also produce overseas oppression. In the United States, the local

ordinances were intimately related to urban geography: the political lead-

ership of large cities was connected to African American and Democratic

Party leadership that challenged the Reagan Administration’s conserv-

ative policymaking, whilst college towns provided fertile links between

student groups and local policymakers (Biles, 1992, p. 114; Gumprecht,

2003, p. 51). By targeting corporations and investments, apartheid divest-

ment challenged the postwar globalisation process that had turned cit-

ies into major global economic players; cities simultaneously positioned

themselves against global economic ows but in support of a global moral

agenda (Shuman, 1986). This episode showed that city-to-city organising

could challenge traditional power structures that oppress human rights.

Local apartheid divestment specically targeted the global capitalist

links that had greatly contributed to cities’ postwar growth, but simul-

taneously reinforced the South African apartheid regime (see White

2004, pp. 53–55). In so doing, apartheid divestment dovetailed with other

intellectual currents, such as corporate social responsibility and sustain-

able investment; even today, it is widely cited as a precursor for debates

over fossil fuel divestment, sanctions on Israeli settlements in Palestine,

and compliance with women’s and children’s human rights (Leel 2018;

Nijman, 2016).

Local apartheid divestment in the United States adds complexity to

the ‘transnational advocacy networks’ frame because it undermines

the power dynamic that scholars have critiqued about the ‘call-and-re-

sponse boomerang’ model of advocacy (Stevens, 2016, pp. 14–15). Here,

Global North advocates and local ocials relied on international net-

works, to include South African political exiles and nationalist organ-

isations, to serve an American agenda of changing US foreign policy,

which in turn was intended to benet South Africa (Minter and Hill,

2008). Cities were able to use their multiple, sometimes contradictory

roles as market participant, regulator and quasi-advocate to amplify

their political power as cities. With global urbanisation and the rise of

mega-cities, many national constitutional and legal orders will have to

adjust to accommodate the growing political power of their sub-state

units (Herschl 2020, p. 10). This case study reinforces a view of cities, not

as simple hubs for the spokes of a wheel, but as ‘agents’ in a much larger

‘ecosystem’ of global urban governance (Acuto and Leel, 2020, p. 14).

‘A major community of local government networking has been built

over the last century’, helping to transform policy priorities towards

a sustainable future (p. 13). Apartheid divestment challenged existing

US constitutional doctrine on local-federal relations and pushed the

44 Andrew Novak

boundaries of what had been constitutionally acceptable. Although

from a jurisprudential perspective local divestment ordinances today

would run afoul of the US Supreme Court’s decision in Crosby, city-to-

city networks and organising are far stronger and more prolic than in

the 1980s, ensuring that cities will remain powerful actors in global pol-

itics despite constitutional constraints (Herrschel and Newman, 2017,

pp. 3–4).

Notes

1 The Sullivan Principles, adopted in 1977, were guidance for US corpora-

tions doing business in South Africa. They required US corporations to

adopt policies of non-segregation, equal pay and equal promotion poten-

tial. The principles were inuential and honoured by most US corporations

with South African subsidiaries. However, Rev. Sullivan’s later attempts

to establish timetables and benchmarks faced resistance (Stewart, 2011,

pp. 62, 74, 77).

2 One example is Marc Morial, co-founder of the New Orleans Anti-

Apartheid Coalition, who became mayor of New Orleans in 1994 and sub-

sequently president of both the US Conference of Mayors and the National

Urban League (Loyola University of New Orleans, February 27, 2019).

Another example: two student leaders of the Student Coalition Against

Apartheid and Racism were later elected to public oce: Paul Strauss of

American University, future US Shadow Senator from Washington, DC

and Steve Phillips of Stanford University, future president of the San

Francisco Board of Education (African Activist Archive, February 1,

1985).

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-4

Introduction

The dynamics unleashed by globalisation aect the adventure of urban-

isation. An adventure created by the tension found between the concepts

of ‘development’ and ‘human rights’ as played out in urban spaces. The

politics inherent in running a city, and the pursuit of growth, aect a

broad category of human rights tied with quality of life and cultural sus-

tainability. This study focuses on an exemplary case study of the tension

between a certain form of urban development and the cultural rituals

and practices that have developed over a long period of urban history.

The focus is on Kırşehir (Turkey), situated in a small province, but very

rich in terms of culture. What my analysis of the case study reveals is

how elements of the cultural uniqueness of this city has been sacriced to

a nationwide project of urban planning, which was centrally conceived

without taking into consideration local conditions.

Kırşehir is a small-sized city in the Central Anatolian part of Turkey.

The city is known as a representative of Bozlak music and the Abdals.

The term ‘Abdal’ refers to a unique cultural group, as well as the local

folk musicians in Turkey. They are one of the most signicant commu-

nities in terms of Anatolian musical heritage and the Bağbaşı neigh-

bourhood of Kırşehir has been a home for them for years. Their unique

music is a result of their distinctive lifestyles, social relations, religious

views, cultural values and their ideas. At the centre is the unique way by

which musical knowledge is passed on from generation to generation;

it is inherited from father to son without any formal education and/or

musical notation. Because of the cultural identity of the Abdals, Bağbaşı

has always been famous in Kırşehir and the broader Central Anatolian

region of Turkey.

Despite the value of this unique community, the Abdals have been a

disadvantaged group socio-economically. As a result, they have been

especially vulnerable to an urban renewal project implemented by the

local government. In 2011, the Municipality initiated the Bağbaşı renewal

project. The community was neither consulted or informed, nor able to

Human rights within the

context of urbanisation

Focusing on the cultural rights

of Abdals in Kırşehir (Turkey)

Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek1

52 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

provide their input to the renewal plan due to the poverty and educa-

tional problems created by their socio-economic positions. Like most

other Anatolian people, they value their identity and the collective right

to practice it in social life. However, thanks to the national development

goals, the Abdals, like other disadvantaged groups, confront serious

risks, chief among them displacement. Due to a decision made without

their contribution, the Abdal community suered the worst possible out-

come of the process. They were displaced, some of them settled in the

new apartments built by the Housing Development Administration of

Turkey (TOKI), while others had to totally vacate the neighbourhood

since they were tenants. Some of the Abdal families still live in their own

homes in the area not included in the urban renewal project. But apart-

ment life proved to be unsuited for the lifestyle of Abdals who moved

in TOKI blocks; it leaded many Abdal families to desert the historic

neighbourhood for detached houses in other neighbourhoods of the city.

Today, only a small part of the community still lives in Bağbaşı, some of

them in the new apartments and others in their old houses, which were

not incorporated into the TOKI project.

In this study I focus on that disregard for the cultural rights of the

Abdals by those who planned and implemented the renewal process

while ignoring their rights to access, representation and participation in

it. Due to this plan, the standards of life of the Abdals are subjected to a

major transformation, which contains both positive and negative aspects

but puts at risk the distinctiveness of their cultural rituals. On top of this

contradiction of eects lies the force of a choice. Put it dierently; this

ambivalence becomes a reality in the conceptual space and associated

practices of behaviour found between the ‘right to culture’ and the ‘right

to the city’. Clearly, there is a need for recognition of cultural rights when

it comes to urbanisation. It is true that the urban planning focused on

providing quality housing conducted by the state through TOKI has led

to the transformation of many cities in Turkey. However, the centralised

and one-size ts all approach has led to the loss of the cultural values

and identities that had been cantered on the demolished settlements. The

transformation of the urban environment in Turkey can come at a stag-

gering cultural cost.

The case study is structured on eld work which I conducted using two

qualitative methods: participant observation and open-ended interviews.

I have lived in K ırşehir for year s and have taken the opport unity to obser ve

the renewal process rst-hand. My conclusion was that observation is not

enough to explain the whole process but can serve as a starting point to

understand the character and consequences of the transformation. To

deepen insight into what transpired I used open-ended interviews. As a

part of this research, I did deeply interview with ten of non-Abdal resi-

dents who were neighbours with Abdals in the area for years, ten residents

of Abdals, three of the Municipal ocials and three of the NGO and

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 53

Opposition Party representatives in local since July 2018. Besides, since

I think that my own participant observations will not be sucient, in

June of 2021, I prepared an ethnographic observation form and designed

questionary based on Bağbaşı, its renewal process and the cultural sus-

tainability of Abdals. This form was lled with 32 participants living and/

or working in the urban renewal area, working in dierent elds of social

sciences. This permits us to understand the process from both the per-

spectives of those who implemented it, who observed it and those who

were aected by the implementation. Importantly we can gain insight

into whether and how the Abdals were incorporated in the process. My

ndings lead to the conclusion that the renewal process, as it was imple-

mented, was a violation of the cultural rights of Abdals. According to

the UN Declaration on the Rights of Persons Belonging to National or

Ethnic, Religious and Linguistic Minorities: ‘Persons belonging to minor-

ities have the right to participate eectively in decisions on the national

and, where appropriate, regional level concerning the minority to which

they belong or the regions in which they live, in a manner not incompatible

with national legislation’ (UN, 1992: Article-3, Paragraph-3). In Bağbaşı,

both the physical and communal eects of the urban renewal project put

at risk the sustainability of Abdals’ unique culture. Considering the cen-

tral role of their culture in Kırşehir being declared UNESCO city of music

in 2019, the violation of rights extends to the broader public of this city.

Because, according to the General Comment 21 of the UN: ‘Minorities,

as well as persons belonging to minorities, have the right not only to their

own identity but also to development in all areas of cultural life. Any

programme intended to promote the constructive integration of minori-

ties and persons belonging to minorities into the society of a State party

should thus be based on inclusion, participation and non-discrimination,

with a view to preserving the distinctive character of minority cultures’

(UN, 2009: Article 5, Paragraph 5).

Using the above tools, I present a report of the renewal process imple-

mented in Bağbaşı. I also provide a historical overview of the Abdals

and their cultural heritage, which may not be preserved for the future,

following the renewal. In addition to this, in this section, I will look at

how the history of urban renewal and the development of human rights

are intertwined, and where it can be positioned in the literature when we

examine urban renewal based on rights.

Urban Renewal and the Rights to Culture

and to the City in Turkey

The roots of the concept of human rights may be traced back to the

political philosophy of the Enlightenment. These ideas interacted with

the long process of urbanisation, which began with the development of

a sedentary lifestyle among humans. By the 19th century the concept

54 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

of urban renewal had become part of the political process, especially

in developing nations. In this section I provide a timeline of the devel-

opment of these two signicant concepts and show their conicts and

interaction in history.

The Industrial Revolution is a major turning point in human history

in every respect. It was not only the transition to a new manufacturing

process, but also the associated transformations in society, economy,

environment and culture all around the world. This process was reected

in big cities mainly through rapid urbanisation and its negative eects.

In growing industrial cities this was exemplied by deepening poverty

and rising unemployment because of the challenge to economic sectors

arising from mechanisation, which in turn fed labour strife, class iden-

tities and struggles for rights. These cities faced increasing environmen-

tal issues and insucient infrastructure facilities, becoming unhealthy

areas. To counter this result, the discipline of urban planning arose to

complement architecture. At the same time the social consequences of

rapid industrialisation broadened the concept of human rights, rais-

ing them to the summits of a hierarchical order of value created by the

systematisation of knowledge. The rst generation of human rights, as

expressed by documents such as The Declaration of the Rights of Man

and of the Citizen in France in 1789, and the United States Bill of Rights

in the US in 1791 were formed in this milieu of increased urbanisation. In

turn they provided the foundation for the 1948 United Nations Universal

Declaration of Human Rights. As more and more of humanity came

to live in urban areas, human rights to a great extent mean the human

rights of humans living and interacting in cities. In the second half of

the 19th century, a series of renewal projects involving the opening of

wide boulevards to make the city healthier, and liveable. In the late 1800s,

the Paris Plan was implemented by Haussmann as one of the rst urban

renewal projects and this was revolutionary in urban life (Berman, 1988;

Carmona, 2004; Harvey, 2013). Berman (1988: 150) underlines that this

plan cleared the slum areas and opened up ‘breathing space in the midst

of layers of darkness and choked congestion’. As for Engels (2020) argues

that Haussmann did not aim to solve poverty, but the displacement of

the poor. This argument may be seen as the rst criticism in the litera-

ture for the displacements caused by urban renewal. As parallel to this,

Turkey of the second half of the 19th century had the rst attempts at

urban renewal aimed at spatial transformation in Istanbul, especially in

the historical peninsula, which tended to be the frequent victims of large

res due to the use of wood (Tekeli, 2010; Yenice, 2014: 79; Keleş, 2015).

Although not with the same intensity as that seen in the industrial cities

of the West, an increase in the urban population, especially in Istanbul,

caused the creation of new residential areas (Aktüre, 1985; Tekeli, 1985).

The late 19th century early 20th century urban movements had a

transformative eect on many global cities in the world. This process was

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 55

intensied in the developed states after the destruction wrought on cities

by the ghting of the Second World War. Cities had to be rebuilt, many

times anew. However, this urban renewal fervour did not extend to the

developing world. From the beginning of 1920s to the WWII, in Turkey,

while there was a transition period from the Empire to the Republic, on

the other hand the capital was moved from Istanbul to Ankara and the

modernisation steps of the new republic were taken; later, Boratav would

explain this period as reconstruction under open economy (Şenyapılı,

2004; Boratav, 2012: 39–59; Keyder, 2013). During the 1930s, a break-

through was realised in national industrialisation by the state, which

fostered the creation of factories in Turkey as part of a policy of import

substitution (Bozdoğan, 2002). This policy and the factories that were

created as part of it, paved the way for the formation of most mid-scale

cities in Anatolia. Between 1940 and 1945, during WWII, industrial

investments completely stopped, a change was observed in the current

class structure due to the wide authority given to the political cadres and

bureaucracy, due to economic recession a dierent form of urbanisation

took place and, the rst shanty settlements were built by Balkan immi-

grants in Istanbul (Erman, 2017). WWII was also a turning point in the

development of human rights, which intensied in reaction to the social,

cultural and economic destruction wrought in the war. The second

generation of human rights arose from the wreckage of the developed

world, with new rights such as social security, right to food, right to be

employed, right to housing and right to education becoming enshrined

in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. These new rights aected

social state policies in Europe which in turn shaped the urban acts inau-

gurated in Europe.

Right after WWII, the New Towns Act of 1946 established a program

to build new urban areas and shaped urban renewal policies in the UK.

In the US, these policies were not put in place until the 1960s, although

after WWII, grants had been extended for such things as slum clear-

ance, improved housing and new road constructions – and later in the

1950s, to comprehensive urban renewal projects. Carmon (1999) explains

this time as the ‘bulldozer period’. As parallel to this, in Turkey, the time

that started in 1946 and lasted until the 1970s, considered as a period

of rapid industrialisation and unplanned urbanisation after industrial

breakthroughs led to the mechanisation of the countryside. There was a

bulldozer period experience of Turkey from 1957 to 1960. The Menderes

government launched urban renewal operations in Istanbul that carried

the destructive aspects of the Haussmann project in Paris. At the same

time, with uncontrolled migration movements, slum settlements close to

industrial areas were formed around big cities. While all these are tak-

ing place in Turkey and in the world, it should be noted that the urban

renewal movement of the 1950s played a very important role in the civil

rights era in the US, because, as noted in the literature on urbanisation,

56 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

the misapplications of these projects in both Europe and the US led to an

intensive discussion of urban renewal and its relation to patterns of exclu-

sion. As divisions and inequalities increased in the physical and social

environments of cities, a necessity appeared to meet and protect the needs

and rights of their inhabitants. This led Lefebvre to introduce the con-

cept of the ‘right to the city’, which aims to oer an alternative approach

to human relations in the urban environment. His goal was to promote,

defend and strengthen the interests of the whole society and primarily

those living in the city. In this way, the legitimate demands of not only cit-

izens, but also all inhabitants and social groups in the city were brought

to the fore of the discussion (Koenig, 2006). Lefebvre’s right to the city

enfranchised citizens to participate in the use and production of urban

space (Purcell 2002). In his concept, citizenship is dened to include all

urban inhabitants, conferring two central rights: the right to participa-

tion and the right to appropriation (Lefebvre, 2015). Participation allows

urban inhabitants to access decisions in city governance, and appropria-

tion includes the right to access, occupation and usage of space and the

right to create new spaces that meet the needs of the people (Lefebvre,

2015). The ‘Right to the City’ restructured the power relations that form

the basis of urban space by transferring the control of urban space

from capital and the state to those living in the city (Lefebvre, 2011).

Harvey (2003) points out that Lefebvre’s concept includes ‘not only the

right to access the resources available in the city, but also the right to

change it according to our own desires’. Lefebvre not only brought the

‘right to the city’ concept to the literature, but also opened a discussion

based on the production of space, and its eects not only on the city but

also on the daily life and social relationships. This was one of the most

important discussions in urban planning.

The period between 1980 and 2000 was dened by a crisis of capitalism

and the transition to the global economy. This crisis also saw a transfor-

mation in production and spatial structures (Öktem, 2006). By the 1980s,

cities began to be aected by a new set of neo-liberal urban policies stem-

ming from the capitalist globalisation. Urban citizens, especially in the

renewal areas, faced the disadvantages created by the neoliberal model

shaped by the market economy. Globalisation also pressured nation-

states (and the cities within them) to reach common standards concerning

human rights. The interlaced dynamics of democratisation, transna-

tional movements and international organisations forced states to deal

with human rights, which in turn create both positive and negative obli-

gations. This process brings to the fore another multifaceted confronta-

tion between human rights and culture, which has been stressed by a rich

and vast literature detailing this clash of ‘global/local times’ (Wilson and

Dissanayake, 1996), ‘poetics and politics’ (Hall, 1997), ‘roots and routes’

(Urry, 2000). In the name of self-creation, society is pushed towards

embracing nativism. This trend also becomes expressed in urbanisation

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 57

processes, where the city and/or locality becomes an important bless-

ing to defend, leading to a confrontation between ‘rights to the city’ vs.

‘identity commitment’. And the role of culture comes to play within this

commitment of identity via providing coherence, distinctiveness and

continuity (Pasupathi, 2014). In the 1980s, Turkey abandoned its pol-

icy of industrialisation through import substitution and protectionism,

opting for outward-looking economic policies. In this process, while old

industrial areas left the big cities, the squatter settlements formed around

them became apartment buildings through the use of zoning amnesties

and populist policies. Another situation observed in Anatolian cities in

this period, is the emergence of new capital groups (Çavuşoğlu, 2014).

In metropolitan areas, the abandoned historical areas in the city centre

are rented or occupied by the new urbanites such as Kurdish immigrants

who had to leave their villages due to terrorist incidents in the Southeast

Region of the country. This period, when neoliberal policies began to

shape cities with urban renewal, is the scene of local governments act-

ing according to a global urban discourse, as well as the pushing of the

labour geography out of the old metropolitan areas to suburbs. Concepts

such as gentrication, urban rent, right to the city, transforming public

spaces and gated communities began to be integrated in policy in this

period. The post-2000 period, when neoliberal urban policies dominated

all cities, is regarded as a period in which 81 cities were transformed by

Housing Development Administration of Turkey (TOKI).

Whi le globalisation emphasis ed the importance of the econom ic poten-

tial of cities, it also emphasised the human, cultural and environmental

costs of development. Urban segregation deepened as urban poverty

increased. As cities became attractive, the number of slums increased,

and spaces for producing capital were created instead of new residential

areas (Carmona and Wunderlich, 2013). The gap between the rich and the

poor and the ‘ocial’ and ‘informal’ cities has widened. Merrield (2017)

summarises this process in urbanisation as ‘new Haussmannization’. He

argues that the same scenario that occurred in the Paris of Haussmann

happens at global level today, and not only in capital cities but also all

kinds of cities driven by transnational nance companies and supported

by governments (Merrield, 2017: 15). In the past forty years not only the

capital cities but also all the metropolitan areas of the developed world

have been aected by changes in the national and international eco-

nomic system. Growth has been a contested issue in both advancing and

declining cities, and local groups have mobilised to aect population and

capital ows, to either limit or attract development (Fainstein, 2001; 5).

Urban areas are the most aected places by globalisation, since in 2008

the world population reached a momentous point when for the rst time

in history more than half of the world population lived in urban areas. To

adapt to the new global economic system and attract transnational capital,

states, especially developing states, changed the governance structure of

58 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

their urban areas. They did so seeking to develop the service economy by

decentralising the industrial areas out of the city, fostering the building of

shopping malls and luxury housing areas for the new class who work in the

service economy, as well as airports, congress centres and other amenities

that help link cities with the global capitalist market. During this period,

Turkish cities have been transformed spatially, socio-economically and cul-

turally by the destructive consequences of the TOKI housing projects, the

national ‘A university in every city’ project, the implementation of concept

parks and a growing number of shopping malls (Uzun, 2017). Cities were

transformed from places of industrial production to places of consump-

tion or observation (Urry, 1995). This is the period when local governments

tasked with protecting public interests were liquidated and replaced by ser-

vile administrations that facilitated the destructive rentier urban transfor-

mation projects championed by construction capital. This in turn led to

an increase in the formation of social movements and urban opposition

practices against these policies. This reaction also took place in academia,

where the ‘right to the city’ became an important part of discussions in

urban studies trying to make sense of the applications of urban transforma-

tion projects. These urban landscapes were formed by the growing income

inequality characterising Turkish cities, the segregation of income com-

munities and the shift of public space to semi-public-semi-private areas

(Yonucu, 2014; Kurtuluş, 2016; Şen, 2016; Türkün and Kurtuluş, 2016).

However, the question rises about the fate of the old inhabitants of the

city, who had worked in the old industrial areas and lived in the cities

for years. This paradox between old and new, city dwellers and new resi-

dents, capital and community, local and global, the marketing of, and the

conservation of the old cultural values, is one of the most salient marks of

globalisation on cities. While multicultural inner neighbourhoods were

targets of renewal because of their historical and cultural values, this

very process put at risk the cultural sustainability that made them val-

uable. The conuence of all these elements was another turning point

in urban renewal policies in Turkey. Since 2000, this scenario was not

only seen playing out in the metropolitan areas of the world, but also

in smaller cities such as Kırşehir. One of the most important renewal

projects implemented on the basis of the new legal framework and in

a small sized city, was the Bağbaşı project. At the centre of this issue

is the process by which living culture, as opposed to mere consumerist

folklore, are sustained. In the Declaration on Principles of International

Cultural Co-operation of 1966 UNESCO General Conference, Article 1

states that ‘each culture has a dignity and value which must be protected

and preserved’, and Article 2 underlines that ‘every people has the right

and the duty to develop its culture’. In the name of preservation, it is

important for members of the culture to practice as well as to pass on to

the next generation the rituals which mark the spatial integration for the

practitioner to create both self-actualisation and self-sameness.

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 59

At this point, the importance of culture for urbanisation, and the

threat culture faces from the urban renewal process, becomes linked

to the idea of human rights. The concept of ‘human rights’ covers a

broad array of ideas, including both individual and collective rights.

The two rights of interest in this study, ‘the right to the city’ and ‘cul-

tural rights’, are both collective and/or group rights. Globalisation has

brought increased importance to these rights. With globalisation, the

political forces of the nation-state have been decentralised and the state’s

obligations in the eld of human rights have shifted towards the increas-

ingly relevant local governments. This is exactly why many national and

local guidelines have been published on the topics of ‘right to the city’

and ‘human rights in cities’ in recent years: these include, the European

Declaration of Urban Rights (1992), the European Charter for Women in

the City (1994), The European Charter for the Safeguarding of Human

Rights in the City (ECSHRC, 2000), Brazil The City Statue (2001), World

Charter on the Right to the City (2004), Montreal Charter of Rights

and Responsibilities (2006) and others. The purpose of these declara-

tions is to call local governments to meet their duties and responsibilities

regarding human rights. Basically, all these declarations are related to

the ‘right to the city’ by representing dierent urban policies (UNESCO,

UN-HABITAT, ISS, 2005: 3). There is an urgent need to transform cities

into more democratic environments. The presence of democratic process

in urban planning is an important issue for the evaluation of the local

implementation of human rights (Koenig, 2006: 12). Rights implemented

at the local level place individuals in a central position in the denition

and development of their environment. In this context, the ‘right to the

city’, according to Koenig (2006: 12), provides a starting point for a ‘new

generation rights’, which include the implementation of universal human

rights at the municipal level. The right to the city is a beginning for a

democratic urban geography and not an ending of urban political struc-

ture (Purcell, 2006).

The Case Area: Bağbaşı Neighbourhood

Bağbaşı remained an important cultural zone for Kırşehir because the

Abdals lived there since the end of the 1940s. It was learned from the

interviews that the rst Abdal families came to Bağbaşı from the sur-

rounding villages in those times in search of employment opportuni-

ties. The neighbourhood initially had a patina of illegality and did not

receive municipal services and infrastructure, as the Abdals did not

obtain formal land titles and/or building permits (Dağ, 2000). According

to information obtained from interviews with municipal ocials; the

municipality incorporated the neighbourhood in a municipal subdi-

vision plan, and the neighbourhood settlers received land titles in the

1950s. When the Abdals initially built their houses, the area was empty

60 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

farmland. In addition, Bağbaşı was promoted by the municipality to

other city dwellers, who had built gecekondu2 in other districts such as

Kervansaray, as an area where they could buy land parcels and build

legal houses. Some of the Abdal families also came to Bağbaşı in the

1960s from Kervansaray following this process. In the following years,

the Abdal population in Bağbaşı grew and the neighbourhood became

an Abdal settlement. According to the interviews, there were times when

the number of Abdal families in the neighbourhood exceeded 200, but in

the early 2000s, the number of Abdal houses in the neighbourhood did

not exceed 50.

Long after the settlement of the neighbourhood, going well into the

1990s, the municipality extended infrastructure service coverage over

Bağbaşı. The population continued to grow in the 1960s due to an inux

of people that were displaced from villages that were expropriated by

the state during the construction of the Hirfanlı Dam. Also, some Roma

families moved into Bağbaşı, and city settlers sometimes called the

Abdals ‘gypsies’. What made Bağbaşı a suitable settlement for Abdals

and the other settlers was the availability of vacant state-owned land

and the proximity to the roads that served their old villages. These lands

were also cheaper because they did not have a reconstruction permit. By

the 1990s, the area, now known as the Abdals neighbourhood, involved

four streets, but continued to sprawl until 2010, when the renewal process

started (Dağ, 2000).

Bağbaşı consisted of one- or two-storey detached houses with attached

small gardens of trees (Image 3.1).3 Mostly, streets were settled by people

Image 3.1 Bağbaşı neighbourhood: Abdals’ settlement and the new TOKI blocks

behind them.

(Source: Kırşehir Municipality)

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 61

from the same family and/or same villages. Neighbours knew each other

and the potential for communal solidarity was higher than the other areas

of the city. Streets were a part of the house and served the people as a com-

munal living space. Their solidarity was based on ‘to be Abdal’ and this

let them survive as a distinct community in the city centre. They shared

not only needs, but also their business sense and skills, such as musical

and dancing knowledge, the skills of a circumciser, aviculture and others.

The interviews conducted within the scope of this research shows that

the music is a source of life for the Abdals, and they pride themselves on

being musicians. Some families put a violin bow or drumstick under the

pillow when a baby was born in the belief that the item would help the

child grow up to be a musician (Dağ, 2000: 33). They learn how to play a

musical instrument from father to son. The Abdal children start to play a

musical instrument in their primary school years. At the beginning their

role is to carry the musical instruments, and then they start to play music

themselves at home, and nally they can accompany and play with the

masters in wedding ceremonies.

Abdal musicians make their income from playing at wedding ceremo-

nies in the summer, with winter being an o season from work. In Abdal

culture, women do not dance in the public (Images 3.2 and 3.3). Because of

this cultural prohibition, boys who call themselves ‘köçek’ dance in wed-

dings as a show and earn money. It is possible to say that the Abdals do not

operate along the stipulations of the modern economic system. They do not

save money; they work and earn in the summer and spend in the winter,

and live and think from day to day without long-term plans. Their form of

intellectual ownership is dierent from the dominant form in the entertain-

ment industry. The communal musical knowledge of Bağbaşı has been the

foundation for the career of many unknown local musicians and nationally

as well as internationally known ones such as Neşet Ertaş. But none of the

educators sought to gain intellectual property rights or copyright agree-

ments to earn money from their works (Dağ, 2000). They live a modest life,

and their unique worldview extends to their negative view of politics, and

refusal to participate in them as members of political parties. A new gen-

eration of Abdals, considering the changes in the music industry started to

see music not as a profession but as a hobby. The number of people engaged

in music as a profession is decreasing day by day (Dağ, 2000). Those young

Abdals that still seek to continue the traditional musical education are also

now working in other jobs as well, either self-employed or as civil servants.

Others decide to give up the tradition altogether and seek employment in

welding, auto repair and upholstery, due to economic diculties.

For years, the Abdals have faced social exclusion due to their profes-

sion, lifestyle and even their physical characteristics, and their neighbour-

hoods are referred to as ‘Abdals’ Neighbourhood’, which causes spatial

segregation in the city. For years, it was a small group of musicians, art-

ists and journalists who saw beyond prejudice and understood the role

62 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

the Abdals play as part of the cultural value of Kırşehir. However, with

the death of Neşet Ertaş in 2012, an increase in general interest in this

community was observed. The general trend in urban politics that sought

to mobilise cultural values to promote cities as oering unique experi-

ences to consumers, denizens and entrepreneurs played a role in this.

Pursuing a policy of leveraging creative industries for urban growth, the

municipality launched a two-pronged project. It carried out an urban

renewal project in Bağbaşı, while at the same time using the presence

of the Abdal musicians in the city to apply for the prestigious label of

UNESCO City of Music.

Bağbaşı was a very signicant urban hub for the cultural sustainability

of the Abdals, as it provided a free space for the enactment of their unique

Images 3.2 and 3.3 Abdal Musicians from Bağbaşı.

(Source: Kırşehir Municipality)

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 63

cultural norms and rituals. For example, on religious festivals, everyone

cooked something at home, gathered in the large open area of the neigh-

bourhood and feasted together. Community members who were in dis-

pute were reconciled and prayed together. The community maintained

its kinship exclusivity by not tolerating marriages with non-community

members. All these cultural rituals and values have preserved the musical

heritage of Abdals and brought them to this day. Therefore, one of the

most important elements in the transfer of their musical culture from gen-

eration to generation has been that the spatial conditions of the neighbour-

hood were suitable for making their music. The children could play their

musical instruments at any time and the people around were not disturbed

by this noise, because the houses were generally detached. By attacking

these conditions of space that helped sustain the unique culture of the

Abdals, the renewal project has put the survival of their culture at risk.

Abdals as an Indigenous Culture in Danger

A close look at the socioeconomic and physical geography of Bağbaşı

neighbourhood reveals its high potential for rent-generation. Bağbaşı, to

start with, is a poor low-income settlement situated on the road to Ahi

Evran University, which was founded in 2006 as the rst university of

Kırşehir, commanding a spectacular view (M ap 3.1). In June 2010, Kırşehir

Municipality and TOKI signed an urban renewal protocol for a part of the

larger Bağbaşı neighbourhood seen in the Map 3.2, within the scope of

Map 3.1 Map shows the project’s location between city centre (marked right)

and the university (marked left).

(Source: Google Map)

64 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

Map 3.2 Map shows the project area in the neighbourhood boundary.

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 65

Laws 2985 and 5393. On the project protocol there was no information

provided on why this area was chosen as the focus or on how the project

boundaries were determined. These were ambiguous, and only a certain

part of the neighbourhood, was included into the project (Map 3.2).

The project, consisting of three stages, covered 480,000 square meters

of space located between the city centre and the university campus. As

seen in Map 3.2, the areas covered in the rst stage (etap-1) and second

stage (etap-2) were settled areas and the municipality had to demolish old

buildings in order to build new ones. The area covered by the third stage

(etap-3) was empty land. The project was started from the third stage

(etap-3) because the goal was to move the inhabitants of the neighbour-

hoods covered by the rst two stages, including the Abdals, to new hous-

ing built in the open land, before the demolitions in their areas began.

The project consists of 2712 residences. The third stage consisting of 768

residences was launched in 2010, and the resettlement of residents into the

new apartments started in 2013. According to the information obtained

from the municipality, most of the old residents bought houses built dur-

ing this stage. It should be noted that old inhabitants of the area did

not have the right to live in their old houses as they would be destroyed.

During the interview, the municipal ocials stated that the residents

were also obliged to choose their new apartment ats before the project

started, so most of them chose from those to be built in the third stage

because it would be nished rst. The reason for this choice was that they

did not want to move into a rental house while waiting for new houses. But

it is learned from an interview with the former residents of the neighbour-

hood that the municipality has told the right holders that if they choose

their new houses from the 3rd stage, they will give a ten square meter

larger house. According to the information shared by the municipality

in the interview, 865 parcels were included in the project area, and about

500 existing houses in the neighbourhood were destroyed. In the munic-

ipality, there is not an information about how many of them were Abdal

families’ houses. According to the interviews, half of the Abdal families

lost their old houses because of the urban renewal. Some of them went to

another neighbourhood and some others moved to the other cities.

One of the major problems with this project was the way the project

managers handled the question of public participation in deliberations.

To put it simply there was none. Before signing the project protocol with

TOKI, the Municipality did not seek the opinions of those living in the

area targeted for renewal. The local government did not make the slight-

est eort to encourage public participation. The residents learned that

their homes would be demolished in the name of urban renewal when

municipal representatives came knocking on their doors with expropri-

ation decisions, long after the signing of the protocol with TOKI. In my

meetings with the municipal authorities, they argued that every family

was individually visited and had the situation explained to them by their

66 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

representatives. They showed me an example of the expropriation docu-

ments, which were lled in to determine the value of houses and showed

photographs of existing properties. What was missing was any indica-

tor in these documents of the opinion of the neighbourhood residents

for the project. When this situation was asked during the interview with

the residents of the neighbourhood, its accuracy could not be conrmed.

Neighbourhood residents said that the municipal ocials who came to

their homes only took measurements and took pictures. Apart from this,

information was given about the project once only with a meeting organ-

ised by the municipality in the sport centre and it has been reported there

that this project would be realised no matter what, and it would be to

their advantage to buy a house from TOKİ (Interviews, 2021).

A more serious issue was that the renewal process did not include any

consideration of the socio-economic situation of residents, or the cul-

tural values sustained by the existing spatial environment. The project

only aimed to provide property owners with better housing conditions in

a modern urban environment. But while this was done, most of them had

to take loans, as the value of the new houses was higher than the previous

ones. Apart from providing home-owning residents with the options of

buying the newer apartments, no further circumstances of the residents

or potential consequences were considered. Tenants living on rent were

displaced with no compensation. Property owners lost businesses and

thus sources of income. Socio-economic relations and the local commu-

nity networks that underpinned them were destroyed (see the discon-

nect between the traditional two-storey houses and the new high-rise

apartment buildings in Image 3.4). Daily life practices and rituals were

Image 3.4 Most common housing typology in Bağbaşı and TOKI Blocs.

(Source: Kırşehir Municipality)

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 67

dislocated. The role of space in sustaining Abdal culture was ignored.

The result was to deny this culture the breathing space required for its

continued reproduction (see Image 3.5 and the lack of organic communal

spaces between and amongst the high-rise constructions).

One of the most important problems observed in the project was that

the residents did not have the right to refuse demolition, but they could

object to the price assigned to their property by the municipality. Some of

them went to court and objected to the predetermined price and did not

ask for housing from the project. According to the information provided

by the municipality, 15% of the residents objected to the project, took the

assigned price of their properties, and did not seek a TOKI apartment.

On the other hand, 85% chose to buy an apartment from TOKI. Some

residents of the neighbourhood who preferred to buy houses from TOKI

did not borrow money to nance their new homes, as the value of their

old properties was high enough to cover the cost. However, others had to

nance their purchase via 20-year instalments because their old houses

were low in value. As noted before, rental tenants were not given any

option, and ended up displaced. This included many Abdals that now

had to nd housing in dierent parts of the city.

Municipal ocials argue that this project was an important opportunity

for the old residents. They arg ue that the new ats have many modern amen-

ities, such as elevators, hot water and a central heating system, not available

in the old houses. The municipality believes that it has carr ied out a success-

ful project and that the locals are satised with it. In all of their statements,

the municipal authorities underline that the urban fabric of the old neigh-

bourhood gave an ugly visage to the city compared to the modern lines of

the new apartments. In addition, according to the information obtained

Image 3.5 The construction of the new TOKI apartments.

(Source: Kırşehir Municipality)

68 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

from the municipality ocials and the architect there was a planning opin-

ion to create an Abdal Street cultural tourism area focused on the locale of

the house of Muharrem Ertaş, the father of Neşet Ertaş. This included an

area of four or ve streets, where a few Abdal families still live, that were

not demolished with this goal in mind. However, nothing came of these

plans, as the city council took no decision on initiating a project. Even in

2022, there is still no sign of this mind of the municipality.

Concerning the viewpoint of the residents, a survey conducted by Çam

(2019) with the participation of 163 people, did indicate high levels of satis-

faction by the old residents with the physical condition and modern ameni-

ties of their new homes. But the same survey provided indicators that many

residents missed their old homes and the neighbourhood community built

around them (Çam, 2019). The surveyed residents expressed dissatisfaction

with the condition of neighbourhood relations and communal solidarity in

the new housing complexes. Many old residents also noted their dissatis-

faction with the loss of the vibrant street life created by the spatial frame-

work of their old neighbourhoods (see Image 3.4 for the contrast between

the old and the new communal habitats). The new spatial conditions simply

did not foster the practice of musical culture the old open spaces permitted

(Image 3.5). Music had now become noise pollution. The communal space

that hosted their unique culture was now gone. They were also unhappy

with the nancial burdens of modern living, including paying for apart-

ment general dues or instalments of their bank loans. An example was that

while they are happy about the central heating in their homes, they were

unhappy having to pay for it. In their old homes they had used stoves for

heating, which were cheaper and did not incur a monthly expense.

All these changes in their lives, while providing some positive short-term

gains for the Abdals, have also created long-term economic, social and spa-

tial problems. Their previously self-sucient lifestyle has come to an end,

and with it perhaps their unique musical culture. This is not only a loss

for the Abdals and Kırşehir, but a wider loss for Turkey, as an indigenous

culture of importance is at risk of extinction. This is a violation of their right

to culture as a minority according to the ICESCR and the UN Declaration

on the Rights of Minorities, because the lack of their inclusion in the deci-

sion-making processes for this urban renewal project and the state’s inter-

ference – without their consent – into the spatial elements of their cultural

practices and rituals have made it almost impossible for the Abdals to

continue such practices and enjoy their right to their unique culture.

Conclusion

As an eect of neoliberal urban policies, the 2000s have increasingly

been characterised by the evolution of central and local governments

from ‘regulators’ to ‘consummate agents’ (Smith, 2002: 427). Since

2000, Turkish urbanisation has been conducted using urban land as an

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 69

economic development tool via urban renewal projects. In this period,

what has earned particular attention is the way in which governmen-

tal institutions and their operations have transformed at the local and

national levels. The processes that led to these transformations were

shaped without public participation resulting in gross violations of

their ‘right to the city’. As Lefebvre (2015) underlined, the participation

of urban citizens in the use and production of urban space is a central

element of the ‘right to the city’. Again, also a violation of Article 2,

paragraph 3 of the UN Declaration of the Rights of Minorities (UN,

1992) and Article 15, paragraph 1(a) of the International Covenant on

Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (UN, 1966). By ignoring the

right to the city, Turkish urbanisation as practiced has caused signif-

icant social and cultural loss for cities. Despite the criticisms and the

recording of these negative consequences by academics, experts on

urban spaces and non-governmental organisations, the government has

continued to follow the same destructive template. It seems to be con-

tinuously forgotten that non- participation in an urban renewal project,

especially implemented in a settled area, means there is no input from the

dwellers in the process while they will be the ones living with the conse-

quences. According to many studies in recent urban literature, the tools

explained by the local governments to justify urban renewal motives

are the risk of earthquake, the crime rate of the renewal area, the worn

housing stoke but the ones which were not explained urban rent, per-

sonal interests, the demands of local actors, etc. (Aksümer, 2021: 377).

Unfortunately, among all these explained or unexplained reasons, there

is no evidence of basic human rights such as the demands and problems

of the society, cultural richness, diversity, dierence and equality. The

main question should be where the dwellers’ right to shelter and right

to the city come into play in this process? According to the Paragraph-7

and Paragraph-10 in General Comment No. 7 of the CESCR (United

Nations, 1997), most of results of the urban renewal project in Bağbaşı

constituted forced displacements and evictions. This is because Bağbaşı

settlers had to leave their homes in any case and were only oered the

right to demur at expropriated price and not the right to continue living

in their old houses.

The fate of the Bağbaşı is only one of the cultural losses and human

rights violations resulting from the Turkish urban renewal experience in

the 2000s. The pity of it all can be expressed by considering the counter-

factual of an urban renewal project that would have respected the ‘right to

the city’ of the residents. Such a project would have seen a balance between

the need to transform the socio-economic conditions of the residents while

at the same time respecting the sustainability of Abdal culture as well as

Abdals’ right to participate in decisions aecting their culture and their

right to enjoy their culture uninterfered. Such a project would have pro-

vided Kırşehir with a unique cultural identity, presented in a modern way,

70 Albeniz Tuğçe Ezme Gürlek

and able to tap into the global resources that seek the experience of authen-

ticity, while at the sam e time upgradi ng the socio- economic li fe of t he Abdal

and fostering their integration in the broader city cultural milieu. Instead,

a one-size-ts-all method was implemented by the municipality and TOKI,

which via demolition and rebuilding without local input, changed the spa-

tial conditions underpinning Abdal culture, to the extent that we must now

worry about its long-term sustainability. The municipality was able to put

into eect its policy because civil society in the form of non-governmen-

tal organisations, academics and urban political actors remained silent,

staying aloof and not seeking to mobilise popular resistance. There was

a lack of advocacy in planning noted as important by Davido (1965) in

protecting the ‘right to the city’. By recreating the patterns of social exclu-

sion of the Abdals by ignoring the developments, these actors bear as much

responsibility for this transformation as the city government.

The protection of unique local cultures and values of living, such as

those found among the Abdals of Bağbaşı, from the negative consequenc es

of urban renewal necessitates broad participation by stakeholders in

planning. The input of experts is a necessity, as is that of the people who

live in these spaces and are the living carriers of culture. This requires a

dierent legal framework that obliges municipal governments to conduct

the process of urban renewal planning in a participatory manner, and

with the protection of the unique local culture at the centre of the process.

Without these conditions, political interests and the allure of urban rent

management will always lead to projects that have catastrophic cultural

consequences. The stakes are high, as once settlements with unique cul-

tural heritages are lost, such as in Bağbaşı, these cultural practices may

never be revived. This is why Jacobs (1992) emphasises that the city is an

organised complexity, and this complexity cannot be resolved by scientic

methods. As Lefebvre said, all the city citizens have the right to live in the

city, to shape, use and produce the urban land according to their needs.

Notes

1 PhD Candidate in Urbanization, Mimar Sinan Fine Arts University,

Istanbul. Research Assistant in Political Science and Public Administra-

tion Department, Kırşehir Ahi Evran University, Turkey. Kırşehir Bağbaşı

Neighbourhood, which is presented as a case study in this chapter, consti-

tutes the case study for author’s doctoral thesis. But the conceptual dis-

cussion presented in this chapter within the framework of cultural rights

and the right to the city was however not produced from the theoretical

discussion of her thesis and is an analysis made for this edited volume.

2 Gecekondu is a Turkish wordmeaninga house built qu ickly without proper

permission. It is a kind of squatter house.

3 The term ‘detached house’ refers to ‘müstakil ev’ in Turkish, which is a

stand-alone house, but diers from the ones in the West. It signies a small,

one oor house with a small garden. Mostly, these houses are designed and

built by their users, lacking professional architectural support.

Human rights within the context of urbanisation 71

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-5

Introduction

Housing is a basic need that everyone should have access to as right to

shelter is recognised as part of human rights. However, global economic

restructuring since the 1970s, and the roll-back of the welfare state in the

Global North has been a major contributor to a reduction in the aorda-

ble housing stock. Similarly in the Global South, recent economic devel-

opment has been ac companied by a lack of sustainable aordable housing

policies. The ‘developed’ part of the world experienced the withdrawal of

industrial production and therefore the decrease of the primary circuit of

capital (Merrield, 2014). Real estate that works as a ‘secondary circuit

of capital’ started to increase, and the capital has shifted over to this, as

the primary circuit of capital slowed down. This rise in the real estate

sector has become the main factor of urbanisation in the ‘developing

world’ (Lees et al., 2015). In the Global South experiences, massive urban

redevelopment and regeneration projects can exceed the neighbourhood

scale, creating big spaces of gentrication and gentrication- led dis-

placement (see Goldman, 2011; Shin and Kim, 2015). These urbanisation

processes portray the unequal power relations in society that are part of

increasingly intensied social polarisation. Istanbul can be situated dif-

ferently in this debate, for it sits awkwardly between East (Asia) and West

(Europe), and indeed can also be categorised as a Middle Eastern City.

Gentrication research in Turkey started relatively early in comparison

to other non-Euro-American studies, in the early 1980s, when it focused

on those historical neighbourhoods in central Istanbul experiencing gen-

trication (Islam and Sakizlioglu, 2015). However, over the last 15 years

or so processes of state-led gentrication have emerged, in the guise of

massive urban regeneration and renewal projects facilitated by the state.

These are displacing very marginal and working class people from valua-

ble land in inner Istanbul and refashioning these areas for the use of mid-

dle and upper classes. These visceral projects though seem to have more

in common with counterparts in the Global South (Shin, 2009; Kuyucu

and Ünsal, 2010) than those in the Global North.

A tale of two cities

Comparison of Istanbul and San

Francisco through right to housing

Aysegul Can

A tale of two cities 75

At the same time, this situation has close links with the refashioning of

Northern cities such as inner city London and New York when it comes

to real estate speculation and accumulating wealth through investing in

real estate (Lees et al., 2016). Global North has been aected greatly from

the nancialisation of housing market as well. This situation has led to

policy changes for aordable housing in various European countries (see

Elsinga, 2015) and countries in the Global North governments started to

act in a business-like manner to even the play eld for the market, some-

times at the expense of vulnerable urban population. This interconnect-

edness of policies regarding housing and accumulation of wealth through

real estate sector in the North and the South is a pivotal point discussed

in this chapter. Thus, this research draws on the growing rich body of

work on comparative urbanism (Robinson, 2006, 2011; McFarlane, 2010)

which challenges us to theorise the urban within a broader selection of

cities including those on the ‘periphery’ of the global economy and move

beyond the binary understanding of North and South. The notion and

study of comparative urbanism go as far back to Wirth (1938) and what

those anthropologists tried to achieve through comparative experiments

of a more diverse set of cities had been discarded over the course of time

to make way for a theory that has a more distinct separation between the

wealthier and poorer cities (Robinson, 2016).

This research aims to investigate right to housing or right to shelter as a

human right that has been aecting and reshaping cities around the world

in the specicity of two areas that are subjected to completely dierent

housing policies and are located in the North and the South respectively:

The Bay Area and Istanbul. The pivotal question to answer here is how

the choices of urban actors in two areas tell us about the employment and

mobilisation of right to housing? Real estate and construction industry

in Istanbul has been increasing to unprecedented levels since the 2000s

and it is now the situation that, in Istanbul, there is a housing surplus

and housing decit at the same time (Tulumtas, 2018). On the other hand,

San Francisco and the Bay Area, has been experiencing a brutal hous-

ing crisis with ever-increasing numbers of homeless people and studio

ats that are going for millions of dollars. This crisis is usually blamed

on the policies that limit development of new housing (Treuhaft et al.,

2018). Both cities promote policies (at least on the surface) to increase

aordable housing stock and diversity, and respect the right to housing

for all segments of the population; however, while employing seemingly

completely dierent methods, they are facing similar problems. The main

focus here is to explain the motivations and decisions behind mobilising

right to housing for dierent urban actors. The dierences and similar-

ities between two areas have driven me to choose them as part of my

investigation of housing as a human right. The housing policies both in

Turkey and the United States are very home ownership focused from the

beginning, this macro level policy similarity makes two countries and

76 Aysegul Can

localities very comparable compared to other Global North countries

that have a much stronger social housing policy to this day. Both Istanbul

and Bay Area have a strong presence of housing and urban justice move-

ments and organisations. Even though the organisations in both locali-

ties show their commitment to housing as a human right, in the case of

Istanbul this is done through the sentiment of ‘right to the city’ and spa-

tial commoning and the Bay Area organisations use right to housing for

their ght for adequate housing and spatial justice. Finally, in Istanbul

there is an abundance of new housing construction and a housing short-

age for aordable housing. In the Bay Area, in the surface, there is a

shortage for housing because of lack of construction; however, it is made

clear in the chapter that this is really not the case (see analysis and con-

clusion). In the end, this seeming dierence becomes a similarity in both

cities. These points of dierence and similarities make for a compelling

discussion in terms of mobilisation of urban actors in two seemingly dif-

ferent localities. In this chapter, I hope to employ comparative urbanism

in two dierent settings while showing the eect of global political and

economic trends and the ways in which same concepts can be analysed

in two areas.

This chapter briey discusses the literature of right to adequate hous-

ing as a human right and how that has been reported and implemented

all around the world. I also discuss the nancialisation of housing in the

North and South and the devastating consequences of this policy. This

is followed by a methods section on how the case studies are chosen and

analysed through the approach of comparative urbanism. In the analysis

section of the chapter, housing market and mobilisation of housing as a

human right in the Bay Area and Istanbul are investigated. The chapter

concludes on some reections on the motivations behind urban actors to

use or mobilise right to housing in urban policies and the implications

of this.

Housing as a Human Right

In the recent decades, housing has been increasingly seen as an invest-

ment and a tool to increase capital accumulation (Rolnik, 2019). This

‘nancialisation’ of housing has had deleterious eects on the vulnerable

urban population with many people around the world facing a lack of

adequate housing or are forced to pay most of their salary for housing

costs (Rolnik, 2019; Leijten and Bel, 2020). They are having trouble nd-

ing a well-located, aordable place with appropriate facilities, and young

people (especially young women) cannot aord a home and are pushed to

live in a situation of constant housing insecurity. Homelessness as a prob-

lem is on the rise all over the world, but especially in parts of the United

States (Leijten and Bel, 2020). As it is documented in General Comment

no.4 by UN Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights

A tale of two cities 77

(CESCR), right to housing is not merely a roof over someone’s head, but

it means the right ‘to live somewhere in security, peace and dignity’. The

CESCR presented seven points to better understand what it means to

have an adequate standard of living. These points briey are: security of

tenure for protection against landlord harassment or eviction, adequate

infrastructure and sanitation, aordability so that the tenant can still

have enough income left for their basic needs, a house or building safe

and sound enough for weather or other health conditions, accessibility

for disadvantaged groups such as elderly and people with disability, loca-

tion of the property and nally the cultural appropriateness of a house or

a neighbourhood so that the tenant can express their identity.

Even though housing has been seen as a safe and important invest-

ment by most of the world (see Rolnik, 2019), it actually is a right and

not a commodity (UN Special Rapporteur on adequate housing, 2009).

Access to adequate housing is found to be described and recognised as

a right in many international documents, declarations and treaties such

as: Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR), International

Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (ICESCR), The

Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities, Regional Human

Rights Conventions (especially article 8) and Declaration on Social

Progress and Development. However, of course, having access or having

right to access to housing does not guarantee any actual claim to housing

itself. Even though these documents provide some legal framework to

protect right to housing, they do not mean that the states and countries

ratifying these declarations and agreements can provide it on the spot.

It is understood that the realisations of such rights will happen progres-

sively with steps taken through available resources. Therefore, states are

not obligated to provide housing for everyone immediately (Leijten and

Bel, 2020).

The onset of mortgage-led housing ownership roughly started to

become common in most of the world in 1980s and 1990s (Leijten and

Bel, 2020), even though in places such as the United States, mortgage

existed since the early 20th century. This deregulation and liberalisation

of the mortgage nance system and the belief that the housing market

will regulate itself better with less state intervention are rooted in the

neo-liberal approaches that rely on the private market and its solutions

(Rolnik, 2019). In places that had a strong public housing tradition

such as Europe, this also meant privatisation and funding cuts to social

housing to encourage homeownership.

The negative consequences of this process have become painfully clear

with the 2008 global nancial crises that were triggered by the mort-

gage bubble. Millions of households were aected through foreclosures

and evictions, and, for example, in Spain, people were still very much

indebted to the banks even after the repossession of their houses (for a

discussion see Rolnik, 2019). In the United States, right before and after

78 Aysegul Can

the 2008 crisis more than 9 million evictions took place with more than

13 million households losing their homes (Sassen, 2014). This process of

deregulation and nancialisation of the housing market has been sup-

ported by the states around the world through policies, regulations and

legislation that promotes privatisation. This commitment to nanciali-

sation continued even after the 2008 crash. One example is the fact that

people who were in debt through pre-crises mortgage market were not

protected after the crash, but rather the nancial actors such as banks

received more supports in the form of bailouts while there were austerity

measures put in place and cutbacks from aordable housing programmes

and further privatisation of social housing (see United Nations Human

Rights Commission Report, 2017).

As part of this chapter, the notion of right to the city is also mobilised

by some of the organisations in two cities. However, especially in the case

of Istanbul, this notion is the main concept regarding the housing spatial

justice advocacy groups. For this reason, I briey introduce the concept

to showcase a more holistic understanding of the situation in both cit-

ies. According to Lefebvre (1996), the right to the city emphasises that

the city must be developed in such a way that it satises the demands

of urban space users rather than its proprietors. As a result, it empha-

sises the critical role that city dwellers must play in decision-making. It

envisions a far-reaching claim to move authority away from capital and

the state and towards city dwellers. Inhabitants of the city, according to

Lefebvre, lay claim to the right to the city (Lefebvre, 1996; Purcell, 2006).

Residents grow to rely on and genuinely comprehend urban space via

their daily routines and rhythms of life in the city. Lefebvre idealises the

urban resident as the proper custodian of urban space; he embraces these

regular activities. The right to the city is intended to further the interests

of ‘the whole society, and rst and foremost of all those who inhabit’

(Lefebvre, 1996:158).

Following from this, I rst discuss the methods and the approach of

this research and then present two case studies to articulate on the urban

policies that led to his severe unaordability in the North and the South.

Methods

In this chapter, I argue that many urban experiences in poorer cities

are substantially connected to arrangements of power and wealth in the

global North (Robinson, 2006) and seek to contribute to the creation of

a more global urban studies. As Robinson (2016) argues this situation

requires a methodological clarity and progress to analyse cities around

the world in the face of a more ‘planetary’ urbanisation process. In the

hopes of encouraging positive experimentation and drawing from the

opportunity to make connections under the umbrella of right to hous-

ing, this research aims to bring together two localities with increasing

A tale of two cities 79

nancialisation of housing from dierent experiences, but still similar

consequences.

There are two motivations in the selection of case studies. There have

not been much study in actually achieving comparative urbanism and

there is always a concern that it can turn into an endless list of empirical

accounts of case studies and not much else. In my selection of two very

seemingly dierent cities, I will seek to achieve to represent the inter-

connectedness of cities in the Global South and the North and what two

urban policies can tell us in terms of mobilising right to housing in an era

of global housing nancialisation. I am also interested in how the seem-

ingly dierent policies and decisions from two dierent urban authorities

can lead to similar consequences in two major areas in the world.

Initially, the main data collection methods were going to be document

analysis and semi-structured interviews. However, due to the ongoing

COVID-19 pandemic, it has been very dicult to arrange interviews and

develop networks in the Bay Area. I travelled and spent a few months

in the Bay Area since the year 2018, so I do not write or analyse from

a completely alien point of view. In addition, I managed to conduct 3

in depth, semi-structured interviews with dierent urban actors and,

I have collected data through the method of digital ethnography. The

ongoing pandemic prompted many panels, webinars and meetings to be

held online and this gave me the chance to collect more data and engage

with urban actors on this issue. Finally, I analysed around 100 tweets

tracing hashtags that contained or reected on right to housing in the

Bay Area and posted by various urban actors in the region. These actors

include: UCLA Institute on Inequality and Democracy, Moms4housing,

Coalition on Homelessness, House the Bay, Antieviction map,

Compassionate Alternative Response Team (CASRTSF) and East Bay

Permanent Real Estate Cooperative (Ebprec). In the case of Istanbul,

I have conducted around 10 in-depth, semi structured interviews with

urban actors. I have employed digital ethnography for the case of Istanbul

as well. I analysed again around 100 tweets by the urban actors. These

include: Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality, Chamber of Architects,

Chamber of Urban Planners, Istanbul Urban Defence, Taksim Solidarity

Association and The organisation ‘Either Istanbul or Canal’. All of the

collected qualitative data is also complimented by document analysis of

ocial reports and documents. These are: United Nations policy docu-

ments and special rapporteur reports regarding right to adequate hous-

ing and homelessness, A Roadmap towards Equity: Housing Solutions

for Oakland California, Aordable Housing Development policy papers

and decisions prepared by the California Department of Housing, Urban

Displacement Project by The University of California Berkeley, Anti-

Eviction Map Project, Urban Habitat 2016 Policy Brief, San Francisco

Foundation Policy Paper, Laws that were enacted in the last 30 years

in Turkey for urban redevelopment and housing projects, professional

80 Aysegul Can

chamber reports on the issue of housing production in Istanbul, Istanbul

Metropolitan Municipality Strategical plans (2015–2019), Turkey 10th

5 year Development plan (2014–2018) and Istanbul Development Plan

(2014–2023).

Through the analysis of interview, ethnography and secondary data,

I discuss the ways in which right to have access to adequate hous-

ing is mobilised in two cities. To be able to showcase a more tangible

understanding of the cases and the theoretical framings at work in

both contexts, I specically give details of two moments of resistance/

movements: Gezi Park Protests (Istanbul) and Moms4Housing (the Bay

Area). Now I move on a brief description of policies of housing in the

United States and the Bay Area followed by the analysis of mobilisation

of right to housing.

The US Housing, Mortgage Policies

and Housing in the Bay Area

What can be called a modern housing policy of United States started

during the Great Depression with the creation of the Federal Housing

Administration (FHA) through the National Housing Act of 1934. This

was created to register and insure mortgages and administer some sort

of security for the creditors (Dennis and Pinkowish, 2004). In the 1940s

and 1950s, these housing projects mostly targeted the working class and

the poor who could aord rent; however this demographic became much

more racialised in the 1960s with the migration from South states and

increasing suburbanisation of the white workers (Atlas and Drier, 1994).

In the 1960s and the 1970s, with the civil rights movements, another

round of public housing was built, but this was then identied as a wel-

fare scheme or a solution for the most vulnerable (Vale, 2013). A big por-

tion of the new coming residents were black and poor which led to these

neighbourhood to become ethnically dened (National Fair Housing

Association, 2008). As a result of the cut of federal funding, in the 1980s

and 1990s, the public housing stock deteriorated greatly and thousands

of ats were dilapidated. In addition to this deterioration, fund for public

housing eroded another 25% between the years 1999 and 2006 (Sard and

Fischer, 2008).

There have been many developments to include low-income housing

in the domain of homeownership as well. There are two main changes

that aected the housing market as we know it now: (i) the Community

Reinvestment Act of 1977 and the creation of sub-prime loans and (ii)

augmentation of securitisation (Rolnik, 2019). The 1977 Act led the banks

to create a separate kind of mortgage portfolio through subprime or very

high-cost loans to purchase a real estate (Marcuse, 1979). This situation

meant that the banks altered their previous regulations on risk manage-

ment and created this new mortgage product for what was previously

A tale of two cities 81

known as ‘redline’, then, oered it to families that were predominantly

minorities or had no access to such real estate loans because they were

considered high risk (Marcuse, 1979). Securitisation really allowed the

operators to use real estate and debt arising from real estate to be part of

the nancial market. This refers to the selling of mortgage loans to inves-

tors in order to ‘clean’ the balances of credit institutions. Securitisation

converts mortgages to mortgage-backed securitisation that is depended

on the collection of the payments of individual mortgages (Marcuse,

1979; Rolnik, 2019).

The Bay Area consists of nine counties starting from Sonoma in

the north and Santa Clara in the south and includes cities such as San

Francisco, Oakland and San Jose (Silicon Valley). In this chapter, I focus

on Oakland and San Francisco, but also give an insight to the housing

situation in the Bay Area as a whole. This area is one of the fastest grow-

ing economies in the world mostly thanks to the tech industry (Treuhaft

et al., 2018). The region’s economic growth has actually exceeded that of

the country’s and in 2015, it surpassed China (Floum, 2016). This incred-

ible growth brought about a demand for housing and the Bay Area has

faced an increasing shortage of homes (City of Oakland, 2015). This ulti-

mately led to a high rise in housing costs also because of the nature of

tech industry (i.e. very high salaries).

In addition, homelessness continues to be an important problem in the

state with informal homeless encampments in the cities of San Francisco

and San Jose (Demographia, 2020). These two cities with the addition

of Los Angeles, also have the highest household income in whole of the

country (Demographia, 2020). This ultimately shows the unequal way of

livi ng in Californ ia. This housing c risis in the ar ea is claimed to be not only

linked to the economic boom and employment growth, but also the very

restrictive land use and planning regulations of California (Calmatters,

2017). It is reported that land use planning in California gives the oppo-

nents of change and development many tools to scale and slow down

projects through zoning restrictions, California Environmental Quality

Act and time consuming review and approval processes (Calmatters,

2017). In addition to severe aordable housing crisis in San Francisco,

Oakland is also facing problems of aordability and homelessness. There

have also been reports from a policy paper prepared by City of Oakland

(2015) that many families are squeezed out of Oakland through evictions,

foreclosures and simply not being able to aord rent anymore.

Most policy papers that have been examined for this research (see

Methods section) paint a picture of lack of new construction development

and a need for more aordable housing stock through policies encourag-

ing privatisation or further nancialisation of the housing market; how-

ever there is a disconnect with what is happening on the streets of San

Francisco, San Jose or Oakland between what is being said by the policy

makers. It is widely accepted by developers, policy makers, academics,

82 Aysegul Can

businesses, companies and residents that there is a severe aordable

housing crisis not only in the Bay Area but in all of the state of California.

There are various writings that put the blame on restrictive zoning rules

and lack of development in California as a state, but there is no mention

of huge tax breaks given to tech giants (i.e. 2011 twitter tax break) or how

companies such as Google used public bus stops and infrastructure for

free and increased the real estate speculation in the area, or no fault evic-

tions that the Bay Area residents faced over the years (see anti-eviction

map) (Maharawal and McElroy, 2018). This alarming situation signals a

need in policy interventions that puts right to adequate housing and right

to city at its focus. In the next section, I will examine the ght to mobilise

right to housing as a human right and create policies accordingly.

Mobilisation of Right to Housing as

a Human Right in the Bay Area

As mentioned in the Methods section, I interviewed several urban actors

and policy contributors from housing justice or homelessness associa-

tions. Racial inequality has always gone hand in hand with the exclu-

sion of people of colour (especially black people) from having access to

adequate housing. For that reason, most housing associations and advo-

cates of housing justice are strongly connected and are part of black and

indigenous movements. As stated in a recent panel (UCLA Luskin, 2021):

The political demand of rent cancellation is rebellion against the

terms on which property and tenancy were established through set-

tler colonialism and slavery.

One recent and successful example of mobilising right to housing in the

Bay Area and changing policy is achieved by a group of black moth-

ers who occupied an investor-owned house in Oakland that had been

empty for nearly 2 years. Through this occupation these women started

an organisation called ‘moms4housing’ and grounded their demand on

the promise of housing as a human right (Moms4housing, 2020). After

a two month long occupation and demands on the ground of housing as

a human right, the mothers were given the chance to buy the house and

make it their home. As it is stated in a panel (UCLA Luskin, 2021):

So when these unsheltered women engaged in this civil disobedience

to bring that issue to the world and highlight the fact that there are

four empty units for every unsheltered person in our city. It changed

everything. It literally changed everything. We went for a two month

stint inside something that was uninhabitable. That was owned by

a notorious house ipper Wedgwood and fought a battle to make

housing a human right.

A tale of two cities 83

Through Moms4housing’s demand to be given the rst chance to buy a

vacant property and their subsequent legal win changed the legislation

in housing in the Bay Area and introduced The Tenant Opportunity to

Purchase Act. This is a direct consequence of mobilising housing as a

human right on the ground. As stated by one of the city council members

(UCLA Luskin, 2021):

On the local level here now as a city council member I will be working

on a daily basis to make housing a human right through legislation

that was mentioned earlier, like the tenant opportunity to purchase

act. It is something that we continue to push through the mom-

s4housing, ne. We also are working on a state-wide constitutional

amendment to make housing a human right, but we need the workers

on the ground.

In the case of the Bay Area, according to my respondents and analysis of

the related documents, right to housing is used and mobilised as part of

the discourse very well by the associations, academics and housing activ-

ists, and it is denitely part of the conversation by all the housing justice,

homelessness and aordable housing advocates. However, when asked

about the reactions of the people on the ground or the vulnerable urban

population to the discourse of right to housing, one of the respondents

(Coalition on Homelessness) stated that:

Many of the folks on the ground we talk with and we collaborate

with, and they are all for it. But many of the folks we work with will

not even ask for housing and see that asking for housing is just too

much …… We go on the street and people are like ‘I just do not want

to be harassed, I just want access to water, I just wish I could take

a shower’. So a lot of what we do is uplifting and saying, no you are

worthy of a place to sleep at night that is not out on the street and

that is not in a tent. And the homeless folks do respond positively

and they usually say ‘oh, yes, if you think we can, let’s get together

and let’s do it. (Interviews, January, 2021)

He goes on to explain how the mobilisation and language of right to

housing is used to emphasise this as a human right:

We, as a coalition, articulate it as a human right, but of course there

is a political ideology behind it, and I think that many of us deal

with the political realities, we play the game, but then we are also

pushing boundaries and pushing policies and advocating and organ-

ising around certain language …… So the way I see it, the politi-

cal language of right to housing is usually for housed folks. So ok,

84 Aysegul Can

we believe that individuals should have a right to housing, anything

less is unacceptable and ies in the face of everything we believe in.

(Interviews, January, 2021)

Another example for this kind of language being used for policy pur-

poses is from the Ebprec where they identify their mission pillar as right

to housing. As stated by them (Ebprec) in one of the interviews:

So our mission pillars situate our political ideology in theory of

change, into this conversation. To highlight each of them land with-

out landlords, we believe housing as a human right. We really believe

that housing should be a human right, not a commodity.

(Interviews, February, 2021)

On that note, there are a lot of works happening in the Bay Area around

the language of right to housing. In addition to the tenant opportunity

to purchase act, through a citizen generated initiative called Proposal

C, San Francisco passed a bill to collect taxes from its wealthiest coop-

erations for buying housing, expanding shelter and providing housing

assistance for the poor population (Mission Local, 2020). This tax that

more or less amounts to 500 million dollars has been pending in escrow

until September 2020 and was just recently released with a supreme court

decision due to the eorts of citizens and organisations such as Coalition

on Homelessness (Mission Local, 2020).

When asked about the usual discourse of Bay Area not having enough

housing because of restrictive urban development regulations, one

respondent (Coalition on Homelessness) surmised that:

I think we are building housing, but we are not building the right kind

of housing. And because we are not building the right kind of hous-

ing, we also do not have the political will to say ‘you know what, we

messed up’. We have too many luxury condos and we cannot stomach

as a society the idea of putting a poor person in a condo like that.

(Interviews, January, 2021)

Finally, when aske d about what right to housing and mobi lising right to hou s-

ing would mean in the eld and on the ground, another respondent explained

her (CASRTSF) perspective as: ‘Human rights are violated because they are

[homeless people of the Bay Area] unhoused and we want to change that

(Interviews, January, 2021)’. A city council member of Oakland surmises the

importance of housing skilfully (UCLA Luskin, 2021):

Everything is connected to housing. From education to health care

to quality of life, life expectancy. Everything is created from housing

and emanates from there.

A tale of two cities 85

As I discussed throughout this section, in the Bay Area, the lobbying

done by NGOs and grassroot organisations to inuence policies with the

help of their local politicians and legal team is a very important part

of the mobilisation of human rights. This is complimented by work on

the ground with NGOs reaching out to the vulnerable urban population

and organising urban protests where necessary (i.e. sit-in protests, rallies,

occupations).

The Turkish Housing, Mortgage Policies

and Housing in Istanbul

This section discusses the Turkish housing market to give an insight con-

cerning the changes of the housing system over the last decades. Starting

from the late 1920s, Real Estate Credit banks were established to provide

the nancial and institutional set up to help solve the housing problems

of especially low-income people without social security by using state

resources; however, they were insucient in serving this purpose (Tekeli,

1982). They, instead, targeted more middle class clients who needed a

loan to purchase a home. There have not been any clear housing policies

to create an aordable rental market.

Starting from the 1960s, with increasing industrialisation and urban-

isation, the rural to urban immigration increased signicantly and

Istanbul was (and is) the city that received most of this immigration.

The fact that there had been little to no history of social and aorda-

ble housing contributed to the growth of informal alternative settle-

ments (Tekeli, 1982; Sen, 2009; Turkun, 2011) and migrants from cities

all around Anatolia created their own solution by constructing informal

settlements in state-owned land. In the Turkish context, gecekondus –

illegal squatter areas built on state land – have become very important in

the broader urban structure. There were two reasons for the emergence

of gecekondu areas: attracting cheap labour and lack of political will to

create aordable housing stock. First, although gecekondus were illegal,

they were built by the users using their own labour, and this not only

allowed the state to have low-cost housing in large cities, but also meant

free labour in the production of such housing stock. Second, when the

number of gecekondus increased dramatically in the 1980s and 1990s,

the middle class and state ocials overlooked this type of housing even

though they were illegal because they did not want to be bothered with

social housing policies (Turkun, 2011). Due to the increasing number of

migrants in metropolitan areas and their political power in aecting elec-

tions, various measures were taken to integrate them into the system by

giving their houses legal status, especially in election periods (Turkun,

2011). In the 2000s, ocial attitude to squatter areas changed direction,

and the state claimed that people in gecekondus were invaders (Can,

2013), and the authorities started to express that urban regeneration and

86 Aysegul Can

transformation was needed in squatter areas and in the historic districts

that had been ‘invaded’ by the urban poor (Can, 2013).

Another important development in housing was the foundation of

Mass Housing Development Agency (MHDA) in 1984 with the purpose

of producing aordable housing; however, it turned into a very powerful

governmental institution with wide-ranging control over almost every

aspect of the housing market. In addition MHDA only provided social

housing for purchase. After its foundation, laws and regulations helped

the MHDA gain the power it has now. There are several important laws

that have made this possible (see law no. 5162, The Law for Preservation

and Usage of Deteriorated Historical and Cultural Monuments,

Municipality Law of 2005 and Law no. 6306). These laws not only formed

the basis for many urban regeneration/renovation/transformation pro-

jects, but also, almost always resulted in the displacement of the urban

poor. The Turkish state played two roles in the increasing capital accu-

mulation through urban development: (i) the state regulated land use

planning laws and regulations and also designating resources and (ii) it

was the body actually constructing the developments and developing the

land (Serin et al., 2020).

There has been three main ways of urban development and trans-

formation: (i) urban regeneration projects in historical areas (ii) neigh-

bourhood based urban regeneration projects in areas deemed risky (i.e.

earthquake prone), but usually seen as a veiled way to transform squat-

ter areas and (iii) suburbanisation through new-built or branded hous-

ing projects (Yılmaz, 2019; Ucal and Kaplan, 2020). Especially the rst

and second kind of urban redevelopment created several waves of gen-

trication while displacing vulnerable urban population to the periph-

ery of Istanbul and sometimes outside of Istanbul and most of the time

without any compensation (Can, 2020). That meant while the housing

stock increased in the city, the aordability decreased. In many policy

papers (Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality Strategical plans (2015–

2019), Turkey 10th 5 year Development plan (2014–2018) and Istanbul

Development Plan (2014–2023)) the right to housing, a mixed and diverse

population and the need for a dignied living in an aordable environ-

ment are emphasised. However, the decreasing aordability in Istanbul

is documented through several studies (see Coskun et al., 2014; Rebucci,

2015; Moody’s, 2016).

In spite of the increasing land speculation, gentrication and decreas-

ing aordability in the inner city of Istanbul, there is actually a surplus

in the housing stock. According to a study conducted by the Ankara

Civil Engineering Chamber (Tulumtas, 2018) between the years 2013 and

2018, there is a surplus of 490,000 unsold and empty housing units. Even

though the study points out that there was 60% decrease in issuing plan-

ning and construction permissions to developers in the year 2018, there

was already too many units in various housing projects in and around

A tale of two cities 87

Istanbul that were struggling to nd a buyer. Given the current pandemic

and an increasing economic crisis in Turkey, it is clear that these units will

stay empty for a long time. As it was in the US housing policy, Turkish

housing policy also put an immense emphasis on the encouragement of

home ownership. At the same time, Turkey is an important example in

terms of analysing aordability because of its expansive urban develop-

ment since the early 2000s which was not the case (at least according to

the ocial documents) in the Bay Area. Now I move on to the mobilisa-

tion of right to housing by urban actors on the ground to present a more

holistic picture.

Mobilisation of Right to Housing as

a Human Right in Istanbul

As mentioned in the Methods section, I have interviewed several urban

actors who are advocating for aordable housing, right to housing and

right to city for the vulnerable population of Istanbul. There are several

ways that the mobilisation of right to housing has been used by urban

actors. These are legal challenges, urban protests and spatial common-

ing practices. Many associations and urban actors I interviewed have

been a part of or they themselves led lawsuits against governmental

organisations to protect or reclaim right to housing. However, during

the mobilisation of this right through the legal system, right to housing is

not directly quoted by the court les as part of the lawsuits. The lawsuits

that are led to uphold right to housing are usually based on right to

the city, democratic rights such as right to protest, legal rights regarding

private property, exploitation of expropriation regulations by the local

government or local and national government’s inability or unwilling-

ness to protect and uphold planning laws and principles. One reason for

this is that housing is perceived as home ownership (see previous section)

and in that regard and according to my respondents, right to have access

to adequate housing is usually mobilised through right to the city.

When asked about their opinion on right to housing, respondents usu-

ally emphasised how this is often misunderstood by the general public

and that right to housing does not equate to right to or be able to buy a

house. Since the Turkish housing market is very ownership oriented and

the regulation and promotion of the rental market has never been an

important agenda, the existence of an aordable housing stock to sell or

purchase has started to be seen as right to housing. This is even visible

in the social housing policies of Turkey which are solely based on home

ownership. A respondent explained this issue as:

I have been wasting my breath for so long about this issue. Right

to housing does not mean right to own a house. Right to housing

equates to having access to housing so even squatting is part of right

88 Aysegul Can

to housing. The extend of displacement and dispossession in Istanbul

is so high, but, still, even the academics and activists are not in this

ght for aordable, or social rental housing.

(Interviews, August, 2020)

Having said that, even though right to housing as a human right may not

be spelled out by the activists, NGOs or urban organisations, the prac-

tices on the ground and in the eld cannot be separated from Istanbulites

claiming and demanding their right to the city and indirectly their right

to housing. In line with this, the practices of spatial equality and com-

moning have been part of the mobilisation of right to housing in urban

Istanbul. These practices include (but are not limited to) urban protests

against urban renewal/regeneration/transformation projects in the pri-

vate or public property, associations and organisations to raise aware-

ness and help the vulnerable urban population in reclaiming their right

to housing and right to city through legal challenges and occupation

of these properties. The most famous right to city protest which is also

the biggest unrest in the history of the Republic of Turkey is Gezi park

Protests. As pointed out by many respondents that the right to housing,

right to the city and urban identity as part of human rights has been exer-

cised to its fullest during this protest to protect the last green space of

central Istanbul. This is explained by one of the respondents as:

I see Gezi [Protests] as a right to the city practise and I also believe

that we learnt so much through those protests. We learnt about

human rights, right to housing, urban citizenship and democracy.

People are always amazed by the fact that so many people from dif-

ferent parts of the political spectrum were able to come together dur-

ing these protests, but this did not happen overnight. We had to nd

minimum commonalities with everyone who was there and organise

a resistance against the demolition of the park. Otherwise, we were

going to lose it … Now I think this process of right to the city is still

continuing and being exercised by everyone. Old women standing up

to bulldozers that are trying to demolish their house or many com-

munities using same tactics we used in Gezi to protect their neihg-

bourhood, parks and community [i.e. occupation, organising events,

creating forums, ling lawsuits] is a clear example of that. I would

even take it so far as to say that the election of Ekrem İmamoğlu [The

Mayor of Istanbul who belongs to the opposition political party in

Turkey] is an outcome of Gezi and right to the city movements.

(Interviews, July 2020)

As I discussed throughout this section, in the case of Istanbul, urban

protests such as the Gezi Park and the legal resistance initiated and fol-

lowed by professional chambers, NGOs and grassroot organisations to

A tale of two cities 89

inuence and reverse policies is a very important part of the mobilisation

of human rights. Right to housing as a human right is being mobilised

through the urban movements of right to the city and practices of spa-

tial commoning in the urban area. Spatial commoning is briey dened

as collective social relations that retain, resist or demand bounded or

abstract spaces beyond the market-led or state-led administration and

are arranged by the following: community, mutual-pool resources and

activities of sharing, caring and support in a community (Tsavdaroglou,

2020). People are not fully aware of or do not fully believe that they are

entitled to housing as a human right. According to my respondents and

the eldworks I conducted as a housing and gentrication scholar in

Istanbul over the course of the last decade, it sounds like wishful think-

ing and that is why it has been easier to mobilise right to the city as the

notion of being a part of the city regardless of one’s tenure and organ-

ising people around practices of commoning has had implications of

protecting right to housing as well.

Conclusion

Merrield (2014, p.x) talks about the ‘urban fabric’, the redundancy of

making strict distinctions and the necessity to upgrade the ‘chaotic con-

ceptions’. This is because nowadays, peripheries and centres, cities and

suburbs and urban and countryside are intertwined. This paper focused

on two dierent areas (one in the Global north and one in the Global

south) with seemingly dierent housing policies but seemingly the same

outcome: a lack of aordable housing stock and no proper access to ade-

quate housing. Even though the policies and localities dier, there is one

overarching theme in both cities that makes them reach the same conclu-

sion: land speculation and capital accumulation by dispossession. In both

cities, the narrative of the policies look quite promising on paper with the

mention of diversity, right to housing and a need for aordable housing

for all; however, in practise these narratives are used to sugar-coat the

further nancialisation and neo-liberalisation of the housing market and

keep the poor out of the centre even if it means that housing units are left

to rot as they do in Istanbul and the Bay Area. This situation reveals two

important things when it comes to mobilisation of right to housing as

a human right: (i) the urgency of emphasising this as a human right for

every urban citizen and (ii) ghting against the use of this narrative for the

purpose of furthering land speculation.

In terms of employing comparative urbanism as an approach to analyse

these two cities, it is obvious that the global neo-liberal approach to hous-

ing and increasing nancialisation of housing as an economic investment

rather than a public good is a commonality in both localities as well as

the emergence of home ownership as the preferred policy. It is only the

way the local and national authorities in Bay Area and Istanbul mobilise

90 Aysegul Can

this thinking in their policy implementation that diers slightly. While

housing stock in Istanbul is continuously increasing since early 2000s, the

aordable housing stock is not a part of this policy, and even for the ‘social

housing’ stock it is home ownership through cheap mortgage loans that is

being forced upon the urban poor. At the same time, the middle and upper

class housing is being constructed more and more, sometimes with the help

of state subsidies (MHDA) and tax exemptions through several laws that

have been enacted with the risk of creating a housing bubble. In terms of

Bay Area, even though the common explanation towards the severe unaf-

fordable housing market is lack of development and restrictive zoning reg-

ulations, there are still tax exemptions for big companies and construction

of luxury condos for the incoming high-income workers. In addition, it

is reported by many grassroot organisations and respondents themselves

that there is, in fact, enough housing to house everyone in the Bay Area.

It is just that the political will is not there. This shows the importance of

the nancialisation and further neo-liberalisation of housing on a plan-

etary level and the importance of land speculation and how it is actively

supported through local and national policies (not only with deregulation)

while giving the illusion of caring for housing as a human right.

One dierence that was apparent in this research was that the way in

which two cities mobilised and used the discourse of right to housing.

Urban actors in the Bay Area chose to use this narrative as it is laid out by

this paper: right to adequate housing is a human right that should be pro-

tected under any circumstances and anything else is not enough. In the

case of Istanbul, the urban actors chose to mobilise this notion through

the narrative of right to the city. According to many of the respondents

(and this was alluded to in the Bay Area case as well), Istanbulites do not

know or believe that they are entitled to housing as part of human rights.

This also has its roots in the decades long stigmatisation of gecekondu

areas which are ultimately exercising of right to housing. However, this

has not been explicitly reported by the respondents.

From this point of view, mobilising people around the idea that they

have the right to be part of the city life of Istanbul and reproduce and

co-create their own experience of urban space resonates better in the

eld. The right to housing is then incorporated through the notion of

right to the city. It is also easier to mobilise people to resist massive urban

redevelopment and infrastructure projects that are implemented by the

national state through authoritarian and neo-liberal urban policies

which requires a language of city for all rather than housing for all. The

attack on the cities of Turkey but especially Istanbul through projects

that actively facilitate dispossession by accumulation and exclusion of

any and all vulnerable urban population have always been used as polit-

ical campaign tools to garner voters and create a divide in the society

through pro and anti AKP lines. Most of the massive urban renewal or

infrastructure projects that eectively displace people and unhouse them

A tale of two cities 91

have also been used a tool to portray a strong and benevolent state. For

that reason, right to the city, which is ultimately used to mobilise and

promote right to housing, has also been a political tool of the political

opposition to garner support from the public and raise awareness. This

explains why most prominent oppositional gures that can be seen as

rivals to the current government are the Mayor of Istanbul and Mayor of

Ankara rather than other kind of political party gures.

With populist leaders and nationalist movements portraying basic

human rights as a narrative only raised for the most vulnerable and mar-

ginalised erases the decades of work on mobilising global human rights.

There is a need to emphasise the fact that human rights, including and

especially the right to housing, is necessary and pivotal to everyone in the

world. This has become painfully clear especially during the COVID-19

pandemic. Many vulnerable citizens around the world have paid the

price of decades of deregulation and nancialisation of housing through

their inability to pay rents, getting evicted in the worst time possible and

basically inability to shelter in place.

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Part 2

Urbanising human rights

DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-7

Introduction

Human rights cities (HRCs) have recently earned a distinctive place in

the human rights localisation scholarship, which focuses on the role of

individuals, civil society organisations and subnational public authori-

ties in the protection and realisation of human rights (Merry 2006, De

Feyter et al. 2011, Columbia HRI 2012, Marx et al. 2015, Sabchev et al.

2021). They have been increasingly attracting the attention of academics

and practitioners for their capacity to transform abstract human rights

commitments into tangible policies and practices (Grigolo 2016, Davis

et al. 2017, Goodhart 2019), thus strengthening the eectiveness of the

international human rights regime and delivering social justice ‘on the

ground’ (Oomen and Baumgärtel 2014, Oomen et al. 2016).

Notwithstanding the widespread conceptual vagueness surrounding it

(Davis 2017, MacNaughton and Duger 2020), the HRC can be dened

as ‘an urban entity or local government that explicitly bases its policies,

or some of them, on human rights as laid down in international trea-

ties, thus distinguishing itself from other local authorities’ (Oomen and

Baumgärtel 2014, p. 710). Its distinctive feature is a particular approach to

city governance, in which the protection and realisation of human rights

becomes an important criterion for the allocation of resources. In this

respect, the HRC is inevitably shaped by urban politics, broadly under-

stood as the exercise of power by public and civil society actors over the

decision-making process at the local level (Davies and Imbroscio 2009).

Rather than isolated from the outside world, however, urban politics and

governance are nested within specic institutional contexts, and inu-

enced by interactions with a multitude of state and non-state actors from

the subnational, national and international level (Sellers 2005, Kübler

and Pagano 2012). In other words, the choices pertaining to the everyday

functioning of the HRC are determined not only by local elements, but

also by decisions and processes that take place at supralocal levels.

Despite claims that human rights – and by extension HRCs – are

transcending, beyond or above politics (see discussion in Goodhart

Urban politics and the

human rights city

The case of Bologna

Tihomir Sabchev

98 Tihomir Sabchev

2019, pp. 154–155, Nash 2015), both empirical and conceptual research

demonstrates the relevance of urban politics to HRCs. Grigolo’s exten-

sive study on Barcelona, New York and San Francisco, for instance,

indicates that political dynamics within the HRC can lead to the prior-

itisation of some rights over others (2019, pp. 108–109), and that human

rights can be used instrumentally in advancing a law-and-order oriented

local political agenda (2019, pp. 98–128). Such examples resonate with

Oomen’s argument that the translation of universal and abstract human

rights norms involves ‘an intensely political process’ (2016, p. 4), as well

as with Goodhart’s conceptualisation of the HRC as a ‘critical political

praxis’ realised by alliances between public and civil society actors (2019,

p. 145).1 At a more general level, they also t well into broader scholarly

accounts of the indeterminacy of human rights (see Chapter 1 in Addo

2010). In short, the HRC seems to maintain one of human rights’ main

qualities: it is an irreducibly political phenomenon (Nash 2015, pp. 1–18).

Nevertheless, the HRC literature has so far remained ‘remarkably

silent’ when it comes to the political undercurrent that characterises the

framing of local claims in human rights terms (Grigolo 2019, pp. 179–

180). To be sure, analyses of the role of urban politics in shaping the HRC

are not missing (Fernandez-Wul and Yap 2020, Chapter 4 in Grigolo

2019). However, such analyses tend to focus on city-level negotiations,

bureaucratic routines and interactions between the local and the global

level of governance. At the same time, the role of intergovernmental rela-

tions within the state remains only partially accounted for (Baumgärtel

and Oomen 2019, Roodenburg 2019). As a result, while scholars have

recognised the fact that HRCs are horizontally and vertically nested

in multi-level power structures (Oomen 2016, Fernandez-Wul and

Yap 2020), they have not done full justice to the multi-level nature of

urban politics of human rights. Surprising as it may seem, the dynamics

between subnational and national governments have remained only on

the periphery of the HRC literature.

In addressing this shortcoming, I adopt a multi-level perspective of

urban politics and explore the role of urban politics in the process of

becoming and being a HRC. I use a qualitative in-depth case study

approach (Rohlng 2012) and focus on Bologna, the capital of the Italian

region of Emilia-Romagna, and a city with a strong left-wing politi-

cal tradition. In recent years, Bologna’s local authorities have engaged

explicitly in the adoption, institutionalisation and implementation

of human rights, mainly in relation to the governance of immigration

and migrant integration. Such a direct link between human rights and

migrants’ rights – especially when it comes to undocumented migrants or

rejected asylum seekers – is a rather typical feature of HRCs (Baumgärtel

and Oomen 2019, Roodenburg 2019). While a broad group of human

rights advocates has navigated Bologna’s experience as a HRC (civil

servants, politicians, local civil society representatives, academics, etc.),

Urban politics and the human rights city 99

the municipal government and administration stand out as the protago-

nists in this process. Lastly, Bologna’s distinctive political culture and the

high politicisation of immigration and asylum governance in Italy (Urso

2018, Pettrachin 2019), makes it a compelling case for studying the role

of urban politics in the localisation of human rights in general, and the

emergence and consolidation of HRCs in particular.

In my analysis, I rely on a socio-legal approach and a broader under-

standing of human rights as law, practice and discourse. First and

foremost, human rights are a set of international/regional positive law,

which delineates the obligations of states party to it (Buergenthal et al.

2009, Shelton and Gould 2013). Classic examples are treaties, such as

the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), and

the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights

(ICESCR). Second, human rights as practice indicates the translation

of such legal instruments into concrete initiatives and policies, and their

subsequent implementation (Merry 2006, Grigolo 2016). It comprises

actions justied on the basis of human rights language, or with a goal

of promoting human rights (Goodhart 2016). Finally, human rights as

discourse pertains to ideas and moral values that can be invoked for

emancipatory purposes, without necessarily making reference to inter-

national law (Ignatie 2003, Roodenburg 2019, Fernandez-Wul and

Yap 2020).

My ndings indicate that the use of human rights law, practice and dis-

course in Bologna was triggered by fundamental ideological dierences

between the left-leaning local/regional and the right-leaning national

government in relation to the presence and integration of immigrants.

More concretely, the adoption of human rights facilitated the develop-

ment and justication of subnational political responses to legal, policy

and discursive changes at the national level. In this respect, Bologna’s

transformation into a HRC to a large extent can be interpreted as a reac-

tive process, and the result of a conict between legality as dened at

the national, and justice as perceived at the local level. In this process,

human rights were instrumentalised for the construction and defence of

an idea of justice aligned with the priorities of the local government and

its civil society partners in the eld of migration governance.

In the next section, I outline my main arg uments in relation to the multi-

level character of urban politics and governance, and the consequences

this entails for the process of becoming and being a HRC. Subsequently,

I present in detail Bologna’s gradual engagement with international

human rights over the last two decades. Based on the empirical analysis,

I then move on to a discussion on the relevance of intergovernmental

conicts within the state to the emergence of HRCs, and the added value

of human rights as law, practice and discourse to developing strategic

responses in the context of such conicts. In the conclusion, I put forward

questions for future research.

100 Tihomir Sabchev

Human Rights Cities and the Multi-Level

Character of Urban Politics

To st art with, the proc ess of becoming and being a HRC typically includes

some type of self-designation (Neubeck 2016). In this regard, it is usually

local government ocials together with their civil society partners that

attach the human rights label to their city, and then promote it. At the

same time, the dynamics that underpin this process can remain out of the

spotlight of bold public announcements, or hidden between the lines of

rather vague resolutions and proclamations (Neubeck 2016). The motives

for self-designating as a HRC can vary from genuine moral convictions

of local politicians and civil servants (Sabchev et al. 2021), to attempts for

enhancing urban governability (Grigolo 2017), to the label being reward-

ing in the context of a city-branding tendency based on a neo-liberal logic

(see Goodhart 2019, p. 151), or just because it is ‘catchy’ (MacNaughton

et al. 2020, p. 121). Regardless of the ocially communicated reasons

behind it, however, translating and implementing international human

rights to the local level constitutes a political project that involves contes-

tation of power (Goodhart 2019). In other words, the HRC has a political

undercurrent, which shapes its output in terms of human rights policies

and practices.

On the surface, there appears to be a consensus among scholars that

HRCs have an ‘inherently political character’ (Grigolo 2016, p. 293, see

also Smith 2017, Goodhart 2019). In the HRC, state and civil society

actors form alliances and compete with each other for authority over the

way in which human rights are translated and implemented (Merry 2006,

Nash 2015, p. 162, Roodenburg 2019). This process is inuenced by the

broader social structure (Grigolo 2016), and therefore by the selective

activation of a concrete political culture that aims to provide answers to

questions such as ‘What are human rights?’ and ‘Who are human rights

for?’ (Nash 2016). As a result, HRCs adopt dierent sets of human rights

while leaving out others (Soohoo 2016), and dierences occur within the

same HRC over time (see Grigolo 2019, pp. 98–128). In other words, in the

HRC the abstract human rights ideas and norms are sifted in the urban

politics sieve: the ones that make it through turn into ingredients for the

local HRC recipe, while the leftovers can be preserved for future use.

When one delves into analyses on the role of urban politics in HRCs,

however, one discovers an important shortcoming: while scholars have

recognised the multi-level nature of urban politics of human rights

(e.g., by including international institutions and organisations in their

analyses), they have engaged only marginally with the role of intergov-

ernmental relations within the state. The HRC literature is overwhelm-

ingly focused on the dialectics between the international (or the ‘global’)

and the local (Nijman 2016, van den Berg 2016, Aust and Nijman 2020,

Swiney 2020). As a result, the urban politics of human rights seem to be

Urban politics and the human rights city 101

reduced to ‘conversations’ taking place ‘within the camps of civil society

and local government’ (Grigolo 2019, p. 98), including interactions with

supranational actors, such as UN organisations and human rights

treaty bodies. Surprisingly, the dynamics between local governments

and higher levels of state power – especially central governments – have

remained in the periphery of HRC analyses, although a number of schol-

ars have pinpointed their direct relevance to HRC experiences (Smith

2017, Baumgärtel and Oomen 2019, Roodenburg 2019). In essence, while

the HRC literature has acknowledged the importance of urban politics,

it has not fully accounted for their multi-level character.

Importantly, the lack of scrutiny in relation to the role of dierent

levels of government in shaping HRCs’ experiences can aect one’s

conclusions. A closer look at analyses that use as a starting point the

relationship between the city and the state, rather than the city and the

‘global’, helps clarify this point. The study of Hirschl (2020) on the sec-

ondary – and often inexistent – constitutional status of cities, provides a

good example. While HRC research paints a genuinely optimistic picture

about the potential of cities to strengthen global urban justice through

direct engagement with human rights (Oomen et al. 2016), Hirschl puts

forward a number of examples that highlight the discrepancy between

aspirations and reality in HRCs. In Sao Paolo, for instance, which has

institutionalised human rights through the establishment of a large

Municipal Secretariat for Human Rights and Citizenship, the dierence

in life expectancy in neighbourhoods that are less than 10 miles away

from each other is almost 24 years (Hirschl 2020, p. 213). This arguably

raises questions pertaining to local residents’ right to life. In the city of

New York – a classic example of a HRC (Grigolo 2019) – Manhattan

is ‘the second most unequal county in the United States, with the top

1% earning 113 times the average income of the bottom 99% families’

(Hirschl 2020, p. 209). In short, Hirschl argues that cities cannot cope

with such exacerbating levels of inequality and socio-economic exclu-

sion on their territory, because they overwhelmingly lack constitutional

standing and ability to generate own resources. Self-designating as a

HRC may help raise public awareness about human rights commitments,

but it does little to nothing to advance in practice the progressive agendas

of some local authorities.

My argument, therefore, is that studies on the role of urban politics

in HRCs need to address more critically the relationship between dier-

ent levels of government within the state, and between the local and the

national level in particular. HRCs – just as cities in general – are verti-

cally and horizontally nested, with power being dispersed among pub-

lic, private and civil society actors from all levels (Kübler and Pagano

2012, Fernandez-Wul and Yap 2020, Kaufmann and Sidney 2020).

The invocation of human rights at the local level – especially when

local governments are the protagonists in such initiatives – often aims

102 Tihomir Sabchev

at challenging the authority of upper level governments over controver-

sial issues, such as the rights of undocumented immigrants (Baumgärtel

and Oomen 2019, Roodenburg 2019). Such intergovernmental disputes

undoubtedly make part of the urban politics of human rights, and can

possibly shape the HRC to a greater extent than other interactions with

local civil society or with actors from the international level. For better

or worse, HRCs exist in multi-level systems of governance, and decisions

taken at higher levels can have a profound eect on them (Sellers 2005,

Kübler and Pagano 2012). Changes put forward by national governments

provide both opportunities and constraints to HRCs, especially when

such changes relate to the allocation of competences and/or resources in

domains that HRCs have prioritised as part of their human rights agen-

das. Ultimately, overlooking the central state and the (re-)actions of its

executive means overlooking the main guarantor, and at the same time,

the main violator of human rights (Nash 2015, pp. 41–66).

In addition, intergovernmental disputes can be the very reason for

invoking international human rights in the rst place, prior to any subse-

quent human rights city-branding exercises. Grigolo, for example, notes

that cities with progressive culture and orientation can invoke human

rights, in order to ‘challenge and modify’ state practices, using human

rights’ ‘higher, morally superior status’ (Grigolo 2019, p. 10). In a similar

vein, Kaufman and Ward conclude their brief comment on human rights

implementation in the United States with the observation that subna-

tional actors and human rights lawyers/advocates must ‘ensure that local

progress is sustained and replicated wherever harmful laws and policies

surface’ (2017, p. 11). Therefore, local human rights policies and prac-

tices – or in other words, the manifestations of urban politics of human

rights – are not necessarily the aftereect of becoming a HRC. On the

contrary, they can be instruments that local governments use to address

the eect of changes adopted at higher levels of government, and hence

a precursor of a transition from an ‘ordinary’ to a HRC.

Lastly, if an intergovernmental conict is the cause for becoming a

HRC, rather than being just a catalyser for it, then one can argue that

human rights are ultimately instrumentalised as ‘means towards an end’

(Oberleitner and Starl 2020, p. 178). The logic behind such an instrumen-

tal use is not our municipal policies must t the framework of interna-

tional human rights law because we have direct responsibilities under it,

or because local civil society urges us to do so, but rather the human rights

framework serves perfectly our policy (i.e., political) goals. One example

in support of this interpretation of HRCs is the ‘revision’ of municipal

rights charters in line with local government priorities, like in the case

of Montreal (Frate 2016). Another example is the fact that changes in

local political leadership can lead to stagnation of HRC initiatives, like

in the cases of Graz (Starl 2017) or Barcelona (Grigolo 2019). Therefore,

in the context of confrontations with higher levels of government, local

Urban politics and the human rights city 103

authorities may be using human rights law and norms to do ‘politics by

other means’ (Wilson 2007). This raises the question: are HRCs ‘a prom-

ising vehicle for making rights a reality’ (van den Berg 2017, p. 49) in all

circumstances, or in some cases international human rights can rather be

the vehicle for making local political visions a reality?

To sum up, the analytic lens of urban politics and governance in HRCs

cannot be conned to interactions between local authorities, local civil

society and supranational institutions and actors. It is imperative that it

also reects on the nested character of cities within national systems of

intergovernmental relations, which can generate incentives, opportuni-

ties and constraints for the localisation of human rights. Based on such

multi-level understanding of urban politics, I turn now to the analysis of

Bologna’s transition into a human rights city, with a particular focus on

the role of the dynamics between national and subnational authorities in

this process.

Urban Politics and Human Rights Localisation in Bologna

To explore the role of multi-level urban politics in the way in which

human rights were invoked, negotiated and implemented in Bologna,

I use evidence from an extensive desk research and a two-month eld

research (December 2019 to January 2020) conducted in the context of

the ‘Cities of Refuge’ project.2 The former comprised of reviewing munic-

ipal, regional and national legislation, policies, ordinances and reports in

the eld of migration/human rights, local media sources and secondary

academic literature. The latter included participant observation (events

organis ed by the municip ality/civil so ciety) and seventeen s emi- str uctured

interviews with local, regional and central government ocials, as well

as representatives of the local civil society and an international organisa-

tion in Bologna (Table 5.1).

Bologna is the capital and the largest city of the Italian Region of

Emilia-Romagna. It has a strong ‘red’ political tradition and a long his-

tory of social movements (Parker 1992). Since the Second World War a

left/centre-left political majority has been governing the city with almost

no interruption, which makes Bologna ‘the traditional showcase city of

the Italian Left’ (Però 2005, p. 835). In addition, the local civil society has

been at the forefront of the Italian emancipatory movements for LGBT

rights and women’s rights (Hajek 2014).

When it comes to local policies and mobilisations promoting migrants’

rights in particular, Bologna has been again a protagonist in the Italian

context (Caponio 2006).3 To give an example, the municipality intro-

duced measures to facilitate the access of locally residing immigrants

to adequate housing and other services already in 1989. For the design

and implementation of its policies at the time, the local government col-

laborated closely with labour unions and to a lesser extent with migrant

104 Tihomir Sabchev

associations (Caponio 2005). Since 2004, the municipality has been also

participating in the national Protection System for Refugees and Asylum

Seekers (SPRAR). As a result, it has been permanently involved in the

reception and integration of forced migrants in close collaboration with

local social cooperatives. At present, Emilia-Romagna is the Italian

region with the highest share of non-EU immigrants in the population

(12.3%), while Bologna is the city hosting the highest number of asylum

seekers and refugees in the region (Osservatorio Regionale sul Fenomeno

Migratorio di Emilia-Romagna 2020).

While the reception and integration initiatives promoting the ful-

lment of immigrants’ socio-economic rights date back to the 1980s,

Table 5.1 List of interviews

ID Location Date Interviewee Language

B1 Bologna 18 December 2019 Two representatives of the

municipal administration Italian

B2 Bologna 19 December 2019 Representative of the

municipal administration Italian

B3 Bologna 9 January 2020 Representative of the

municipal administration Italian

B4 Bologna 10 January 2020 Four representatives of a local

NGO English

B5 Bologna 15 January 2020 Two representatives of the

municipal administration and

one representative of a local

NGO

Italian

B6 Bologna 15 January 2020 Two representatives of a local

NGO Italian

B7 Bologna 16 January 2020 Representative of a local NGO Italian

B8 Bologna 17 January 2020 Three representatives of a local

NGO Italian

B9 Bologna 20 January 2020 Representative of a local NGO Italian

B10 Bologna 22 January 2020 Representative of the

municipal administration Italian

B11 Bologna 23 January 2020 Representative of the regional

administration

(Emilia-Romagna)

Italian

B12 Bologna 24 January 2020 Representative of an

international organisation Italian

B13 Bologna 27 January 2020 Representative of the

municipal administration Italian

B14 Bologna 29 January 2020 Deputy-mayor, municipality of

Bologna Italian

B15 Bologna 29 January 2020 Representative of a local NGO Italian

B16 Bologna 30 January 2020 Representative of the Italian

Ministry of Interior Italian

B17 Bologna 30 January 2020 Professor at the University of

Bologna Italian

Urban politics and the human rights city 105

Bologna’s explicit engagement with international human rights in this

policy domain emerged only in the beginning of the 2000s. The initial

impetus for the ‘localisation’ of human rights came from the regional,

rather than the local authorities. In 2004, the left-wing government of

Emilia-Romagna adopted Regional Law n.5/2004 ‘On the social inte-

gration of immigrants’, which was one of the rst regional legislations

of its kind in the country. The then legislator chose to refer explic-

itly to human rights at several points. More concretely, Article 1(1)

describes the regional law as ‘inspired by the principles and values’ of

the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) and the Charter

of Fundamental Rights of the European Union (CFREU). Surprising as

it may seem, inspiration was drawn also from the European Charter for

Safeguarding of Human Rights in the City – a ‘Charter’ that is often cited

in the HRC literature, and that arguably has more symbolic than legal

value (Garcia-Chueca 2016, Grigolo 2019). Lastly, in addition to these

rather general references, in Article 9 (2) the legislator also used specif-

ically Article 21 of CFREU as the basis for the creation of a Regional

Anti-Discrimination Centre.

How can one explain this uncommon at the time use of human

rights instruments in subnational legislation on immigrant integration?

According to a participant in the legislative process, the aforementioned

regional law was ‘a political response to the so-called Bossi-Fini law’

(B11), which was adopted in 2002 by Italy’s centre-right government.

While Bossi-Fini’s nal draft (Law 189/2002 ‘Changes in Regulations on

the Matter of Immigration and Asylum’) was far less radical than the

initial bill prepared by politicians from the right-wing anti-immigrant

parties National Alliance and Lega Nord, it still included a notable shift

towards more restrictive and punitive approach to immigration (Zincone

2011). The Bossi-Fini law promoted a certain ‘cultural and political

idea’, according to which immigration should be governed through ‘con-

trol and sanctions’ (B11). On the contrary, Emilia-Romagna’s left-wing

government perceived immigration as a ‘structural phenomenon’, an

‘opportunity’ and a ‘strategic resource for the future’ (B11). It wanted to

emphasise the ‘equal rights and equal duties’ of locally residing immi-

grants, and therefore sought instruments that would provide the basis

for the adoption of more inclusive policies (B11). Such an approach was

also needed to respond to the increasing presence of asylum seekers

in the region, many of whom had been excluded from locally provided

services. Therefore, the ideological conict between the Italian left and

right within the domain of immigration (Zincone 2011) ultimately led to

the explicit referral to international human rights in Emilia-Romagna’s

regional legislation on immigrant integration. Shortly after, the national

government challenged the constitutional legitimacy of the entire text of

the regional law, but the Constitutional Court declared the appeal inad-

missible and unfounded (Sentenza n.300/2005).

106 Tihomir Sabchev

In the meanwhile, international human rights started slowly appearing

on the agenda of the municipality of Bologna as well. In December 2004,

the city became one of the founding members of the European Coalition

of Cities Against Racism initiative (ECCAR), launched by the United

Nations Educational, Scientic and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO)

(Comune di Bologna 2008). As per its Statute, one of the main goals of

ECCAR is ghting discrimination at the local level and contributing to

the ‘protection and promotion of human rights’ (ECCAR 2007). In addi-

tion, in 2005, the municipality also became signatory of the aforemen-

tioned European Charter for Safeguarding of Human Rights in the City

(Comune di Bologna 2005).

The real breakthrough, however, came a few years later, when the

municipality implemented an EU-funded project called ‘Awareness

on migration, development and human rights through local partner-

ships’ (AMITIE) together with local civil society partners and the

University of Bologna. The project included a 50-hour training in

human rights for public ocials, setting the foundations for the sub-

sequent adoption of a human rights-based approach in local migra-

tion policy-making (B1, B2). The underlying logic to the use of human

rights in local-level migration governance is well illustrated in the

AMITIE nal report:

… with migrants portrayed as a burden to receiving societies, and

even as criminals, the issue of human rights is still neglected. This

disregard is particularly acute when migration is considered as a part

of the national security agenda, and when referring to those migrants

who have crossed the border through irregular channels.

(Gozzi et al. 2011, p. 14)

The project report juxtaposes the local emphasis on human rights with

an ‘aggressive media and government discourse against migrants’ and a

recent national legislation (Law n. 94/2009 ‘Provisions on public safety’)

related to a long list of ‘discriminatory and worrying measures’ (Gozzi

et al. 2011, p. 27), as well as ‘possible human rights violations in policies

and practices’ (p. 29). The specic law, known as the ‘Security Package’,

raised concerns about its compatibility with both EU law and interna-

tional human rights law (Maccanico 2009), and was again adopted by

a centre-right coalition that included the anti-immigrant Lega Nord.

Contrary to the security-oriented logic of the Security Package, the

AMITIE project foregrounded human rights as legal obligations, as an

‘idea’ that had played a central role in struggles for justice (Gozzi et al.

2011, p. 14), and as a remedy for problems in migration governance. The

human rights-based approach in local migration policy-making was pre-

sented as a framework that empowers immigrants and facilitates their

integration and participation into local societies (pp. 17–23).

Urban politics and the human rights city 107

In 2011, Bologna’s local government demonstrated its commitment

to institutionalising and consolidating its local human rights approach

by establishing an ‘Oce for Cooperation and Human Rights’ (later

renamed into ‘New Citizenship, Cooperation and Human Rights’) (B14).

The oce made part of the municipal department overseeing issues of

migrant inclusion, integration, human tracking and partially recep-

tion of asylum seekers and refugees (B1). Importantly, it was run by an

employee with human rights education and experience in an international

humanitarian organisation, who started working closely with the munici-

pal social services (B2). While this employee initiated the aforementioned

AMITIE project and undoubtedly played a central role in the bottom-up

diusion of the human rights language within the administration, the

stance of the local political leadership was also crucial. More specically,

the deputy mayor in charge for international relations – who was also

vice-president of the ECCAR at the time – strongly supported the further

engagement of the city with human rights, both discursively and in prac-

tice. In addition, in the beginning of his second term in 2016, Bologna’s

mayor Virginio Merola appointed a ‘rights’ deputy mayor, whose man-

date included anti-discrimination, equal opportunities, gender equality

and LGBT rights, as well as the supervision of the municipal human

rights oce (B2, B14).

In this context, the municipality of Bologna started translating the

abstract international human rights into concrete local policies and prac-

tice s in the area of rec eption and integ ration of immig rants. Buildi ng upon

its experience from the AMITIE project, the municipality was awarded

a second EU-grant in the framework of a new transnational partnership

under the name AMITIE CODE (Capitalising on Development), which

again involved sub-national public authorities and NGOs. This project

was coordinated by Bologna’s human rights oce and aimed at ‘raising

awareness among citizens in general and some key groups in particular

about the human rights of migrants’, while also leaving a ‘practical and

concrete mark’ (Fresa et al. 2018, p. 127). As a result, a number of local

initiatives were implemented with the objective of improving service

delivery, eliminating discriminatory barriers in municipal regulations

and services, strengthening social cohesion and fostering interreligious

dialogue. Examples include human rights trainings for 180 policy makers

and civil servants, as well as for 210 teachers working in the local educa-

tion system, and baseline studies identifying human rights issues in areas

like access to housing and participation of migrants in local community

life (B2).

All these initiatives made part of a four-year ‘Local Action Plan for a

Non-Discriminatory Action towards New Citizens with a Human Rights

Based Approach’, which was ocially approved by the City Council in

September 2017 (Fresa et al. 2018, pp. 143–157). The Local Action Plan

(LAP) was the product of a long participatory process, during which

108 Tihomir Sabchev

representatives of local stakeholders (municipality, regional government,

university, civil society, etc.) identied three concrete rights to focus on:

participation, non-discrimination and well-being (B2). While ‘intended

for the entire population’, the LAP paid particular attention to ‘new citi-

zens, migrant people and communities’, who faced ‘particular diculties

in accessing their rights’ (Fresa et al. 2018, p. 144).

Although a number of concrete measures based on the LAP were

implemented, some aspects of it remained only on paper, due to inter-

nal dynamics within the local administration. For instance, the LAP

foresaw the creation of a Steering Committee composed by department

managers, who would monitor, evaluate and communicate the progress

in embedding the human rights-based approach in local policy-making.

Rather than establishing the Committee, however, the department man-

agers decided that they will discuss the LAP implementation progress at

their regular coordination meetings ‘whenever there is a need for it’ (B2).

Nevertheless, until early 2020 there had been no such discussions. In

addition, the initial draft of the LAP foresaw evaluations of department

managers. Since this was a controversial topic, however, it was rejected

and not included in the nal version of the document. Lastly, other rela-

tively small modications of the LAP were made after consultations with

local civil society actors.

While the municipal administration translated human rights into

concrete policies and practices, Bologna’s political leadership continued

using them in its confrontations with the national level. By the end of

2018, the Italian government – with the leader of the anti-immigrant Lega

Matteo Salvini heading the Ministry of Interior – decided not to sign

the Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration (GCM). In

response to this, the mayors of Bologna and Lampedusa started an initi-

ative called ‘Global Compact in Comune’. Initially, the two municipali-

ties adopted the principles of the GCM through resolutions passed in the

respective City Councils. Subsequently, the two mayors called upon other

Italian mayors to do the same. Instead of reconciling with the approach

of the national government that in their view put the country’s reception

system at risk, they suggested following the path outlined in the GCM,

with respect to international law and human rights (Global Compact

in Comune 2019). Moreover, to facilitate the diusion of the initiative a

draft resolution for the adherence to the principles of the GCM was pre-

pared for other municipalities. In its very beginning, the draft resolution

provided space for the inclusion of references to any statutes, charters,

resolutions or other documents that demonstrate the commitment of the

respective municipality with human rights and anti-discrimination.4

Lastly, Bologna also ‘discovered’ the utility of human rights law as

a counterforce to restrictive changes in national legislation in relation

to migrants’ rights. In 2018, the so-called ‘Salvini Decree’ (Decree-Law

113/2018), along with a subsequent circular of the Minister of Interior, put

Urban politics and the human rights city 109

a halt on the local registration of asylum seekers. This eectively limited

their access to several rights, such as signing a work contract, opening a

bank account, and obtaining a driving licence. In response, the munic-

ipal leadership noted that the municipality will protect the rights of all

locally residing immigrants through a path of ‘responsibility and not of

civil disobedience’ (Bologna Cares 2018), or in other words, trying to

‘change things from inside’ (B14). Soon after, the municipality started

rejecting the local registration of asylum seekers in line with the national

law, being well aware that a local civil society organisation is preparing

an appeal against the mayor for this decision. When the case reached

Bologna’s Civil Court, rather than objecting the appeal the municipal

lawyers briey noted that the mayor had simply applied the national

legislation (B14). In her adjudication, the judge noted that according to

Article 117 of the Italian Constitution, the legislative power of the state

should be exercised within the constraints of EU and international legal

obligations. More specically, she referred to Article 12 of the ICCPR

and Article 2 of Protocol n.4 of the European Convention of on Human

Rights (ECHR), both of them providing every person legally present on

a signatory state’s territory the right to freely choose his/her place of res-

idence. Importantly, her interpretation of the Decree’s provisions went

way beyond the concrete individual case. Consequently, when the court

decision ultimately ordered Bologna’s mayor to register the applicant,

the municipality – based on the judge’s broader interpretation – started

registering all locally residing asylum seekers. Furthermore, the munic-

ipal sta contacted the asylum seekers who had seen their applications

rejected in the previous months in order to register them as well. Bolog na’s

mayor immediately celebrated the court decision, claiming that it was

‘unjust to deny residence to asylum seekers’ (Merola 2019), while accord-

ing to a local NGO representative ‘legality was restored’ (B7).

Beyond their added value in this landmark court decision, interna-

tional and regional human rights treaties became more important also

for lawyers from local NGOs who provided legal assistance to forced

migrants. With the aforementioned ‘Salvini Decree’ abolishing human-

itarian protection – the most common form of international protection

in Italy at the time – international human rights instruments became

‘the only thing that is left in courts in order to prevent people getting

rejected and entering into illegality’ (B15). While the implementation

of the law had always been problematic in the country and migrants

always faced bureaucratic obstacles depriving them de facto from their

rights, in the last years the content of national law itself had become the

problem. In a response to that, within the local ‘battleground’ for the

rights of forced migrants, lawyers had to invoke directly the obligations

of the Italian State under European and international human rights law

(B15). The specic instruments that they used in this respect were pri-

marily Article 8 (but also Article 3 and Article 6) of the ECHR, as well

110 Tihomir Sabchev

as the provisions of the CFREU, the UN Convention Against Torture

(CAT), the Convention on the Rights of the Child, and the ICCPR.

Discussion

The empirical evidence from Bologna fosters a number of insights into

the multi-level nature of urban politics and their role in the process of

becoming and being a HRC. It conrms the assumption put forward in

‘Human rights cities and the multi-level character of urban politics’ sec-

tion above that HRCs are horizontally and vertically nested instances

of an inherently political phenomenon. In other words, analyses of the

role of urban politics in HRCs ought to account for the dynamics taking

place on the horizontal, as well as on the vertical dimension of urban

governance (Kübler and Pagano 2012). Importantly, Bologna’s case also

shows the relevance of political/ideological conicts between the subna-

tional and the national level of government to why, when and how HRCs

as a distinct form of human rights localisation occur.

On the horizontal dimension, the ‘conversations’ between the mul-

titude of locally operating actors – municipal government, municipal

bureaucracy, NGOs, social cooperatives, educational institutions and so

on – shaped the urban politics of human rights in Bologna. Just as in

many other HRCs (Grigolo 2019, Fernandez-Wul and Yap 2020), this

process was often marked with conicts driven by individual and collec-

tive interests, which inevitably inuenced some of the choices made (e.g.,

which rights to focus on, and how to measure the achieved progress).

Exemplary in this respect is the fact that Bologna’s municipal managers

rejected the establishment of a monitoring mechanism proposed by the

director of the human rights oce. At the same time, however, Bologna’s

example also highlights the importance of local strategic alliances that

represent the consensual side of urban politics of human rights. Such

strategic alliances are arguably the bedrock of HRCs (Graham et al.

2016, Neubeck 2016). They tailor the abstract human rights notions to

the local context and provide answer to the question ‘who deserves what’

in the city. In other words, they promote their understanding of urban

justice redressed in human rights terms (Moyn 2018).

Undoubtedly, the horizontal dimension of urban politics played an

important role in moulding the HRC experience of Bologna (e.g., through

the participatory process that led to the development of the Local Action

Plan). Nevertheless, looking at the interactions on the horizontal level

provides only partial understanding of the process of human rights local-

isation in the city. Bologna’s slow but steady course – from symbolic

engagement with human rights to their institutionalisation and imple-

mentation – was inuenced in several ways by dynamics taking place on

the vertical dimension of urban politics. First, the ideological conict

between the local/regional and the national government in the eld of

Urban politics and the human rights city 111

migration governance provided the reason for the local/regional political

leadership to strategically engage with human rights. In this sense, the

local adoption of human rights cannot be interpreted solely as a proactive

‘downward diusion’ supported by subnational authorities, or ‘grassroots

localisation’ driven by civil society (Goodhart 2019, pp. 147–148). It was at

the same time a reactive instrumentalisation of human rights triggered by

legislative and policy changes at the national level. Second, these conicts

left an imprint on the ‘translation’ of human rights, tailoring them pri-

marily to the needs of locally residing immigrants. Lastly, the closer look

on the vertical dimension of urban politics also reveals its relevance to the

timing of human rights localisation. More specically, changes at higher

levels of government gave impetus to the gradual expansion of Bologna’s

human rights agenda (e.g., the ‘Security Package’ in 2009 and the ‘Salvini

Decree’ in 2018). In sum, the vertical dimension of urban politics played

a determinant role in shaping the entire trajectory of Bologna as a HRC.

Based on this analysis, it becomes evident that horizontal and vertical

relationships worked in conjuncture to produce the HRC of Bologna.

Both of them provided the motivation and energy needed for ‘pulling

human rights back in’ (Baumgärtel and Oomen 2019). The explanation

seems rather simple: regardless of the results of ‘conversations’ on the

horizontal level around the rights of those present in the city, central gov-

ernments retain their ultimate legislative (but also resource-allocating)

authority to impose their own understanding of ‘who deserves what’. For

this reason, negotiations between local governments and civil society

on the content and realisation of city dwellers’ human rights – as well-

intended as they may be – could end up with the reminder that counting

one’s chickens before they hatch can be a risky enterprise with a disap-

pointing outcome. That said, Bologna’s example draws a rather optimis-

tic picture of the potential of human rights to be successfully mobilised

against decisions taken by higher levels of public authority, partially

because of the support received by the local Civil Court.

Viewed through the prism of the broader HRCs literature, Bologna’s

case highlights a common thread in HRCs: a relatively broad local coali-

tion between public and civil society actors advocating for human rights

(despite any internal conicts) and a confrontation with a higher level of

government (predominantly the national) over a contentious issue per-

taining to access to or realisation of rights (migration, austerity meas-

ures, etc.) (Graham et al. 2016, Kaufman and Ward 2017, Smith 2017,

Baumgärtel and Oomen 2019, Roodenburg 2019, see also Chapter 4 in

Hirschl 2020). Consequently, and taking into account the above discus-

sion on the multi-level nature of urban politics, such HRCs can be inter-

preted as a response to a conict between legality and perceived justice,

which is manifested at the local level. In the contemporary world domi-

nated by sovereign states and their central governments, legality is rst

and foremost determined at the national level. In contrast, injustices such

112 Tihomir Sabchev

as limiting someone’s access to basic services, for instance, are directly

experienced at the local level. As ‘perceived’, or in other words socially

constructed, justice here represents the outcome of the inherently polit-

ical process of rights negotiation in the city. Needless to say, the justice

that a local government and its civil society partners seek to deliver could

well be instrumental, rather than principled (Grigolo 2017).

Regardless of the case, when local governments indicate that a con-

crete urban issue represents an instance of imbalance between legality

and justice, they can either remain passive, or seek a remedy. Taking

migration governance as an example, in most cases local governments do

the former and avoid confrontations with higher levels of public author-

ity. Whenever they decide to respond, however, they are faced with a

choice. On the one hand, some of them silently swerve away from the

path of legality and enter ‘grey zones’ of welfare provision (de Graauw

2014, Dobbs et al. 2019). In such cases, local governments and their civil

society partners focus their eorts on de facto delivering the justice they

envision, while keeping o the radar of national authorities as much as

possible (Oomen et al. 2021). A common point of reference in this respect

is the provision of basic services to undocumented people who are not

entitled to them in accordance to national legislation (Delvino 2017,

Spencer 2018). On the other hand, usually more resourceful or ‘brave’

local governments choose the path of open confrontation. To restore

the harmony between legality and justice, they need a counterforce that

simultaneously (i) addresses the legal source of the conict, (ii) provides

practical remedies and (iii) enjoys high levels of legitimacy within and

beyond their constituency. Human rights, with their quality to be simul-

taneously and selectively applied as law, practice and discourse, oer a

toolbox for local governments that serves these three functions.

First, international human rights law can be a powerful strategic asset

for local authorities in ‘uphill battles’ against higher levels of government

(Baumgärtel and Oomen 2019). This is particularly relevant for policy

areas marked by high degree of politicisation, such as the urban migra-

tion governance ‘battleground’ (Ambrosini 2020). The use of human

rights law as a ‘weapon’ in such cases shifts the conict between legality

and justice from the arena of national jurisprudence to the one of legal

pluralism (Baumgärtel and Oomen 2019), thus challenging the legality

side in the equation. It should be noted that the eectiveness of interna-

tional human rights law as a strategic tool of HRCs has been questioned

(Swiney 2020, pp. 233–243, see also Chapter 4 in Hirschl 2020). However,

as the evidence from Bologna demonstrates, it can have an added value

for HRCs, also beyond ‘classic’ cases related to undocumented migrants’

rights (Baumgärtel and Oomen 2019, Roodenburg 2019). Importantly,

the availability of local expertise and the willingness of domestic courts

to use international human rights law (Hostovsky Branders 2019) play

a fundamental role in such endeavours.

Urban politics and the human rights city 113

Second, while using human rights as law usually aims at ending a rights

violation, using human rights as practice facilitates rights promotion and

rights fullment. The function of human rights practice, therefore, is to

address the justice side of the above equation in two ways: by construct-

ing the local idea of justice through human rights education/training, and

by giving this idea shape through policies and practices that enhance the

rights realisation of HRC dwellers, w ith a particular focus on certain social

groups. In this respect, local human rights policies, as Starl has noted, rep-

resent ‘the response to experiences of injustice’ (Starl 2017, p. 57).

Lastly, while the use of human rights as law and practice addresses the

legality-justice equation, the use of human rights as discourse serves to legit-

imise the actions of the alliance behind the HRC. Enjoying high levels of

legitimacy strengthens the public acceptance of one’s policy objectives and

therefore helps advance one’s political agenda. In this context, it should not

come as a surprise that local governments, including the one of Bologna,

choose to employ human rights as a discursive tool. In the end of the day,

human rights are ‘a benchmark for legitimate authority’ (see Introduction in

Goodhart 2016, p. 5), ‘the contemporary language of global justice’ (Nash

2015, p. 172) and a major instrument of civil society organisations that have

sought to reframe normatively and change state policies. In regard to advo-

cacy for forced migrants in particular, human rights is one of the most com-

mon norms promoted by pro- refugee organisations in Europe, because of

their wide acceptance and moral superiority (Schnyder and Shawki 2019).

By ‘tapping into the power of moral-universal norms’ (Schnyder and Shawki

2019, p. 121), local governments can thus present themselves as duty bearers

above politics, whose only purpose for engaging in a conict is to restore

justice (Nash 2015). In sum, the human rights language is a useful tool for

developing discursive legitimation strategies whenever conicts with higher

levels of government over migration issues (and not only) occur.

To recapitulate, applying a multi-level analytic lens to urban politics

revealed the relevance of intergovernmental political/ideological con-

icts to the transformation of Bologna into a HRC. Such conicts seem

common for HRCs. They juxtapose legality, as dened and imposed by

central governments over subordinate public authorities, and justice, as

negotiated and promoted by urban actors. Ultimately, such conicts can

provide a fertile ground for the instrumental use of human rights as law,

practice and discourse in defence of locally constructed notions of jus-

tice, and by extension for the emergence and consolidation of HRCs.

Conclusion

As Smith has pointed out, ‘there is no single pathway to a human rights

city’ (Smith 2017, p. 354). The case of Bologna, likewise, displays a num-

ber of rather unique contextual characteristics. Nevertheless, it shows

that if one does not adequately engage with the role of urban politics

114 Tihomir Sabchev

in general, and of subnational-national relations in particular, one risks

missing a highway towards the HRC. As fascinating as the dialectics

between the global and the local in making the HRC may be, the atten-

tion to them should not come at the expense of overlooking the role of

intergovernmental relations within the state. In this respect, the case of

Bologna demonstrates that a main reason for the aectionate relation-

ship between the local and the global can be the estrangement between

the local and the national in terms of politics. While this case study can-

not serve as a basis for making any broad conclusions or generalisations,

it can serve as a building block in future theory-building on the relevance

of urban politics to the process of becoming and being a HRC.

From an analytical point of view, the case of Bologna highlights the

need to embed the multi-level character of urban politics and govern-

ance fully in HRC analyses. In line with general trends in urban politics

research, accounts of the urban politics of human rights must ‘move

beyond rhetoric about the global-local nexus’ (Sellers 2005, p. 441) and

critically address the consequences of the subordinate status of HRCs

within constitutional frameworks (Hirschl 2020). While nesting such

accounts within larger global trends is undoubtedly insightful (Smith

2017, Grigolo 2019), nesting them within national systems of intergovern-

mental relations is arguably indispensable.

Finally, the instrumentalisation of human rights for re-packing and

advancing local political agendas in migration governance or other areas

brings to the surface important questions to be addressed in future HRC

research. Cities seem to be well-positioned to employ the discursive cap-

ital that human rights have accumulated for advancing their alternative

policy goals. But what if the strong rhetorical commitments to human

rights of local governments and their political leaders ‘come back to

haunt them’ (Greenhill 2010, p. 54)? This consequence of the instrumen-

talisation of human rights is likely to occur sooner or later, since cities

are far from immune to national governments’ direct or indirect inu-

ence over nearly every aspect of urban aairs (Hirschl 2020). Moreover,

it can also make HRCs’ local authorities vulnerable to ‘hypocrisy costs’

in times of crisis (Greenhill 2010) – such as the recent COVID-19 one –

when they can be urged by their local constituencies to provide solutions

to issues that greatly exceed their capacities. Such situations have the

potential to bring cracks within human rights alliances between local

governments and civil society, and by extension jeopardise the future of

some HRCs.

Notes

1 Instead of the term ‘human rights city’, Goodhardt uses the more inclusive

term ‘human rights community’, emphasising in this way the need not to

conate cities with other types of locality (rural, suburban, etc.).

Urban politics and the human rights city 115

2 ‘Cities of Refuge’ is a 5-year research project funded by the Netherlands

Organization for Scientic Research that explores and explicates the

relevance of international human rights as law, praxis and discourse, to

how local governments in Europe welcome and integrate refugees (See

https://citiesofrefuge.eu/).

3 It should be acknowledged that several scholars have critically reviewed

the reception and integration policies of Bologna’s left-wing governments,

highlighting also their paternalistic and exclusionary side (see Però, D.

2005. Left-wing Politics, Civil Society and Immigration in Italy: The Case

of Bologna. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 28, 832–858.; also Cappiali, T. 2017.

‘Whoever Decides for you Without you, S/He is Against you!’: Immigrant

Activism and the Role of the Left in Political Racialization. Ibid. 40,

969–987.)

4 See https://globalcompactincomunehome.les.wordpress.com/2019/06/

schema-di-delibera-per-ladesione-ai-principi-del-global-compact-for-

migration-1.pdf [Accessed 28 February 2021]

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-8

Introduction

Human rights are at a crossroads – or so it is often claimed. For scep-

tics, although human rights have helped advance equality and dignity in

much of the world, the ideals, principles and mechanisms of human rights

are ill-equipped to eectively deal with extractive neo-liberal capitalism,

and may have even supported and deepened its disastrous consequences

(Moyn, 2018; Whyte, 2019). Unable to alter social power structures,

human rights would arguably benet upper- and middle-classes while

only oering vague promises to impoverished communities (Gordon,

1998; Landau, 2012; Douzinas, 2013). Scholars faithful to the human

rights project have exposed the crucial role of social movements and civil

society in countering such views of ineective human rights (Rajagopal,

2003; White and Perelman, 2010; Sikkink, 2017; De Búrca, 2021), yet

direct engagement with sceptical human rights literature remains rare.

This chapter addresses the question of what, precisely, urban actors and

urban policy dynamics can oer in this context: not just a neutral back-

drop to social movement struggles in the city, but indeed a distinct set of

opportunities for more emancipatory views of human rights.

To explore this question, the present chapter focuses on the right to

adequate housing as a discursive frontier where human rights can aid in

the moral and legal ght against the commodication of life (Polanyi,

1944; Fraser, 2014). Countering the sceptical view that human rights

lead to the depoliticisation of civil society (Brown, 1995, p. 98; Whyte,

2019, p. 155), I focus on New York City to show that, even in a coun-

try that internationally opposes any notion of socioeconomic rights, the

language of rights can provide an eective vehicle for agency and social

mobilisation (cf. Merry et al., 2010), which can in turn repoliticise the

thus-far commodied area of life that is housing.

Beyond minimum protection

The politics of housing

rights in the city

Paula Fernández-Wul *

∗ Scholar in Residence, Center for Human Rights and Global Justice, New York

University School of Law; Senior Advisor and Head of Research and Advocacy,

United Nations Special Rapporteur on extreme poverty and human rights. The views

in this chapter do not necessarily reect those of the United Nations.

Beyond minimum protection 121

Despite their explicit resonance with ideas of social justice, and at

least within the boundaries of the municipality, socioeconomic rights

have remained bound by a State-centric logic of assistance and access

to services or to specic goods, such as water, housing and food. In this

sense, socioeconomic rights are ‘formulated, interpreted, and enforced

by institutions that are embedded in the political, social, and economic

status quo’ (Pieterse, 2007, p. 797), which can in turn hinder their trans-

formative potential. The broader aim of this chapter is to show that

engaging with municipal policy-making spaces and processes can reveal

opportunities for social movements to develop new approaches towards

traditional human rights principles, including accountability and par-

ticipation, and that this, in turn, can point at new avenues for critical

engagement with the ideals and practice of human rights.

This c hapter follows a narrative form to we ave the histor ies of New York

City local housing-related policy victories together with the development

of international law on the right to adequate housing. The chapter shows

that, in the city, it is possible to nd a common ground between the use of

rights discourses and more radical approaches to social justice, in a way

that answers the concerns of the abovementioned sceptics. Specically,

I expose the capacity of social movements to reframe the social justice

issue that is housing into localised rights causes and claims, in a way

that, despite challenges, can be empowering and radical in essence and

approach. I show how social movement activists in New York City have

inuenced the way city and state-level ocials use human rights language

by operating a discursive and policy transformation, shifting the preva-

lent view of housing as a commodity for speculation within a capitalist

market, into housing as a de-commodied basic need. Beyond claiming

minimum protection for this basic need, I contend that activists are also

redening capitalist understandings of property as investment and for

speculation, based in part on the diagnosis and prognosis advanced by

United Nations Special Rapporteurs on adequate housing.

While human rights can provide a unique counter-narrative to prevailing

power imbalances, structural inequality and injustice, experiences from dif-

ferent cities around the world show that translating these ideas into munic-

ipal policy is not an obvious task. One of the reasons behind this is that,

despite identied opportunities, rights-based approaches to local policy

cannot be replicated without the mediation of a democratic, agonistic pro-

cess. Understanding municipal policy spaces as sites of contention over the

denition of socioeconomic rights, my broader research seeks to understand

how, and under what conditions, human rights tools, discourses and ideas

can be transformed in municipal contexts, contributing to the expansion of a

kind of democracy that does not shy away from, but rather thrives in conict.

Framing housing as a human right, in a country where human rights

are a rare language, has provided the radical tone necessary to rally con-

stituents around a common cause, and it has become a framing shared

122 Paula Fernández-Wul

with institutional representatives. This double capacity of housing as

a human right to both mobilise and institutionalise a re-commonied

approach is crucial for ascertaining the possibilities and limitations

oered by human rights discourses in the city.

The chapter proceeds as follows. First, it delves into the approach of

the international human rights system to the right to adequate housing

at the local level, detailing some of the challenges behind translating an

international human right into local realities (Section II, a). It then moves

on to explore the role of the UN Human Rights Council and Special

Rapporteurs on adequate housing in expanding the meaning of the right

to housing in a way that has allowed for its localisation, albeit with mixed

results (Section II, b). The chapter then presents the recent history of hous-

ing in New York City (Section III, a), reects on the role of UN Special

Rapporteurs in reframing the right to housing in the United States (III, b)

and analyses three main policy advancements that have secured new rights

for city inhabitants (III, c). The goal of this Section is to evaluate the unique

characteristics of the vernacular dialogue taking place between the urban

and the international, and whether this dialogue can provide opportuni-

ties for more emancipatory visions of human rights. The chapter concludes

by reecting on these opportunities, both in the context of the right to

housing and in that of socioeconomic rights more generally.

Housing Rights in the City: From Translation

to Discursive Transformation

Much has been said about the history of New York City’s Commission

on Human Rights and its approach to anti-discrimination law (see, e.g.

Merry et al., 2010, pp. 114–118; Grigolo, 2019, pp. 129–132). Although, in

its origins, the right to adequate housing was also primarily focused on

discrimination and, in fact, the full title of the UN Special Rapporteur on

adequate housing is ‘Special Rapporteur on adequate housing as a com-

ponent of the right to an adequate standard of living, and on the right to

non-discrimination in this context’, their work on topics including ine-

quality and the nancialisation of housing has considerably expanded its

meaning beyond discrimination. This section focuses on (a) the evolution

of the right to housing under international human rights law and (b) the

role of UN Special Rapporteurs on adequate housing in expanding its

meaning to encompass structural issues visible in the city.

The Right to Housing and the Role of the State

Under International Human Rights Law

Although the right to housing is explicitly mentioned as part of an ade-

quate standard of living within the International Covenant on Economic,

Social and Cultural Rights (art. 11.1), it was not until 1991 that the

Beyond minimum protection 123

Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (the Committee)

issued its General Comment No. 4, authoritatively explaining its con-

tent and implications. The language of this General Comment is similar

to thatof others at the time – this right is central to other socioeconomic

rights (the principle of interdependence) but, given the tenuous status of the

Committee as a relatively new body of independent experts, it was dened,

as in the case of other socioeconom ic rights, as a right to a minimu m protec-

tion. Although ‘the right to adequate housing applies to everyone’ (para. 6),

and it should not be interpreted as ‘merely having a roof over one’s head’ or

‘exclusively as a commodity’ (para. 7), in practice, the obligation of States

is to ‘demonstrate … that it has taken whatever steps are necessary … to

ascertain the full extent of homelessness and inadequate housing’ (para.

13). The role of ensuring the right to housing is therefore not to prevent,

but to redress when those extreme situations occur. When it can prevent,

the 1991 General Comment only covered violations of individual rights, for

example, forced evictions or discrimination, and not broader, structural

issues. In other words, early conceptions of socioeconomic rights, and

indeed human rights more generally, were limited to post-violation.

This ex post approach of human rights frustrated human rights activ-

ists from the beginning. The role of the State as both the guarantor of the

right to housing and its violator (e.g. by allowing or even being responsi-

ble for forced evictions) does not sit well with the potentially empower-

ing nature of rights-based approaches. Human rights can only be truly

empowering if it can allow activists to demand justice before violations

even occur. For example, in the context of UN Special Procedures (the

collective name for all UN-mandated independent experts), civil society

organisations can ‘seize’ Special Rapporteurs by submitting information

detailing alleged violations, or risks of violations. These submissions

can in turn trigger what is known as ‘communications’, i.e. letters by

UN Special Rapporteurs addressed to governments and private actors

on these issues. Such communications, if timed well, can therefore help

prevent these violations before they take place, for instance, a forced

eviction. However, how eective these communications are in prevent-

ing violations depends on a variety of factors and can certainly be more

frustrating than empowering in their practical impact.

The Committee emphasises in its General Comment No. 4 that the

right to adequate housing ‘should be seen as the right to live somewhere

in security, peace and dignity’ (para. 2) and develops the meaning of

adequacy in para. 8: legal security of tenure, availability of services,

materials, facilities and infrastructure, aordability, habitability, acces-

sibility, location and cultural adequacy. The implementation of the right

to housing at the local level is, however, fraught with challenges, and

some of its principles have been challenged in practice. The concept of

adequacy has, for instance, been contested by social movements push-

ing for the language of dignity instead (Fernandez-Wul and Yap, 2020).

124 Paula Fernández-Wul

These conceptual challenges point at the opportunities and threats that

activists encounter when attempting to use human rights at the local

level, especially in urban contexts.

Even years after critics warned that rights language can be a source of

frustration, given its overpromising character (see, e.g. Gordon, 1998;

Landau, 2012; Douzinas, 2013, p. 63), a question human rights advo-

cates still face is whether human rights as internationally conceived

can be used as a vehicle for justice in the city. In the context of the

right to housing, the COVID-19 pandemic has accelerated an increas-

ing consensus on the idea that the State has an obligation to provide

public services in order to ensure equitable distribution of resources

among members of society with disparate levels of income and wealth.

For example, the Committee’s General Comment No. 24 indicates that

‘[t]he obligation to full requires States parties … in certain cases, to

directly provide goods and services essential to such enjoyment’, and

both the Committee and the Committee on the Rights of the Child have

called for public housing programs in various statements (Jameson and

Aubry, 2020, p. 3).

This emerging common sense around the need for public services that

ensure equal access is the result of a conuence of factors, currently led

by the public health crisis, but where human rights movements have had

a prominent role for the past 20 years. Beyond this crisis, moreover, there

remains the question of whether human rights will continue to be con-

ceived as a matter of last resort (in other words, of minimum protection)

for those who cannot aord the private market, or if human rights can

in fact be understood as a rst-order intervention to ensure protection

for all – with the potential to reverse trends of inequality. The right to

housing, especially when focusing on urban contexts, provides a fertile

ground for examining this question.

Finding the Right to Housing in the City

within International Human Rights

Regardless of who determines the content of local government law,

local policies, including their goals, the funds allocated to their imple-

mentation, and their ultimate outcomes, have a tremendous impact on

the operationalisation of the right to adequate housing, for instance, by

planning fairly, providing infrastructure and avoiding or dealing with

problematic planning outcomes such as racial or socioeconomic segrega-

tion. This section traces the recent history of local governments within

the UN human rights system, with a focus on the right to adequate hous-

ing. It showcases the increasing involvement of this system, including its

Special Procedures, with cities, and the evolving understanding of the

right to housing as a structural diagnosis and prognosis of injustice in

urban contexts.

Beyond minimum protection 125

The rst reference to human rights cities in Human Rights Council res-

olutions can be traced back to 2012 (A/HRC/AC/9/6, pp. 17–18), when the

Advisory Committee requested a rst study be conducted on the topic.

Since 2014, and except for 2017, the Human Rights Council has adopted

resolutions or reports on local governments every year1 – a clear marker

of the increased interest in clarifying the obligations of these State agents.

While the Advisory Committee prepared its rst report, former UN

Special Rapporteur on adequate housing, Leilani Farha, focused her

own rst report on this topic, presenting it to the Human Rights Council

on March 9, 2015 (OHCHR, 2015). In this report, she identied the ‘crit-

ical responsibilities [of local governments] with respect to positive meas-

ures required for the progressive realisation of the right to adequate

housing’ (U.N. Special Rapporteur on adequate housing, 2015a, para. 8).

Although, prior to her report, many international guidelines focusing on

decentrali sation largely ignored the right to housing (see, notably, the 1985

European Charter of Local Self-Government and the 2009 UN-Habitat’s

International guidelines on decentralisation and access to basic services

for all),2 a major shift occurred in how housing was considered within the

context of human rights at the local level.

The early work of Leilani Farha was built on the priorities of the pre-

vious UN Special Rapporteur on adequate housing, Raquel Rolnik,

towards the end of her own mandate. Notably, the last thematic report

of Rolnik focused on the ten Guiding Principles on security of tenure for

the urban poor (A/HRC/25/5), in which her understanding of the right to

housing was clear:

… [T]he concept of ‘adequate’ housing is not restricted to the right

to a house. It is not a matter of having a place with a roof and four

walls, but a stake in the territory which can serve as a base for access-

ing other rights: the right to education, the right to health, the right

to protection, the right to freedom of expression, the right to non-

discrimination. It is, in short, the right to the city, to the urban space.

(Conectas Human Rights, 2014)

Farha took the baton of Rolnik’s approach as an opportunity to follow

up on this line of work (A/69/274, para. 10), noting in her rst thematic

report to the UN General Assembly that:

The growing gap between the norms and standards that have been

developed internationally and the realities of systemic homelessness,

substandard housing conditions, unaordable rentals and lack of

access to adequate housing suggests to the Special Rapporteur a cri-

sis of commitment to or understanding of eective implementation

of the right to adequate housing.

(U.N. Special Rapporteur on adequate housing, 2014, para. 19)

126 Paula Fernández-Wul

Under this practical focus on implementation, four of the six priorities

she stated for her mandate had a distinct urban, or at least subnational,

angle (paras. 60–89).

Shortly after the adoption of the Sustainable Development Goals, in

November 2015, the Special Rapporteur coined the term ‘Urban Rights

Agenda’. Dened as an agenda ‘[b]ridging aordability, sustainability

and liveability and charting a common path for States to follow, … it

will require a shift in priorities, and in the allocation of resources,and

the recognition of all members of society as legitimate participants in the

decision-making process, including those who are marginalized’ (U.N.

Special Rapporteur on adequate housing, 2015b).

Farha’s second report on the implementation of the ‘new urban agenda’

(A/70/270), together with her participation in Habitat III, represented

a key discursive turning point. Whereas, until then, much of the right

to housing doctrine had a marked focus on extreme situations, such as

homelessness, forced evictions or informal settlements, the work of the

Special Rapporteur rmly positioned the right to housing within cities

as a human right within larger trends of worldwide structural inequality,

speculation, decits of accountability, and privatisation:

International human rights law doesn’t provide a prescription as to

what percentage of income should be spent on housing costs. But

under IHRL the right to housing implies that aordability will not

only be answered through the development of social housing – which

is all too often how it characterized [sic]. It is equally about ensuring

the rules of the market conform with international human rights law.

(U.N. Special Rapporteur on adequate housing, 2015b)

Together with her work on the nancialisation of housing, this discursive

transformation made the right to housing more responsive to structural

problems and, I would argue, allowed civil society groups to tie their own

local housing struggles to an international right to housing framework

no longer anchored in national governments alone.3

These ideas coalesced, together with the UCLG Committee on Social

Inclusion, Participatory Democracy and Human Rights, into Habitat

III in 2016, eventually leading to the ‘Cities for Adequate Housing’

Declaration in July 16, 2018 (Cities for Adequate Housing, 2018), which

New York City joined in April 2019.

This ‘localisation’ of the right to adequate housing has had mixed

eects. As I show in the next section, on the one hand, activists in New

York City secured major legal and policy victories relying on a ‘hous-

ing is a human right’ framing with the support of the New York City

Bar Association and various law-focused grassroots organisations. On

the other hand, however, after the visit of Raquel Rolnik to the United

States in 2009, and particularly after the ascent of the right wing to the

Beyond minimum protection 127

federal government, opportunities rmly rooted on international human

rights have been arguably limited to path-dependent gains and have not

necessarily led to the structural change that human rights embody.

Housing Rights in New York City

This section analyses, on the one hand, the tensions arising from a local

administration tasked with upholding anti-discrimination laws that

nonetheless believes that ‘housing is about dignity’;4 and, on the other,

the role of civil society and social movement organisations in pushing for

a policy and discursive shift in city ocials by simultaneously relying on

New York City’s various rights-based housing protection tools and on

the work of UN Special Rapporteurs on adequate housing.

Specically, the section looks into the recent history of New York City

in what relates both to housing as an area of municipal public policy and

to housing activists in their eort to push for change in the city (a). It then

turns to explore the role of the two former UN Special Rapporteurs on

adequate housing, Raquel Rolnik and Leilani Farha, in opening space

for a more structural diagnosis of and prognosis for the right to adequate

housing (b). The section ends with an analysis of three key victories for

housing activists in New York City and how they relate to the interna-

tional understanding of the right to adequate housing (c).

Here, I am less interested in tracing the direction of the inuence (from

the international to the local or vice versa), and more in identifying how

the international human rights system can transform understandings of

socioeconomic rights in a way that creates conceptual openings for social

movements in the city. This may, in turn, allow them to exert increased

power to promote a particular vision of justice, which has been found

to be the determining factor in the success or failure of their strategies

(Grigolo, 2016, p. 288).

A Short History of Housing Policy in New York City

The history of New York City’s relationship to housing, as in most other

cities, is one fraught with contradiction. With its rst housing policies

designed in the aftermath of the Great Depression and the creation of New

York City Housing Authority in 1934, the city struggled to provide decent

housing to the millions of immigrants that arrived at its shores each year.

The decade of the 1970s marked a turning point towards austerity in

the city. New York City was on the brink of default as a result, among

other reasons, of massive corporate bankruptcies and the refusal by

President Ford to provide federal help to the city. Some saw the scal

crisis that ensued as a ‘punishment’ for what during the 1960s had been

seen as ‘unnecessary extravagances’, including a network of municipal

public hospitals, subsidised and public housing, a free public university

128 Paula Fernández-Wul

(the City University of New York, CUNY), public libraries, aordable

subway fares and culture at low prices (Phillips-Fein, 2017).

These socially liberal policies, driven by the city’s powerful unions,

had led – together with the exodus of white middle-class families to the

suburbs and a local tax system ill-designed to keep up with the level of

expenses – to high debt levels that, by the 1973 recession, the decreas-

ing number of city lenders became reluctant to renance (Freeman,

2014). Even after a series of major legislative changes, including declar-

ing massive lay-os and wage freezes in the public sector, increasing

subway fares and charging tuition at CUNY, and after providing tax

breaks and subsidies to business groups and real estate corporations

(Phillips-Fein, 2017, p. 49), the city was unable to nd money to pay

back its lenders.

As a result, New York State passed a state law creating an Emergency

Financial Control Board that would monitor the city’s nances with a

view to achieving a balanced budget by 1978 – a Board composed by

four public ocials, but also three private citizens directly appointed by

the state Governor, including the then president of American Airlines

and the president of a major rearms manufacturer (Phillips-Fein, 2017,

p. 269). The public-private composition of this Board and its ability to

monitor the city’s nances remain, to this day, intact, albeit with a better

balance of interests and better accountability by the state legislature

since 2008 (New York State Financial Control Board, 2020). A simulta-

neous phenomenon started during this regressive decade: the rst resi-

dential mortgage-backed securities were also produced then, which in

turn led to the subprime crisis of 2008 (Sassen, 2012) and which are at the

heart of the impact of the nascent nancialisation of capitalism on the

housing sector.

The 1970s were also the beginning of many housing rights movements

in New York City. The ‘white ight’ phenomenon (referring to the gov-

ernment abandonment of urban centres, restrictive zoning and parallel

tax incentives to suburbs resulting in urban decay as white inhabitants

left the city) arguably gave rise to stronger organising in the face of

the deteriorating urban fabric. Squatter rights movements including

the ‘Operation Move-In’, supported by the tenant rights organisation

Metropolitan Council on Housing (cf. Muzio, 2009), worked against

Mayors Lindsay and then Koch’s clearance of tenements and for the reno-

vation of decrepit public housing units.5 Church-based associations, civil

rights and anti-war movement activists and many organisations led by

age, class and racially diverse women (Gold, 2009), created a broad spec-

trum of tenant organising that, by 1973, was composed of an estimated

83 organisations (Lawson, 1986).

Finding aordable housing during the 1970s and 80s, when unemploy-

ment had soared, became gradually more dicult and led to a 5-fold

increase in the numbers of sheltered houseless individuals between 1980

Beyond minimum protection 129

and 1987 (U.S. General Accounting Oce, 1985, p. 12). This increase in

the number of sheltered people, though appalling in itself, was largely

the result of strategic litigation brought about by the co-founder of the

Coalition for the Homeless – the US’s oldest homelessness organisation –

in the form of a class action lawsuit that ultimately led to the creation of

a unique ‘right to shelter’ framework in New York City.

This lawsuit was premised on Article XVII, Section 1, of the New

York State Constitution, which states that ‘[t]he aid, care and support

of the needy are public concerns and shall be provided by the state’.

This progressive phrasing, assigning a direct responsibility to public

administrations for the support of those in need, would surprise many

today. Based on this Article, in 1981, the Callahan v. Careycase was

settled through the establishment of a right to shelter for all homeless

men and an obligation for the city to maintain basic health and safety

standards in shelters. The ruling, followed by Eldredge v. Koch guaran-

teeing this right for homeless women as well, has been fought against

by the City, upheld and expanded by courts since then (Coalition for the

Homeless, 2020).

The Role of UN Special Rapporteurs in Reframing

the Right to Housing in the United States

At the time that this was happening, there was no global housing

movement, and the ‘right to adequate housing’ was not yet a full-edged

human right per se. Although Article 25 of the Universal Declaration

of Human Rights containing ‘the right to a standard of living adequate

for the health and well-being of himself and of his family, including …

housing’ h ad been sign ed (and argu ably drafted , given Eleanor Roosevelt’s

involvement in the drafting Commission) by the United States already

in 1948, the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural

Rights was not adopted by the General Assembly until 1966, with the

United States signing it in 1977 but not ever ratifying it.6

As of June 2021, the United States is one of only two countries (with

Israel) in the UN Western European and Others Group (WEOG) that

has not extended a standing invitation to Special Rapporteurs (OHCHR,

2020b). In fact, the role of Special Rapporteurs has long been viewed

with suspicion by the US federal government, as can be most recently

seen in the rst report of the so-called ‘Commission on Inalienable

Rights’:

… [T]he widespread proliferation of non-legal standards — drawn

up by commissions and committees, bodies of independent experts,

NGOs, special rapporteurs, etc., with scant democratic oversight —

gives rise to serious concerns. These sorts of claims frequently priv-

ilege the participation of self-appointed elites, lack widespread

130 Paula Fernández-Wul

democratic support, and fail to benet from the give-and-take of

negotiated provisions among the nation-states that would be subject

to them. (Commission on Unalienable Rights, 2020, p. 41)

Yet this unfortunate attitude has not prevented the federal govern-

ment from extending – albeit surely reluctantly – ad hoc invitations

to mandates of Special Rapporteurs with a direct impact on housing,

including that on adequate housing, Raquel Rolnik, in 2009. The visit

was widely covered by civil society and the media (Coalition for the

Homeless, 2009; More Than a Roof, 2009; Sheptock, 2009; Smith,

2009), and led to a reporting documentary detailing the testimonies

provided during the visit (Campaign to Restore National Housing

Rights, Housing is a Human Right and National Economic and Social

Rights Initiative, 2009).

This visit, the rst-ever of the housing mandate to the United States,

was largely organised by the National Law Center on Homelessness and

Poverty and by the then National Economic and Social Rights Initiative

(NESRI, now Partners for Dignity & Rights), together with over 100

grassroots organisations in the cities that the Rapporteur visited. New

York City was the rst stop of her visit, where she sought to ‘open a dia-

logue, open a movement towards the achievement and implementation

of the right to adequate housing … More important [than the content of

my nal report] is what is going on here’ (Campaign to Restore National

Housing Rights, Housing is a Human Right and National Economic and

Social Rights Initiative, 2009).

Public housing, homelessness and unaordability were issues brought

to the centre of her visit by grassroots organisations – with the under-

standing that the r ight to adequate housing, together with its interconnec-

tions with other socioeconomic rights such as education and healthcare,

can tie all of those issues together (Reicher, 2009).

Although the following Special Rapporteur, Leilani Farha (2014–

2020), did not visit the United States again, advocacy on the right to

housing continued beyond Raquel Rolnik’s ocial visit. For example, in

an unheard-of move for Special Rapporteurs, Leilani Farha and the then

Special Rapporteur on the right to safe drinking water and sanitation,

Catarina de Albuquerque, undertook a three-day visit without an ocial

invitation by the US government to the city of Detroit in October 2014.

The visit took place four months after an allegation letter was sent to the

United States detailing the excessive costs of water services in the city

(Allegation Letter USA 9/2014, 2014), to which the United States unsur-

prisingly replied denying legal recognition of the right to water (U.S.

Response, 2014), but which did not detail whether it had consulted with

the state or city governments concerning the allegations (U.N. Special

Rapporteur on adequate housing, 2015a, para. 39).

Beyond minimum protection 131

The strategic importance of this visit cannot be understated. Country

visits are typically requested by Special Rapporteurs and must receive an

ocial invitation by the host national government before such trip can

be ocially approved by the Oce of the High Commissioner for Human

Rights (OHCHR), which acts as the Secretariat for all mandate- holders

and holds the ultimate decision on whether these visits are granted o-

cial funding. Instead, this informal visit took place at the invitation of

civil society organisations (U.N. Special Rapporteur on adequate hous-

ing and U.N. Special Rapporteur on the right to water and sanitation,

2014), a procedure that, although presumably not forbidden by the

OHCHR, is not an endorsed format and, as such, it did not lead to an

ocial presentation to the corresponding Human Rights Council session

of 2015, nor has it been ever included on OHCHR’s website under the

Rapporteur’s ocial visits (see OHCHR, 2020a).

New York’s Housing Activism and the International

Human Right to Housing

The continued engagement of these organisations working on homeless-

ness and poverty has kept them motivated to use the right to adequate

housing, not simply as a banner, but importantly as a source of account-

ability (Tars, 2016), and for the New York City Bar Association to

recommend that:

[until] the United States … ratif[ies] and execute[s] the ICESCR …

government actors [should] draw on the comprehensive approach to

the right to housing under international human rights law in order to

alleviate some of the issues that plague access to adequate housing.

(New York City Bar Association, 2016)

Three major victories for grassroots organisations can be highlighted

here.

First, in 2008, and after signicant pressure from housing move-

ments, the New York City Human Rights Law was amended to pro-

hibit housing discrimination based on source of income; this includes,

for instance, landlords refusing to rent to tenants who would pay rent

using housing government assistance (NYC Human Rights Commission,

2020). More moderate gains have also been attained for individuals with

criminal records applying for public housing, who may now be eligible

under certain circumstances (National Law Center on Homelessness &

Poverty, 2011, p. 67; The Bronx Defenders, 2015, pp. 69–77). Although

many issues remain – including ‘steering’ (buyers of certain races

being directed towards neighbourhoods occupied mainly by people of

the same race); nancing and predatory lending; diverting tax credits

away from low-income housing programs towards home mortgages and

the overall transition to rent vouchers (known as Section 8 vouchers)

132 Paula Fernández-Wul

to the expense of public housing – these are challenges that the New York

City Bar Association emphasises that the framework of the right to ade-

quate housing could improve (New York City Bar Association, 2016).

More recently, the question of how the right to shelter could be reima-

gined as a right to housing has made it into mayoral debates in New York

City (Smith, 2021), suggesting that the discursive shift led by grassroots

organisations has had an impact on political discourses as well.

Second, in a major victory for the network of grassroots organisations

Right to Counsel NYC Coalition, the right to counsel in eviction cases was

passed in New York City in August 2017 – the rst city to do so in the coun-

try. The right to counsel provides free legal representation to tenants in

eviction proceedings for households with income at or below 200% of the

federal poverty line, i.e. individuals earning under approximately $25,000/

year, or $51,500 for a family of four (New York City Bar, 2020, p. 2).

Tenant representation in courts, through legal aid or otherwise, is in fact a

key part of the right to adequate housing, as emphasised by the Committee’s

General Comment No. 7 on forced evictions (para. 15). And this under-

standing is shared by the Right to Counsel NYC Coalition as well:

We are building campaigns for an eviction-free NYC and ultimately

for a right to housing. Because our work is grounded in a history

of tenant organizing and a belief that housing is a human right, we

are now working to ensure that the Right to Counsel law is imple-

mented in a way that upholds that right, that builds tenant power and

that transforms the nature of the courts, furthering the dignity and

humanity of every tenant. (Right to Counsel NYC Coalition and

Housing Justice for All, 2021, p. 5)

Providing a right to counsel for low-income tenants therefore articulates

the right to housing as a key defence against evictions, but also against

the interests of real-estate developers. Ultimately, the Right to Counsel

NYC Coalition believes that the right to housing is a crucial source of

State accountability in the city:

Our call to #ReclaimOurHomes rejects the government’s practice of

providing vast amounts of assistance and/or guarantees to the real

estate and banking industries — practices that have resulted in cen-

turies of racism — and rejects the claim that the government isn’t

responsible for providing a human right to housing.

(Right to Counsel NYC Coalition, 2020)

Third, the phenomenon of ‘rent stabilisation’ – tenants’ right to renew

their leases and other protections, including a cap on sudden rent

increases and safeguards against retaliatory evictions – was established

Beyond minimum protection 133

in New York City already in 1974 by the Emergency Tenant Protection

Act. In 2019, the Housing Stability and Tenant Protection Act was passed

at the state level, extending rent stabilisation and allowing municipalities

across the state to opt into providing these protections. Although not all

social movement demands ended up in the bill that was passed, uniting all

tenants of homes qualifying for rent stabilisation was a marked success

for housing rights activists, including those from the coalition that led

much of the organising, Housing Justice for All. Other groups, including

Tenants & Neighbors and the Metropolitan Council on Housing, also

contributed to tenant mobilisation, as did a new set of progressive state

Senators who had been recently elected (Stein, 2019). Specically, univer-

sal rent control – which would have prohibited landlords from evicting

tenants without good cause and from passing the cost of renovations on

to renters, as well as ensuring faster implementation of the 2019 Act – did

not make it to the bill, but it is still under consideration in the state Senate

at the time of writing (NY State Senate, 2020).

As has been argued, ‘[r]ent control can oer circumscribed legal pro-

tection or serve as a tool that tenants can use to make an expansive demo-

cratic claim to the right to housing’ (Teresa, 2020). Rent stabilisation can

therefore be understood as part of a new understanding of the right to

housing, in that it strives to create a system where homes are no longer (or

not exclusively at least) subject to the laws of the market. In this sense, the

struggle to democratically de-commodify housing is understood in New

York City as vital to the quest of guaranteeing housing as a human right.

Conclusion

In her rst report, Leilani Farha identied that local governments taking

on housing rights obligations has led to ‘contextualized understandings

of the right to adequate housing’ (U.N. Special Rapporteur on adequate

housing, 2015a). In the context of New York City, this contextualised

(vernacularised, in the words of Professor Sally Engle Merry) under-

standing has led to both path-dependent, piecemeal reforms, and to a

gradual discursive transformation of housing as a human right.

The focus of New York City politics – along with much of the country –

on housing choice and housing discrimination as means to protect indi-

vidual rights has to a large extent constrained the opportunities that exist

within socioeconomic rights, such as the right to housing, in the city. By

relegating them to individual concerns over the private sphere in the form

of protection against homelessness or eviction, instead of opening them

up to the structural causes behind poverty and inequality, the right to

housing in New York City has remained to a large extent imprisoned in a

reality of an individual right to ‘a roof and four walls’. Grassroots organ-

isations have had to subsume their framing and policy goals within this

framework, and hyper-local struggles resulting from the refusal of the US

134 Paula Fernández-Wul

to ratify the Covenant, its federated system and New York City’s political

opportunity structures have inhibited the capacity for more transforma-

tive, structural change to truly de-commodify housing in the city.

Yet at the same time, New York City activists are nding ways to con-

nect their policy demands to both state-wide concerns such as rent sta-

bilisation, and to international realities including housing aordability,

access to justice and the nancialisation of the housing market. In this

sense, despite the challenges that come with using socioeconomic rights

language in a country that refuses to adopt international frameworks,

housing activists have learned to adapt and work with both the con-

straints of municipal jurisdiction over limited policy areas and the oppor-

tunities created by the international framework on the human right to

adequate housing. The framing of housing as a human right that many

activists adopt in New York City has become more than a demand to

provide accountability ex post; it has also allowed for disparate groups –

including those without a home, those with an unaordable home and

those evicted from their homes – to repoliticise, rally behind and push

for an understanding of housing that is no longer an access to minimum

protection, but indeed a de-commodied, basic need.

The conditions and scope of loc al policy-making provide both opportu-

nities and threats for social movements willing to advance a rights-based

agenda for housing in the city. On the one hand, municipal jurisdiction

over areas such as public housing, tenant protections and procedural

rights can provide windows of opportunity for mobilisation, collective

action and solidarity. Yet on the other hand, they can lead to a piecemeal

approach that reproduces the problematic question faced in other socio-

economic rights of who gets protection, and when that protection begins.

It is this funambulist tightrope that activists must navigate when using

human rights as a means to a politicised end in the city.

Notes

1 See A /HRC/RES/27/4 in 2014, A/HRC/30/49 report i n 2015, A/HRC/RES/33/8

in 2016, A/HRC/RES/39/7 in 2018, A/HRC/42/22 on participation in 2019,

and A/HRC/RES/45/7 adopted without a vote on October 6, 2020, requesting

OHCHR to submit a report to the Council ‘with a view to identifying possi-

ble elements of principles guiding local and national governments’ before its

September 2022 session (U.N. Human Rights Council, 2020).

2 A notable exception is UCLG’s Global Charter-Agenda for Human Rights

in the City of October 2012, whose Section X focuses on the right to hous-

ing and domicile, but this Charter-Agenda may be more aptly described as

‘inter-local’ than international. See (UCLG, 2012).

3 By this, it should not be understood that this discursive transformation

occurred in a vacuum. Many organisations such as the Habitat Interna-

tional Coalition (HIC) had been working on this for years. My goal here

is to reect on the impact that the validation by a Special Rapporteur can

have on local activists, and vice versa.

Beyond minimum protection 135

4 As stated by Jackie Bray, Director of the Mayor’s Oce to Protect Tenants

during a public event (NYU Furman Center, 2019).

5 See, e.g., the New York Times’ account of the squatter movement in (Evans

Asbury, 1970).

6 It should be noted however that, upon signature, countries are bound by an

obligation to refrain from acts that would defeat the purpose and object of

a treaty (art. 18, Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, 1969).

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Part 3

City society

DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-10

Introduction

From the ‘Calais Jungle’ to the camps surrounding the Pata-Rât land-

ll in Cluj-Napoca, camp-like settlements dot the map of contemporary

Europe. Such settlements do not just oer accommodation to transient

migrants, but constitute an enduring ‘socio-spatial formation’ (Picker

and Pasquetti, 2015) that both connes and displaces individuals and

communities that are seen to be somehow ‘undesirable’ – not least racial-

ised Roma. In fact, a signicant share of Europe’s Roma population

is excluded from regular housing and made to live in various kinds of

camps. This is largely due to a complex and ongoing history of marginal-

isation, persecution and segregationist policies (Picker, 2017).

Until recently, camp-like settlements were a rare sight in Sweden. As

a result of the successful campaigns of Roma civil rights activists in the

1960s, the dominant approach to Roma and Traveller housing has, for

the past fty years, been one of integration (Ohlsson Al Fakir, 2015).

Unlike many other European countries, Sweden does not have a system

of state-sanctioned caravan sites or institutionalised camps for Roma

and Travellers. However, in the last ten or so years, starting in the early

2010s, makeshift settlements have appeared in cities and towns across the

country. Their inhabitants are, for the most part, recent migrants from

Romania. Many are also assumed to be Roma (SOU 2016:6).

Indeed, since the eastward enlargement of the EU in 2007 – at the cusp

of the global nancial crisis – there has been a noticeable increase in the

number of impoverished EU citizens who travel to Scandinavia to seek

livelihood opportunities. Unable to access and aord regular housing,

many nd themselves in homelessness. In 2015, there were an estimated

4,700 impoverished so-called vulnerable EU citizens living in Sweden

(SOU 2016:6). The street-homeless and camp-dwelling segments of this

population were, and still are, targeted by eorts to move them along,

How urban law deects

rights claims

A case study of the eviction of

a Roma squatter settlement

in Malmö, Sweden

Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler

and Maria Persdotter

142 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

including repeated evictions. This mirrors what appears to be a wide-

spread treatment of migrant Roma in Europe. According to Huub van

Baar (2017, p. 12), ‘endless, systematic cycles of forced evictions’ are used

by the authorities in several of the Member States against Roma EU citi-

zens as a means to aect their ‘voluntary return’ without having to enact

more costly and time-consuming expulsion procedures. In this context,

social justice activists have attempted to mobilise human and minority

rights legislation to prevent evictions and improve the rights situation of

mobile Roma EU citizens.

This chapter considers the interface of human rights and ‘urban law’,

such as environmental nuisance and public order law. It revolves around

a set of cases concerning a community of some two-hundred Romanian

Roma ‘EU migrant’ squatters in Malmö, Sweden, and builds on our rst

hand experiences as members of a street-law collective, the Centre for

Social Rights (henceforth, the Centre).1 Between 2015 and 2017, we par-

ticipated in organising eorts to promote the interests and social rights

of the Roma community in question. We also represented them in a

number of legal cases against the City of Malmö and the local police

authorities. In this chapter, we focus on our eorts to prevent the squatter

community from being evicted from an unauthorised settlement – the

Sorgenfri Camp – without a viable resettlement plan. We account for our

experiences of attempting to mobilise a human and minority rights dis-

course and invoke the case law of the European Court of Human Rights

(ECtHR), and discuss why this approach was eventually unsuccess-

ful. This book chapter is an attempt to summarise our experience and

analyse it with the benet of hindsight as well as a greater theoretical

understanding of the processes that we were a part of in 2015.

Our empirical material consists of legal documents (administrative

orders, court appeals and judgements, etc.). Analytically, the paper is

informed by critical legal studies and critical legal geography. In par-

ticular, it draws on Mariana Valverde’s (2005, 2010, 2011) and Nicholas

Blomley’s (2007) work on ‘spatial tactics’ and the micro-management of

urban space through urban law.

Based on an in-depth analysis of the convoluted legal process that

eventually resulted in the demolition of the Roma squatter settlement (the

Sorgenfri Camp), we oer a reection on the potentials and limitations

of the urban politics of human rights. Existing research has tended to

focus on landmark cases that have expanded the applicability of human

rights norms, despite such cases being rare exceptions. In this chapter, we

instead look at a case where human rights-based strategies failed. More

specically, we explain how and why, in the specic case of the Sorgenfri

Camp eviction, Roma and human rights claims were disabled by the use

of cert ain mechanisms of Swedish environmental nuisance law. Following

Valverde and Blomley, we suggest that this was because these mecha-

nisms (which we consider examples of ‘urban law’) operate on the basis

How urban law deects rights claims 143

of discretionary and exible forms of power and regulate access to space

through categories such as ‘activity’, ‘use’, ‘property’ and ‘space’, rather

than through categories of ‘personhood’; hence, they eectively deect

person-centred, rights-based claims. Furthermore, we make a case for an

approach to strategic litigation that treats human rights as instruments

to advance social justice rather than as ends in themselves.

The analysis unfolds as follows. First, we give a background on the

case of the Sorgenfri Camp, and outline the administrative and legal pro-

cess that led to the demolition of the settlement. Second, we provide an

analysis of how rights and urban law interacted in this process, as well as

oer a reection on the use of human rights law in community organis-

ing. We begin, however, with a review of relevant legal developments and

theoretical debates.

Rights and Means for Emancipation

European Roma Rights Litigation

Over the last decades, following the collapse of Soviet communism and

the ascendance of neo-liberalism in the post-socialist Central and Eastern

European states, a pan-European Romani movement has emerged that

relies strongly on a language of human and minority rights (Vermeersch,

2006; McGarry, 2010). Since the 1990s, a number of new advocacy

organisations, such as the European Roma Rights Center (ERRC) and

Open Society’s Roma Initiative Oce, have been established to support

Romani communities to access justice and claim minority rights. The

ERRC engages in strategic litigation with the aim of addressing dis-

criminatory treatment and improving the rights situation of European

Roma. Over the years, the organisation has lodged over 60 cases with

the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR). Their work has helped

to establish what Sandland (2008) refers to as ‘a jurisprudence of dif-

ference’. Beginning with the 2005 landmark case Moldovan and Others

v. Romania, the Court has increasingly shifted away from conventional

rule-of-law-type analyses and begun to develop a concept of group-

dierentiated vulnerability, recognising a positive obligation on the part

of states to take dierences of culture and ethnicity into account (see

also O’Nions, 2007; Peroni and Timmer, 2013). This marks a break from

the earlier case law of the court, which for the most part equated anti-

discrimination with equality of treatment. Given our focus on an eviction

case, it is worth noting that the ECtHR has armed the right to adequate

housing for impoverished and socially disadvantaged groups and estab-

lished that group-dierentiated vulnerability should be factored in when

assessing the proportionality of an eviction order (see Connors v. The

United Kingdom; Winterstein and Others v. France; Moldovan and Others

v. Romania; Yordanova and Others v. Bulgaria).

144 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

The Case for and Against Strategic Rights Litigation

The use of strategic litigation in Roma rights advocacy mirrors a broader

trend. Today, using human rights as a basis for strategic litigation is a

common approach when trying to raise the legal and material standing

of a marginalised group. Some speak of this as a ‘rights revolution’ (e.g.

Ignatie, 2000). In social organising and strategic litigation, the use of

human rights adds moral and rhetorical force to the claims of a group.

Framing a particular demand as a right oers the possibility of recogni-

tion by the legal order (Kennedy, 2002). Thus, the particular interests of

a minority group can be made universal through Human Rights-based

litigation and rhetoric.

Though not without merit, such approaches have been criticised for

being anti-political or depoliticising (Brown, 2004; Brännström, 2017).

Scholars on the left sometimes assert that rights-based approaches to

social justice activism are counter-productive insofar as they reinforce

the individualism of liberal thought and jurisprudence, and because

they frequently fail to address injustices rooted in maldistribution

(Blomley, 1994, pp. 408–412). Another common critique is that human

rights are not universal, but rather highly contingent on material con-

ditions. Moyn argues, for example, that the right to property must be

understood in the context of capitalist relations, and can be viewed as

much as a right to deny others certain property (Moyn, 2012, p. 17; see

also Waldron, 1991).

Critical legal scholars generally object to the Human Rights project

on the basis of it being a political and ideological project that is only

ostensibly neutral and universal (Kennedy, 2002; Mutua, 2002; Brown,

2004). The apparent stability of the legal order stems mainly from social

and economic power rather than from law itself. However, the supposed

openness and accessibility of rights clouds this political and ideological

inuence. It is the shift of power relations between dierent groups and

interests and not the legal argumentation that changes social conditions.

It is ideologically or politically based strategies that ultimately determine

the origin and legality of rights. The rights themselves do not primarily

give rise to legal results (Kennedy, 2002, p. 33). Kennedy therefore poses

the following question: if it is political and social movements that gener-

ate rights, rather than the rights in themselves that produce social pro-

gress, then do claims at all need to be formulated as human rights? Here,

according to Kennedy (2002), the risk is that the decisive factor of social

change is hidden behind the rights discourse. Brown similarly argues

that the rights project is a particular method for resolving social conict,

which, in addition to obscuring the underlying power structures, also

tends to exclude other forms of conict resolution. According to Brown

(2004), this might mean that the highly individualised rights discourse

displaces more collective strategies for attaining social justice.

How urban law deects rights claims 145

The cr itical Romani stu dies scholar Pete r Ver meersch (2006) h as argued

that rights-based approaches are insucient to adequately address issues

of poverty and inequality that aect the European Roma. As concerns

minority rights, scholars have also noted that they frequently require the

establishment of some denitive criteria for determining who qualies as

a member of a given minority. For this reason, minority rights discourse

risks contributing to the reication of minority identities (Brown, 1993,

2000; for an analysis of Roma minority rights discourse, see McGarry,

2010; Farget, 2012).

Rights and Urban Law

Mindful of the broader (leftist) critique of human rights based activism

and strategic litigation, we wish to zoom-in on a set of dynamics that we

believe thwart the ecacy of human rights based approaches to advance

the interests of street-homeless and other subaltern groups.

Socio-legal scholars have noted the tendency of ‘urban law’ to deect

and disable rights-based arguments. Our denition of ‘urban law’ encom-

passes specically urban regulations such as zoning-laws as well as regu-

lations that are predom inantly applied in densely- populated urban spaces

such as nuisance and public order laws. Our denition also includes

regulations that are issued by municipalities, such as public order ordi-

nances (for a genealogy of North American nuisance and other urban

laws, see Valverde 2011). A key characteristic of most forms of urban law

is that they micromanage activities in and uses of both public and private

space in ways that impact people’s abilities to inhabit the city. And while

the enforcement of such regulations often end up having disproportion-

ate eects on street-homeless and other marginalised populations (see

Mitchell, 2003), the regulations themselves, for the most part, technically

avoid governing through categories of person (Valverde, 2005). Site-

specic anti-begging laws and other contemporary anti-homelessness

ordinances are paradigmatic examples of urban law. Unlike the vagrancy

laws of the early modern era, which made it a punishable oense to be a

vagrant (i.e. criminalising a status), these regulations tend to be facially

neutral: They generally rely on broad-ranging, exible, police-type regu-

lations that aim to order urban space and that technically apply equally

to all who inhabit such spaces.

Crucially, because many forms of urban law operate through catego-

ries of property and space rather than categories of persons, they tend to

eectively block or deect rights-based arguments. The legal geography

literature on spatial tactics and regulations oer several dierent exam-

ples of this. For example, Hubbard (2013) shows how nationally-secured

rights to sexual expression for LGBTQ individuals are eroded through

local-level public order policing targeting displays of homosexual inti-

macy. Similarly, Blomley’s work (2007, 2010, 2011) on the regulation of

146 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

panhandling through the enactment of trac regulations details the

ways in which such regulations deect right-based arguments, and why

this makes them resistant to constitutional challenge. As the title of one

of his articles – ‘How to Turn a Beggar into a Bus Stop’ – captures, the

use of trac law to address sidewalk begging works to translate the

social object of ‘the beggar’ into a legal object not much dierent from a

telephone pole or a bus stop: an element which interrupts the smooth ow

of sidewalk movements (Blomley, 2007). Based on a review of case law on

the constitutionality of anti-begging measures that are based on trac

law, Blomley (2007) notes that civil rights organisations often attempt to

challenge such measures by arguing that they violate the rights of persons

and/or discriminate against particular groups of people. However, such

attempts are likely to fail when the measures in question do not regulate

through categories of persons. In Blomley’s own words,

Rights-based arguments around begging law, which time and again

insist that identied persons are treated inequitably are negated,

again and again, by the counter-argument that law is not regulatory

of persons, but rather of actions and spaces. The purpose of the law,

the courts say, is not to discriminate against people who panhan-

dle, but rather to treat panhandling as a spatial activity that must be

balanced with other activities, according to the overall function of

the place. (2007, p. 1705)

He continues,

[The technical legal categorisation of beggars as trac] does some

heavy ideological lifting, eectively blocking constitutional argu-

ments on behalf of the public poor. Yet it does so by presenting

begging law as not only respectful of equality, but actually consti-

tutive of it. Using an alchemical language of space, use and mutual

respect, it alchemically transmutes the intolerances expressed by

those who seek such law, and the oppressions of those who suer

under it. (p. 1707)

While research on European Roma rights jurisprudence has celebrated

the emergence of a ‘jurisprudence of dierence’ in the case-law of the

ECtHR, there has not yet been any systematic review of the ways in

which state authorities circumvent or deect rights claims by treating

Roma communities as ‘space problems’ – as nuisances or order issues.

Nevertheless, we know from social science research that such discursive

elisions and forms of ‘legal alchemy’ (Blomley, 2007) are common across

Europe (Pusca, 2010; Aradau, 2015; van Baar, 2017). As we will see,

How urban law deects rights claims 147

the handling of the Sorgenfri Camp by local authorities had striking sim-

ilarities with Blomley’s analysis and theory, as the squatters were cate-

gorised in terms of environmental standards as sanitary hazards. In the

following sections, we account for the details of the case before we zoom-

out to discuss what lessons it holds for Roma rights activism and urban

justice struggles more broadly.

The Eviction of the Sorgenfri Camp

The years 2014–2016 saw a fervent public and political debate over the

visible presence of street-homeless Roma ‘EU migrants’ in the Sweden

as well as over the appearance of makeshift, unauthorised settlements

(olovlig bosättning) (Hansson and Mitchell, 2018). Evictions were com-

mon during this time. Statistics compiled by the National Enforcement

Authority (Kronofogden) show that the agency approved and executed

a total of 143 applications for an ‘order to evict’ in cases concerning

‘unlawful occupation of land’ and ‘unauthorised settlements’ between

2014 and 2015. The majority of the applications came from public and

private property owners in the Stockholm and Gothenburg regions.

The Sorgenfri Camp stands out in this context. The settlement was

the largest – and certainly the most contested – one in Sweden in the

mid-2010s. It also constituted an important reference point in the public

and political debate regarding the broader issue of unauthorised set-

tlements (Persdotter, 2019, pp. 117). From a legal point of view, the

case of the Sorgenfri Camp and the process that eventually led to its

demolition is a somewhat idiosyncratic one. While nuisance and sanita-

tion hazards are frequently cited as grounds for eviction, the Sorgenfri

Camp remains, to this date, the only settlement of EU-migrants’ to have

been demolished directly on the basis of environmental law (cf. Davis

and Ryan, 2016). In what follows, we outline the events and legal pro-

cesses that preceded the eviction of the settlement before we turn to

analyse the legal arguments made in favour of stopping the demolition

and resettling the squatters.

The Sorgenfri Camp

The Sorgenfri Camp was set up on a privately owned vacant lot, located

in a formerly industrial area, about two kilometres from the Malmö city

centre. In the cadastre, the property is called ‘Brännaren 19’, but collo-

quially, it is better known as ‘the steppe’ or simply ‘the vacant lot’. The

name that we use here – the Sorgenfri Camp – was rst coined by soli-

darity activists and refers to the neighbourhood where the settlement was

located. The Roma squatter community, instead, simply called it ‘the

platz’. Meanwhile, the newspapers described it as a ‘shantytown’ or as

‘Sweden’s largest slum’ (Karlsson, 2015).

148 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

In 2015, the vacant lot was owned by the private real-estate develop-

ment rm Granen Fastighetsutveckling AB. The rm’s majority owner –

the self-made property magnate Per Arwidsson – purchased the property

in 1999 as an investment and left it sitting idle for nearly two decades

(Westerberg, 2015). During this time, the weed-covered lot functioned

as an ‘urban commons’. It had a public parking space which was used by

street-homeless people to park their camper trailers or pitch their tents.

The vacant lot was also the site of numerous, often short-lived, squat-

ter settlements, community gardening projects, temporary outdoor art

galleries and a DIY-skateboard park. Notably, both the private prop-

erty owner and the municipal authorities accepted, or at least tolerated,

these initiatives.

When the Sorgenfri Camp was rst established, in the spring of 2014,

there were only a dozen people living there. As more and more people

moved in, it began to look like an established tent village with cars,

camper trailers, makeshift houses and vans arranged in a grid-like pat-

tern. At most, there were about 200 individuals living there. By most

standards, the vacant lot was not a good place to live. For one thing,

it lacked electricity, sanitary facilities and drinking water. Running

water was available in a nearby cemetery. The nearest public toilet was

a ten-minute walk away. At the time, the surrounding area was about to

be redeveloped: the city had approved a new plan for it, and construction

was about to begin on several nearby properties.

The squatters received support from a network of local activists and

activist organisations, including the Centre. The network worked together

with the squatters to address practical as well as nancial, political and

legal issues. As members of the network, we made repeated requests

to the municipality to have sanitary facilities and a garbage container

installed on the site. When the municipality rejected their requests, the

solidarity network fundraised to rent a set of porta-potties and a garbage

container for the site. The squatters also organised regular cleaning days

in the settlement in an attempt to counteract the intense stigmatisation

of the settlement as a ‘slum’ and avert the threat of removal (Persdotter,

2019, pp. 129–130).

The Eviction Process

The municipal Environmental Administration (Miljöförvaltningen)

began to receive nuisance complaints about the Sorgenfri Camp in the

early autumn of 2014, at which point they contacted the owner with a

request to clean-up the premises. Up to this point, the property owner

had passively tolerated the settlement, but now the company turned to the

Enforcement Authority to have the squatters evicted. For reasons which

we discuss in the next section, this proved to be practically dicult –

not to say impossible. Thus, the Environmental Administration issued

How urban law deects rights claims 149

(on February 27, 2015) an ‘imposition of a conditional ne’ (vitesföreläg-

gande) to the property owner, ordering the development rm to remove

any litter from the site (Miljöförvaltningen, 2015a). The rm appealed

the decision to the County Administrative Board (Länsstyrelsen), argu-

ing that it was practically impossible for them to abide by the order. The

Board ruled on a compromise: They upheld the decision, but removed

the ne (Länsstyrelsen, 2015).

Faced with this situation, the Environmental Administration decided

to issue a set of prohibition orders, based on the Swedish Environmental

Code, banning people from staying on the site, as well as from stor-

ing tents or garbage, burning solid fuels, or ‘defecating’ on the prem-

ises (Miljöförvaltningen, 2015b). While previously the Environmental

Administration had cited nuisance concerns as the basis for the impo-

sition of the ne, they now framed their intervention as a necessary

means to safeguard the health and security of the squatter community

and nearby residents. To live on the lot was ‘inappropriate’. The rst

prohibition order (issued on April 7, 2015) was addressed directly to the

property owner and formulated in such a way that it would apply to

anyone who was physically present on the site. The second order (issued

on April 23, 2015), instead, addressed the (unnamed) collective of squat-

ters who were living on the site. These were given four days to vacate

the premises.

In order to halt the demolition of the settlement, the Centre appealed

the second prohibition order, rst to the County Administrative Board,

and second to the Land and Environment Court, citing both formal de-

ciencies and human rights violations. The appeals were successful: in

both instances, the courts struck down the prohibition order on proce-

dural grounds, noting that the Environmental Administration had failed

to observe due process requirements. The main issue was that the decision

lacked clear and identiable addressees, which is required by Swedish

administrative law (Länsstyrelsen, 2015; dom i mål nr M 1806–16). In

short, the court argued that the order was invalid because it had been

addressed to a ‘circle of unnamed persons’. As both instances found for-

mal deciencies, neither the Court nor the Board found it necessary to

assess the claimed human rights violations.

The stance of the squatter community was that the camp should not

be vacated without alternative accommodation being provided. One

suggestion was that the city should provide an alternative camping site

with portable toilets and running water. This argument enjoys support in

various sources of human rights law (Yordanova v Bulgaria; CoE PACE,

2010; UNCRC, 2006). However, the City Council and municipal admin-

istration refused to authorise any alternative settlement, limiting their

responsibility to short term accommodation for a minority of the camp

residents, while providing tickets for the inhabitants to return to their

home countries (Persdotter, 2019:136).

150 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

Once it became clear to the Environmental Administration that their

rst eviction attempt would be struck down, they drew up plans for a sec-

ond attempt. On October 27, 2015 the authorities again ordered the camp

to be vacated. This time the Environmental Administration made use of

a special legal mechanism called a ‘correction at the expense of the faulty

party’ (rättelse på den felandes bekostnad, hereinafter ‘correction’). This

mechanism extends the powers of the public authorities to correct a legal

wrong in case the liable party does not comply with a previously issued

order or if the authorities nd that a correction needs to be carried out

immediately to prevent serious injury. In this case, the Environmental

Committee re-activated the two previous decisions – the injunction that

required the property owner to remove all litter from the site along with

the rst prohibition order (dated 2015-04-07) that had been issued to the

property owner. The decision of October 27 was appealed by the Center,

but the appeal was denied by the County Administrative Board, and the

Land and Environment Court (dom i mål M 9530-15). The squatters were

given ve days to vacate the premises.

In the afternoon on November 1, 2015, hundreds of people gathered at

the site of the settlement. Some were there to protest the pending demoli-

tion. Others, hostile to the squatters, had gathered to celebrate the City’s

actions. Frayed banners hung from the chain-link fence that surrounded

the settlement. One of them read in bold black letters ‘Don’t throw us out

like trash!’ (see Image 7.1).

Image 7.1 Banners to protest the pending demolition (Photo by Jenny Eliasson,

Malmö museer (with permission from the photographer)).

How urban law deects rights claims 151

Two days later, on November 3, the police arrived in full force at

04:20 am in the morning. Despite the early hours, around 60 protest-

ers formed a human barricade at the entrance to the settlement and

attempted to peacefully prevent the police from entering. Upon arrival,

the police addressed the camp in Swedish through a megaphone, inform-

ing the residents and protestors that the police wanted a peaceful eviction

and that they would only use the force needed. When the message was

relayed in Romanian, the translator could not be heard by the residents.

At around 05.15 – one hour after their arrival – the police forced all media

representatives and observers to leave the site. After that, the camp was

emptied of its residents and, later in the day, levelled by bulldozers.

The Legal Proceedings

The nal and ultimately successful decision to vacate the Sorgenfri

Camp was not burdened by the same formal aws as the rst decision.

Therefore, we decided, as members of the Centre, to appeal the decision

and to focus on the municipality’s disregard for the inhabitants’ human

rights. Of course, by the time the court tried the case, the settlement had

already been demolished.

Our appeal invoked the aforementioned European case law. A central

ECtHR case in the argumentation was Connors v. United Kingdom, which

also concerned the eviction of a group of Roma from a lot, in this case a

family. Similar to the situation of the Sorgenfri Camp, the Connors had

also been allowed to reside on a piece of land with their caravan but were

later evicted as the local authority found that they committed nuisance.

In this case, the Court noted that Roma people (referred to as ‘gypsies’)

enjoy particular protection under the ECHR:

The vulnerable position of gypsies as a minority means that some

special consideration should be given to their needs and their dif-

ferent lifestyle both in the relevant regulatory framework and in

reaching decisions in particular cases. To this extent, there is thus

a positive obligation imposed on the Contracting States by virtue of

Art.8 to facilitate ‘the gypsy way of life’. (Connors v UK, para 84)

The ECtHR then proceeded to note that evicting a person into homeless-

ness is a serious interference of their rights, due to its consequences on

security and well-being. Moreover, the applicants had not been oered

any alternative solution to their housing situation. For these reasons, the

Court found a violation of Article 8.

As was raised in the proceedings, the importance of only conducting

evictions when there are alternative residencies and always with regard to

the evictee’s dignity has also been stressed by the European Committee

152 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

of Social Rights (COHRE v France). In the case of the Sorgenfri Camp,

the decision to evict the camp was not preceded by any proportionality

assessment, nor were the inhabitants in any meaningful way consulted. It

should also be noted that the inhabitants on several occasions expressed

willingness to evacuate the camp on condition that they would not be left

in a worse situation.

The City of Malmö opposed this argumentation. Initially, the author-

ities claimed that the appellant lacked a right to appeal as the decision

was a correction of another decision, which was between the property

owner and the City. Regarding the protection under Article 8 ECHR, the

local authorities argued that it would be impossible for them to disregard

legal actions required by environmental law merely because the aected

person was Roma, as this would violate the principle of everyone’s equal-

ity before the law, as found in the Swedish constitution (Regeringsformen)

as well as in legislation on municipalities and public administration.

In the decision of the Administrative Court, the Court began by

assessing whether the lot could be considered a ‘home’ to the appel-

lant, in accordance with Article 8. It noted, that in similar cases by the

ECtHR when applicants were found to have a ‘home’, the residents had

either had ownership to the lot they resided on, or lived there between

5 and 30 years – enough time to establish a ‘sucient continuing link’

to the property (Gillow v UK; Buckley v UK; Winterstein et al v France).

Furthermore, the Court found that the appellant had only resided in the

Sorgenfri Camp for about a year. This was not considered enough time to

establish a sucient continuing link. Thus, the Court found no violation

of the right to a home. Second, regarding the rights of Roma, the Court

acknowledged that a majority of the camps’ inhabitants were Roma, and

as such sharing a specic ‘culture and travelling lifestyle’. Even so, the

Court did not consider this to render all evictions of Roma people into a

violation of Article 8. Notably, the Court also referred to article 14 of the

ECHR, and appeared to imply that such an application would violate the

freedom from discrimination in relation to the rights of the Convention.

Analysis of the Legal Processes

Having outlined the convoluted process that resulted in the demolition

of the Sorgenfri Camp, we turn below to discuss the tensions and inter-

actions between rights, spaces and politics that were present in this case.

Eviction Law and the Paradox of Illegibility

A rst thing to note about the eviction of the Sorgenfri Camp is that it

was not, technically, an eviction. The police stressed this when we called

them in mid-November 2015, to request some documents related to the

event. Over the phone, they explained that ‘the police never participated

How urban law deects rights claims 153

in any eviction’. What they did, rather, was to ‘assist the municipal

authorities so as to allow them to execute a decision to demolish the set-

tlement in order to clean the grounds’. The squatters had been evacu-

ated for safety reasons (personal communication, 18 November 2015).

This of course did not make much dierence to the squatters who saw

over 100 police ocers arrive in the dim hours of the morning to usher

them o the site. However, the legal technicalities of the procedure were

consequential for how the process unfolded. As we have already noted

they also ultimately served to limit the opportunities for the squatters

to seek redress and claim a right to resettlement in the aftermath of

the ‘evacuation’.

Under Swedish law, an ‘eviction’ is a formalised process with built-in

safeguards meant to protect the rights of those who are faced with an

eviction order. Crucially, such safeguards are largely absent when camp

dwellers are moved on the basis of more discretionary forms of law

enforcement. In the Sorgenfri Camp case, the property owner made sev-

eral attempts to have the squatters removed through the regular civil law

eviction procedure. However, when these attempts proved unsuccessful,

the City of Malmö strategically shifted to a dierent legal register and

‘evacuated’ the squatters on the basis of Environmental Law.

To explain why it turned out to be rather complicated for the private

property owner to have the squatters evicted on the basis of private prop-

erty and eviction law, we need to rst establish a few basic facts about the

civil law eviction procedure. In 2014–2015, it was still the case that any-

one who led a request with the Enforcement Authority to have an indi-

vidual or a group of people removed from their property was required

to provide the authorities with the personal information (typically the

name and civic registration number) of the individuals who they wished

to evict. There were several factors that made it practically dicult for

the property owner to obtain information about the inhabitants of the

Sorgenfri Camp: There was a steady turnover of people on the site, and

none of them were registered at the address. When the property owner

managed to acquire information about some of the residents, the ocials

from the Enforcement Authorities were told, when entering the camp,

that the person they had come to evict was no longer present on the site.

On one occasion the eviction was not possible to carry out because the

names of the evictees had been misspelled.

Similar due process requirements also made it dicult to enforce the

April 23 prohibition order which forbade the squatters from staying on

the site. As we explained previously, the Centre appealed the order and

the Court found it invalid precisely because it had been addressed to a

circle of unnamed persons. Furthermore, the fact that the settlement

had been tolerated for an extended period of time meant that the police

no longer had the authority to evict the residents as a matter of crime

prevention. Altogether, this protected the Sorgenfri Camp from being

154 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

evicted for over a year. Indeed, the relative anonymity of the squatters

made them non-readable in the eyes of the authorities, which made them

dicult to regulate. Elsewhere, Persdotter (2019: 182) has theorised the

situation in terms of a ‘problem of illegibility’.

To be able to govern eciently, the state needs to arrange its people

in ways that facilitate functions like taxation and law enforcement. As

political anthropologist James C. Scott (1998) argues, the modern state is

dened by its unique capacity to render both its subjects and its territory

legible (i.e. readable) to the state administration. This also means that it

has diculties managing people that do not t neatly within its adminis-

trative grids. In such situations, state authorities might attempt to resolve

problems of illegibility by reverting to forms of rule that are more discre-

tionary and subjective – with nuisance governance being a key example

(see Valverde, 2011).

In the Swedish context, the authorities have responded to the ‘prob-

lem of illegibility’ and attempted to circumvent the relevant due process

requirements in three main ways. First, by ignoring them altogether.

There is ample evidence that the Enforcement Authority in Stockholm

and Göteborg have carried out evictions without issuing any eviction

notice directly to the aected parties. Second, the national and munic-

ipal governments have proposed the use of more exible forms of law

(Persdotter, 2019). In connection with the demolition of the Sorgenfri

Camp, the City of Malmö adopted a zero-tolerance approach to unau-

thorised settlements. The strategy relies on early removals of tent

encampments on the basis of police law and public order ordinances.

Third, the Swedish Parliament has partly revised the relevant regula-

tions. In July 2017, following the conict of the Sorgenfri Camp, a new

mechanism called ‘removal’ (avlägsnande) was added to the Enforcement

Code. The mechanism allows private property owners to apply to the

Enforcement Authority to have a group of people removed from their

property without having to provide the agency with the names of each

individual member of the group if ‘despite reasonable eorts they cannot

obtain this information’.

In the case of the Sorgenfri Camp, the Environmental Administration

resolved the problem of illegibility by shifting from the civil law eviction

procedure into a dierent register altogether. In the following section,

we account for this shift from one register to another in more detail.

However, rst we would like to note that the issue of anonymity created

a strategic dilemma also for the Centre. In order to lodge any appeals

on behalf of the squatters, we had to make our clients ‘readable’ for the

legal system by presenting them with a name, a signature and a date of

birth. As the clients needed to be aected by the decision to evict the

settlement for the appeal to be admissible, we also had to prove that

they had resided in the settlement. First when our client had a name, a

date of birth and a home could they be recognised as a legal subject by

How urban law deects rights claims 155

the Swedish state. However, breaking the anonymity of the client proved

a risk as it worked in both directions: when they stated their personal

information to the legal system, they became possible to evict under the

civil law procedure. In the end, we decided to take the risk as the clients

remained protected by the camp collective, rendering them dicult to

identify in practice.

Shifting Registers: From Eviction Law to Environmental Law

As explained already, the nal decision to ‘evacuate’ the settlement

made use of a legal mechanism, called a ‘correction at the expense of

the faulty party’. While previous attempts to remove the squatters from

the site had failed because of the due process requirements to identify

and address them directly as respondents, this mechanism allowed the

Environmental Administration to circumvent these requirements alto-

gether. It did so by treating the property owner – rather than the squat-

ters – as the respondent of the correction order and by emphasising the

need for urgent intervention. Crucially, the decision of the City of Malmö

specied that due to the urgency of the situation, it was of utmost impor-

tance to take immediate action to address the environmental and health

situation in and around the settlement; the decision would therefore be

eective immediately – even if it was appealed.

The shift from the civil-law eviction procedure to the environmen-

tal law procedure involved a re-categorisation of the settlement from

an unauthorised occupation into a virtual garbage heap and a major

nuisance to health. Signicantly, this also changed the legal status

of the squatters. In the context of the civil law eviction procedure,

they had legal standing as respondents with abilities to leverage due

process protections. The specic procedure that the Environmental

Administration devised, however, eectively stripped them of this

status. In a sense, they were legally reduced to litter along with their

dwellings and belongings.

As Valverde (2011) notes, nuisance is a symbolic and intrinsically inter-

subjective category which expresses norms of cleanliness and propriety.

As a legal category, ‘nuisance’ also regulates property in a site-specic

manner. From this follows that nuisance governance tends to local-

ise both problems and solutions (Valverde, 2011). In the context of the

correction procedure, the Sorgenfri Camp came to be read as a discrete

and spatially-bound environmental problem rather than the eect of a

complex of social relations of impoverishment and marginalisation.

Furthermore, by isolating the settlement (as a spatial object) as a nui-

sance and sanitation hazard for the squatters, the municipal politicians

and authorities were able to rationalise the evacuation and demolition

of the settlement as a necessary means to protect the squatters against

harm; ensure equality of treatment under environmental law and uphold

156 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

established standards of sanitation, health and safety for the benet of

the public at large. Notably, the evacuation was also justied with ref-

erence to an equality-of-treatment argument. Altogether this served to

negate rights claims on behalf of the squatters – claims that largely relied

on a language of human rights and on arguments of group-dierentiated

rights to protection.

As the public ocials and politicians who prepared the decision

would have it, it would have been discriminatory to not give the squat-

ters the same treatment as anyone else. As the chairperson of the City’s

Environmental Committee put it at press conference in connection with

the demolition:

In Sweden, we have a law that says that everyone should have access

to good, dignied housing … and it is not dignied to live as they

do [in the settlement]. We also have a principle of equality, and this

means that all human beings should be able to live in acceptable con-

ditions, and it is not acceptable to live as they do on Brännaren.

The paradox of the decision to evacuate and demolish the settlement

was that although it was justied as a means to make sure that ‘everyone

should have access to good, dignied housing’, it left the squatters in an

even more precarious situation, on the streets with no reliable access to

shelter. Indeed, as impoverished and transient EU citizens have few rec-

ognised positive social rights under Swedish law – and the authorities do

not recognise any obligation to provide housing and other services under

international human rights law – equal treatment means that EU citizens

continue to be excluded from a range of welfare entitlements that are, at

least in theory, available to nationals. At the same time, they remain sub-

jected to the same negative duties and prohibitions that apply to others.

The Role of Human Rights

Human rights and constitutional arguments were raised numerous times

during this procedure, both against and in support of the camp residents.

While the language of rights was present in the appeals, rights and ideas

of universality were also used against the resident’s claims. In this sec-

tion we elaborate on the consequences of relying on rights as a political

strategy.

One lesson we have drawn from our work with the Sorgenfri Camp,

as well as in other projects where we have combined law and social

activism, is that framing an issue as a matter of rights can elevate the

standing of the political struggle at hand. For one thing, the behaviour

of the public media radically changes when law is inserted into a politi-

cal conict. Most large media outlets are much more willing to speak to

white, Swedish-speaking ‘human rights lawyers’ than to self-organised

How urban law deects rights claims 157

and racialised Roma squatters. While this has the major drawback that

the primary focus is on the lawyer, we experienced that we could divert

journalists towards the camp residents and that they were oered more

media attention and interviews compared to before the legal proceed-

ings. A factor in this was also that the camp inhabitants became less

vilied. In our experience, media actors are more willing to frame what is

going on as a conict of interest, of relevance for the whole society, rather

than the narrative of a vulnerable group building social bonds.

Moreover, engaging in legal proceedings allowed us to control the

narrative. While many people tried to divert the general discussion into

one of ‘illegal occupants’, we could frame the issue within the discourse

of Roma rights, social inequality and homelessness. Focusing on Roma

rights in the legal proceedings as well as in contacts with the media

inserted eviction into a dierent discourse and a dierent organisational

framework, where it was possible to cooperate with more established

organisations, such as human rights NGOs and established Roma rights

activists and community members. It also served as a reminder of a dark

chapter in Sweden’s history, that of evicting and persecuting Roma peo-

ple for centuries. As this eviction was, to a greater extent, perceived as

a continuation of this dark chapter, it forced police ocers and state

ocials to question their own role in history.

One of our fears as lawyers supporting social mobilisation was the sit-

uation anticipated by scholars like Kennedy and Brown; that the legal

procedure would outrival other expressions of politics. In particular

when the second attempt to evict was initiated, we feared that the social

mobilisation would be set aside, as the legal proceeding had (ostensibly)

resolved the issue the previous time. However, while we in the Centre

were drafting legal submissions, the camp residents along with members

of the solidarity network were working hard to devise viable solutions and

trying to build political pressure, so that the Municipality might choose

an alternative path than a forceful eviction. This political mobilisation,

though ultimately unsuccessful in stopping the eviction, meant that the

squatters were able to remain on the site for over a year, providing time

to strengthen the grassroots movement until they were ultimately forced

out of the camp.

An explanation for this development might lie in how responsibility for

dierent political issues was divided. The legal question that was tried by

the Court only concerned the right of the camp residents to remain on

the lot. The question of Roma emancipation, which the group was organ-

ised around, is much broader. We suggest that this was, at least in part, a

result of the fact that the conict over the Sorgenfri Camp was ‘funnelled’

through the machinery of urban and nuisance law. As Valverde (2011)

notes, urban law (in particular nuisance law) tends to ‘localise’ problems

to particular, bounded sites/properties. As activists engaged with the

case, we experienced rst-hand how this limited the sorts of claims that

158 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

were possible to make. Instead of ghting for more substantial rights, the

squatters and their allies ended up struggling for a right to remain living

in a makeshift settlement. That said; the most signicant eect of the rst

appeal, that prevented an eviction, was that it bought time for a space that

functioned as a melting pot for Roma interests and social activism. While

the camp, in the end, was abolished and its residents scattered, it created

an experience of political struggle and a feeling of self- determination

that was completely new for many of the people involved (Oldberg, 2016).

In sum, our experience is that legal proceedings and rights-claims can be

useful, as long as it is perceived as secondary, as a support tool of the true

motor of social change: self-mobilisation.

Conclusion

Our analysis resonates Valverde (2005, 2011) and Blomley’s (2007)

observations that urban law tends to disable rights claims on behalf of

street-homeless and other marginalised communities. We have shown

how certain mechanisms of environmental law were strategically mobi-

lised by the municipal authorities in order to demolish the Sorgenfri

Camp, and how this served to re-work the terrain of struggle for those

who opposed the evacuation and demolition. The choice to evacuate

and demolish the settlement on the basis of environmental law served

as a means to circumvent certain due process protections. Furthermore,

the use of the environmental nuisance regulations functioned to deect

rights-based arguments on behalf of the squatters. This is because these

instruments operate through categories of activity, use, space and prop-

erty rather than through categories of person. Regarding the Sorgenfri

Camp, the ultimate decision to evacuate the settlement was a technical

decision to restore the environmental conditions on the site. It catego-

rised the settlement as a nuisance and disabled any claims the squatters’

might have had to the site.

Crucially, the convoluted process that resulted in the demolition of the

Sorgenfri Camp played out almost entirely within the registers of prop-

erty and urban environmental law. This is reective of a broader ten-

dency on the part of the Swedish government and authorities to treat

the situation of street-homeless Roma EU citizens as an urban order and

nuisance problem, thus obscuring the systemic inequalities that contrib-

ute to why they are street-homeless in the rst place. In the case of the

Sorgenfri Camp, the settlement was framed and treated as a discrete and

spatially-bound environmental problem – one that would go away once

the settlement had been razed to the ground – rather than the eect of

a complex social relation of impoverishment, racialised marginalisation

and exclusion from social rights.

Elsewhere, Persdotter (2019) has argued that the policy response to

the situation of Roma EU-citizens in Sweden has been characterised

How urban law deects rights claims 159

by the devolution of responsibilities from the national – to the munic-

ipal level – and indeed, to the urban scale. By actively renouncing any

responsibility to provide services to the population in question, the

national government has eectively shifted responsibility onto the local

level authorities, leaving often cash-strapped municipal governments to

address the problem of street-homelessness among Roma EU-citizens

with whatever means and regulatory tools they have at their disposal –

urban order and nuisance law being a prime example of such tools.

We argue that the legal procedures regarding the Sorgenfri Camp show

the necessity and possibility of protecting mobilisations from the legal

system by intervening in law. While critical legal scholars have claimed

that strategic litigation moves the decision-making to the courts, we

argue for a more pragmatic perspective on the relationship between polit-

ical organising and legal processing. At the same time, it was clear that

rights claims were largely deected by the courts. When human rights

came up against property rights and urban regulations, the latter cate-

gories prevailed. It is ironic to note, that when the eviction was actually

halted, albeit temporarily, this was due to procedural issues concerning

rights and interests in property. Thus, the strategic litigation that proved

most successful in terms of furthering the cause of the Roma community,

was that which cantered on property rights, not human or social rights.

This, we believe, shows an apparent weakness in human rights in relation

to the neo-liberal, urban regulatory framework.

A topic that deserves further examination is the question of how much

a general hostility towards the Roma community aected the decisions

of the authorities. Individual representatives would of course vehemently

contest any accusation of racism, but it seemed obvious to us who worked

closely with the squatters, that they were held to a dierent standard than

majority groups. We believe that this dierence is signicant, and consti-

tutes a margin of repression that, according to our observations, is much

wider for members of the Roma community, in particular those who are

destitute and homeless. This margin of repression, as a part of the state’s

monopoly of violence, appears to vary according to which group is the

object of the actions of the state. Though beyond the scope of this article,

we ask the question of how underlying prejudices might amplify such ten-

dencies of authorities to use urban law against marginalised groups.

Note

1 The Centre for Social Rights was founded in Malmö, Sweden in 2014 by a

group of law students in order to explore if law can be used creatively to

become a progressive tool in the hands of social justice movements. From

the beginning, we placed emphasis on empowerment and self-organisation

among subaltern groups. A key assumption of ours was that ‘the law’ is

not outside of politics, but rather shaped by power structures in society.

Thus, we believed – and still believe – that solutions to discrimination and

160 Karin Åberg, Frederick Batzler and Maria Persdotter

social injustice cannot be found solely within the legal order. At the same

time, we saw strategic possibilities in combining grassroots organising w ith

legal education and strategic litigation. One of our goals was to make law

more accessible to people who regularly found themselves at the blunt end

of law enforcement. In addition to supporting Romanian Roma migrants

living in Malmö, we also worked together with asylum-seekers and undoc-

umented migrants, unemployed people and people on long-term sick leave.

While the Centre still exists, the organisation had its most active period (so

far) between the years 2015 and 2017, during which the events analysed in

this chapter took place.

References

Case law

ECtHR

Buckley v. The United Kingdom, application no. 20348/92, 26 September 1996,

Reports of Judgments and Decisions 1996-IV.

Connors v. The United Kingdom, application no. 66746/01, 27 April 2004.

Gillow v. The United Kingdom, application no. 9063/80, 24 November 1986, Series

A, no. 104.

Moldovan and Others v. Romania (no. 2), application nos. 41138/98 and 64320/01,

12 July 2007, Reports of Judgments and Decisions 2005-VII.

Yordanova and Others v. Bulgaria, application no. 25446/06, 24 April 2012.

Winterstein and Others v. France, application no. 27013/07, 17 October 2013.

European Social Committee

Centre on Housing Rights and Evictions (COHRE) v. France, Complaint No.

63/2010, Decision on the merits of 28 June 2011.

Land and Environment Court of Växjö

Växjö tingsrätt, Mark- och miljödomstolen, dom i mål nr M 9530-15, 2015-11-03.

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DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-11

Introduction

Because to start up a human rights space in an informal settlement

… you have to ght a lot of forces. (Social Justice Activist ‘4’)

In recent years, policy and academic attention has focused increasingly

upon the urban context of human rights. Across a dozen informal set-

tlements in Nairobi, Kenya, for example, a new form of social activism

strongly embedded in local context is sprouting rapidly and provides

an opportunity to understand better the relationship between the

urban and human rights. The chapter contributes to broader debates

on the emancipatory prospects for human rights and the role spatial

dynamics play, through developing critical, yet constructive, per-

spectives on the urban engagement with human rights (e.g. Blomley,

2003; Carmalt, 2018; Jones, 2012, 2021; Oomen, 2016). Articulating

the relationship between the urban and human rights is therefore no

straightforward linear extension of international and national human

rights law into cities (see Jones, 2021). Instead, the general challenges

in translating their universal norms into locally meaningful stand-

ards require an explicit awareness of urban context as actively shap-

ing human rights. In relation, in terms of approach, human rights can

potentially gain much needed reection from ‘concrete experiences

of actors on the ground’ which ‘shape the relevance and meaning of

human rights in practice’ (Destrooper, 2015:225). Heightened aware-

ness and understanding of the role especially of the postcolonial urban

context provides a means to assess the extent to which human rights

are emancipatory in terms of how they are seen and used by actors but

may also be adapted and transformed in practices as part of broader

social and political struggles.

Since 2015, Nairobi is witnessing a phenomenon occurring in its

informal settlements, home here to approximately 60% of all its res-

idents, and indeed, constituting over one billion inhabitants globally.

Decolonising human rights

The rise of Nairobi’s

Social Justice Centres1

Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

164 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

The rst Social Justice Centre (‘SJC’) was established in Mathare, fol-

lowed by another ten established in Dandora, Githurai, Kamukunji,

Kariobangi, Kayole, Kiambiu, Kibera, Korogocho, Madakara and

Mukur u. SJCs are commun ity-based loca l organisations s eeking chang e

in their urban areas. If the urban context is considered an important

modifying inuence upon human rights and law, then the colonial ori-

gins and characteristic spatial division and inequality of the ‘postcolo-

nial’ city, such as Nairobi, is a highly relevant arena in which to assess

human rights. The term postcolonial is a broad and ambiguous label.

Colonialism was not only about territorial control in a temporal and

geographic sense but in addition was exerted through ‘epistemological

developments that have literally produced new forms life: new kinds

of people came into being, while others disappeared, whole groups of

them occupy the age in an ambivalent and melancholic relationship by

which they are indigenous to a world that, paradoxically, they do not

belong to’ (Gordon 2014:84). Lewis Gordon goes on to suggest that an

integral function of colonialism is therefore in how colonial subjects

‘are posited as illegitimate although they could exist nowhere else …

Such people are treated by dominant organisations of knowledge as

problems instead of people with problems’ (ibid.). Postcolonial city is

therefore taken here to mean the dual qualities of the temporal sense

of previously colonised urban areas, then, the after eects, re-making

and vernacularising of hybrid urban space, practices and knowledge

(King, 2009). In discussing Nairobi, it is the striking continuity of spa-

tialised governance patterns across segments of the city –such as the

continuous representation of slum dwellers as ‘problem people’ (next

section) – that also brings to the fore the relevance of the ‘after eects’

of colonialism. In doing so, critiques come forth aimed at dismantling

colonialism’s lingering thought and practices. Human rights, for some

observers, are also regarded as in need of decolonisation (Mutua, 2001).

The extent to which the rise of SJCs may be contributing to such a

decolonisation concerning human rights in the postcolonial city is

therefore an important aside to the primary focus upon actor oriented

urban human rights practice.

The chapter seeks to explore actor practice, inuence of characteristics

of place and context in broader urban politics of human rights through

a case study of the rapid rise of Nairobi’s SJCs. In doing so, it asks the

following questions:

First, what are some of the key features of Nairobi as a postcolonial

city shaping the urban landscape? Second, the chapter then describes

some of the background to explain the rise of these SJCs and to ask

how they work. Third, in what ways are human rights imagined by SCJ

activists and in relation to characteristics of the urban context shaping

these practices? Four, what, then, are some of the additional ‘framing’

processes that contribute to how rights are adapted to local context?

Decolonising human rights 165

What does the experience of the SJCs tell us more generally about the

modifying inuence of the urban on human rights law and practice?

Methods used to answer these questions primarily include in-depth

interviews conducted in September 2020 with ve coordinators of ve

dierent Social Justice Centres. In addition, associated campaign and

other reports and documents are used, predominantly from SJC web-

pages. Furthermore, one of the authors is an activist who is a founding

member of the SJCs and draws on their experiences of building a social

movement, while the other has observed SJC activities over the last six

years. Finally, related academic literature includes those few works to

date that deal with the SJCs directly.2

We turn rst to set out some of the enduring features of Nairobi as a

‘post-colonial’ city and its continuous representation of slum dwellers as

‘problem people’.

Nairobi’s Urban Divide

Growing at over 10% per year in most of the post-1963 independence

era, Nairobi’s population growth steadied more recently to 4% per year,

reaching a total of 3.1 million inhabitants in 2009 (Japan International

Cooperation Agency and County Government of Nairobi, 2014), by 2017,

in absence of a census, projected to be 4.2 million and closer to 5 million

by 2020. Since the colonial era, when settlements were designated for dif-

ferent racial groups, living conditions have not kept pace with such an

inux. A highly geographically unequal city exists, with the north east

side of the city predominantly poorer and more informal. The current

model of Nairobi’s urban development path is to create a world-class city

(Government of Kenya, 2007). Conversely, and somewhat contradicto-

rily, 80% of the city’s population remains employed in the jua kali (infor-

mal) sector, and 60%, as mentioned, live in informal residential spaces.

This divide is therefore reinforced by the city’s distinct spatialised politi-

cal economy. While the pursuit of ‘world class metropolis’ (Government

of Kenya, 2007) has provided developmental impetus and to some extent

planning frameworks, this urban development privileges hyper-modern

infrastructure for a small elite and perpetuates further privatised under-

development in the city’s margins, or, neglected ‘ruins’ (Kimari, 2016;

Manji, 2015). One of the most apparent yet enduring fault lines of the

‘postcolonial city’ therefore concerns the informal settlement or ‘slum’ or

‘ghetto’ as it is commonly referred to by residents themselves.

The Informal City Legal and ‘Gray’ Spaces of the City

Competing representations of slums depict them in dierent ways, for

dierent ends. They are represented as informal spaces of dierent

global, national and local interests. For example, slums can be depicted

166 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

as ripe for global capital to unleash modernist productivity (Harvey,

2008). Critically, representations often deny any political agency to slum

dwellers (Pithouse, no date). Conversely, they can also be represented

as driven exclusively by local initiative and sociability alone. There are

powerful binaries at play, juxtaposing the ‘formal’ and ‘informal’ which

inuences patterns of urban development. The ‘formal’ city uses infor-

mality when opportune (McFarlane, 2012) such as, when depicting slums

as unproductive or as anti-development, or socially delinquent, in order

to ease eviction or change tenure in the guise of modernisation. The day-

to-day negotiation of illegality renders slums with a high degree of pre-

carity, reected in often negligent and even oppressive policy, such as

policing, for example (Jones et al., 2017). Consequently, the colonial logic

of urban governance persists in the ‘inherent structures of power, inher-

ited from the colonial regime and institutionalized in the centralizing and

authoritarian practices of city and state bureaucracies (which) leave an

indelible scar on the urban landscape’ (King, 2009). In Nairobi, the con-

tinuing alienation of the majority from formal planning is exacerbated

by post-colonial neglect and, in more recent decades, also by neo-liberal

patterns of development.

Of particular interest is how this stark urban divide modies potential

compliance with human rights norms, laws and practice. Law perme-

ates almost every aspect of urban living, and structures both the city’s

physical environment (through, for instance, building regulations, health

and safety laws and municipal bylaws regulating public space) and the

human activities and interactions that take place within it. By granting

and delimiting rights to urban presence and livelihoods, law has the

power to marginalise and exclude. In post-colonial cities more gener-

ally there is ‘complex articulation between economically impoverished –

often informal – residents’ everyday politics of access to resources, and

collective mobilisation to claim rights, [which] are often overlooked’

(Benit-Gbaou and Oldeld, 2015). Activating rights may represent only

one of several other considerations intrinsically shaped by the socio-

spatial context. Local pragmatism may see residents work with patrons

and political brokers who violate human rights but with whom they are

nonetheless deeply implicated with in economic relations. When resi-

dents claim rights they may encounter a high level of economic, political

and personal risk against powerful local actors, such as informal cartels.

There may also be a suspicion of duty bearers, with preference for com-

munity self-reliance rather than claims on the state. Other preferences

or strategies may be to promote local autonomy that is more radical.3

Understanding slum dynamics (and their diversity) and their legal ambi-

guity or ‘gray’ status is therefore critical to any assessment of how urban

development proceeds, and human rights are perceived and enacted.

Attempts at mobilisation in response to human rights violations must

also negotiate vested local interests and patronage networks, which in

Decolonising human rights 167

the quotation at the beginning of this section, is explained as ‘you have to

ght a lot of forces’. While this may compromise rights in such spaces, it

cautions against any simplistic assumption that rights are either rejected

outright or do not somehow ‘work’ in the ‘global south’. Rather, there

may be a complex articulation and adaptation going on.

Informal areas of Nairobi are still ‘not recognised or addressed by pub-

lic authorities as an integral or equal part of the city’ (Muungano Support

Trust et al., 2012). Until only very recently was Mathare settlement, for

example, something more than a blank presence on maps of Nairobi.

The alleged illegality of many of these settlements leaves them with a

high level of precarity. But the urban spatial divide also mirrors, there-

fore, something of a political divide. Another key disjuncture is a split in

the political eld. Following Chatterjee (2004), and his context of India,

which seems to t well with Nairobi too, civil society tends to be char-

acterised as ‘the closed association of modern elite groups, sequestered

from the wider popular life of communities, walled up with enclaves of

civic freedom and rational law’. Alternatively, political society, is dened

as ‘large sections of rural and urban poor, [who] make claims on govern-

ment not within the framework of stable constitutionally dened rights

and laws but direct political negotiations’ (Chatterjee, 2004:4). In other

words, it is essential to understand actors. It is also useful to remind

ourselves that in assessing the potential for human rights these political

splits are highly circumscribed by socio-spatial context. Any assessment

should therefore start by looking at how human rights are given meaning

through being adopted to local historical and social (Levitt and Merry,

2009) and we would add here – spatial – contexts.

What, then, explains the rise of the SJCs and how do they relate to

human rights amidst these urban social-spatial contexts and dynamics

in post-colonial cities?

The Rise of the Social Justice Centres

In accounting for the emergence of SJCs, there is a need to place them

in a much longer arc of claiming and using human rights in the context

of strategising for democratic reform in post-colonial Kenya. In 1999, as

Kenya was undergoing political reforms, one of the authors was involved

in the National Convention Executive Council – the executive of the

National Constituency assembly. It was a forum to push demands for

constitutional reforms and a critical mass civic education and struggle

for a new political dispensation. Such experiences were taken into the

period of reform post-2002, characterised by a number of civil society

leaders moving into open government spaces. A considerable inuence at

this time for the nascent SJCs concerned the network of activists, again

including Gachihi, who formed in 2003 the ‘Bunge la Mwananchi’ move-

ment, or, ‘Peoples Parliament’, along with several other activists who

168 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

remain active in the SJCs.4 Bunge is a grassroots pro-poor social move-

ment that addresses issues of social inequalities through participatory

democracy and which set up Hema la Katiba (Constitution Tent) for civic

education outreach campaigns raising awareness on the right to organise

and participate in constitutional reform process. On 27 August, 2010,

Kenya voted in a new constitution. Bunge members met up daily in the

Jeevanjee Gardens park in down town Nairobi (Kimari and Rasmussen,

2010:132) and provided an enabling structure whereby activists came

together and subsequently formed the nucleus for the SJCs.

The Bunge movement expanded by establishing chapters in various set-

tlements with grassroots chapters and platforms as far away as Mombasa

city. Attention was draw to the growing problem of extra-judicial kill-

ings (‘EJK’) of young men by the police (Gachini, 2014). For example, in

2014, when four youths were killed in Huruma, activists associated with

Bunge held the rst community dialogue in Mathare settlement to raise

awareness of the scope and nature of the problem of EJK. Local activists

in Mathare then organised for a more permanent space in their commu-

nity. Local activists began to meet every Saturday in Mathare, includ-

ing a younger generation. Though they had no prior human rights work

experience, many attending meetings were experiencing loss of friends

or relatives to police killings. In February 2015, the rst SJC, Mathare

Social Justice Centre (MSJC), was ocially registered as a Community

Based Organisation (CBO). Some of this background highlights involve-

ment from activists steeped in the political reform movement and issues

to do with demands for deeper democratisation in Kenya.

What are some of the more specic motivations for organising the

SJCs? Several inter-related issues can be identied and that help us

contextualise human rights encounters across urban space.

How SJCs Operate

The main objective of the SJCs is ‘to build a social justice movement

and the community solidarity necessary to contest and organize against

the normalization of extra-judicial killings and all injustices’ (MSJC,

2019a,b). The social mobilisation is framed by strong preference for social

justice discourse because it is deemed more appropriate to the situation

activists encounter (see section ‘Spatial Context and Social Justice’). To

this end, SJCs’ methods are multi-faceted, consisting of activities on sev-

eral levels, with each SJC autonomous but also coordinating and col-

laborating with each other via a SJC Working Group. These activities

include: collaborative practices, but also direct protest and action; use

of social media and above all, extensive networking and partnering with

activists, NGOs, academics and others.

When SJCs require it, they pursue confrontational and disruptive tac-

tics through direct action. Indeed, activists contrast their more direct

Decolonising human rights 169

methods to critical attitude towards ‘more careful’ NGOs. One of the big-

gest mobilisations to date concerned the 7th July 2018 ‘Saba Saba March

for our Lives’. The march was modelled on the symbolism of the original

Saba Saba march that took place over a decade before to demand wider

democratic space during the oppressive era of former President Moi.

In its modern form it was explicitly linked to a political frame aimed

at broadening awareness of and denouncing EJKs, which is a deeply

entrenched and widespread police practice (Jones et al., 2017). But a sig-

nicant shift from the previous democratic struggle period was how the

march was organised and led for the rst time by young and poor grass-

roots activists from informal settlements, rather the political parties.

There were several associated actions complimenting Saba Saba.

These included the joint Social Justice Centres Working Group press

conference in Mathare settlement, again contrasting with traditional

press conferences that usually take place outside of settlements and are

organised and led by professional human rights institutions. Instead,

on 7th July, people from all informal settlements gathered together and

walked across Eastlands settlements where EJKs occur regularly at the

hands of the police. The march ended at the Kamukunji grounds, a sym-

bolic space in the slum commonly used by police for EJK. It was led by

twenty mothers of victims of EJKs who shared their stories and experi-

ences. Protestors also used powerful imagery such as using fake blood

on their clothes and bodies, and in carrying fake cons; also performing

‘die-ins’ by lying on the ground without moving, pretending to be dead.

It was a symbolic exercise to reclaim spaces in the slum from their asso-

ciation with EJE and injustice. SJCs also use court appearances in police

abuse cases to show solidarity and which contributes to building legal

and social mobilisation.

Another example of more militant activism was that in February 2019,

SJC activists demanded a post-mortem be held for their late colleague

Carol Mwatha, a human rights defender who died in mysterious circum-

stances. SJCs activists blocked trac by sitting on the road outside the

City Mortuary and were eventually teargassed and dispersed by police.

SJCs members also use social media strategically for rapid sharing of

information and quick mobilisation. When someone is arrested but they

are not taken to the police station, or, when a suspected criminal is posted

on the police Facebook wanted lists,5 activists tweet for solidarity and to

put pressure on the police. In the tweets, the activists often directly tag

the Independent Police Oversight Authority (IPOA), the National Police

Service, the Directorate of Criminal Investigations and other national

institutions and organs. On occasions, SJCs instruct supporters to call

en masse at police stations to inquire about someone’s situation and show

the police that they are being monitored. Rapid release of numerous

activists and arbitrarily arrested people has often been an outcome of the

solidarity (MSJC, 2017).6

170 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

In terms of who they mainly work with, SJC respondents identied key

actors, though this uctuates depending needs of specic campaigns: state

agencies and oversight institutions, especially IPOA and dierent branches

of the police, such as the local OCPDs (Ocer Commanding Police

Division); local authorities; members of county parliaments; but also, espe-

cially, a network cultivated with NGOs and INGOs and even at UN level.

Organisational linkages are seen by the SJCs as assets though it appears

a ne line to walk especially when it comes to issues of resources. After

all, NGO workers are depicted often as ‘muzungus (white people) with

money’ (in Clouzeau, 2019). But activists were aware that a ne balance

existed between taking the resources and then becoming a client of or at

least nancially dependent upon NGOs or donors. SJCs activists depict (I)

NGOs as representing not only access to resources and knowledge but also

networks that can provide human rights defenders protection (SCJ 1). The

most common way of sharing such knowledge is in the form of trainings and

legal assistance. Despite some notable exceptions mentioned, such as Peace

Brigades International (PBI), there is a perception of unequal relations with

some NGOs. Some practices do appear to be changing for the better. An

increasing number of NGOs representatives show support by attending the

launches of each new SJC activists shared with the authors how events risks

being taken over and dominated by NGOs. A respondent from an NGO

mentioned in Clouzeau (2019) that there is the linger of a ‘paternalistic posi-

tion’ with NGOs assuming an automatic role of educated ‘teacher’ when

encountering non-professional and often uneducated (grassroots) actors.

Documenting and Reporting

Following the 2014 community dialogue organised in Mathare by Bunge,

documentation of killings emerged as a growing concern and practice.

Participants agreed that it was necessary for Mathare residents them-

selves to document the killings to prove the widespread and systemic

existence of EJKs in informal settlements. ‘As an activist cleverly put it,

by counting EJKs, they were hoping to make them count’ (Clouzeau,

2019). One of the major motivations besides lack of accuracy and with

under-reporting by NGOs (see section ‘Ownership of rights’) is to present

documentation in a more grounded contextualised way than NGOs do.

SJCs activists wish to see the killings be made more visible and to raise

awareness but that they are also something beyond statistics alone. The

‘Who is Next?’ report done by MSJC (2017) was an explicit attempt to ena-

ble the community to own the documentation process. In it, one aspect

taken was to include names and photos of the victims. SJCs have in addi-

tion produced placards also with the names, ages, photos of the victims

and the circumstances of their deaths that they display at events attended

by politicians, journalists, NGOs and national institutions members.

These were used by MSJC, for example, during Amnesty International’s

Decolonising human rights 171

Secretary General Kumi Naidoo’s visit to Mathare. The visual and

highly personalised nature of protest serves to re-humanise victims and

to provide an important counter-narrative to the criminalising discourse

encountered by informal settlements.

Spatial Context and Social Justice

In asking the area coordinators about their work and most important

challenges they faced, all identied challenges as rooted in the specic sit-

uation of informal settlements which requires a social justice approach.

These were, in other words, highly spatialised accounts of their work,

meaning that informal settlements were associated with particular needs

and characteristics:

It’s not about crime or anything else. It’s like the poor in this country

have no rights. If you live in Mathare then you deserve to live an undig-

nied life. You’re stripped of your dignity if you live in informal settle-

ments. But then coming out as a community justice centre we wanted

to say that we are poor but we deserve dignity. We know we are poor,

we know we cannot aord to buy cars for us to be respected. Because

police treat people who drive dierently from those who walk. If you

come from Kilimani (middle class areas) and I come from Mathare,

our treatment will be very dierent. If they see my hair, my language

with funny swahili and sheng from Kayole. You realise that it’s crim-

inalization of poverty. It’s class struggle. We are treated dierently.

We are saying we are all human beings and we deserve dignity.

(SJC 1, emphasis added)

From the above, peoples’ dialects and the way they dress, walk and act, all

are considered as markers that police and other actors to identify people

from informal settlements as a basis for ‘dierent’, namely, discriminatory

‘treatment’.7 It’s a proling that is highly spatialised because residents are

perceived as devoid of rights in slums but also especially when they stray

outside. Poverty is depicted as having ‘taken away the dignity of ordinary

citizens, especially in informal settlements’ (SJC II). The acute needs of

informal settlement residents were consistently highlighted:

Coming from informal settlements where housing is a challenge …

social justice is what has been driving us for a long time … The hun-

ger for dignity. So to me, social justice has driven me to see everyone

live a dignied life. It’s not that it’s dierent from human rights. It

actually encompasses everything in it. But we had to look for a way

to start agitating and social justice has been the thing that has been

pushing people. (SJC 1, emphasis added)

172 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

Occasionally juxtaposed with use of an explicit language of rights, activ-

ists rmly regard these places in the city as requiring an articulation

of social justice, rather than human rights. For example, though activ-

ists identied some specic rights (particularly Article 43 of the Kenya

Constitution addressing socio-economic rights), pressing needs and dig-

nity are associated more with the relevance of social justice rather than

with human rights per se:

I think that social justice addresses dignity in a deeper way than

human rights do … At what point is it okay for people to think that

with no toilets, one meal a day and no water, they are still okay? Social

justice basically addresses Article 43 of the Kenyan Constitution and

speaks to the deep desire for dignity in every human being. So for

example, during these COVID-19 times, when the government tells

people to wash their hands with clean water to keep the virus away,

how can people in Githurai, who have no clean water, and sometimes

no water in their homes, wash their hands? (SJC II)

In the words of SCJ coordinator ‘IV’ under, the signicance of constitu-

tional human rights is therefore highlighted, but so too are its deciencies

in achieving the desired level of social change:

But we have the same constitution. But to improve society, we need

to merge human rights closer with social justice. Human rights are

very legal. Uhuru Kenyatta (the Kenyan President) has a right to

property. He cannot be denied that legally. But in a social justice

sense, why does he have so much land and some people have noth-

ing? Social justice is a powerful way of implementing the constitution

across all classes. (SCJ IV and co-author)

All ve activists therefore developed critical distinctions between rights

and social justice, in which human rights are perceived as insucient:

Human rights has an aspect of philanthropy to it that takes away the

people’s power. But social justice is independence and awakening.

In my view, for social justice, there is only one option, justice for

the people. For human rights, what is right depends on how well the

activist can argue out their case. So one is an absolute and the other

is relative. (SJC II)

Rights are regarded as a set of values and approaches that must be

determined through the strength of law and cases, i.e. as relative to legal

Decolonising human rights 173

denition and deliberation. As elaborated upon by a third activist, a

clear dierence is identied:

Human rights, in my opinion, refers to the written laws in the civic

space, while social justice goes to the root of the issue and tries to

address it from there … So human rights and social justice go hand in

hand but they are dierent. Rights are civic education that is meant

to create good citizens in a country - how to act towards others, state

history, etc. But with social justice, we deal with these issues through

political education … Political education seeks to understand why we

are in the situations we are in isn’t it? What is the history of informal

settlements, what is their history with the police and state? (SJC III)

Rights alone are depicted as unable to account for the predicament of the

informal settlements. Deeper underlying reasons for their vulnerability and

being prone to state str uctural violence foreg rounds the ne ed for a movement:

Our state is very deep rooted in marginalising people. It just creates

violence whether structurally, economically and millions of young

people nowadays don’t have a job. So you see, this is no longer a ques-

tion of the rule of law. Criminalisation. This is a question going back

to our original framing, as a question of social justice. So you see

the question of now why you need a vibrant social justice grassroots

human rights movement to create this.

Another common perception is that human rights may exist on paper,

but they must be struggled for. The idea that ‘the constitution is not for

us’ comes up regularly in community dialogues organised by SJCs and

in activists accounts that emphasise how rights do not pre-exist but must

be fought for. Members draw on experiences of violations as a means

to recover collective agency as a basis for mobilisation. One of the rst

coordinators of the rst SJC, in Mathare, expands upon the limitation of

rights and preference for a social justice frame:

I personally prefer social justice … do you feel I should use human

rights? But to me that sounds very professional. Social justice … even

our organisation is called MSJC … on a personal level I feel it is more

to do with an injustice than about rights. Social injustice sounds

more personal … human rights is for lawyers whereas I am a grass

roots human rights defender. Human rights is for lawyers and pro-

fessionals, for NGOs, whereas we are a CBO not NGO. With social

justice, we feel it … its more real and its more personal whereas when

human rights I don’t feel it as much because human rights encom-

passes bigger things, whereas social injustice is us! ‘Haki’ (Swahili,

174 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

meaning: human rights), but when we say it, it means justice, whereas

human rights even sounds foreign, and people abuse it, even people

who are suppose to protect it! (SCJ V)

Rights, then, are associated with several characteristics: legalism, profes-

sionalism, external impersonal actors, such as NGOs. Legal approaches

are also regarded as slow and ineective. So, it is not that legal spaces are

at all irrelevant and secondary to ‘political society’ but rather that they

oer only a partial indeterminate solution. One can therefore argue that

what is being articulated here is an attempt to vernacularise rights, to

reclaim it from ‘foreignness’ by localising it and to make it more eective.

It suggests that vernacularisation in this context is also as much about

spatialisation: in other words, activists consistently re-state the need to

ground human rights in the broader spatial context of social justice,

otherwise rights cannot eectively act as the means required to tackle

the challenges in this specic context.

Activists explain that they intentionally called the structures ‘Social

Justice Centres’ in order to distinguish them from formal institutions

like the Kenya National Commission on Human Rights and NGOs in

other words, professional organisations. Additional interviews with

grassroots activists associated with the SJCs also suggests an association

with human rights as too polite, individualistic (in Clouzeau, 2019) and

not emancipatory enough. Wider structural issues are regarded as more

systematic in contrast to addressing only specic events through individ-

ual human rights violations. There is a particularly strong link identied

between youth unemployment, with the limited opportunities pushing

youths to engage in the ‘illegal’ economy, or, to commit petty crimes,

which exposes them to police brutality. According to social activist ‘SJC

IV’, there is an intricate inter-weaving of dierentiated spaces of the slum

and of class in Nairobi’s human rights sector. Poverty and its criminal-

isation is not only not always on the radar of the NGO sector but also

requires a dierent kind of struggle, which is the motivating frame to

create a bottom-up social movement from and for the slums. That moti-

vation was due, according to SJC IV, to ll the ‘void created by the middle

class … to link with them in Korogocho, Mathare, it was very dicult. So

the idea was to establish a human rights network, I started it that time’.

Activists’ involvement in SJCs reects how human rights need an holis-

tic understanding, one entwined with these dierentiated urban spaces in

order to reclaim, and decolonise, them.

Ownership of Human Rights

‘Ownership’ is something of an umbrella term that we can use to

hang several closely related aspects on. There is a struggle to balance

Decolonising human rights 175

professional human rights approaches – especially documentation – with

the need for activism of the grassroots human rights defenders in order

to change structural conditions referred to. A major driving force con-

cerns the reaction of activists to the professionalisation (e.g. in processes

and procedures), which appears to provoke an added impetus to ground

human rights in the needs and experiences of local communities. Jones

et al. (2017) highlight how amongst professional human rights actors and

local activists power relations concerning class and language are part of

the reaction to perception of ownership over local contexts being taken

over by INGOs and KHRC. Outside control is regarded as ‘dehumanis-

ing’ human rights work because professionals, unlike local activists, do

not experience the human rights situation as an urgent one.

A central mobilising frame for these activists therefore is that NGOs

have very limited oversight of cases in the informal settlements because

they are not based in these areas. Activists are assumed to enable easier

access to the community, better reecting their needs due to geographic

proximity (contrasted to NGOs); knowing the local environment and

above all, identifying with the victims. The reaction to professionalisa-

tion is also expressed in what activists perceive as the documentation

gap, namely, under-reporting of incidents – especially EJK when NGOs

base it on media reports – because of a near total absence on the ground

where the killings where happening (SJC IV). A common refrain from

activists is that the human rights language has been normalised in terms

of not reecting the urgency of contextualised social justice struggles. In

relation, they are struggles perceived as hijacked not only by profession-

als but specically by lawyers and NGOs who are not always able to act

consistently on behalf of the welfare of residents (SJC 3).

What, then, in light of these characteristics of the informal settlements,

do activists perceive as the actions required to secure contextualised

social justice?

(Framing) Actions

Framing

The depiction of SJCs as involved in a struggle again ‘frames’ (Benford

and Snow, 2000) understandings of rights as only attained by address-

ing the broader political context of social justice. Key framing themes

include the following.

There is a strong association that the SJCs have with the prognosis of

the problems (Benford and Snow, 2000) of Kenya as requiring revolution-

ary ideology and struggle. As noted by Clouzeau (2019) the Social Justice

Centre Working Group’s logo is a raised st and SJCs members often

wear red berets in reference to Thomas Sankara and Fidel Castro. MSJC’s

oce, for example, is adorned with quotes from radicals like Malcolm

176 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

X and Che Guevara. Not only do members call each other ‘comrades’,

but there is also a symbolic link made to the Mau Mau movement’s anti-

colonial resistance. Finally, meetings end with SJC members singing the

‘Wimbo Wa Mapambano’, which is an anthem of struggle with a hand on

the heart, and a st in the air: a performance of rights as political struggle.

A key motivational frame (Benford and Snow, 2000) appears to be in

identifying aspects requiring behaviour change. There is the need for

activists to establish control over their own circumstances, as a means

for both self- and community improvement. Local conditions and experi-

ences become something of a value, whereby ‘insiders’ are given the man-

tle of expert in contrast to ‘outsider’ NGOs and others. Specic practices

include use of a participatory action research. SCJ members are encour-

aged to actively participate in the gathering of data and information

rather than being dependent upon outsiders. A key building block is to

use participatory approaches not to extract data but instead raise commu-

nity awareness on the issues. A mainstay has been community dialogues

as an important vehicle for getting legitimacy but also for community

empowerment. Most notably, in a context of widespread fear and public

fatigue about EJK, community dialogues appear critical in kick starting

the idea of documenting for and from the community of their experiences

(see MSJC, 2017). Other SJCs may use dialogues slightly dierently, for

example, as mediating between reformed criminals and the police.

SJCs base their goals on the wider objectives of social justice, though

they also articulate their needs in various campaigns through the lens

of human rights. Sometimes it may be important when partnering with

NGOs to reframe issues in terms of human rights to speak a similar lan-

guage. Another strategic use is when it comes to applying for grants, where

human rights are deployed. There is also clear reference to human rights

when SJCs talk about ‘violations’, ‘monitors’, as well as ‘capacity building’,

‘mapping out’ and refer to human rights standards (activists in Clouzeau,

2019). Human rights standards are commonplace when pursuing actions

through legal channels because human rights ‘is what the police will use,

the judges will use and what you will be judged against’ (ibid.). It is also in

the campaign work of the SJCs, where activists can use human rights stand-

ards in order to draw upon their legitimacy of standards as benchmarks for

holding duty bearers to account. These frames therefore underpin varied

modes of working to achieve programmatic objectives (Benford and Snow,

2000).8 There is not the space to provide detail of these campaigns. But one

salient point is that rights and the law can be wielded to highlight issues as

violations and with standards bringing visibility and legitimacy.

Blended Approaches: When ‘Civil’ Meets ‘Political’ Society

SJCs adopt constitutional rights in their campaigns (such as the right

to life used in campaigning on EJK, see MSJC, 2017). In relation,

Decolonising human rights 177

demonstrations and protests carry banners referring to these consti-

tutional rights. When deciding whether to frame the specic issue as a

human rights one, the SJCs prefer to refer to the Kenyan Constitution.

This preference, they say, because international human rights legal

standards appear abstract and distant from the realities of the slum, and

from a conception of rights-holders (various SJCs, interviews) who have

to ght for rights in specic contexts. Similarly, constitutional socio-

economic rights (article 43) has featured prominently in providing focus

to state failure to meet needs. Use of rights standards shows up in SJC

modes of working, but also as a tool within a broader holistic approach

to social justice, as follows.

One of the main campaigns for area SJC1 concerns the erratic supply,

disproportionate cost and safety of water in this area. The issue of water

touches on strong vested interests of the slum economy, with cartels con-

trolling supply, sometimes linked directly to politicians or bureaucrats.

The vested interests make change through rights alone problematic:

But we are still pushing to have clean water in the taps. Every per-

son deserves clean water. Article 43 of our Kenyan Constitution tells

us that we deserve clean, adequate, safe water for drinking. But it’s

totally the opposite. In Matopeni, where I come from, we get water

for a few hours on Sunday. Either at 3-5AM. And we think this is

a privilege because before “hawakuwa wanapata maji” Translation:

“They did not have any water.” Other places get water for a full day,

once a week, usually on Fridays alone. So we don’t know what

happens. Others get water at night. We are still following up. It’s a

campaign that we launched this year in July and it’s still underway,

asking the Ward Administrator and Nairobi Water, what is really

happening that some people don’t get water. (SJC 1)

So, constitutional standards, especially article 43, were integral to the

campaign, which provides clarication of duties and identication of

duty bearers. These are deemed strategically useful as a means to pro-

vide legitimacy and advance their cause. Kayole SJC was approached by

Matopeni ward residents to organise a community dialogue on the water

crisis. The delicate balance of interests concerned how the local county

political representative was actively involved in organising a water car-

tel around bore holes drilled by government using World Bank funding.

This representative in the Nairobi county government has local youth

and a water cartel to gain control over the water taps. The result was that

the cartel deliberately created water scarcity for their own commercial

purposes, for private gain. Initially, in response there was a SJC cour-

tesy call to the local administrative oce of Nairobi Water Company

during the COVID-19 pandemic when there was a government campaign

178 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

promoting hand washing and social distancing. But as the crisis contin-

ued, nine activists from dierent SJCs went to Kayole as part of Maji

ni Haki campaign started by MSJC and Kayole SJC (MSJC, 2019a,b).

They organised a sit-in in the Water Company premises invoking right to

water, to demand that the company restore water to pipes in the Kayole

area. A company employee called Kayole police station and the activists

were arrested with charges of illegal assembly and incitement.

The example shows how activists can use human rights standards and

especially so in sensitive local contexts surrounding (sometimes violent)

cartel interests. Human rights are deemed necessary but insucient,

which leads to occasional direct action in order to change the status quo.

Though charges were later dropped, it reects the intricacy of the prob-

lem, which is the subject of an ongoing campaign. The SJC work reects

a delicate negotiation with local interests spreading out to nodes in gov-

ernment. But some SJC areas deem the issues and context even more del-

icate, requiring collaborative approaches with some other actors because

‘agitation doesn’t work well with them’ (SJC II).

Perhaps the greatest achievement to date is the passionate and con-

sistent focus upon EJK and where signicant inroads can be illustrated.

Some areas report quite signicant drops in EJK after the Saba Saba

marches and additional dialogue events (SJC 3). But as signicant as

documenting outcomes of the work, is the critical need to recognise the

overall achievements of building a movement in a highly precarious situ-

ation and using this to overcome fear to address issues so prescient in the

informal areas. MSJC in early 2020 hosted the UN Special Rapporteur

on Extra Judicial Executions and used the occasion to pay a courtesy

call to the Pangani Police station OCS (MSJC, 2020). These community

dialogues function often as a catalyst for exchange of information, for

example, where OCPD’s profess not to know details of EJE. All areas had

brought about community level events and ‘dialogues’ involving actors

such as state ones: Nyumba Kumi (local neighbourhood watch sanctioned

by government), OCPD and the OCS, police ocers and the local admin-

istration; the Oce of the Director of Public Prosecutions, Directorate

of Criminal Investigations, KNHRC; as well as INGOs, International

Justice Mission, Rights, Amnesty; as well as parents, youths and

EJEsurvivors.

Partnerships with political parties are less apparent. However, one

exception concerns that SJCs have created partnerships with small polit-

ical parties that have been defending human rights, such as Ukweli Party

of Kenya that is led by activist Boniface Mwangi. Women in SJCs have

organised training with the United Green Party, to help them write a

petition to parliament on EJE and present the Petition in Parliament

Committee that relate with police reforms. In July 2020 during Saba Saba

march, women in the SJCs petitioned Mathare Member of Parliament,

Hon. Anthony Oluoch regarding EJE in Mathare.

Decolonising human rights 179

Discussion

The following key issues have emerged from the chapter. First, SJCs have

sought to build a movement that mobilises, and in a way that rst and

foremost empowers themselves and their communities. In a historical

context of existential threats, community-owned and led empowerment

is a necessary step in any attempts to localise human rights (Destrooper,

2016). In relation, the emphasis upon collective power, participatory

action research and generating their own data collection is also important

for ownership.

Second, this mobilisation compels a new role for NGOs, and also

state governance, and one in which it is important to recognise resource

and power imbalances with the grassroots. This shift would ideally then

involve the ‘move closer to the ground’ and to change to more participa-

tory methodologies (Lettinga and Troost, 2015). Shifting to an enabling

and capacity building role is therefore one intended to reduce inequal-

ities. But as we can see, there are lingering tensions and this is not an

easy issue to resolve. A starting point is the kind of self-awareness and

acknowledgement of inequalities that are reected in the chapter. This

appears in line with other examples in which emphasis is placed upon

genuin e partnership in human rights work between c ommunities and NGOs

and other organisations (Madlingozi, 2010). There isn’t any neat binary

between global and local, particularly given that many (inter-) national

level organisations are go-betweens, bringing the kinds of important

resources mentioned. Dislodging dominant patterns of knowledge, and

associated political economy of funding and hierarchy that is still very

dicult, but oers a glimpse of a decolonised human rights. In all these

endeavours, the urban scale provides closer proximity to the needs and

desires of diverse communities.

Third, there isn’t necessarily any neat separation also between ‘civil’

and ‘political’ society and which shouldn’t be an exaggerated divide. In

other words, SJCs show a sophisticated use of human rights as tools, but

which they perceive cannot substitute for political struggle and mobilisa-

tion. Activists must work within the often highly delicate local situation,

and vested interests and local authorities, and in which, appeal to outside

actors can certainly bring support, resources and protection. As such,

activists oscillate between both ‘societies’ – the ‘political’ and the ‘civil’

but seek to balance the opportunities and demands of each. We would

clearly caution against any assumption that local residents are rejecting

human rights. What we see instead is a practice of adapting and adjusting

rights to t broader struggles over urban context. The key point therefore

is that rights are in need of claiming, and in doing so, they are strategi-

cally adapted to enable political action.

Fourth, it has been shown that an essential starting point and moti-

vation for the SJCs is to deal with socio-spatial context. It is, after all,

180 Peris Sean Jones and Gacheke Gachihi

this context of the ‘slum’ city in which law and rights are suspended, or,

simply ignored by urban authorities and policy makers, who often col-

lude with inuential property developers and the police force in spaces

deemed ‘criminal’ and ‘illegal’. Human rights are therefore being urban-

ised in a double sense. First, they are strategically adapted to framing

mobilisation struggles in and over the city. But then, second, the post-

colonial characteristics of urban life have an enduring imprint which

exposes the limitations of human rights. In both these senses an urban

politics of rights is a critical means of delivering a more emancipatory city.

Conclusion

With the high levels of precarity, including ever-present threats of

eviction, and almost complete lack of public services, and police bru-

tality, it is not surprising that SJCs have prioritised mobilising against

immediate threats. Perhaps they will begin to contribute to more emanci-

patory urban planning, which remains scare and requires a more genuine

attempt by duty-bearers to connect with the grassroots through genuine

postcolonial practices. We hope that in the years to come the movement

will continue to grow and exert even greater shaping power over cities.

In nding that shaping power, however, human rights present some lim-

itations for the postcolonial world. Understanding these limitations led

one of the authors to participate in the quest to build a broader social

justice movement. This is a shared vision steeped in experiences of pov-

erty and place that are perceived to play such an important role in deter-

mining how and why ‘problem people’ are treated dierently. The eorts

reected here in building a movement are a potentially signicant step

towards de-centring long established patterns of thought and action, in

other words, contributing to de-colonising human rights discourse and

practice in the post-colonial city. There may be distinctions and ten-

sions in the inter-play of human rights, social justice and the urban, but

arguably this is broadening the set of ideas associated with each.

Notes

1 Dedication: We dedicate the chapter to a great friend and comrade of the

Socia l Justic e Centre movement, He nry Ekal Lober ‘Turu’, founder memb er

of Mathare Social Justice Centre, a pastoralist from Lokichogio, Turkana

and urban dweller in Mathare, Nairobi. In memory of his resilience, hope

and love for a dignied life. Your memory lives on in the struggle for social

justice.

2 A notable source which the chapter draws upon is Clouzeau’s (2019)

Masters dissertation based on their internship at MSJC.

3 Some organisations can therefore take on more than one approach, for

example, Abahlali baseMjondolo, a movement for squatters in South

Africa, combine radical autonomy and strategic access to rights claims to

ght for housing provision (Pithouse, undated).

Decolonising human rights 181

4 The current leaders and coordinators of MSJC, Dandora Community Jus-

tice Centre and Kamkunji SJC, for example, are all from the Bunge era.

5 This is a police related Facebook page that promotes targeting of individ-

uals for EJK.

6 Examples include, Kevin Gitau was arrested by a ‘killer cop’ in February

2019 and driven all night long in a Probox car but was released after a Twit-

ter campaign. Sadly, he was killed by the same ocer on April 16th.

MSJC. (November 4, 2017). Another concerned the detention of an MSJC

activists, see ‘Thank you for your support to ensure the release of JJ our

eld mobilizer and oce coordinator!’ https://www.matharesocialjustice.

org/ accessed, July 2, 2020.

7 As a SJC Working Group activist put it in another study: ‘You are innocent

until proven guilty, that one is for the rich. But in Mathare, it’s like you are

guilty until proven innocent’ (in Clouzeau, 2019).

8 This is the third stage of Snow and Benford’s approach in which program-

matic activities are conceived to deliver the desired changes.

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Centre, https://www.matharesocialjustice.org/who-is-next/ accessed, June 15

2019).

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Right to Water. A Participatory Report’ (https://www.matharesocialjustice.org/

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ing-group/rethinking-transitional-justice-as-a-site-of-social-justice-struggles/

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org/eje-campaign/war-against-the-poor-and-youth-video-of-un-special-rappor-

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Rights’, 42 Harvard International Law Journal, 201, 201–248.

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Decolonising human rights 183

Interviews

Coordinators SJCs (no particular order):

Mathare Social Justice Centre, September 21, 2020.

Githurai Social Justice Center, September 29, 2020.

Dandora Community Social Justice Center, September 28, 2020.

Kayole Social Justice Center, September 26, 2020.

Co-founder Mathare Social Justice Centre, April 21, 2015.

Part 4

Mechanisms of mobilisation

DOI: 10.4324/9781003315544-13

Introduction

Around the world, recent years have seen the rescaling of state power, its

entwinement with private power and the accompanying repositioning of

national governments, cities, (global and local) capital and (global and

local) citizens. Among these shifts and the concomitant fragmentation of

power, ‘interrelationships among scales [of power] are continually xed,

struggled over and reworked by particular social actors pursuing specic

political, social, economic and ecological goals’ (Purcell 2006, p. 1929 –

see also Curtis 2016, p. 463; Porras 2009, p. 546). Traditionally conceived

as substantive guidance for and limits to (national) state power, human

rights frameworks operating at dierent scales have been instrumental

in these struggles, while rights are themselves being repositioned and

transformed in dierent contexts and at dierent scales.

In particular, many city governments around the world have in recent

years found themselves gaining signicant power and autonomy, as state

power at the national scale has devolved and decentralised while global

governance space has become more friendly to subnational participa-

tion (Aust 2015, pp. 269–270; Oomen and Baumgärtel 2018, pp. 627–628;

Porras 2009). Simultaneously, at a local scale, this power and autonomy

has been contested and clawed back by the growing signicance of both

private capital and civil society as actors in everyday urban governance

(Curtis 2016, pp. 476–477; Porras 2009, pp. 546, 584; Purcell 2002). The

dynamics of urban life, the contours of urban citizenship and the content

of human rights in dierent cities are dierently impacted depending on

how both these vertical power relations (between urban local govern-

ment, national and regional governments) and horizontal power rela-

tions (between urban local government, the private/corporate sector and

civil society) play out and interact with other existing power structures

(Bulkeley et al. 2018, pp. 715–716; Purcell 2002).

High-prole examples of progressive and rights-based urban govern-

ance around the world have presented much cause for optimism and have

lent compelling weight to calls for increased devolution of state power

Resisting marginalisation

in the global city

Eking out a legal right to public

presence in the City of Cape Town

Marius Pieterse

188 Marius Pieterse

to urban local government (see Curtis 2016, pp. 464–465; Oomen and

Baumgärtel 2018; Oomen and Van den Berg 2014; Russell 2019). But a

number of scholars have cautioned that there is nothing inherently just

and progressive about local governance, and that urban autonomy can as

easily be steered towards repressive or exclusionary ends, or be captured

by private class or economic interests inimical to the broader realisation

of human rights (Aust 2015, pp. 265–268; Bulkeley et al. 2018, pp. 715–717;

DeFilippis 1999, pp. 986–987; Purcell 2006; Russell 2019, pp. 994, 1007).

Indeed, there are strong links between the global trend towards devolu-

tion of power and the concomitant rise of autonomous urban govern-

ance, on the one hand, and forces of economic globalisation and private

capital, associated with the stratication of labour and property markets,

and with increased urban segregation and inequality, on the other (Curtis

2016, pp. 465–467; DeFilippis 1999; Porras 2009; Purcell 2006, pp. 1921–

1923). Accordingly, the content of human rights and the manner in which

they are enacted and invoked in cities are shaped not only by the legal

architecture of domestic human rights regimes but also by the peculi-

arities of horizontal and vertical power relations within particular cities

(Mitchell 2003, p. 42; Oomen 2016; Oomen and Baumgärtel 2018). For

instance, in some ‘human rights cities’, the interests of vulnerable urban

residents are advanced (against either or both nation states and private

capital) by local government, acting in partnership with civil society and

residents and invoking national or international human rights norms as

expressions of local autonomy and/or as guiding principles for the local

pursuit of progressive policies and projects (Oomen 2016; Oomen and

Van den Berg 2014; Russell 2019). Elsewhere, in contrast, national gov-

ernments, residents and civil society may invoke rights, either as legal

rules or as moral or political claims, against the oppressive governance

practices of city governments and their private-sector partners (Garcia

Chueca 2016; Oomen and Van den Berg 2014, p. 166; Pieterse 2018).

Moreover, human rights standards’ open-endedness, abstract formu-

lation and context-specicity mean that they are capable of dierent

interpretations and modes of invocation or realisation, not all of which

are always equally progressive. Even self-proclaimed ‘human rights cit-

ies’, or cities where local government has explicit human rights obliga-

tions under domestic law, may ascribe to interpretations of rights that

impose less rather than more obligations on their governments (Grigolo

2017; Oomen and Van den Berg 2014), and/or that favour the rights-based

interests of certain urban residents (such as middle-class, tax-paying

consumers) over others (such as homeless people, drug users or informal

workers) (Grigolo 2016, 2017; Pieterse 2017). This could lead to a denial

of the ‘right to have rights’ and a diminution of the contours of urban

citizenship (Holston 1999; Pieterse 2017). On the other hand, more radi-

cal understandings of rights advanced by residents, social movements or

civil society can enhance community participation in urban governance

Resisting marginalisation in the global city 189

and broaden the contours of urban citizenship by valorising dierent

ways of being in the city (Garcia Chueca 2016; Grigolo 2017; Holston

1999). The upshot is that the legal, political and social context of their

invocation and vindication in particular cities can cause human rights

norms to acquire a peculiar local urban character (see Grigolo 2016;

Porras 2009, p. 546).

This chapter zooms in on such urbanisation of constitutionally guar-

anteed domestic human rights in an adversarial local governance con-

text. The focus is on the City of Cape Town in South Africa, often called

one of the most unequal cities in the world (Sithole Hungwe 2017). The

city’s Metropolitan Local Government enjoys constitutionally enshrined

autonomy and it is constitutionally bound, legally accountable for and

ostensibly committed to the realisation and observance of a wide range

of human rights. Yet, as will be discussed below, local party politics

have interacted with neo-liberal forces to steer much of the city’s gov-

ernance energy towards enhancing urban competitiveness and ‘global

city’ aspirations, which benet private capital and wealthy residents but

brutally side-line the urban poor. At the same time, the city’s severe spa-

tial inequality has lent a particular spatial justice and ‘right-to-the-city’

edge to human rights activism in Cape Town. This, as will be shown, has

interacted with party-political cleavages between national and local gov-

ernment, a history of rights-focused political struggle, a strong tradition

of strategic, rights-based litigation in civil society and the extensive, jus-

ticiable human rights framework provided by the national Constitution,

to produce a range of right-to-the-city-infused constitutional challenges

to some local government practices in the city.

As will be discussed, court judgments resulting from these challenges

have interpreted conventional constitutional rights in new and innova-

tive ways that resist the privatisation of public space, arm the social

function of public property and begin to construct a new, legally enforce-

able, right of marginalised residents to urban public presence. This right,

produced from the particularities of Cape Town’s local political strug-

gles, opens up new possibilities for legally enforcing habitation-related

dimensions of the right to the city (see Mitchell 2003, p. 19; Purcell 2002,

2006) in South African cities.

Urban Autonomy and Human Rights in South African Cities

Struggles over the urban form are typically at the centre of both urban

autonomy and the right to the city (DeFilippis 1999, p. 980; Mitchell 2003,

p. 5). Urban local governments use state power to shape public urban

space in implementing various policy objectives. Private capital attempts

to remake such space in ways that maximise prot and ease nancial

ows. Residents, in turn, are constantly producing and reproducing

space in the course of their everyday pursuit of a range of individual

190 Marius Pieterse

ends. Urban rights can be produced during any of these processes or in

instances where they come into conict (Grigolo 2016; Mitchell 2003,

pp. 18, 74, 81).

South Africa’s eight biggest cities are governed by so-called ‘metropol-

itan’ municipal councils, which enjoy signicant constitutional autonomy

alongside considerable statutory powers and responsibilities. The exact

scope and content of this autonomy need not concern us here (for discus-

sion see Pieterse 2019a), though it notably encompasses bylaw-making

authority alongside full executive and administrative control over a num-

ber of functional areas that shape the urban public environment, such as

municipal planning, regulation of public places and control of public nui-

sances (section 156 read with schedules 4B and 5B of the Constitution of the

Republic of South Africa, 1996). Municipalities have the ‘right to govern’

these functional areas on their ‘own initiative’ (section 151(2) of the 1996

Constitution), in cooperation with and subject to oversight and support

from national and provincial governments (sections 41, 139 and 154(1) of

the 1996 Constitution). This municipal autonomy is substantively animated

by section 152 of the 1996 Constitution, which enjoins local government to

‘provide democratic and accountable government for local communities;

to ensure the provision of services to communities in a sustainable man-

ner; to promote social and economic development; to promote a safe and

healthy environment and to encourage the involvement of communities

and community organisations in the matters of local government’.

The South African Constitution contains a fully justiciable Bill

of Rights, which includes a wide array of civil and political as well as

socio-economic rights. These rights are closely modelled on international

human rights law, and courts must take the international-law-meaning of

rights into account when interpreting the Bill of Rights (s. 39(1)(b) of the

1996 Constitution). A number of the rights in the Bill of Rights (nota-

bly the right of access to adequate housing (s. 26(1)-(2)), the guarantee

against arbitrary eviction (s. 26(3)), the right to freedom of movement

(s. 21); the right to environmental protection through measures aimed at

securing sustainable development (s. 24(b)), the right of equitable access

to land (s. 25(5)) and the determination that equality ‘includes the full

and equal enjoyment of all rights and freedoms’ (s. 9(2))) lend themselves

to progressive appropriation by urban social movements (Coggin and

Pieterse, 2012; Pieterse 2017, pp. 20–21).

The Constitution determines that all organs of State at national, provin-

cial and local levels must ‘respect, protect, promote and full’ the rights in

the Bill of Rights (s. 7 of the 1996 Constitution). There is thus no question

that a broad range of human rights apply in South African cities, and

local government policy across the country typically expresses explicit

commitment to rights-based governance. But, as will be illustrated below,

this is not to say that rights are always adhered to in urban governance

practice, or that there are no conicts over their meaning and application.

Resisting marginalisation in the global city 191

Because of its roots in the anti-Apartheid struggle, South African civil

society is active, well-networked and well-resourced, especially in urban

areas. It has become closely entwined with the country’s equally active

(and equally urban-based) public interest litigation sector and this coali-

tion has, since the end of Apartheid, often rallied around constitutional

rights and regularly resorted to rights-based litigation (Madlingozi 2014).

Civil society’s rights-orientation, the justiciability of the Bill of Rights

against local government and the general dysfunctionality of public par-

ticipation fora at local government level (see Pieterse 2018) has meant that

conicts over human rights in South African cities are often mediated by

courts – ‘the Bill of Rights … has provided an outlet for the marginalised

to assert thei r citizenship within the urban fabric of South Africa’ (Coggin

and Pieterse 2012, p. 258). In particular, ever since the landmark case of

Government of the Republic of South Africa v Grootboom (2001) enjoined

government at all levels to respond to the emergency needs of inhabitants

of a Cape Town informal settlement, urban local government has been

the site of the overwhelming majority of litigated socio-economic rights

disputes, meaning that the South African jurisprudence around these

rights has acquired a distinct urban character (Pieterse 2018).

Party Politics, Neo-liberal Governance, Inequality

and Displacement in Cape Town

Within a context of overstretched human and nancial resources, South

Africa’s metropolitan governments negotiate constant tensions and

trade-os between, on the one hand, creating liveable, business- and

investment-friendly cities that can compete in the global economy and,

on the other hand, addressing pressing social problems like poverty,

homelessness and lingering spatial segregation on the basis of race and

class (Lemanski 2007). In Cape Town, these trade-os and tensions have

a strong party-political edge. South Africa’s erstwhile liberation move-

ment, the African National Congress (‘ANC’) has, since 1994, always

comfortably won the country’s national elections, as well as most pro-

vincial and local elections. However, the Metropolitan Council in the

City of Cape Town has for the last two decades mostly been run by the

Democratic Alliance (‘DA’), the national opposition party. While the DA

has more recently also gained control of the Western Cape Provincial

government, is in charge of several smaller municipalities (mostly in

the Western Cape) and has even for a brief period governed a number

of other metropolitan areas in coalition with other parties (see Pieterse

2019b), it is closely associated with Cape Town in the public conscious-

ness, and the city very much remains its agship.

Whereas the Constitution establishes an elaborate system of coopera-

tive governance between national, provincial and local spheres (chapter 3

of the 1996 Constitution) which often irons out political tensions where

192 Marius Pieterse

spheres are controlled by dierent political parties (Cameron 2014;

Pieterse 2019b; Resnick 2014), Cape Town has through the years been the

site of much party-political grandstanding and conict (Olver 2019, p. 16).

More importantly, the city bears out that ‘politically divided authority

certainly provides impetus for autonomous urban action and encourages

city governments to test the limits of their functional autonomy’ (Pieterse

2019a, p. 132). Through the years, the Metropolitan Council has often

crossed swords with national government over matters ranging from

road tolling to electricity provision, and has more than once successfully

gone to court to protect its constitutionally demarcated governance turf

from national intrusion (see cases discussed in Pieterse 2019a).

The DA is generally regarded as having more distinctly business-

friendly, neo-liberal leanings than the ANC (McDonald and Smith 2004).

But apart from this, it lacks a strong policy platform and its election cam-

paigns tend to centre on the ANC’s governance-shortcomings (Pieterse

2019b, pp. 59, 66). In line with this, the DA perceives (eective, ‘clean’

and business-friendly) ‘good’ governance as its main selling point to its

target audience of middle-class voters, and aims to visibly display this

through the manner in which Cape Town is governed (Anciano and Piper

2019, p. 33; Olver 2019, pp. 16, 53–54; Pieterse 2019b). It channels the over-

whelming bulk of its resources and expertise towards managing Cape

Town (Anciano and Piper 2019, p. 33), which is indeed popularly regarded

as South Africa’s ‘best managed’ city (Cameron 2014; Resnick 2014).

The manner in which these middle-class-oriented good governance

aspirations have manifested in control over and management of public

space in the city, has however been contentious. Keen to paint Cape Town

as a ‘global city’, to attract service rms and foreign investment, and

to exploit its reputation as one of the world’s foremost tourist destinations,

the city’s local government politicians and policy documents typically

emphasise urban competitiveness, investor-, tourism- and business-

friendliness, alongside ostensible commitment to the developmental goals

prescribed by the 1996 Constitution (Anciano and Piper 2019, pp. 85–86;

Lemanski 2007; McDonald and Smith 2004; Olver 2019, p. 53). Through

the years, signicant local government eorts have been directed towards

ensuring that the look, feel and functioning of the central business district

and its immediate surrounding suburbs (most of which are picturesquely

nestled between the Table Mountain range and the ocean) live up to these

aspirations. As in other cities around the world, associated governance

initiatives have more often than not been pursued in partnership with

the local private and business sectors. But such co-governance has been

politically controversial in Cape Town, with especially the city’s property

development and real estate industries perceived as being ‘uncomfortably

close’ to the DA, the metropolitan government and some of its senior o-

cials (Anciano and Piper 2019, pp. 12–14, 85; Lemanski 2007, pp. 455–458;

McDonald 2008, p. 9; Olver 2019, pp. 53–54, 125–159).

Resisting marginalisation in the global city 193

Regardless, the many public space management initiatives pursued by

the so called ‘Cape Town Partnership’ between local business and gov-

ernment, have attracted much praise for ‘regenerating’, ‘beautifying’ and

‘cleaning up’ the central business district and previously somewhat run-

down surrounding suburbs like Sea Point and Woodstock (Lemanski

2007, pp. 451–452). But, as has been observed in relation to similar initi-

atives elsewhere, these regeneration initiatives have typically entailed a

signicant measure of privatisation of urban management functions and

of public space. More perniciously, the Capetonian measures have often

come under re for scapegoating and unfairly targeting ‘urban unde-

sirables’ such as homeless people, beggars, street children, sex workers,

informal street traders and drug addicts, all of whom have in various

ways been ‘discouraged’ by the measures from being present in the inner

city and surrounds (Lemanski 2007, pp. 456–458, McDonald 2008, p. 8;

Miraftab 2007, pp. 610–612).

Just as with the displacement of poorer residents through processes

associated with gentrication (which also abound in Cape Town, where

international real estate demand is very strong and average property

prices are far higher than in other South African cities – see Donaldson

et al. 2013; Lemanski 2007; Sithole Hungwe 2017), such ‘erasure’ of the

urban underclass in the course of ‘broken window’-style urban manage-

ment is common in many ‘global cities’ (see Mitchell 2003, pp. 170–174)

and is also problematised in other South African cities (see Kilander

2019; Lemanski et al. 2008). But it takes on far harsher dimensions in

Cape Town, where demographic patterns, Apartheid history, the real

estate market and the topography of the Table Mountain range have

combined to make the city the most racially and class-segregated city

in South Africa, and one of the most unequal and most segregated in

the world (Lemanski 2007; Lemanski et al. 2008; McDonald 2008, p. 9;

Miraftab 2007; Sithole Hungwe 2017). While the face of ‘global’ Cape

Town is sophisticated, beautiful, upper-class and (mostly) white, the

city’s black and desperately poor majority are for the most part relegated

to living in the so-called Cape Flats, a desolate stretch of sandy plain

near-completely hidden from the ‘global city’ by the mountain. Life in

‘the Flats’, home of South Africa’s highest rates of violent crime, drug

addiction and HIV infection, is light years removed from life in the ‘city

bowl’, to which, thanks to the mountain, the Flats are very poorly con-

nected (see Lemanski 2007; McDonald 2008, p. 9).

While the Metropolitan Council also pursues several progressive poli-

cies aimed at social upliftment (Lemanski 2007, pp. 453–454), both it and

the DA are regularly accused of being ‘anti-poor’, both in rhetoric and in

their practice of urban governance (see Farr and Green 2020). In particu-

lar, there is a sense that senior local government ocials, the national DA

leadership, the local business sector, property developers and well-to-do

residents are conspiring in various ways to sabotage the city government’s

194 Marius Pieterse

policy commitments to overcoming Apartheid’s legacy of spatial segre-

gation and injustice through municipal planning and aordable housing

development, in their joint belief that there is no place for the poor in the

inner city (Lemanski 2007; Miraftab 2007; Olver 2019, pp. 157–159). More

than just political rumour, this seeming unholy alliance has been noted

and lamented by the Cape High Court (Adonisi 2020, paras 440, 478, 483),

and is also on record for having been at least partly behind a high-prole

fallout between the DA and Cape Town’s spatial-justice-championing for-

mer mayor Patricia De Lille, who controversially resigned in late 2018 after

having been expelled from the party (Olver 2019, p. 234).

It is then perhaps unsurprising that civil society in Cape Town displays

a far more distinct leaning towards spatial justice issues than is the case

in other major South African cities (Diani et al. 2018). Cape Town-

based and -focused organisations such as the closely-aliated Ndifuna

Ukwazi (www.nu.org.za; @NdifufunaUkwazi) and Reclaim the City

(www.reclaimthecity.org.za; @ReclaimCT) actively resist the continued

exclusion of Cape Town’s poor from the inner city and surrounds, and

campaign for access to well-located aordable housing, improved pub-

lic transport, improved access to public space and the active pursuit of

spatial justice by the Metropolitan Council. Reclaim the City’s interim

constitution, for instance, expresses a commitment to ‘undo the legacy of

a segregated and unequal apartheid city’ and to ‘resist and prevent unjust

practices by government and all sources of private property power’, so

as to ‘realise a city in which there is just and equal access to well- located

land [and] the working-class, poor and unemployed have decent and

aordable homes to live in’ (www.reclaimthecity.org.za).

The Ndifuna Ukwazi/Reclaim the City coalition has close connections

to public interest litigation rms (especially the Cape Town branch of

the Legal Resources Centre, a South African public interest lawyering

stalwart) and its international network includes organisations like the

Global Platform for the Right to the City (www.right2city.org). It typi-

cally employs a range of street-level opposition tactics such as public pro-

test and building occupations (Pillay and Sendin 2017), alongside appeals

to national government to discipline the city leadership and regular resort

to rights-based litigation. Through the years, it has threatened and pur-

sued legal challenges against the validity of dierent urban management

policies, property development deals and other administrative decisions

in the city, based on a range of rights guaranteed by the Bill of Rights in

the 1996 Constitution.

Resistance to Urban Exclusion in the Cape High Court

While all of South Africa’s metropolitan governments regularly nd

themselves responding to rights-based legal challenges pertaining

to service delivery failures and the practice of urban evictions (see

Resisting marginalisation in the global city 195

Pieterse 2018), it is Cape Town that has been the site of the overwhelming

bulk of legal challenges over governance of public space and use of public

property in urban South Africa. This is in no small part due to the pecu-

liarities of local civic activism and local party politics in the city, where

urban management, access to the inner city and the prevailing condi-

tions in the townships on the Cape Flats are heavily politicised (see also

the judgment of the Cape High Court in the matter of Beja v Premier

of the Western Cape (2011), which grew from ANC-backed opposition

to a much-maligned DA township sanitation project involving provision

of unenclosed toilets). Over the last two decades, the Cape High Court

has decided a number of legal challenges against the matrix of private/

public urban co-governance practices that exclude and displace poor

Capetonians from the inner city. The resulting judgments have upheld

challenges against attempts by private or public entities to ‘cleanse’

public space of ‘urban undesirables’, have vindicated the social value of

public property and public space in Cape Town, and have begun to elab-

orate the city government’s public responsibility towards residents when

it comes to use of publicly owned land.

The rst of these judgments, Victoria & Alfred Waterfront v Police

Commissioner, Western Cape, boldly disrupted conventional understand-

ings of what counts as ‘public space’ in the rst place. While occupying

a signicant stretch of outside space along the Cape Town harbour front

and containing some public amenities (such as a post oce and the embar-

kation point for a public ferry to Robben Island), the Victoria and Alfred

Waterfront (hereinafter ‘V&A Waterfront’), a mixed-use entertainment,

retail, residential and business precinct that is one of Cape Town’s most

celebrated ‘public’ spaces and tourist attractions, is privately-owned and

managed. Much like a suburban shopping mall, access to the precinct,

and its patrons’ behaviour, is subtly monitored and policed by private

security guards. In late 2003, the V&A Waterfront’s owners sought an

interdict forbidding two particularly troublesome beggars from entering

the precinct, or alternatively from begging and harassing visitors there.

What seemed at rst like a cut-and-dry private trespass case unexpect-

edly turned into a right-to-the-city dispute when the Legal Resources

Centre was admitted as an amicus curiae, and raised the constitutional

rights of the beggars in defence of their presence at the Waterfront. In

upholding these arguments, the Cape High Court indicated that it was

not prepared to exclude beggars from an area it regarded as for all intents

and purposes constituting a suburb of Cape Town. Recalling South

Africa’s Apartheid past in which black people’s access to cities was legally

restricted, and warning that contemporary urban management should

not reinvoke this history, the Court found that the V&A Waterfront func-

tioned as a public space regardless of its legally private character. While

the Court was willing to order that the beggars refrain from harming

or threatening visitors and employees, and that they should leave the

196 Marius Pieterse

premises of individual restaurants when requested by those in charge to

do so, it felt that denying them access to the precinct altogether would

infringe their constitutional right to freedom of movement as well as their

constitutional right to life, which the Court understood as encompassing

a right to a livelihood. Given the patently public function of the precinct,

these rights were found to outweigh the rights conventionally owing

from private property ownership (V&A Waterfront 2004 – for discussion,

see Coggin and Pieterse 2012, pp. 271–273; Kilander 2019, p. 85; Pieterse

2017, p. 130).

Marginalised urban inhabitants’ right to public presence in the city

was to receive a further boost with the 2009 judgment in the case of Sex

Worker Education and Advocacy Task Force v Minister of Safety and

Security (2009). The applicant NGO (commonly known by its acronym,

SWEAT) is South Africa’s most vocal advocate for the rights of sex work-

ers. While sex work is illegal in South Africa, the criminal prohibition

thereof is seldom enforced. Instead, street-based sex workers in many

South African cities regularly nd themselves the target of municipal

bylaw enforcement and associated police harassment, aimed at remov-

ing them from public view in ‘respectable’ areas (see Bonthuys 2012;

Pieterse 2015). In Cape Town, this pattern intensied prior to South

Africa’s hosting of the 2010 soccer World Cup, when the city’s political

leadership became particularly anxious to present a respectable version

of the city to visitors. As part of an intensied urban management cam-

paign, the police would routinely arrest Cape Town’s sex workers on

loitering, nuisance and similar bylaw contravention charges and briey

detain them in holding cells, only to later release them without charge

(Bonthuys 2012).

Despite the (il)legal status of sex work, SWEAT successfully obtained

an interdict against this practice. The Cape High Court armed that

the arrests did not serve the purpose of enforcing the criminal law, and

instead functioned only to harass sex workers and drive them out of pub-

lic space, thereby targeting a vulnerable social group in an illegitimate

attempt at ‘social control’. This was found to infringe the sex workers’

constitutional rights to dignity and to freedom and security of the per-

son, thereby warranting interdictory relief (Sex Worker Education and

Advocacy Task Force 2009 – for discussion see Pieterse 2015, p. 497;

Pieterse 2017, pp. 180–185).

A decade later, a group of homeless people obtained an interdict against

the local government’s similar use of municipal bylaws against them. In

terms of City of Cape Town’s ‘Streets, Public Places and Prevention of

Noise Nuisances Bylaws’ (2007), a range of activities, such as erecting

structures or making re in public spaces, are deemed municipal oenses

(see Kilander 2019, pp. 81–82). As has been pointed out in relation to sim-

ilar regulations elsewhere, such provisions have a devastating impact on

homeless people, whose necessarily public existence and satisfaction of

Resisting marginalisation in the global city 197

survival requirements are eectively criminalised thereby (Mitchell 2003,

pp. 170–173; Waldron 1991). Assisted by a pro bono lawyer, the applicants

in Gelderbloem and Others v City of Cape Town successfully interdicted

the metropolitan police from harassing them, ning them and conscat-

ing their belongings in terms of these bylaws, based on their constitu-

tional rights to access to housing and dignity (Gelderbloem 2019 – for

discussion see Kretzmann 2019; Shoba 2019). A review of the constitu-

tionality of the bylaws is pending.

Two further judgments, decided roughly a decade apart, add to the

above trio of cases arming urban outcasts’ right to be publicly pres-

ent in Cape Town, by further safeguarding public, and publicly owned,

urban space against further privatisation. Both played o in Sea Point, a

high-density suburb directly adjacent to the Cape Town central business

district. Once a somewhat run-down and seedy (if spectacularly beauti-

ful) strip, the neighbourhood has signicantly gentried over the last two

decades. Due to its central location and cosmopolitan feel, it is currently

one of Cape Town’s most sought-after areas, and contains one of the

city’s most celebrated and diverse public spaces, a popular promenade

surrounded by a strip of parkland, stretching for several kilometres.

It was the fate of this promenade that was at the centre of Sea Front

for All v MEC Environmental and Development Planning, Western Cape

(2011). A local community association successfully challenged admin-

istrative decisions by city government ocials and the Western Cape

Provincial Government, which granted environmental authorisation to a

private developer to redevelop a public pavilion at one end of the prom-

enade, by turning it into an upmarket hotel. The mooted development,

which was motivated as an urban regeneration initiative, would have had

the eect of usurping part of the promenade into the private grounds of

the hotel.

The Cape High Court found that the ocial granting the authorisation

failed to apply her mind to the eect that the mooted development would

have on public space, and failed to consider all the possible alternative

uses for the site, including the option of letting it remain as public open

space. Elaborating on the importance of ‘democratic’ public space, its

scarcity in Cape Town and the history of the promenade as one of few

non-racial public spaces in the city (even during the apartheid years),

the Court described the promenade as ‘one of the few open spaces in

Cape Town which seems to evoke the sense that social equality sought

by democracy is in fact being fostered there’ (Sea Front for All 2011,

para 40). Noting that the area had much improved over recent years and

that there was thus no real need for further gentrication in Sea Point,

the Court opined that a decision to change the land use of such impor-

tant space should not have been taken lightly, and certainly not without

extensive public consultation and attaching proper weight to the public

purpose currently served by the promenade. The ocial’s decision was

198 Marius Pieterse

accordingly set aside under administrative law, thereby eectively block-

ing the redevelopment.

Finally, the Cape High Court recently overturned a decision by the

Western Cape Provincial Government to sell a government-owned site,

containing disused school buildings in central Sea Point, to a private

organisation for signicant prot. The mooted sale of the so-called

‘Tafelberg’ site had for more than a year been heavily disputed and polit-

icised, with Reclaim the City protesting that the property was ideally

suited for the development of well-located aordable housing in accord-

ance with the local and provincial government’s constitutional mandates

and spatial planning objectives. Provincial and city government ocials’

opposition to the development of the site for public housing was however

reected in the minutes of Council proceedings, with one ocial going so

far as to state on record that there was ‘no room for’ low-cost housing in

the inner city and surrounds. With public backing from the DA, the pro-

vincial government approved the sale of the property, despite Reclaim

the City’s housing campaign and the opposition of the (ANC-aliated)

National Minister of Housing, who also urged that the property be used

for developing public housing stock.

In setting aside the sale, the Court read together the constitutional

obligations to progressively realise the right to ‘have access to adequate

housing’ and to ‘foster conditions which enable citizens to gain access to

land on an equitable basis’ (respectively sections 26(2) and 25(5) of the 1996

Constitution) so as to constitute an obligation on the State to overcome

Cape Town’s legacy of spatial apartheid (Adonisi 2020, paras 36 –37). Noting

that Cape Town’s housing policies had thus far instead enabled gentrica-

tion and displacement of poor residents by giving preference to private,

top-end developments in the inner city and surrounds, the Court found

that the State had to use all of the resources at its disposal, including the

well-located inner-city land that it owns, towards fullment of its constitu-

tional obligations (Adonisi 2020, paras 100–102). City and provincial gov-

ernment ocials’ opposition to low-cost housing development in the inner

city was described as incompatible with these obligations (Adonisi 2020,

paras 440–441, 478, 483). This, together with deciencies in the public par-

ticipation process followed prior to the sale, as well as non-compliance with

the Constitution’s cooperative governance obligations (in that the National

Minister’s concerns and attempts at invoking mediation processes in terms

of intergovernmental relations legislation were ignored), was found to ren-

der the sale voidable, and the Court accordingly set it aside.

Reections

This chapter has shown that, in spite of legal and constitutional obli-

gations to progressively realise socio-economic rights, the metropoli-

tan government in the City of Cape Town has consistently preferred a

Resisting marginalisation in the global city 199

narrow interpret ation of its human rights obligations and has more often

than not used the autonomy granted to it by the national Constitution

to favour the rights of businesses and middle-class residents at the

expense of the urban poor. This has contributed to a pre-existing wedge

between the metropolitan council, civil society and poorer communi-

ties in the city.

Given this hostile local urban governance context, civil society organ-

isations and marginalised residents in Cape Town have reached out to

three national-level, institutional structures or frameworks in their

attempts to assert human rights in the city. First, they had a potential ally

in a national government politically opposed to the City government and

keen to invoke the national Constitution’s intergovernmental relations

framework to ensure that the city’s political leadership adheres to the

substantive demands of the national Constitution. Secondly, the justicia-

bility of the civil, political and socio-economic rights in the Constitution

allowed resort to the judicial process in asserting and enforcing a right

to urban presence. Thirdly, in addition to being mandated to align

their interpretation of constitutional rights to international law, South

African judges are empowered to consider a broad array of sources in

giving content to rights and South African constitutional adjudication is

deliberately oriented towards societal transformation (see Langa 2006;

Moseneke 2002). This has meant that the local branch of the High Court

was receptive to right-to-the-city-type arguments.

Over a near 20-year period, the judgments of the Cape High Court dis-

cussed in the previous section have persistently broken down the public/

private divide inherent to much neo-liberal urban governance and have

consistently safeguarded poor and vulnerable Capetonians from forces

seeking to dismantle their already tenuous foothold in the inner city. Not

only has the Court robustly protected urban outcasts from the use of

public power to quash their habitation and appropriation of public space

(Sex Worker Education and Advocacy Task Force 2009; Gelderbloem

2019), it has extended this protection to operate also in privatised public

space (V&A Waterfront 2004), while simultaneously providing protection

against the privatisation of public space (Sea Front for All 2011; Adonisi

2020) and insisting that public property be applied towards public, rather

than private, benet (Adonisi 2020).

In doing so, the Court has relied on dierent, often previously un-enu-

merated, aspects of constitutional rights to equality, dignity, life, freedom

of movement, freedom and security of the person, access to housing and

property. Its interpretation and application of these rights have consist-

ently transcended their conventional understandings. Instead, the Court

has explored the intersection and horizontal dimensions of these rights

and the value of democracy, within a particular understanding of their

spatial and geographic dimensions (Coggin and Pieterse 2012; Pieterse

2017). The result is the beginning of construction of ‘new rights’ to urban

200 Marius Pieterse

public presence, to the appropriation of public urban space and to the

social function of urban property, all of which are unique to the urban

(and, arguably, specically the South African urban) context.

These ‘new rights’ correspond in many ways to recent normative devel-

opments in international human rights law (reected, for instance, by

the European Charter for the Safeguarding of Human Rights in the City

(2000), the UN Human Rights Council Advisory Committee Report on

the Role of Local Government in the Promotion and Prote ction of Human

Rights (2015) and the Report of the UN Special Rapporteur on Adequate

Housing as Component of the Right to an Adequate Standard of Living,

2020). Moreover, they resonate with what Marc Purcell calls a ‘right to

inhabit’ urban space (Purcell 2006), itself a component of the elements

of habitation and appropriation inherent in Henri Lefebvre’s classical

understanding of the ‘right to the city’ (see generally Lefebvre, 1996;

Mitchell 2003; Purcell 2002, 2006). While recent years have seen several

scholarly explorations of the interaction between the right to the city and

the invocation of ‘conventional’ legal rights in cities (see Garcia Chueca

2016; Mitchell 2003; Purcell 2002, pp. 101–102; Tavolari 2016), perhaps

especially in South Africa (see Coggin and Pieterse 2012; Huchzermeyer

2018; Pieterse 2017), the ‘public space’ judgments of the Cape High Court

are among preciously few concrete examples of the ‘legalisation’ of the

right to the city in the world. In vindicating the right to inhabit public

urban space, the judgments discussed here create a legal foothold for the

everyday assertion of the right to the city, the concomitant production

of pro-poor public space, the broadening of urban citizenship and the

democratisation of global cities (Grigolo 2016; Pieterse 2017; see also

Purcell 2006).

Despite the developments discussed here, the City of Cape Town and its

partners seemingly remain resolute to pursue their vision of an ‘orderly’,

middle-class, ‘global’ city. For instance, there has been controversy over

recent attempts by private security guards to police after-hours presence

on the city’s upmarket beaches, while both the South African Human

Rights Commission and the Western Cape High Court have in recent

months lambasted the Cape Town metropolitan police’s brutal evic-

tion of informal settlers and the removal of homeless people to guarded

tented camps as part of the City’s COVID-19 response (see Cruywagen

2020; Davis 2019; Farr and Green 2020). But the judgments discussed

here have signicantly altered balances of power in such matters, with

city authorities backing down or about-turning in most of these recent

clashes, arguably in no small part due to the knowledge that the state of

the law is against them.

Moreover, while for the most part originating from the particular hos-

tilities in Cape Town, the national reach of legal precedent has meant

that that social movements in other South African cities could build on

these victories. Indeed, similar interpretation of constitutional rights

Resisting marginalisation in the global city 201

have been asserted in relation to the rights of shack-dwellers in Durban

(see Abahlali baseMjondolo Movement SA v Premier, KwaZulu Natal

2010) and informal traders in Johannesburg (see South African Informal

Traders Forum v City of Johannesburg, 2014), and have similarly been

vindicated in court.

While its local government may in many ways be described as hostile

to the rights of marginalised urban residents, Cape Town is neverthe-

less a city where human rights are transforming in response to urban

autonomy and the globalisation of urban governance. The ‘urbanisation’

of poor South Africans’ rights to life, dignity, freedom and security of

the person, access to housing and equality; born from struggle against

a partly autonomous local government bent on their suppression; has

served to safeguard not only their dignity and livelihoods but also to

advance their urban citizenship, and that of marginalised residents in

other South African cities.

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Introduction

In São Paulo, Brazil, the Pacae mbu Stadium is a soccer arena ru n by the City

Hall. It was inaugurated in the heart of one of the country’s richest regions,

as an art-deco postcard inspired by the Berlin Olympic Stadium where Jesse

Owens memorably won a gold medal in the 1936 Olympic Games. Over its

80 years old history, Pacaembu has witnessed countless soccer matches and

pop music concerts, most of which with over 70,000 people worth of paying

audience. However, maybe the most impressive record in its trajectory has

only taken place recently, as its carefully cut grass welcomed a 200 beds

emergency eld hospital for Sars-CoV-2 patients.

In Brazil, the COVID-19 pandemic prompted consequences beyond the

realm of epidemiology, providing context for the dynamics of Brazilian

politics. The erce discussion held among State authorities, health-care

experts and civil society about the correct policy responses to the pan-

demic triggered a discursive battle with deep political implications for

the President of Brazil, State Governors and Mayors. A standpoint which

bears particularly useful insights into how such discursive battle played

out is the one of human rights in the urban landscape: its legitimacy as a

moral value, its appropriateness as a policy compass, its essential content

in the concrete case of making policy to ght the pandemic. Focusing

on this particular case-study, this chapter delves into the human rights

mobilisation of São Paulo City Hall’s policy responses to the COVID-

19 pandemic, arguing that the case of São Paulo illustrates how dier-

ent human rights discursive choices made by state authorities informed

the practice of such a phenomenon.

Human rights, cities and COVID-19

Despite the recent phenomenon of the pandemic, it has already become

established in scholarship that ‘the COVID-19 pandemic in itself

threatens the enjoyment of human rights, most prominently the right

to life and the right to health. It also highlights how human rights are

Human rights mobilisation in

São Paulo’s policy response

to COVID-19

Pedro Vormittag

206 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

interdependent while at the same time reecting competing interests

that are sometimes hard to reconcile (Spadaro 2020)’. Moreover, schol-

ars have been associating a human rights-based approach to the pol-

icy eort against the pandemic as a relevant proxy for distinguishing

populist from non-populist discourse in public health (Scheinin and

Molbæk-Steensig 2021, p. 19), pointing out that denialism towards the

reality of the virus or the unwillingness of governments to address

the suering brought about by it is unacceptable from a human rights

standpoint. The case of Brazil’s Bolsonaro emerges in that discussion

as a text-book example of how the lack of human rights-based policies

against COVID-19 aggravates the epidemiological problem as well as

the social consequences of the diseases (ibid, p. 20; Kirkpatrick and

Cabrera 2020).

The story of the COVID-19 pandemic is also one about people in

cities. According to the United Nations, cities have borne the brunt of

the crisis (United Nations 2020b). In the context of urban areas, the pan-

demic imposed some of its most severe consequences, especially in the

early days of outbreaks, when non-pharmaceutical interventions such as

social distancing policies were the fundamental tool to ght and prevent

COVID-19. A rising research agenda focuses on the patterns of inter-

governmental interaction in the policy eort against global health emer-

gencies such as the COVID-19. Faced with the challenge of COVID-19,

many local governments came up with alternatives to the approaches

enacted by governments at all levels, from national, federal or central

instances to local, regional, state or municipal instances. About 90% of

the reported cases happened in urban areas (United Nations 2020a, p. 5),

and a generous portion of the collective action that addressed the pan-

demic’s challenges was led by governments and, especially, subnational

governments. From New York City to Nairobi and São Paulo, Mayors

played a signicant role in enforcing critical dimensions of the overall

national policy response.

It was not long before it became clear that the pandemic was an urban

phenomenon. While the outbreaks imposed overwhelming hardships for

human rights everywhere, the virus thrived predominantly in large une-

qual urban communities – and such an unprecedented landscape pro-

vided an exceptional stage for local and State governments to thrive or

fail in their politics and policy. Wuhan, China, the rst urban area hit by

Sars-CoV-2, the policy response was led by China’s central government,

but its implementation was the responsibility of the provincial and local

governments (UNCDF 2020, p. 4).

On the one hand, over the past decades, the rise of decentralised para-

digms of governance and a shift in the international human rights agenda

from codication towards realisation was already bestowing upon cit-

ies the burden of realising human rights (Oomen 2016, p. 2). On the

other hand, in 2020, such a historical process was stretched to its limits,

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 207

as the emergency solution for a pandemic – a global problem by deni-

tion – was framed primarily in terms of local actions, such as social dis-

tancing, lockdowns and other limitations in the right to the city.

Human rights in law, cities and beyond

The concept and handling of human rights in this chapter

A concept of human rights

Our hypothesis is that the human rights discourse contained within the

policies that São Paulo City government enacted to ght the pandemic

provides insights into the dynamics of Brazil’s local and national pol-

itics. The analytical key to grasping such discourse is to frame human

rights beyond its explicit manifestation in written law, but as language-

structure, following O’Byrne’s (2012a, 2012b) concept. By using sociol-

ogy in order to understand human rights, it becomes possible to study

it as a language, ‘an institutional framework within which meanings are

negotiated and practices formalised (2012a, p. 832)’, while also enabling

the study of power struggles inherent in such negotiation of meaning

and even how specic actors operate within that framework (ibid). By

mobilising such a sociological approach, therefore, we can frame more

accurately how each political actor engaged – the City Hall, the City

Council, the federal government and civil society – made the choices

for policies and words in the midst of a erce political struggle during

the pandemic.

Also, from the standpoint of human rights theory, this chapter associ-

ates the concept of human rights to a social-constructionist perspective,

in which human rights is a social institution and, as such, is framed in

history, culture and politics, following Waters (1996) general denition.

Human rights and discourse analysis

To operationalise the approach to human rights as a social institution,

we employ critical discourse analysis. In our eort, São Paulo’s policy

response to the pandemic and its human rights component are framed as

discursive events. Such a framing of human rights in terms of discourse

is long and rich in scholarship. Grigolo (2019, p. 8), for instance, argues

that the very process of signifying human rights and attributing human

rights meaning to a given social fact is a discursive process. Borrowing

theoretical ground from Foucault (2008) and Bourdieu (2014), Grigolo

links the concept of human rights to discourse, stressing the importance

of apprehending the social conditions of discourse production as a fun-

damental input to discourse analysis at large (Bourdieu 2014, p. 15). At

the same time, Grigolo also notes how Bourdieu and Foucault (2008,

208 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

p. 19) acknowledge discourse as both descriptive and constitutive of

social reality.

In studying the practice of human rights by states – namely São Paulo

City Hall, a local government institution – the concept of discourse can

also be useful in allowing the identication of discourse in public pol-

icy. Operationalising the notion of discourse in policy studies, Schmidt’s

(2008, 2010) discursive institutionalism identies discourse as a set of

ideas and their context, which manifest either as policies proposed by

policymakers; or as programmes that gather paradigms orienting poli-

cies; or as philosophies that convey worldviews which orient policies and

programs. Fischer (2003) frames the very notion of public policy as a

discursive construct, invoking the concept of discourse in an eort to

bring policy studies closer to the reality of politics and away from an

excessively objectivist approach of empiricism (p. 68) which would render

policy analysis useless.

But it is through the lens of Fairclough’s (1992) text-oriented critical

discourse analysis (TODA) that it is possible to better grasp the human

rights substance contained in language, in this case, the legal text of

São Paulo’s policy responses. In Fairclough, discourse is necessarily

tied to language, whereas Foucault’s concept of discourse entails many

other manifestations of social institutions. Despite such meaningful

dierences, crucial theoretical assumptions of TODA, such as the role

of intertextuality as a crucial shaper of meaning and the power of dis-

course to constitute reality while also describing it are contributions

from Foucault’s (1971) early archaeological work. In Fairclough’s TODA,

moreover, critical discourse analysis focuses on discursive events as its

unit of analysis, which are essentially three-dimensional. As such, dis-

cursive events, the object of critical discourse analysis, take the form of a

piece of text, where language elements of discourse are more obviously

assessed; while also being part of a discursive practice, where the circum-

stances of text production and distribution are perceivable and part of a

social practice, where one is able to draw information about the social,

cultural and institutional circumstances of discursive events (p. 4).

Fairclough’s critical discourse analysis has been successfully employed

in studying the human rights discourse in the context of Brazilian poli-

tics. Cavalcanti and Ferreira (2020) have parsed the human rights content

of President Jair Bolsonaro’s speeches by combining Fairclough’s (1992,

2003) and Laclau and Moue (2015) analytical tools to conclude that, at

least in the selected corpus, President Jair Bolsonaro is actively trying to

attribute new meaning to human rights through discourse.

In this inquiry, we are dealing primarily with the human rights behav-

iour of a governmental actor, namely São Paulo City Hall. It is useful

to emphasise that, while the concept of human rights mobilised in this

study encompasses the discourse, the language and practice of human

rights beyond its explicit manifestation in written law, this study does

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 209

rely on legislation as one crucial empirical input for the assessment of

São Paulo’s policy responses to the COVID-19 pandemic. In this meth-

odological approach, therefore, analysing written municipal legislation

is useful, not as the exclusive substance of human rights discourse, but as

one of the ways through which one particular state actor – the São Paulo

city government – speaks human rights as a language.

The politics and policy of localising human rights

This chapter bases the issue of localising human rights on two fundamental

theoretical perspectives. First, while we do not forfeit the vast scholarship

on the human rights mobilisation by urban actors, such as social move-

ments and right to the city advocates analysed in Friendly (2017), Landy

(2013), Stammers (1999) and Riethof (2017), this study looks at the local

mobilisation of human rights in the context of COVID-19 from the stand-

point of duty-bearers, namely São Paulo City Hall. The crucial inspiration

comes from Ulrich (2011) and the research on the challenges of integrating

human rights within mainstream bureaucratic cultures (p. 338). In par-

ticular, this chapter relies on the premise that human rights localisation is

a matter of ‘building a human rights perspective into public policy making

and administrative procedures at all levels of governance (p. 337)’. Ulrich’s

perspective becomes suitable when dealing with the concrete challenges of

realising human rights in the context of the local governance of a develop-

ing country. Moreover, the case in point, a big city (São Paulo) in a develop-

ing country (Brazil), presents the particular challenge of localising human

rights within a political context in which the scepticism of which Ulrich

(p. 341) talks about is the ocial ideology of the federal government.

In this sense, this study oers contributions to the framing of how

human rights is practised in the realm of public administration, by the

hand of policymakers and street-level bureaucracy. This ‘top-down

approach’ to the localisation of human rights focuses specically on its

practice on contexts not explicitly demanded by written administrative

law. Ulrich links such perspective with the broader research agenda on

the mainstreaming of human rights, also mentioning how the focus on

human rights integration has not been particularly looked at through the

lenses of human rights localisation:

Given the central role attributed to policy makers, public oce hold-

ers and other actors in positions of power, this overall agenda may

be described as a top-down approach to the localisation of human

rights, and it may accordingly be argued that a comprehensive human

rights strategy requires a combination of bottom-up and top-down

strategies with a central focus on the grey zone in between where

actions may or may not succeed in linking up. (Ulrich 2011, p. 343)

210 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

Our eort, therefore, merges research agendas on the phenomenon of

mainstreaming human rights, looking into the practice of human rights

by a governmental actor (a ‘duty-bearer’), and the localisation of human

rights, by focusing on São Paulo as a human rights city

Second, once the duty-bearer in point is a city government, this

Chapter also uses the concept of human rights cities as laid out by

Oomen and Baumgärtel (2014), as ‘an urban entity or local government

that explicitly bases its policies, or some of them, on human rights as laid

down in international treaties, thus distinguishing itself from other local

authorities (p. 710)’. The concept shifts the centre of the human rights

discourse from its enunciation in written law to its realisation in public

policy, rising urban landscapes and the street-level bureaucracy of their

governments to prominence. This study’s focus on human rights reali-

sation within public policies, thus beyond the legal codication process

that is typical of national legislative bodies, also singles out the city as the

preferred locus of observation, once ‘cities increasingly form the level at

which rights need to be realised (Oomen and Van Den Berg 2014, p. 166)’.

Similar to the concept of human rights here invoked, human rights cities

are not a formal concept, but also a social institution, a practice (Grigolo

2019, p. 14). Throughout the discourse analysis deployed, the concept of

human rights cities will also arise in the form of one of the Foucaultian

orders of discourse to inform the enunciative modalities of São Paulo’s

policy response to COVID-19.

Social theory and public policy scholarship have noticed that globali-

sation and contemporary urbanisation have been transforming cities

into privileged places for autonomous policy-making in transnational

agendas. Besides human rights realisation, other meaningful examples

are climate change and economic development (Barber 2013). Among the

reasons for that trend, cities in dierent national realities can be very

similar in many of their challenges and opportunities (ibid, p. 40). It is

within that context that recently Koh (2018) has invoked the example of

US cities in resisting in counterstrategy against Donald Trump’s pol-

icy to withdraw from the Paris Climate Agreements, drawing from the

concept of transnational legal process (Koh 1996), modernly dened as

‘a hybrid body of international and domestic law developed by a large

number of public and private transnational actors (Koh 2018, p. 6)’.

Similarly, when it comes to human rights in the urban landscape, cit-

ies rise to prominence, among other reasons, for being perceived as an

instance of government particularly close to issues and communities

around which human rights are mobilised (Grigolo 2019, p. 14). The

growing trend is to see cities as the main stage of development and ine-

quality. The context of the COVID-19, a global problem with profound

local implications, proved to be a privileged opportunity for cities to

engage in policies aligned to international human rights law consensus

but divergent from national policies towards the disease.

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 211

Methodology and data

The empirical input for our discourse analysis comprises 491 pieces of

municipal legislation enacted by City Hall between March and October

2020 with the specic goal of tackling the pandemic. In order to better grasp

the meanings within that corpus, a compilation of the shorthand notes for

114 City Council plenary oor sessions held within that timeframe helps the

interpretation of the political struggles that culminated in actual policy. The

municipal legislation’s data was collected from São Paulo City Hall’s o-

cial legislation portal, a website for cataloguing the whole body of norms

that governs the City’s administration. The corpus includes Municipal Laws

(statutory norms produced by the City Council and enacted by the Mayor);

Decrees (administrative measures enacted by the Mayor); Ordinances (or

‘Portarias’, administrative measures issued by the City Hall’s Departments

and Secretariats); Normative Instructions (administrative measures issued

by Secretaries); Resolutions (administrative measures issued by the City’s

collegiate organs); Notices and Announcements, (or ‘Comunicados’ and

‘Anú ncios’, me ssages formal ised by the City’s Depart ments); Technical Notes

(technical messages formalised by the City’s Departments); Internal Orders

issued for internal management of the City’s administration; Legal Opinions

issued by the Secretariat of Justic e or the Oce of the City Attorney General.

The Legislation Portal from which the corpus was collected is run by the

Secretariat of Civil House (‘Secretaria da Casa Civil’), the City’s department

with the mandate to engage in dialogue with the City Council and man-

age the norms that govern the City’s administration. The shorthand notes

were collected from São Paulo City Council’s newly inaugurated database of

City Council people’s speeches, SPRegistro Consulta. The corpus includes

Ordinary Sessions, Extraordinary Sessions and Free Tribune sessions.

Before diving further into this Chapter, it is essential to acknowledge

that so far, there is not enough evidence to assess the long-run impact or

eectiveness of the policies enacted by any governmental actor against

COVID-19. At this point, there is not enough data to assess if São Paulo’s

policy eort did mobilise human rights to its fullest extent possible.

Finally, it is also crucial that the Author clearly states his positionality

as an observer of Brazilian and São Paulo’s politics. The Author of this

study has spent time working as a policy-maker at São Paulo City Hall, at

the Secretariat of Human Rights and Citizenship and at the Secretariat

of Sports and Leisure, between 2017 and 2019, and has also been a reg-

istered member of the Party of Brazilian Social Democracy (PSDB),

Mayor Bruno Cova’s political party.

São Paulo as a human rights city

While the Brazilian Constitution does not explicitly mention human

rights as a municipal attribution, the competency for the realisation of

a number of fundamental rights is either shared with municipalities or

212 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

attributed exclusively to city governments. Federal, State and Municipal

governments share the powers ‘to provide for health and public assis-

tance, the protection and safeguard of handicapped [sic] persons’ and

‘to ght the causes of poverty and the factors leading to substandard

living conditions, promoting the social integration of the unprivileged

sectors of the population (Supreme Federal Court)’. However, it is in the

exercise of municipalities’ competence to legislative on ‘matters of local

interest’ (ibid) that cities like São Paulo exercise the bulk of their human

rights mobilisation.

The rst formal acknowledgments of human rights as an informative

framework of São Paulo City Hall’s policymaking date back to the early

1990s. In 1991, Mayor Luiza Erundina’s administration (1989–1993), the

rst under the new constitutional regime, created the Special Advisory

for Human Rights and Citizenship with the mandate to inform poli-

cies for women, black people, elderly people, disabled people, children,

youth and ‘other segments of the populations vulnerable to social dis-

crimination.’ Throughout the following administrations, virtually every

Mayor authorised substantial improvements to the City’s human rights

policy framework, from right-wing Paulo Maluf’s (1993–1997) support

to legislation including ‘Basic Human Rights studies’ in the curricula

of São Paulo’s schools, to Mayors José Serra (2005–2006) and Gilberto

Kassab (2006–2013) enactment of human rights realisation policies such

as the Reference Center for Human Rights in the Prevention against

Racism and the City’s Commission for the Eradication of Child Labour.

It was in 2012, however, under Mayor Fernando Haddad’s administration

(2013–2017) that São Paulo’s Human Rights Commission and the City’s

Department of Participation and Partnerships were merged to form the

Secretariat of Human Rights and Citizenship (SMDHC), currently the

highest level of governance of São Paulo City Hall human rights policy.

Under the leadership of SMDHC, the governance of São Paulo’s human

rights policy refers to international human rights law and relies heav-

ily on international partnerships. The organising Decree for SMDHC

explicitly determines that the City’s human rights policy must observe

‘the international covenants which Brazil is a signatory’ and authorises

the establishment of partnerships ‘public and private entities, national

and international, with a view to promoting projects aimed at the reali-

sation of human rights, citizenship and social participation, in the areas

related to their attributions’.

SMDHC acts in partnership with the Secretariat of International

Relations (SRI) to manage São Paulo’s commitment to many inter-

national human rights treaties and global city networks, such as the

United Cities and Local Governments Committee on Social, Inclusion,

Participatory and Human Rights and the ‘Rainbow Cities’ network. The

City Hall also has an established tradition of partnerships with inter-

national organisations in policy implementation, such as Technical

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 213

Cooperation Agreements (e.g. the partnership with UNICEF for policies

for vulnerable children and adolescents in urban areas, in the context of

the Urban Centres Platform).

From a political perspective, São Paulo’s tradition in international

human rights policymaking has historically laid context for the City’s

engagement in world aairs, sometimes contrasting with the Federal gov-

ernment’s approach. Among the most recent examples on the health-care

front, São Paulo commits to the Paris Declaration against the HIV-AIDS

pandemic, which aims at achieving the 90-90-90 Targets and positioning

cities on a trajectory towards getting to zero new HIV infections and zero

AIDS-related deaths (Covas 2019).

São Paulo’s policy responses to COVID-19

Actions by São Paulo City government

The rst conrmed case of Sars-CoV-2 in Brazil happened in São Paulo

in late February (Rossi and Oliveira 2020). Although the World Health

Organisation still had not labelled the spread of Sars-CoV-2 as a pan-

demic at the time, São Paulo’s Secretariat of Health (SMS) was engaged

in structuring and preparing for an unknown event as early as January 10.

As the ultimately responsible for governing on matters of local interest

in São Paulo, the City Hall enacted strict social distancing measures as

early as March, when the rst municipal rules suspended on businesses

such as stores,1 markets, service providers, allowing only for take-out

or delivery services. Ordinances consolidated individual recommenda-

tions for essential services,2 and demanded that hand sanitisers were

made available in every essential service business still operating. On the

health-care front, the Secretariat of Health issued a plethora of specic,

technical norms with instructions for primary health care in the City’s

public hospitals.3 São Paulo City Hall made a 35 million BRL investment

in the construction of two emergency Field Hospitals in the Pacaembu

Stadium and in the Anhembi Conventions Center, run by Albert Einstein

Benecent Society, a Social Organisation (OS), with 2,000 (two thousand)

low complexity beds destined exclusively to COVID-19 patients.4

The Secretariat of Human Rights and Citizenship played a transversal

role across the entire set of policies enacted against COVID-19, by both

enacting its own policies and providing human rights orientation in the

policymaking process by other branches of the City’s administration, spe-

cially through Normative Instructions and Ordinances with recommen-

dations to other branches of the city government. For instance, through

a set of Ordinances, SMDHC issued specic orientations for dealing

with COVID-19 in nursing homes and preventing infections in older per-

sons.5 Mindful of more vulnerable demographic groups, the Secretariat

of Health issue technical documents with specic recommendations for

214 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

preventing and controlling the virus in disabled people, invoking the

Brazilian Law of Inclusion (Federal Law 13146/2015), which imposed on

the Brazilian State – federal, state and local governments – the responsi-

bility for human dignity of the disabled person throughout all of their life.

The City’s educational system anticipated school vacations,6 while

making sure students at home would keep getting the food supply

they were entitled to in school,7 also structuring some level of curric-

ula continuity in future, socially distanced sessions.8 In September, as

Mayor Covas considered the reopening of schools, again the Secretariat

of Human Rights and Citizenship was called took action, signing a

Public Note9 with the City’s Council for the Rights and Children and

Adolescents (CMDCA, a social participation instance with budgetary

powers for child-care policies), stating that ‘the right to life is inviola-

ble according to our Constitution and the Statute of the Children and

Adolescent and for these reasons we defend that the reopening of public

and private schools be postponed to a moment in which the minimum

criteria established by the World Health Organisation is met (São Paulo

2020)’. In the meantime, the Secretariat of Education designed a focalised

emergency policy for providing parents with the money to buy the food

that their children would get while in school.10 The organising Normative

Instruction for the policy referred to São Paulo’s Municipal Policy Plan

for Early Childhood. With the input of UNICEF, SMDHC also issued

specic protocols to Tutelary Councillors11 (elected street-level bureau-

cracy entitled with the mandate to enforce welfare policies for children

and adolescents).

Almost as intensive as the immediate health related measures, the eco-

nomic relief eort led by the City Hall also addressed the side eects

of social distancing measures on lives and livelihoods, echoing the

approached endorsed in UN’s human rights risk assessment. Garbage

collectors were kept being paid12 and allowance duties for social rent

housing were put on hold.13 Aware of the negative impact that stay at

home measures have on domestic violence indicators, the City’s admin-

istration started demanding from future contractors that at least 5% of

its personnel was composed of women participants in the ‘There is a Way

Out’ program (‘Tem Saída’),14 a previously existing policy for women

victims of domestic violence, while also creating an emergency focalised

policy of rent subsidies for poor women victims of domestic violence.

Tax debts were temporarily suspended.

Interaction with other city stakeholders

In early April, the City Hall formalised its participation in the Solidary

City Project,15 a basic supplies and foodstu donation program led by

São Paulo’s civil society to help the most vulnerable people in the face

of the pandemic. The Executive Secretariat of the project was entitled

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 215

to SMDHC, and its Managing Committee was made of representatives

from the city government, private and non-prot sectors. The project

management was funded both by the City’s budget and private dona-

tions. Private donations were targeted through the focalising framework

of the previously existing Food Bank Program under the management of

São Paulo’s Secretariat of Labor and Economic Development (SMDET).

The organising Decree of Solidary City authorised the City Hall to per-

form a partnership with the Red Cross for boosting the initiative’s stor-

age or distribution capacity, and placed the program – and its Managing

Committee – as the manager of the donations made through a Public Call

Notice issued under the very Municipal Decree that declared a state of

emergency in the City. Also in the context of the Solidary City Program,

the Secretariat for Disabled People (SMPED) engaged in active listen-

ing with the NGO’s that manage the City’s programs for disabled people

and upgraded the City’s BSL (the Brazilian sign language) app, providing

quality information on COVID-19 for deaf people. As previously men-

tioned, the City Hall’s participation in the Solidary City was regulated in

a Decree that put together a Management Committee16 made of almost

20 of Brazil’s leading non-prot organisations. The Secretariat of Health

also established a Technical and Scientic Committee composed by pub-

licly known physicians.

In order to bolster the political support of the City’s policy eort, a

number of ad hoc participatory fora was enacted, to provide the City

Hall with political and technical advice. A Technical Desk,17 composed

by professional associations and unions such as the government employ-

ees union (‘SINDSEP’), professional associations of nurses (‘COREN’

and ‘SEESP’), physicians (‘CRM’ and ‘SIMESP’), community health

agents (‘Sindicomunitário’), physiotherapists and occupational ther-

apists (‘Creto’) pharmaceuticals (CRF), as well as the Brazilian Bar

Association (‘OAB’), was put together for the discussion and monitoring

of the development of the pandemic and with the explicit goal of ensur-

ing collective support to the eort of ghting COVID-19. A Chamber

of Institutional Integration18 was assembled for consolidating dialogue

between public authorities, including the Mayor’s top aides, such as the

Chief of Sta, and the Secretaries of Government, Justice and Health,

and the leadership of the city’s legislative body, and the whole body of

Councilmen from the Municipal Audit Court (‘TCM’). Among the sev-

eral ad hoc participatory fora were also the Inter-Secretariat Executive

Group,19 which served as a quick-response cluster within the City

administration for planning and monitoring São Paulo’s response. The

Secretariat of Sub-prefectures put together a Data Management Group20

for the analysis and proposition of indicators to support the decision-

making process regarding the funerary services, composed by profes-

sors from the University of São Paulo (USP), the Federal University

of ABC (UFABC) and the State University of São Paulo (UNESP).

216 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

The Secretariat of Transportation (SMT) assembled a Task Force21 to

address preventive and repressive measures against COVID-19 in the

city’s public bus system, made of sta from SMT, the City Hall public

company that provides the bus system (SPTrans) and the city’s contrac-

tors (‘Grupo Local de Distribuição’). When the time came to regulate

Federal Law 14017/2020 that provided emergency economic relief for the

cultural industry, the City Hall gathered a Commission for Monitoring

and Execution22 the city’s compliance to the statue, made of civil society

representatives and government representatives.

As for the transparency policies, the City Hall imposed on each pub-

lic and private hospital in the city the duty to provide information on the

number of operational and occupied ICU beds, as well as the suspected

and conrmed COVID-19 cases through a digital platform, on a daily

basis.23 The City Council enacted a Municipal Law24 regulating the City

Hall’s compliance to data privacy principles, such as the anonymity of

data, simple language and establishing the City Hall’s obligation to pub-

lish updated information on the overall indicators of the pandemic, such

as the number of suspected cases, the amount of PPE, tests and ICU beds

available, prevention protocols, the number of daily burials, among others.

São Paulo City Parliament

Complementary analysis from the City Council’s oor meetings indicates

that the parliamentary body of São Paulo city engaged in the policy-

making process of responding to COVID-19 on the local level, providing

commentary and policy recommendations to the city government. The

Mayor’s legislative agenda conquered the Council’s support in the over-

whelming majority of votes, which does not necessarily indicate the cham-

ber’s proportional support to each and every one of the policies enacted,

but rather that the city parliament followed the historical success rate pat-

tern laid seen in Brazilian national parliament (Limongi 2007). The most

insightful evidence on the Councilmen and Councilwomen’s thoughts on

the City Hall’s policies against COVID-19 is drawn from the lack of con-

sistent and procedural opposition to the city government’s bills addressing

the pandemic during debates held on the chamber’s oor. Notable excep-

tions include the left-wing opposition to the re-opening of schools, mostly

voiced by representatives of the Socialism and Liberty Party (Partido

Socialismo e Liberdade – PSOL), such as Councilmen Celso Gianazzi.

On the right-wing side, Councilman Rinaldi, from President Bolsonaro’s

former party PSL – Social Liberal Party (Partido Social Liberal), engaged

in criticism of the City Hall’s strict social distancing enforcement policies.

Meaningful criticism was also drawn after Mayor Covas’ experimental

policy of expanding limitations to the circulation of vehicles based on

their licensing plates, especially by Councilmen Camilo Cristofaro, from

PSB – Brazilian Socialist Party.

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 217

Throughout the timeframe analysed, research on the City Parliament’s

discussions log indicates that the policy debate which most actively mobi-

lised Councilmen and Councilwomen dealt with the implementation of a

Universal Basic Income (UBI) policy provided by the municipality. After

a national debate led by Jair Bolsonaro’s opposition at Brazil’s National

Congress managed to enact a monthly emergency stipend for the coun-

try’s poorest citizens, the agenda spread across state and municipal pol-

itics. Months after it was sanctioned into law by President Bolsonaro,

São Paulo’s parliament engaged the policymaking of its own monthly

emergency aid. In São Paulo, however, unlike the initial debate held in

Brasília, the merit of the policy was never seriously challenged by either

political forces in Parliament. Rather, it was the authorship of the city’s

stipend policy and the amount of money that should be made availa-

ble for each citizen that triggered partisan struggle between city govern-

ment-aligned lawmakers and the opposition. Albeit UBI policies were

the historical and most distinctive talking point in the agenda of one of

the opposition’s most prominent lawmakers, Councilman and former

Senator Eduardo Suplicy, the bill wounded up approved in the terms of

the city government’s choices, due fundamentally to formal legislative

initiative rules on the topic, which required it to be proposed by the city

government only.

Human rights discourse in São Paulo’s

policy response to COVID-19

Critical discourse analysis provides the theoretical tools for understand-

ing the complexity of political discourse through language. When it

comes to policy enacted in written law, drawing from Fairclough’s social

theory of discourse enables us to see the dialectical relationship between

discourse and social structure, as they both constitute each other. Using

Fairclough’s (1992) three-dimensional approach to discourse analysis,

São Paulo’s policy response to the pandemic can be framed as a discur-

sive event. The political and ideological struggle that followed the coun-

try’s social unrest over the unpredictability of COVID-19 constitutes its

social practice, and the municipal legislation that enacted São Paulo’s

response is one of its discursive practices, which is textually expressed

in the selected corpus.

The social practice

Like previously mentioned, the works of Cavalcanti and Ferreira

(2020) have helped understand the context that denes the social prac-

tice within which human rights play a key role in Brazilian political

dynamics. O’Byrne (2019) lays the investigative groundwork for the

hypothesis that what he calls neopopulism – the ideology of leaders like

218 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

Donald Trump and, in this chapter, Jair Bolsonaro – is engaged in a ‘war

on human rights’ rooted in its commitment to deglobalisation. At the

heart of the ‘war on human rights’, the discursive struggle to change the

meaning of human rights towards ‘a signier for a broader culture of

inclusion that puts ‘the Other’ on a par with everyone else (p. 11)’. Ever

since 2019, Brazilian Federal government under President Jair Bolsonaro

has slammed human rights discourse as ‘globalist’ and ‘leftist’ conspir-

acies (Casarões 2020, p. 83). The hostile rhetoric is ranted especially in

international fora, as Brazil’s several actions targeting ‘non- governmental

organisations and humanitarian activists’ and reversing Brazil’s vote on

reproductive health rights and gender issues (ibid, p. 84) illustrates. The

eorts of Brazilian courts and National Congress to resist the Federal

government’s ‘anti-rights agenda’ that would ‘put vulnerable populations

at greater risk’ have been duly noticed by experts (Human Rights Watch

2020, p. 83).

In the case of the COVID-19 pandemic, Brazil’s Federal Government

downplayed the seriousness of the pandemic and faced strong interna-

tional and domestic backlash. Health-care experts have criticised Brazil’s

lack of seriousness (The Lancet 2020), as the Federal Government’s dis-

course framed the hazards of COVID-19 fundamentally in terms of the

economic downturn prompted by the social distancing measures to pre-

vent and control the spread of the disease, to the detriment of immediate

health-related concerns.

As background context, the Brazilian constitution frames access to

health as a fundamental right and also bestows upon municipalities the

burden of providing primary attention and basic health care. The pol-

icy arrangement reached above the average results, as Brazil’s Unied

Health System (‘SUS’ or ‘Sistema Único de Saúde’) vastly did manage

to provide primary health care to citizens on the local level, an impres-

sive accomplishment even for developed world standards (Varella 2019).

Nevertheless, only now, more than thirty years after federal legislation

started setting the standards of SUS, would the health-care structure

of São Paulo face its toughest test.

The discursive practice

On a second, discursive practice-driven analysis, while the corpus shows

no signicant manifest intertextuality with São Paulo’s human rights law

(as dierent Decrees and Municipal Laws refer mostly to the policy eort

itself), the politics of São Paulo’s policy response to the COVID-19 pan-

demi c cannot be properly u nderstood wit hout a caref ul look into the consti-

tutive intertextuality – or interdiscu rsivity – that characterises the discursive

practice of the legislation that enacted it. For Fairclough, the concept of

interdiscursivity relates to how a given discursive event draws its mean-

ing from external orders of discourse, following Foucault’s (1971, p. 15)

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 219

denition for the term. Such interdiscursivity draws from two dierent

orders of discourse: the dynamics of contemporary Brazilian politics and

São Paulo’s policy framework as a human rights city.

In April, when Brazil’s toll of COVID-19 related deaths exceeded that

of China, President Jair Bolsonaro ranted an aggressive response in a

press conference on the topic after being told the news: ‘So what? I am

sorry. What do you want me to do? I am Messiah, but I don’t do miracles’,

Bolsonaro (2020). In another press conference, when asked how many

people had already died from the disease in Brazil, the President’s angry

answer was that he was not a ‘gravedigger’. Just a few days after, Mayor

Bruno Covas issued a Decree formalising an ocial 3-day mourning

period in São Paulo for the victims of COVID-19, as the city beat the

record of 1,000 deaths from Sars-CoV-2.

When talking about the dynamics of discursive distribution and con-

sumption, Fairclough (p. 85) sets precisely the example that government

departments usually produce text in a way that anticipates their dis-

tribution, transformation, consumption and their potentially multiple

audiences. In that sense, while São Paulo’s bureaucracy was indeed the

‘addressee’ (those directly addressed, ibid, p. 87) of the legislation that

enacted the municipality’s response, other stakeholders such as Brazilian

national media played the part of ‘hearer’ (those not addressed directly,

but assumed to be part of the audience), to the extent that it reported

on the City’s policies to the public. At the same time, both the media

and public opinion also functioned as of ‘over-hearers’ (those who do

not constitute part of the ‘ocial’ audience but are known to be de facto

consumers), to the extent that the dierence between the approaches

from São Paulo and Brasília was noted and commented on in Brazil’s

media outlets.

Again, with Fairclough (p. 80), the interpretation and consumption

of a discursive practice is a multilevel or ‘bottom-up-top-down’ pro-

cess. Lower-level units of the discourse help inform the interpretation

of its higher-level units and vice-versa. In the case of the legislation that

enacted São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19, the interpretation of

lower-level units, such as every individual Ordinance and Decree, relied

on predictions about the meaning of higher-level units that existed before

them, such as São Paulo’s vast array of previously established human

rights policy framework.

When it comes to the corpus’ coherence as the feature of a text whose

constituent parts are meaningfully related (ibid, p. 83), São Paulo’s

previously established commitment as a human rights city shaped the

interpretation of the legislation that enacted the City’s policy response

to COVID-19, providing the city’s bureaucracy with ideological assump-

tions that overcame ambivalences in the text. In that sense, the analysed

491 pieces of legislation became additions to a previously existing ‘chain

of speech communication’ (in Bakthin 1986, p. 94) about human rights

220 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

law and language in the city’s policies. Even more signicantly, in terms

of distribution, the corpus was communicated as part of a stable and

already established network of municipal regulations.

The text

Finally, on a text-driven dimension, a detailed look at the corpus’ choices

of grammar, cohesion and, especially, vocabulary explains how São

Paulo City Hall made the political choice of mobilising human rights

in their policy response against COVID-19. While President Bolsonaro

refused to wear a mask in public and failed to enforce such preventive

measure among his supporters, Mayor Covas took the opportunity to

issue Decrees ‘recommending’ masks to the citizens of São Paulo, even

though municipalities have no powers to enforce such measures under the

Brazilian constitution. Further Decrees also recommended that private

businesses allowed employees over 60 years old to stay at home, and that

grocery stores made sure that products were delivered fully packaged to

customers. The choice for recommendations, rather than impositions or

any other enforceable statement, could suggest the City’s willingness to

ll a policy vacuum left by the Federal government in one of the most

crucial dimensions of the human rights impact of COVID-19.

To the extent that it did have constitutional enforcement powers, how-

ever, the City Hall issued continuous norms imposing the use of masks

for passengers and employees of the City’s public transportation system,

urban cleaning and infrastructure contractors, garbage collection ser-

vice employees contractors and general administrative contractors. As

the ultimate responsible for governing on matters of local interest in

São Paulo, the City Hall enacted strict social distancing measures as early

as March, when the rst municipal rules suspended in-person activities

on businesses such as stores, markets, service providers, allowing only

for take-out or delivery services. Ordinances consolidated individual rec-

ommendations for essential services, and demanded that hand sanitisers

were made available in every essential service business still operating.

Conclusions

The São Paulo City Hall mobilised the human rights discourse in its pol-

icy responses to the COVID-19 pandemic, both as a political statement

of opposition against Brazil’s Federal government approach to the very

same challenge, and as a tool for the legitimisation of the city’s admin-

istration choices. A particular focus on the social practice dimension

of the discursive event shows signicant interdiscursivity as evidence of

the city government’s engagement with its own previous human rights

legislation. Conditions put in place before the outbreaks, such as Jair

Bolsonaro’s hostile rhetoric against the human rights discourse, and

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 221

São Paulo’s international positioning as a human rights city helped the

City’s engagement in a more explicitly human rights-based discourse as

a critical informative input of his politics. The human rights discourse

was mobilised not only as a policy compass – a philosophy, following

Schmidt’s (2008) terminology – but also as a political statement.

At the end of the day, São Paulo city government engaged in the eort

of addressing the pandemic from its multiple dimensions, from immedi-

ate health-care actions to an economic relief agenda and ad hoc partic-

ipatory fora in its policymaking process, virtually complying with the

majority of the United Nations’ human rights risk assessment concerns.

Because of the multilevel, ‘bottom-up-top-down’ nature of discourse

interpretation and consumption, the human rights mobilisation in São

Paulo’s punctual policy response to COVID-19 also culminated in the

strengthening of the City’s broader status as a human rights city as one

of its side eects.

While São Paulo City Hall prioritised the health-care eort of the

response to COVID-19, to the detriment of the economic impact of such

measures in the lives and livelihoods of Brazilians living in São Paulo,

the Federal government did the exact opposite, prioritising the health of

Brazil’s economy, to the detriment of the immediate health-care emer-

gency. One could argue that both Covas and Bolsonaro’s choices are

correlated with the public’s perception of the dierent administrative

responsibilities of each public authority. On the one hand, Bolsonaro’s

Federal government is overwhelmingly perceived as the ultimate responsi-

ble for the country’s economic policy – unemployment, purchasing power,

exchange rates. On the other hand, Covas’ City Hall, along with State

and other City governments, are tasked with health-care (e.g. the avail-

ability and quality of hospitals), education (the management of school’s

closures) and matters of regional or local interest (issuance of permits and

licenses). To a relevant extent, Mayor Bruno Covas had his sights set in his

reelection campaign later in 2020, and so did President Bolsonaro acted

considering the electoral impact of his choices in his 2022 reelection bid.

From the standpoint of discourse analysis, to a certain extent, the

moment of COVID-19 oered a unique opportunity of what Fairclough

(1992, p. 230) regards as a ‘moment of crisis’, moments in which practices

which would normally be naturalised be seen as more visible, making

the sampling of the corpus more intuitive. In São Paulo, the relevance of

its previously established policy framework as a human rights city was

brought to the spotlight by an unprecedented pandemic, a humanitar-

ian crisis and a political contest. One could reasonably argue that other

historical framings would not drive enough scholarly attention, as such

moments ‘make visible aspects of practices which might normally be nat-

uralised, and therefore dicult to notice; but they also show change in

process, the actual ways in which people deal with the problematisation

of practices’ (Fairclough 1992, p. 230).

222 Pedro Francisco Moura Vormittag

Finally, it is remarkable to notice that the Federal’s Government oppo-

site approach to the global health emergency happened despite the vast

and multiple and complex connections of the Brazilian national state with

the international human rights system, a policy legacy of previous federal

administrations. On the other hand, the concentrated eort made by São

Paulo City Hall against Sars-CoV-2 turned out to also bolster São Paulo’s

status as a human rights city. As previously mentioned, Fairclough’s view

of as a multilevel process in which not only higher-level units orient the

interpretation of future lower-level units of discourse, but also the other

way around was perceivable.

The future holds new discourses and social practices in the face of

COVID-19, in a growing plethora of intertextuality contexts. As for now,

the only undisputed truth is that the potential and limitations of human

rights mobilisation in urban contexts must not be taken for granted. It

is time both practice and scholarship learned the lesson oered by the

history of COVID-19 in our time.

Notes

1 . (2020). Decree 59298/2020. http://legislacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/

leis/decreto-59298-de-23-de-marco-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

2 . (2020). Ordinance SMBSUB 3/2020. Available at: http://legisla-

cao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-das-subprefei-

turas-smsub-abast-3-de-23-de-marco-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September

2020)

3 . (2020). Ordinance SMS 187/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.

prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-da-saude-sms-187-

de-17-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

4 . (2020). Ordinance 187/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.prefei-

tura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-da-saude-sms-187-de-17-

de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

5 . (2020). Resolution SMDHC/CMDCA 3/2020. Available at: http://

legislacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/resolucao-secretaria-municipal-de-di-

reitos-humanos-e-cidadania-smdhc-coat-3-de-17-de-junho-de-2020

(Accessed: 09 September 2020)

6 . (2020). Recommendation SME 2/2020. Available at: http://legis-

lacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/recomendacao-secretaria-municipal-de-ed-

ucacao-sme-cme-2-de-19-de-marco-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September

2020)

7 . (2020). Normative Instruction 14/2020. Availabl e at: http://legislacao.

prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/instrucao-normativa-secretaria-municipal-de-edu-

cacao-sme-14-de-2-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

8 . (2020). Normative Instruction 15/2020. Available at: http://leg-

islacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/instrucao-normativa-secretaria-munici-

pal-de-educacao-sme-15-de-8-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September

2020)

9 . (2020). Publication SMDHC 73/2020. Available at: http://leg-

islacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/publicacao-secretaria-municipal-de-di-

reitos-humanos-e-cidadania-smdhc-73-de-15-de-setembro-de-2020

(Accessed: 09 September 2020)

São Paulo’s policy response to COVID-19 223

10 . (2020). Normative Instruction SME 14/2020. Available at: http://

legislacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/instrucao-normativa-secretaria- municipal-

de-educacao-sme-14-de-2-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

11 . (2020). Publication SMDHC 72/2020. Available at: http://legisla-

cao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/publicacao-secretaria-municipal-de- direitos-

humanos-e-cidadania-smdhc-cmdca-sp-72-de-8-de-setembro-de-2020

(Accessed: 09 September 2020)

12 . (2020). Resolution AMLURB 146/2020. Available at: http://

legislacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/resolucao-autoridade-municipal-de-

limpeza-amlurb-146-de-1-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

13 . (2020). Ordinance SEHAB 32/2020. Available at: http://leg-

islacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-da-habitacao-e-

desenvolvimento-urbano-sehab-32-de-14-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09

September 2020)

14 . (2020). Municipal Law 17341/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.

prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/lei-17341-de-18-de-maio-de-2020 (Accessed: 09

September 2020)

15 . (2020). Decree 59337/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.prefei-

tura.sp.gov.br/leis/decreto-59337-de-7-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 Sep-

tember 2020)

16 . (2020). Ordinance SMDU 20/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.

prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-de-desenvolvimen-

to-urbano-smdu-20-de-24-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

17 . (2020). Ordinance SMS 173/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.

prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-da- saude-sms-173-

de-7-de-agosto-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

18 . (2020). Decree 59313/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.prefei-

tura.sp.gov.br/leis/decreto-59313-de-27-de-marco-de-2020 (Accessed: 09

September 2020)

19 . (2020). Decree 59358/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.pre-

feitura.sp.gov.br/leis/decreto-59358-de-15-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09

September 2020)

20 . (2020). Ordinance SMSUB 34/2020. Available at: http://legisla-

cao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-das-subprefei-

turas-smsub-34-de-28-de-maio-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

21 . (2020). Normative SMT 76/2020. Available at: http://legis-

lacao.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-de-mo-

bilidade-e-transportes-smt-76-de-16-de-marco-de-2020 (Accessed: 09

September 2020)

22 . (2020). Ordinance SMC 91/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.

prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-de- cultura-smc-91-

de-2-de-outubro-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

23 . (2020). Ordinance SMS 190/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.

prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/portaria-secretaria-municipal-da-saude-sms-190-

de-23-de-abril-de-2020 (Accessed: 09 September 2020)

24 . (2020). Municipal Law 17448/2020. Available at: http://legislacao.

prefeitura.sp.gov.br/leis/lei-17448-de-9-de-setembro-de-2020 (Accessed:

09 September 2020)

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article/5477/guidance-note-covid19-local-governments (Accessed: 28 September

2020).

United Nations. (2020a). ‘COVID-19 in an Urban World’. Available at: https://www.

un.org/sites/un2.un.org/les/sg_policy_brief_covid_urban_world_july_2020.pdf

(Accessed: 28 September 2020).

United Nations. (2020b). ‘COVID-19 and Human Rights: We Are all in this

Together’. Available at: https://www.un.org/sites/un2.un.org/les/un_policy_

brief_on_human_rights_and_covid_23_april_2020.pdf (Accessed: 28 September

2020).

Varella, D. (2019). ‘Sem o SUS, é a barbárie’. Folha de S. Paulo. 10 August 2019.

Available at: https://www1.folha.uol.com.br/colunas/drauziovarella/2019/08/

sem-o-sus-e-a-barbarie.shtml (Accessed: 28 September 2020).

Vormittag, P. (2022). Human Rights in the Policy Response against COVID-19:

Discourse Analysis of the Case of São Paulo, Brazil. São Paulo School of

Business Administration of Fundação Getulio Vargas, São Paulo, Brazil.

Waters, M. (1996). ‘Human Rights and the Universalisation of Interests: Towards

a Social Constructionist Approach’, Sociology, 30(3), pp. 593–600. doi:

10.1177/0038038596030003011.

Index

Note: Page numbers italics and bold refer to gures and tables. Page numbers

followed by “n” refer to notes.

Abdal community 6, 7, 17; as

Indigenous culture in danger 63,

65–68; in Kirşehir, cultural rights

of 51–70

ACOA see American Committee on

Africa (ACOA)

activists 8, 10, 12, 15, 16, 26, 28, 30–33,

35, 37–42, 83, 88, 121, 123, 124,

126–128, 133, 134, 141, 142, 147, 148,

157, 164, 165, 167–170, 172–176, 178,

179, 218

aordable housing/aordability

74–79, 81–83, 85–87, 89, 90, 123, 126,

128, 134, 194, 198

African Americans 43; civic

leadership and participation 26;

political leadership 35

African National Congress (‘ANC’)

191, 192

American Committee on Africa

(ACOA) 26, 31–33, 38, 40

AMITIE CODE (Capitalising on

Development) 105–107

‘ANC ’ see African National Congress

(‘A NC’ )

anti-apartheid ordinance 26, 34, 36,

39, 42

anti-imperialism 30

Apartheid 8, 14, 193; injustices

15–16

Apartheid divestment 25–44;

Cornell University 37; as ‘glocal’

identity formation 38–40; Georgia

36; local government 35–38;

movement 26, 27, 31, 32, 35, 37–38,

42, 43; networks 26, 30, 35, 36;

Philadelphia 33, 35; Seattle 35;

Washington, University of 37

Atlanta 34, 35; city council 36

autonomy: of local governments 30,

35, 166, 180n3, 187–189, 192, 199;

urban 7, 10 –11, 16, 188–191, 201

Backman, J. 40

Bağbaşı neighbourhood 51–53, 58–63,

60, 62, 63, 69, 70

Baumgärtel, M. 210

Benford, R. D. 181n8

Berman, M. 54

Berry, M. F. 32

Blomley, N. 142, 145 –147, 158; ‘How to

Turn a Beggar into a Bus Stop’ 146

Boesack, A. 40

Bologna 8, 9, 17; ‘Cities of Refuge’

project 103, 115n2; as human

rights city 103; ‘Local Action

Plan for a Non-Discriminatory

Action towards New Citizens

with a Human Rights Based

Approach (LAP)’ 107–108; Oce

for Cooperation and Human

Rights’ (now ‘New Citizenship,

Cooperation and Human Rights’)

14, 107; public interest litigation

14; Regional Anti-Discrimination

Centre 105; ‘Salvini Decree’ 108,

109; urban politics and human

rights localisation in 98, 99,

103 –114, 104

Bond, J. 40

‘boomerang’ theory of transnational

advocacy 27, 30

228 Index

Bradley, T. 32

Bray, J. 135n4

Brazil: ‘Basic Human Rights studies’

212; Bolsonaro 206, 208, 216–219;

Brazilian Law of Inclusion (Federal

Law 13146/2015) 214; Brazilian

Constitution 211; Brazil The City

Statue (2001) 59; cities 205–207;

COVID-19 pandemic 205–207;

human rights 205–207; Party

of Brazilian Social Democracy

(PSDB) 211; PSB – Brazilian

Socialist Party 216; PSL – Social

Liberal Party (Partido Social

Liberal) 216; São Paulo see São

Paulo; Socialism and Liberty Party

(Partido Socialismo e Liberdade –

PSOL) 216; Unied Health System

(‘SUS’ or ‘Sistema Único de Saúde’)

218; Universal Basic Income (UBI)

policy 217

Brooks, T. 40

Brown, W. 144, 157

California 42; California Department

of Housing 79; Environmental

Quality Act 81; homelessness 81;

housing 82

Campbell, B. 36

Cape Town 6, 9; Cape High Court 10,

194, 200; ‘Cape Town Partnership’

193; civil society 12; Democratic

Alliance (‘DA’) 191–195, 198;

displacement 191–194; inequality

191–194; Legal Resources Centre

194; marginalisation, resisting 187–

201; Metropolitan Council 191–194;

neo-liberal governance 191–194;

party politics 191–194; public

interest litigation 14; resistance

to urban exclusion in 194–198;

spatialised inequalities 10

capital 57, 58, 74, 189; accumulation

76; free ow of 7

capitalism 40–42; neo-liberal 120

Caron, D. D. 33

Carter, J. 35–36

case law 142, 143, 146, 151

CAT see UN Convention Against

Tortu re (CAT)

Cavalcanti, M. C. G. M. 208, 217

CESCR see UN Committee on

Economic, Social and Cultural

Rights (CESCR)

CFREU see Charter of Fundamental

Rights of the European Union

(CFREU)

Charter of Fundamental Rights of

the European Union (CFREU) 110;

Article 21 105

citizenship 8, 38, 56, 191, 212; national

7; urban 7, 88, 187–189, 200, 201

city society 2, 11–13, 15–17

city-to-city networks 42, 43

civil society 8, 11, 12, 28, 29, 31, 33, 35,

70, 97–103, 106, 108, 109, 111–114,

120, 123, 126, 127, 130, 131, 167,

176 –178, 187–189, 191, 194, 199, 205,

207, 214, 216

Clayton, A. 41

Clouzeau, M. 170, 175, 180n2

Coalition for the Homeless/Coalition

on Homelessness 79, 83, 84, 129

Coca-Cola 26, 36

constitutionality 27

contestation of human rights 3, 8, 9,

12, 14, 100

Covas, B. 214, 216, 219–221

Cristofaro, C. 216

critical discourse analysis 207, 208,

217; text-oriented 208

critical human rights 163

Davido, P. 70

decentralisation 10, 187, 206;

industrial areas 58; international

guidelines on 125; local authorities

and 9; political forces of the nation-

state 59; urban governance 6

decolonisation of human rights

163–181

De Lille, P. 194

Dellums, R. 34

democratic deliberation 2, 13,

14, 17

deregulation 6, 10, 77, 78, 90, 91

Diggs, C. 41

Dinkins, D. 32

discourse analysis 207–209, 211

domestic constitutional

rights 189

Durmuş, E. 29–30

ECCAR see European Coalition of

Cities Against Racism initiative

(ECCAR)

ECHR see European Convention of

on Human Rights (ECHR)

Index 229

ECSHRC see European Charter for

the Safeguarding of Human Rights

in the City (ECSHRC, 2000)

ECtHR see European Court of

Human Rights (ECtHR)

Engels, F. 54

equality 10; see also inequalities

Ertaş, N. 61, 62

Erundina, L. 212

European Charter for the

Safeguarding of Human Rights in

the City (ECSHRC, 2000) 9, 10, 59,

105, 200

European Charter for Women in the

City (1994) 59

European Coalition of Cities Against

Racism initiative (ECCAR)

106, 107

European Committee of Social Rights

151–152

European Convention of on Human

Rights (ECHR) 151; Article 2 of

Protocol n.4 109; Article 3 109;

Article 6 109; Article 8 109, 151, 152;

Article 14 152

European Court of Human Rights

(ECtHR) 142, 143, 146, 151

European Declaration of Urban

Rights (1992) 59

European Roma rights litigation 143;

case for and against 144–145

eviction 148–151

extraterritorial human rights

obligations of cities and local

governments 25–44

Fairclough, N. 208, 217–219, 221, 222

Farha, L. 125, 127, 133

fascism 8

Fauntroy, W. 32

Fernandez-Wul, P. 13, 14, 17

Ferreira, R. 208, 217

nancialisation of housing 76, 78, 79,

81, 90, 122

Fischer, F. 208

Flynn, R. 32

Ford, H. 127

Foucault, M. 208, 210, 218–219

framing 13

Friendly, A. 209

Gachihi, G. 167

Gcabashe, T. 40

General Motors 26, 41

gentrication 57, 74, 86, 89, 193,

197,198

Gezi Park Protests 80, 88

Gianazzi, C. 216

Gibson, K. 34

Gitau, K. 181n6

Global Charter-Agenda for Human

Rights in the City 10

“global cities” 38, 39, 54, 187–201, 212

Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and

Regular Migration (GCM) 108

global health 206, 222

globalisation 3, 51, 58, 59, 210;

capitalist 56; economic 27, 57, 188;

of urban governance 201

Global North 4, 5, 27, 30; local

apartheid divestment 43; right to

housing 74–76, 78, 79; spatialised

inequalities 6, 7

Global Platform for the Right to the

City 194

Global South 4, 5, 30; right to housing

74–76, 79; spatialised inequalities

6, 7

Goodhart, M. 98, 114n1

Gordon, L. 176

Grigolo, M. 3–4, 98, 102

Haddad, F. 212

Haglund, L. 13

Hancock, L. 36

Hani, C. 40

Harvey, D. 56

Helms, J. 34

Hirschl, R. 101

homelessness 15, 43, 75, 76, 79, 81–84,

123, 125, 126, 128–131, 133, 141, 151,

157, 159, 161, 188, 193, 196, 200

housing: in Bay Area 10, 13, 15, 17,

80–85; nancialisation of 76, 78,

79, 81, 90, 122; as human right

76–78, 121–122; right to see right to

housing

Housing Development

Administration of Turkey (TOKI)

52, 57, 58, 60, 63, 65–67, 66, 67, 70

housing policy 74 –76, 80, 85, 87–89,

127–129, 198

housing rights in the city, politics

of 120 –135; within international

human rights 124–127; state under

international human rights law, role

of 122–124

HRCs see human rights cities (HRCs)

230 Index

Hubbard, P. 145

human rights: Brazil 205–207;

decolonising 163–181; discourse

17, 122, 180, 207–210, 217–221;

exportism 8; housing as 76–78,

121–122; institutionalisation of 3;

language 99, 107, 113, 121, 175; as a

language 209; law 8, 14, 15, 99, 102,

103, 106, 108, 109, 112, 122–124, 126,

143, 149, 156, 163, 165, 190, 200, 210,

212, 218; localisation of 3, 4, 10, 13,

97, 99, 103 –111, 104, 122, 126, 209,

210; mobilisations 2, 11–18, 85, 89,

205–222; norms 2, 8, 9, 11–13, 25,

27–31, 38, 42, 63, 98, 100, 103, 113,

142, 155, 163, 166, 188, 189, 211, 213,

220; ownership of 174 –175; practice

3, 113, 164; role in Malmö 156–158;

scholarship 4; in South African

cities 189–191; urbanising 7–11,

51–70; urban politics of 1–18

human rights cities (HRCs) 1, 3, 4, 7,

9, 12, 17, 97–115, 125, 188, 210 –213,

219, 221, 222

ICCPR see International Covenant on

Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR)

ICESCR see International Covenant

on Economic, Social and Cultural

Rights (ICESCR)

illegibility, paradox of 152–155

immigrant integration 105

immigration 4, 85, 98, 99, 105

inequalities: colonial legacy of 15;

socio-economic 6; structural 121,

126; see also equality

informal settlements 85, 126, 163, 165,

169 –171, 173, 175, 191

infrastructure 29, 54, 59, 60, 77, 82, 90,

123, 124, 165, 220

institutionalisation 2, 3, 9, 12–14, 17,

98, 110

interdependence, principle of 123

International Covenant on Civil and

Political Rights (ICCPR) 99, 110;

Article 12 109

International Covenant on Economic,

Social and Cultural Rights

(ICESCR) 68, 77, 99, 129; Article

11.1 122; Article 15, paragraph 1(a)

international human rights, right to

housing in the city within 124–127,

131–133

international law 3, 4, 7–9, 12, 15, 99,

108, 121, 190, 199

Istanbul 13, 14, 17, 55; Chamber of

Architects 79; Chamber of Urban

Planners 79; Development Plan

(2014–2023) 80; Gezi Park Protests

80, 88; Istanbul Metropolitan

Municipality 79; Istanbul Urban

Defence 79; mobilisation of right to

housing as human right in 87–89;

mortgage policies and housing in

85–87; Strategical plans (2015–2019)

Jackson, J., Jr. 26

Jacobs, J. 70

Johnson, W. 39

Jones, P. S. 175

Kassab, G. 212

Kaufman, R. E. 102

Kennedy, D. 144, 157

King, M. L., Jr. 34, 35

Kirşehir 2, 7, 16 –17; cultural rights of

Abdals in 51–70

Koch, E. 33, 128

Koenig, E. B. 59

Koh, H. H. 210

Kumalo, D. 40

Laclau, E. 208

Landy, D. 209

Lautenberg, F. 34

lawmaking and city engagement 12,

28, 31, 39

Lefebvre, H. 56, 70, 78, 200

Lewis, J. 36, 40

Lober ‘Turu,’ H. K. 180n1

local government 4, 9–12, 51, 57–59,

65, 68, 69, 87, 97, 99–103, 107,

111–114, 115n2, 124, 125, 133,

187–193, 196, 200, 201, 206, 208,

210, 212, 214; divestment ordinances

35–38; extraterritorial human rights

obligations of 25–44

local housing policy 121, 124

localisation of human rights 3, 4, 10,

13, 97, 99, 103–111, 104, 122, 126;

politics and policy of 209–210

localised identities 7, 10, 16

Luthuli, A. 40

Malmö: Administrative Court 152;

Centre for Social Rights 142,

Index 231

159–160n1; County Administrative

Board (Länsstyrelsen) 149, 150;

Environmental Administration

(Miljöförvaltningen) 148–150, 154,

155; Environmental Committee 156;

human rights, role of 156 –158; Land

and Environment Court 149, 150;

politics 15; public interest litigation

14; Roma squatter camp 10; Roma

squatter settlement in 141–160;

Sorgenfri Camp see Sorgenfri Camp

Maluf, P. 212

Mathare Social Justice Centre

(MSJC) 168, 175, 178, 181n4, 181n6

Merola, V. 107

Merrield, A. 89

Merry, S. E. 133

mobilisation: of human rights 2,

11–18, 85, 89, 205–222; mechanisms

of 2, 12–15; social 3, 120, 157,

168, 169

mobilisation of right to housing,

as human right: Bay Area 82–85;

Istanbul 87–89

Morial, M. 44n2

mortgage policies: Bay area 80–82;

Istanbul 85–87

Moue, C. 208

Moyn, S. 144

Moynihan, D. P. 34

multi-level urban politics 100–103,

110, 111

Municipal Law 86, 211, 216, 218

municipal policy 102, 121

Mwangi, B. 178

Naidoo, K. 171

Nairobi 6; Bunge movement

168; Directorate of Criminal

Investigations 169; extra-judicial

killings (‘EJK’) 168, 169, 175, 176,

178; Independent Police Oversight

Authority (IPOA) 169, 170; informal

city legal and ‘gray’ spaces of

165–167; Jeevanjee Gardens park

167; National Convention Executive

Council 167; National Police

Service 169; political society 11; as

postcolonial city 164 –165; Social

Justice Centres 11, 14, 15, 163–181;

Social Justice Centres Working

Group 169, 175, 181; spatialised

inequalities 10; urban divide

165–167

neo-liberal capitalism 120

neo-liberal governance 191–194, 199

neo-liberalisation/neo-liberalism 6,

10, 16, 27, 56, 77, 89, 90, 100, 143,

159, 166, 189

New York City (NYC) 3, 8–10, 33;

Commission on Human Rights

33, 122; Corporation Counsel 33;

democratic deliberation 17; housing

75; housing activism 131–133;

housing policy, short history of

127–129; housing rights in 126 –133;

as human rights city 101; Human

Rights Law 131; Metropolitan

Council on Housing 128; New York

City Bar Association 126, 131, 132;

New York City Housing Authority

127; right to adequate housing 121;

right to housing 10, 13; UN Special

Committee Against Apartheid 39;

urban politics 98.

Nijman, J. 38

norm entrepreneurs 7, 12, 28, 29

Norton, E. H. 32, 33

nuisance 14, 17, 142, 145–149, 151, 154,

155, 157–159, 190

NYC see New York City (NYC)

Oakland 32, 81; City Council 34;

homelessness 81; housing 82, 84

O’Byrne, D. 207, 217–218

Oce of the High Commissioner for

Human Rights (OHCHR) 131

Ogbu, E. O. 39

OHCHR see Oce of the High

Commissioner for Human Rights

(OHCHR)

Oluoch, A. 178

Oomen, B. 29–30, 210

Owens, J. 205

ownership of human rights 174 –175

pandemic 17, 79, 87, 91, 114, 124, 177,

200, 205–222

Paris Climate Agreements 210

party politics 191–194

Persdotter, M. 158–159

Phillips, S. 44n2

political society 176 –179

politics 15–16; of human rights 1–18,

97–115

postcolonial cities 17, 163–165, 180

poverty 52, 54, 57, 120, 131–133, 145,

171, 174, 180, 191, 212

232 Index

privatisation 10, 17, 77, 81, 126, 165,

193, 197; of public space 6, 16, 189,

199; of social housing 78

Protection System for Refugees and

Asylum Seekers (SPRAR) 104

protests 1, 2, 13, 14, 17, 26, 32,. 34, 37,

80, 85, 87, 88, 150, 150, 151, 168, 171,

177, 194, 198

public policy 127, 208 –210

public space 16, 57, 58, 166, 189,

192–197, 199, 200

Purcell, M. 200

qualitative case study 52, 79, 98

racial inequality 82

Reclaim the City 194, 198

rent stabilisation 132–133

Riethof, M. 209

right to appropriation 56

right to counsel 132

right to culture 52–59

right to housing 7, 9, 10, 13–15, 17,

55, 74–91, 120–134, 134n2, 143;

international human 131–133;

within international human

rights 124–127; international

human rights law 122–124;

language of 83–84; mobilisation of

82–85; in US, role of UN Special

Rapporteurs in reframing 129–131

right to participation 56

right to protest 87

right to public presence 10, 17,

187–201

right to shelter 69, 74, 75, 129, 132

right to the city 1, 10, 13–15, 17, 52–59,

69, 70, 70n1, 76, 78, 87–91, 125, 189,

194, 195, 199, 200, 207, 209

Robinson, J. 78

Robinson, R. 32

Rolnik, R. 125–127, 130

Roma rights 143–145

Roma squatter settlement, Malmö,

Roodenburg, L. 4

Roosevelt, E. 129

Sabchev, T. 11

Salvini, L. M. 108

sanctions 27, 32–34, 36, 41– 43, 105

Sandland, R. 143

San Francisco 3, 8, 32; Bay Area

10, 13, 15, 17, 32, 75, 76, 79–85;

homelessness 81; Proposal C

84; right to housing 74–91; San

Francisco Foundation Policy

Paper79

sanitation 77, 130, 131, 147, 155,

156,195

São Paulo 9, 17; City Council 207,

211; City Hall 205, 207–209,

211–216, 220–222; Commission

for the Eradication of Child

Labour 212; Council for the Rights

and Children and Adolescents

(CMDCA) 214; Department of

Participation and Partnerships

212; Food Bank Program 215;

human rights 207–210; as human

rights city 101, 211–213; Human

Rights Commission 212; localising

human rights, politics and policy

of 209–210; Municipal Policy Plan

for Early Childhood 214; Pacaembu

Stadium 7, 205; ‘Rainbow Cities’

network 212; Reference Center for

Human Rights in the Prevention

against acism 212; Secretariat of

Human Rights and Citizenship

(SMDHC) 212, 213, 215; Secretariat

of International Relations (SRI)

212; Solidary City Project 214–215;

spatialised inequalities 10;

Technical Cooperation Agreements

212–213; Technical Desk 215–216;

‘There is a Way Out’ program

(‘TemSaíd a’) 214; United Cities and

Local Governments Committee on

Social, Inclusion, Participatory and

Human Rights 212

São Paulo’s policy responses to

COVID-19: discursive practice

218–220; government actions

213–214; human rights mobilisation

in 205–222; interaction with

othercity stakeholders 214–216;

São Paulo City parliament 216–217;

social practice 217–218;

text 220

Schmidt, V. A. 208, 221

Schwarz, F. 33

Scott, J. C. 154

Second World War/World War Two/

WWII 8, 27, 41, 55, 103

self-determination 30, 158

Serra, J. 212

sex workers 17, 193, 196, 199

Sweden 141–160

Index 233

slums/shanty 1, 6, 10, 15–16, 37–38,

55, 54, 55, 57, 147, 148, 164 –166, 169,

171, 174, 177, 180

social justice 1, 2, 12, 16, 97, 121,

142–144, 159n1, 168, 171–177, 180,

180n1; spatial context and 171–175

Social Justice Centres, Nairobi (‘SJC’)

11, 14, 15, 163–181; documenting

170 –171; framing 175–178;

functionality of 168–170; reporting

170 –171; rise of 167–171

social mobilisation of human rights

3, 120, 157, 168, 169; see also

mobilisation: of human rights

social movements 4, 58, 103, 120, 121,

123, 127, 133, 134, 144, 165, 168, 174,

188, 190, 200, 209

socio-economic inequalities 6

socioeconomic rights 8, 9, 15, 104,

120–123, 127, 130, 133, 134, 172, 177,

190, 191, 198, 199

Sorgenfri Camp 143, 147–155; eviction

law 152–155; eviction process

148–151, 150; human rights, role

of 156–158; illegibility, paradox of

152–155; legal proceedings 151–152

South Africa: Bill of Rights 190,

191, 194; cities, urban autonomy

and human rights in 189–191;

Democratic Party 12; foreign direct

investment 25; human rights 8

South African Constitution 192, 199;

chapter 3 191; s. 7 190; s. 9(2) 190;

s. 21 190; s. 24(b) 190; s. 25(5) 190,

198; s. 26(1)-(2) 190; s. 26(2) 198; s.

26(3) 190; s. 39(1)(b) 190; s. 41 190; s.

139 190; s. 151(2) 190; s. 154(1) 190;

schedule 4B 190; schedule 5B 190

spatial commoning 76, 87, 89

spatial equality 88

spatial inequality 6–7, 10, 16, 189

spatialisation 171–175

spatial justice 76, 78, 189, 194

SPRAR see Protection System for

Refugees and Asylum Seekers

(SPRAR)

Stammers, N. 209

state-centricity/state-centrism 4, 8, 14

state under international human

rights law, role of 122–124

strategic litigation 2, 13–15, 17, 129,

143–145, 159, l60n1, 191, 194

Strauss, P. 44n2

structural inequality 121, 126

Stryker, R. 13

Suplicy, E. 217

Sustainable Development Goals 126

Sweden 141–160

Tambo, O. 39

TransAfrica Forum 26, 31, 38

transnational advocacy networks 28,

29, 43

Trump, D. 210

Tucker, D. 34

Turkey: Abdals in Kirşehir,

cultural rights of 51–70; housing

85–87; Housing Development

Administration of Turkey (TOKI)

52, 57, 58, 60, 63, 65–67, 66, 67, 70;

housing policies 75; 10th 5 year

Development plan (2014–2018) 80,

Tutu, D. 40

UCLA Institute on Inequality and

Democracy 79

UCLG see United Cities and Local

Governments (UCLG)

UDHR see Universal Declaration of

Human Rights (UDHR)

UN see United Nations (UN)

UN Committee on Economic, Social

and Cultural Rights (CESCR):

General Comment no.4 76–77, 123;

General Comment no.4, para 2

123; General Comment no.4, para

8 123; General Comment No. 7,

Paragraph-7 69; General Comment

No. 7, Paragraph-10 69; General

Comment No. 7, Paragraph-15 132;

General Comment No. 24 124

UN Committee on the Rights of the

Child 124

UN Convention Against Apartheid

(Article 1) 28

UN Convention Against Torture

(CAT) 110

UN Convention on the Elimination of

Racial Discrimination (Article 3) 27

UN Convention on the Rights of

Persons with Disabilities, Regional

Human Rights Conventions:

article8 77

UN Convention on the Rights of the

Child 110

UN Declaration on the Rights of

Minorities 68; Article 2 69

234 Index

UN Declaration on the Rights of

Persons Belonging to National or

Ethnic, Religious and Linguistic

Minorities: Article-3, Paragraph-3

53; Article 5, Paragraph 5 53;

General Comment 21 53

unemployment 54, 128, 174, 221

UNESCO see United Nations

Educational, Scientic and

Cultural Organisation (UNESCO)

UN Human Rights Council Advisory

Committee Report on the Role

of Local Government in the

Promotion and Protection of

Human Rights (2016) 200

UNICEF 213, 214

United Cities and Local Governments

(UCLG): Committee on

Social Inclusion, Participatory

Democracy and Human Rights 126;

Global Charter-Agenda for Human

Rights in the City of October 2012

134n2

United Nations (UN) 8, 40, 101,

206; Advisory Committee 125;

Declaration on Social Progress

and Development 77; General

Assembly 28, 125, 129; Human

Rights Committee 28; Human

Rights Council 122, 125, 131;

human rights treaties 9; Roadmap

towards Equity: Housing Solutions

for Oakland California, A 79;

Sanctions Committee 27; Western

European and Others Group

(WEOG) 129

United Nations Educational,

Scientic and Cultural

Organisation (UNESCO) 106;

Music City 53, 62

United States (US): anti-Apartheid

cities 11; apartheid divestment

movement 31, 32; Bill of Rights

54; civil rights movement 26;

college towns 26, 36; Community

Reinvestment Act of 1977 80;

Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid

Act of 1986 34; Conference of

Mayors 26, 32, 44n2; Congress

27; Democratic Party 26, 43;

Federal Housing Administration

(FHA) 80; foreign policy towards

apartheid regime 25; General

Assembly resolution 1761 27;

housing 75–78, 80–82; human rights

8, 102; National Housing Act of

1934 80; Senate Foreign Relations

Committee 36; Special Committee

Against Apartheid 27, 39

Universal Declaration of Human

Rights (UDHR) 1, 8, 54, 77; Article

1(1) 105; Article 25 129

UN Special Rapporteurs 121–123,

125–127, 134n3, 178; in reframing

right to housing in US, role of

129–131

urban 5–7; governability 100;

governance 2, 6, 43, 110, 166, 187,

188, 190, 193, 199, 201; planning 51,

52, 54, 56, 59, 180; politics of human

rights 1–18, 97–115; redevelopment

74, 79, 86, 90; renewal 51–59, 62, 63,

65, 68–70, 88, 90; rent 57, 69, 70

urban autonomy 7, 10–11, 16, 188, 201;

in South African cities 189–191

urbanisation 2, 4, 16, 17, 43, 74, 78, 80,

85, 86, 189, 201, 210; human rights

7–11, 51–70; planetary 5; of Turkey

51–70

urban law, right claims in 141–160

urban politics: horizontal dimension

of 110; multi-level character

of 100 –103, 110, 111; vertical

dimension of 110–111

Urban Rights Agenda 126

US see United States (US)

Valverde, M. 142, 155, 157, 158

Vermeersch, P. 145

vernacularisation 3, 13, 14, 133, 164,

174

Vilakazi, T. 39

Ward, J. K. 102

Wirth, L. 75

World Charter on the Right to the

City (2004) 59

Yancey, C. 34

Young, A. 35–36

The monstruous and the miscount: a radical theory of accountability

Article

Full-text available

May 2023

Henrique Tavares Furtado

Can public inquiries and truth commissions provide a space for political transformation? This article investigates the field of transitional justice to address this question, focusing on pessimistic accounts of the persistent failure of truth-telling practices. It identifies three main narratives on why truth commissions fail to promote change, namely the failure of implementation, failure of design and failure by design narratives. This article contends that none of these narratives satisfactorily answer the question raised by this special issue due to their attachment to a referentialist ontology and a linear temporality of truth-seeking. Combining Rancière’s critique of political philosophy with insights from Lacanian psychoanalysis, the article advances a radical theory of accountability capable of circumventing these limitations and elucidating the links between truth-telling and political transformation. Based on an anti-foundationalist approach, this theory sees the work of truth commissions as situated in struggles that constitute the after-maths; the process of counting the parts of a conflict (victims, perpetrators, collaborators) and making suffering count (as violence) by attaching it to an object source (a cause). Seen in a radical light, truth-telling appears trespassed by two organizing principles: the management of monstrosity (as a regime of visibility that formalizes suffering and apportions blame and culpability) and the inevitable miscount of the identities that populate the victim-perpetrators spectrum. The article argues that investigative commissions are doomed to fail, but it is thanks to this failure that they can offer a space for political transformation.

Designing Research for Studying How Subnational Actors Use International Human Rights Treaties

Chapter

Full-text available

May 2024

This book examines how subnational actors use international human rights treaties and how subnational political authorities, including subnational legislators, come to engage with international treaties. In this chapter, we present our empirical approach, our research design, methods and data. We outline how we combine top-down and bottom-up perspectives, building on scholarship from law, political science and socio-legal studies. We explain and justify the selection of the treaties under investigation and the procedure of data collection for the Swiss case.

Engaging with Human Rights: How Subnational Actors use Human Rights Treaties in Policy Processes

Book

Full-text available

Jan 2024

What do International City Networks Contribute to Global Governance? Towards a Better Conceptual and Empirical Assessment

Article

Full-text available

May 2024
Global Soc

This article systematically assesses international city networks (ICNs) and their contribution to global governance. Research in urban studies has frequently emphasised the growing number and activities of ICNs in global politics, particularly environmental politics. However, systematic and comparative assessments of their main characteristics and how they contribute to global governance in different issue areas remain rare. To advance our conceptual, empirical, and comparative understanding of these networks, we review existing approaches and analyse a sample of 30 ICNs concerning three categories, namely their structures, aims, and activities. The results show that ICNs assemble diverse actors, closely collaborate with international organisations, and are dedicated to the implementation, but also the change of global norms in several issue areas of global governance. At the same time, the results suggest that more empirical data and comparative analyses of ICNs are necessary to advance our conceptual understanding of ICNs and their relevance in global governance.

Future-proofing the city: A human rights-based approach to governing algorithmic, biometric and smart city technologies

Article

Full-text available

Jan 2023

While the GDPR and other EU laws seek to mitigate a range of potential harms associated with smart cities, the compliance with and enforceability of these regulations remain an issue. In addition, these proposed regulations do not sufficiently address the collective harms associated with the deployment of biometric technologies and artificial intelligence. Another relevant question is whether the initiatives put forward to secure fundamental human rights in the digital realm account for the issues brought on by the deployment of technologies in city spaces. In this special issue, we employ the smart city notion as a point of connection for interdisciplinary research on the human rights implications of the algorithmic, biometric and smart city technologies and the policy responses to them. The articles included in the special issue analyse the latest European regulations as well as soft law, and the policy frameworks that are currently at work in the regions where the GDPR does not apply.

ANAMARÍA MUÑOZ RINCÓN * La (in)suficiencia del derecho: la producción de la verdad en escenarios transicionales ** The (In)Sufficiency of the Law: Truth Production in Transitional Scenarios

Article

Full-text available

Dec 2020

Anamaria Muñoz

RESUMEN La diferenciación entre verdad judicial y verdad histórica constituye una premisa central para la justicia transicional y, aunque esta última está hoy en día en el centro del debate global, la diferencia entre ambos tipos de verdad y el estudio de sus productos no ha recibido suficiente atención. Este trabajo examina las premisas teóricas que sustentan la distinción entre verdad judicial y verdad histórica a partir del estudio de algunos ejemplos que dejan en evidencia la porosidad de tal diferenciación y sugiere que al observar los insumos que alimentan los productos de los dos tipos de verdad las premisas no se sostienen. Por el contrario, muestra que la verdad no tiene un lugar estático de producción en el diseño institucional de las transiciones. PALABRAS CLAVE Verdad judicial, verdad histórica, diseño institucional, justicia transicional, distinción, fuentes.

Expanding our sociolinguistic horizons? Geographical thinking and the articulatory potential of commodity chain analysis

Article

Oct 2019

Crispin Thurlow

Conceptual linearity and analytic parochialism (aka focus) can make it more difficult for sociolinguists or discourse analysts to apprehend the far‐reaching, exploitative ways inequality is nowadays produced. A suitably material‐cum‐materialist class critique certainly entails empirical and phenomenological worlds flagged by, for example, multi‐sited ethnographies but otherwise side‐lined as merely “extra‐situational” in much talk/text‐directed scholarship. I propose we think more geographically by properly engaging spatiality à la Harvey (1990) and especially the radical politics of simultaneity (Massey, 2005)—the literal, “right‐now” connectedness of places and people. To this end, and allied with deepening interest in political economy, I combine the principles of articulation theory with the procedures of commodity chain analysis for picking apart an epitomic, contemporary manifestation of extreme privilege: the business‐class meal. The proposed discourse‐centred commodity chain analysis offers an ecumenical but systematic framework for tracking how commodity fetishism is actually and discursively accomplished (or not) across dispersed voices, stories, and social meanings.

Civil victimhood: Citizenship, human rights and securitization in post-dictatorship Chile

Article

Jun 2018
Anthropol Theor

Helene Risør

Based on two cases from Santiago, the article develops a theory of ‘civil victimhood’ to explore how civil conduct is paired with notions of victimhood in performances of citizenship in situations such as post-dictatorship Chile. In this context, victimhood is informed by two discourses, namely human rights and securitization. While the human rights discourse works to situate evil in the dictatorial past and victims as forgiving and deserving citizens, securitization practices operate within a temporality of the potential and generate new forms of othering and exclusion. This understanding of the civil citizen as (potential) victim delineates the forms of social and political action that are seen to have a legitimate place in public life. It is argued that the combination of civil victimhood and securitization is emerging as a form of governance that serves to exclude many of the poor from the full benefits of citizenship.

Urban Warfare: Housing Under the Empire of Finance

Article

Full-text available

Jan 2019

Raquel Rolnik

Positive and Negative Obligations

Chapter

Dec 2013

This volume explores the principle and history of international human rights law. It addresses questions regarding the sources of human rights, its historical and cultural origins and its universality. It evaluates the effectiveness of procedures and international institutions in enforcing and ensuring compliance with human rights. This volume investigates the underlying structural principles that bind together the internationally-guaranteed rights and provide criteria for the emergence of new rights. It also evaluates whether the international human rights project has made a difference in the lives and well-being of individuals and groups around the world.

Economic and Social Rights and the City

Chapter

May 2023

Peris Jones

This handbook is currently in development, with individual articles publishing online in advance of print publication. At this time, we cannot add information about unpublished articles in this handbook, however the table of contents will continue to grow as additional articles pass through the review process and are added to the site. Please note that the online publication date for this handbook is the date that the first article in the title was published online. For more information, please read the site FAQs.

The making of, and resistance to, state-led gentrification in Istanbul, Turkey

Chapter

Jan 2015

Planetary boundaries intra muros: cities and the Anthropocene

Chapter

Apr 2021

The Critique of Rights in Critical Legal Studies

Chapter

Jan 2002

Duncan Kennedy

Purging the Poorest: Public Housing and the Design Politics of Twice-Cleared Communities

Book

Jan 2013

Lawrence J. Vale

American Student Activism: The Post-Sixties Transformation

Article

Nov 2016

If Mayors Ruled the World: Dysfunctional Nations, Rising Cities

Book

Dec 2017

Benjamin R. Barber

The Local Governance of Immigration and Asylum: Policies of Exclusion as a Battleground

Chapter

Aug 2019

Maurizio Ambrosini

The chapter analyses how local policies of exclusion have been redirected in recent years towards a particular category of immigrants: namely asylum seekers, representing them as dangerous, undeserving and welfare scroungers. But these policies do not remain unchallenged. On the other side, local actors from the civil society mobilise in favour of the reception of refugees and immigrants, including those who are not entitled to a legal residence status. The second argument, consequently, is that the governance of immigration, especially at local level, can be defined as a battleground, in which different actors take part, according to various economic interests, social bonds, moral values and political beliefs.

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