RÉSUMÉ:S'appuyant principalement sur les registres fonciers, les plans d'assurance incendie et les rôles des valeurs locatives de la ville de Montréal, cet article prend le relais d'une note de recherche publiée récemment par l'auteur dans cette revue. Le texte présente les maisons de type shoebox construites dans les quartiers Rosemont et Villeray et démontre que celles érigées à l'ouverture de ces quartiers, au début du XXe siècle, étaient principalement le fait de promettants-acquéreurs, c'est-à-dire d'individus qui, ayant obtenu des promesses de vente de la part des sociétés immobilières, ont pu ainsi mettre la main sur des lots à bâtir. Ces promesses de vente qui exigeaient un versement initial de quelques dollars pour accéder à la propriété ont permis notamment à de simples journaliers d'ériger sur leur lot de modestes et fort originales maisons. Par ailleurs, un coup d'œil sur celles construites au tournant des années 1920 dans ces mêmes quartiers démontre l'existence d'une autre catégorie de shoebox qui ne seraient plus l'apanage des plus humbles de la classe ouvrière.ABSTRACT:Based mainly on land registers, fire insurance plans, and the roll of rental values of the City of Montreal, this article is based on a research note recently published by the author in this journal. The text discusses the shoebox houses built in the Rosemont and Villeray neighbourhoods and demonstrates that those built when the communities began in the early twentieth century were primarily due to promisor-buyers, individuals who, after obtaining promises of sale from real estate companies, were able to obtain building lots. These promises of sale, which required a downpayment of a few dollars to become a property owner, allowed simple day labourers to build modest and highly original houses on their lot. In addition, a glance at those built in the early 1920s in the same neighbourhoods reveals the existence of another category of shoebox that was no longer the preserve of the humblest members of the working class.
{"title":"Les premières maisons shoebox montréalaises de Rosemont et de Villeray","authors":"Guy Gaudreau","doi":"10.3138/uhr-2020-0004","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/uhr-2020-0004","url":null,"abstract":"RÉSUMÉ:S'appuyant principalement sur les registres fonciers, les plans d'assurance incendie et les rôles des valeurs locatives de la ville de Montréal, cet article prend le relais d'une note de recherche publiée récemment par l'auteur dans cette revue. Le texte présente les maisons de type shoebox construites dans les quartiers Rosemont et Villeray et démontre que celles érigées à l'ouverture de ces quartiers, au début du XXe siècle, étaient principalement le fait de promettants-acquéreurs, c'est-à-dire d'individus qui, ayant obtenu des promesses de vente de la part des sociétés immobilières, ont pu ainsi mettre la main sur des lots à bâtir. Ces promesses de vente qui exigeaient un versement initial de quelques dollars pour accéder à la propriété ont permis notamment à de simples journaliers d'ériger sur leur lot de modestes et fort originales maisons. Par ailleurs, un coup d'œil sur celles construites au tournant des années 1920 dans ces mêmes quartiers démontre l'existence d'une autre catégorie de shoebox qui ne seraient plus l'apanage des plus humbles de la classe ouvrière.ABSTRACT:Based mainly on land registers, fire insurance plans, and the roll of rental values of the City of Montreal, this article is based on a research note recently published by the author in this journal. The text discusses the shoebox houses built in the Rosemont and Villeray neighbourhoods and demonstrates that those built when the communities began in the early twentieth century were primarily due to promisor-buyers, individuals who, after obtaining promises of sale from real estate companies, were able to obtain building lots. These promises of sale, which required a downpayment of a few dollars to become a property owner, allowed simple day labourers to build modest and highly original houses on their lot. In addition, a glance at those built in the early 1920s in the same neighbourhoods reveals the existence of another category of shoebox that was no longer the preserve of the humblest members of the working class.","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-09-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45807577","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
ABSTRACT:This article examines pro-expressway politics in Metro Toronto in the 1970s and 1980s. It focuses on Esther Shiner, a North York housewife and later councilor who led a 16-year battle to revive the Spadina Expressway after it was canceled by premier Bill Davis in 1971. Shiner founded an advocacy group, Go Spadina, and became a beacon for what one journalist called the "Spadina revivalists"—groups of (mostly) suburbanites, inside and outside municipal government, who articulated a popular rather than a technical case for building the expressway. I argue that Shiner's campaign was an early example of the "auto populism" now common in Toronto politics and also one expression of a much broader "silent majority" politics in the 1970s and 1980s. Although Shiner's campaign was ultimately a failure—the expressway was never completed—her Spadina revivalism should be understood by historians as one early example of a deep and popular impulse in suburban politics.RÉSUMÉ:Cet article examine les politiques pro-voie express du Grand Toronto dans les années 1970 et 1980. Il met l'accent sur Esther Shiner, une femme au foyer de North York, puis conseillère municipale, qui a mené une lutte de 16 ans pour faire revivre la Spadina Expressway après que la voie eut été annulée par le premier ministre ontarien Bill Davis en 1971. Shiner a fondé un groupe de défense d'intérêts, Go Spadina, et est devenue un phare pour ce qu'un journaliste a nommé les « Spadina revivalists »—des groupes de (surtout) banlieusards, tant au sein du gouvernement municipal qu'à l'extérieur, qui ont présenté un argument populaire au lieu de technique pour le développement de la voie express. Je soutiens que la campagne de Shiner était un exemple précoce de « l'auto-populisme » qui est maintenant courant dans les politiques torontoises ainsi qu'une expression de politiques plus larges de la « majorité silencieuse » des années 1970 et 1980. Bien que la campagne de Shiner se soit soldée par une défaite—la voie express n'a jamais été terminée—, son « Spadina revivalism » devrait être compris par les historiens comme étant un exemple précoce d'une impulsion profonde et populaire en politiques municipales.
{"title":"\"People Drive Automobiles\": Esther Shiner, the Silent Majority, and the Popular Case for the Spadina Expressway, 1971–1987","authors":"S. Penfold","doi":"10.3138/uhr-2020-0009","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/uhr-2020-0009","url":null,"abstract":"ABSTRACT:This article examines pro-expressway politics in Metro Toronto in the 1970s and 1980s. It focuses on Esther Shiner, a North York housewife and later councilor who led a 16-year battle to revive the Spadina Expressway after it was canceled by premier Bill Davis in 1971. Shiner founded an advocacy group, Go Spadina, and became a beacon for what one journalist called the \"Spadina revivalists\"—groups of (mostly) suburbanites, inside and outside municipal government, who articulated a popular rather than a technical case for building the expressway. I argue that Shiner's campaign was an early example of the \"auto populism\" now common in Toronto politics and also one expression of a much broader \"silent majority\" politics in the 1970s and 1980s. Although Shiner's campaign was ultimately a failure—the expressway was never completed—her Spadina revivalism should be understood by historians as one early example of a deep and popular impulse in suburban politics.RÉSUMÉ:Cet article examine les politiques pro-voie express du Grand Toronto dans les années 1970 et 1980. Il met l'accent sur Esther Shiner, une femme au foyer de North York, puis conseillère municipale, qui a mené une lutte de 16 ans pour faire revivre la Spadina Expressway après que la voie eut été annulée par le premier ministre ontarien Bill Davis en 1971. Shiner a fondé un groupe de défense d'intérêts, Go Spadina, et est devenue un phare pour ce qu'un journaliste a nommé les « Spadina revivalists »—des groupes de (surtout) banlieusards, tant au sein du gouvernement municipal qu'à l'extérieur, qui ont présenté un argument populaire au lieu de technique pour le développement de la voie express. Je soutiens que la campagne de Shiner était un exemple précoce de « l'auto-populisme » qui est maintenant courant dans les politiques torontoises ainsi qu'une expression de politiques plus larges de la « majorité silencieuse » des années 1970 et 1980. Bien que la campagne de Shiner se soit soldée par une défaite—la voie express n'a jamais été terminée—, son « Spadina revivalism » devrait être compris par les historiens comme étant un exemple précoce d'une impulsion profonde et populaire en politiques municipales.","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-09-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42539127","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"François Joffres. Le microcosme hospitalier à Grenoble et à Meaux au XIXe siècle. Vie quotidienne, place de l'hôpital dans la cité, pratiques médicales, révolution pastorienne, laïcité","authors":"M. Robert","doi":"10.3138/uhr-2020-0008","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/uhr-2020-0008","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-09-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49450428","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Martine Acerra et Bernard Michon, dir. Horizons atlantiques. Villes, négoces, pouvoirs","authors":"Marie Zissis","doi":"10.3138/uhr-49.1-br-001","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/uhr-49.1-br-001","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-09-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"43149350","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Harold Bérubé. Unité, autonomie, démocratie : une histoire de l'Union des municipalités du Québec","authors":"Claude Dostie","doi":"10.3138/uhr-2021-0004","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/uhr-2021-0004","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-09-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"43095298","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
ABSTRACT:This article highlights the stakes of commemorating and representing loss in the settler colonial city. Focusing on the dispossession of Japanese Canadians living in Vancouver’s Powell Street neighbourhood before 1942, it contributes to existing scholarship on the internment and dispossession periods by critically examining Japanese Canadian reflections on the loss of place in the midst of as well as after their forced removal. Drawing primarily on the New Canadian newspaper in the 1940s and 1950s, this article demonstrates how Japanese Canadian writers mourned Powell Street’s “death” by describing the neighbourhood as ghostly and in ruins after their departure. Using discourses of urban settler colonialism from the mid-twentieth century, writers conveyed the injustice of the Nikkei community’s erasure within the newspaper and asserted a Japanese Canadian claim to the neighbourhood despite state efforts to deny such a claim. At the same time, this article argues that the New Canadian’s representations of Powell Street reflected participation in what Ann Stoler calls “ruination”, whereby Japanese Canadian commemorations became imbricated in the settler colonial logics and processes that pathologize the Downtown Eastside and its residents. Taking seriously the political work of commemoration, the article concludes that urban dispossessions and their representations must be viewed as overlapping, intersecting, and at times, compounding processes.RÉSUMÉ:Cet article souligne les enjeux de la commémoration et de la représentation de la perte dans la ville coloniale. En mettant l’accent sur la dépossession de Canadiens d’origine japonaise vivant dans le quartier Powell Street de Vancouver avant 1942, il contribue à la recherche existante sur les périodes d’internement et de dépossession en examinant de façon critique les réflexions de Canadiens d’origine japonaise sur la perte d’endroit pendant et après leur déménagement forcé. Utilisant surtout le journal New Canadian des années 1940 et 1950, cet article démontre comment les écrivains canadiens d’origine japonaise pleuraient la « mort » de Powell Street en décrivant le quartier comme étant spectral et en ruines après leur départ. À l’aide du discours du colonialisme urbain du milieu du XXe siècle, les écrivains montraient l’injustice de l’effacement de la communauté Nikkei et affirmaient une revendication de la part des Canadiens d’origine japonaise de ce quartier malgré les efforts de l’État de la refuser. En même temps, cet article soutient que les représentations de Powell Street du New Canadian reflétaient une participation dans ce que Ann Stoler nomme la « ruine », où les commémorations des Canadiens d’origine japonaise devenaient enchevêtrées dans la logique et les processus coloniaux qui considéraient comme anormal le Downtown Eastside et ses résidents. En prenant le travail politique de commémorations au sérieux, cet article conclut que les dépossessions urbaines et leurs représentatio
{"title":"“Powell Street is dead”: Nikkei Loss, Commemoration, and Representations of Place in the Settler Colonial City","authors":"Nicole Yakashiro","doi":"10.3138/UHR.48.2.03","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/UHR.48.2.03","url":null,"abstract":"ABSTRACT:This article highlights the stakes of commemorating and representing loss in the settler colonial city. Focusing on the dispossession of Japanese Canadians living in Vancouver’s Powell Street neighbourhood before 1942, it contributes to existing scholarship on the internment and dispossession periods by critically examining Japanese Canadian reflections on the loss of place in the midst of as well as after their forced removal. Drawing primarily on the New Canadian newspaper in the 1940s and 1950s, this article demonstrates how Japanese Canadian writers mourned Powell Street’s “death” by describing the neighbourhood as ghostly and in ruins after their departure. Using discourses of urban settler colonialism from the mid-twentieth century, writers conveyed the injustice of the Nikkei community’s erasure within the newspaper and asserted a Japanese Canadian claim to the neighbourhood despite state efforts to deny such a claim. At the same time, this article argues that the New Canadian’s representations of Powell Street reflected participation in what Ann Stoler calls “ruination”, whereby Japanese Canadian commemorations became imbricated in the settler colonial logics and processes that pathologize the Downtown Eastside and its residents. Taking seriously the political work of commemoration, the article concludes that urban dispossessions and their representations must be viewed as overlapping, intersecting, and at times, compounding processes.RÉSUMÉ:Cet article souligne les enjeux de la commémoration et de la représentation de la perte dans la ville coloniale. En mettant l’accent sur la dépossession de Canadiens d’origine japonaise vivant dans le quartier Powell Street de Vancouver avant 1942, il contribue à la recherche existante sur les périodes d’internement et de dépossession en examinant de façon critique les réflexions de Canadiens d’origine japonaise sur la perte d’endroit pendant et après leur déménagement forcé. Utilisant surtout le journal New Canadian des années 1940 et 1950, cet article démontre comment les écrivains canadiens d’origine japonaise pleuraient la « mort » de Powell Street en décrivant le quartier comme étant spectral et en ruines après leur départ. À l’aide du discours du colonialisme urbain du milieu du XXe siècle, les écrivains montraient l’injustice de l’effacement de la communauté Nikkei et affirmaient une revendication de la part des Canadiens d’origine japonaise de ce quartier malgré les efforts de l’État de la refuser. En même temps, cet article soutient que les représentations de Powell Street du New Canadian reflétaient une participation dans ce que Ann Stoler nomme la « ruine », où les commémorations des Canadiens d’origine japonaise devenaient enchevêtrées dans la logique et les processus coloniaux qui considéraient comme anormal le Downtown Eastside et ses résidents. En prenant le travail politique de commémorations au sérieux, cet article conclut que les dépossessions urbaines et leurs représentatio","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-04-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48875958","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
ABSTRACT:This article focuses on the loss of identity through cartographic colonization. From an Anishinaabe perspective, many of the most diverse urban centers in the Great Lakes region of North America are currently located in bays, along shorelines or at the confluence of lakes and rivers. Over time these places have changed, yet many of them have remained for centuries. Identifying some of the oldest cities before and after colonization, a period known as the time of disruption, reveals a spectrum of ideas related to the experience of loss, which in Anishinaabemowin is wanitoon, and the act of reclaiming and remembering, which is mikan. Using multiple languages and genres, offering definitions, descriptions and several poems originally composed in Anishinaabemowin and translated into English, this article asks questions about history through the lens of other languages and cultures. This methodology challenges us to see how cities are shaped by relations with the human and other-than-human world and demonstrates how cities are interconnected points. By revealing the names lying underneath colonial-era maps, we are reminded of the connections that shaped Indigenous ancestral practices, contemporary realities, and future possibilities for reconciliation. Anishinaabemowin is used as a means of historiography to trace the genealogy of urban centers and reveal the process by which the colonial landscape was constructed. By foregrounding Anishinaabe ontologies and poetics we can map reparation and social healing. As we are faced with extinction or evolution it is important to study Indigenous languages and philosophies as we seek ways to survive.RÉSUMÉ:Cet article met l’accent sur la perte d’identité par l’entremise de la colonisation cartographique. D’un point de vue anichinabé, un grand nombre des centres urbains les plus diversifiés de la région des Grands Lacs d’Amérique du Nord se trouvent actuellement dans des baies, le long de rives ou à la confluence de lacs et de rivières. Avec le temps, ces endroits ont changé, mais nombre d’entre eux perdurent depuis des siècles. L’identification de quelques-unes des plus vieilles villes datant d’avant et d’après la colonisation, une période connue comme étant une période de perturbation, dévoile plusieurs idées reliées à l’expérience de perte, qui, en langue anichinabée, est wanitoon, et à l’acte de reprendre possession et de se souvenir, qui est mikan. À l’aide de multiples langues et genres, lesquels offrent des définitions, des descriptions et plusieurs poèmes originalement composés en langue anichinabée et traduits vers l’anglais, cet article pose des questions au sujet de l’histoire vue par d’autres langues et cultures. Cette méthodologie nous met au défi de voir comment les villes sont façonnées par les relations avec le monde humain et autre qu’humain et démontre comment les villes sont des points interconnectés. En dévoilant les noms se trouvant sous les cartes de l’époque coloniale, nous nous r
{"title":"Wanitoon ani Mikan Odenang: Anishinaabe Urban Loss and Reclamation","authors":"Margaret A. Noodin","doi":"10.3138/UHR.48.2.02","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/UHR.48.2.02","url":null,"abstract":"ABSTRACT:This article focuses on the loss of identity through cartographic colonization. From an Anishinaabe perspective, many of the most diverse urban centers in the Great Lakes region of North America are currently located in bays, along shorelines or at the confluence of lakes and rivers. Over time these places have changed, yet many of them have remained for centuries. Identifying some of the oldest cities before and after colonization, a period known as the time of disruption, reveals a spectrum of ideas related to the experience of loss, which in Anishinaabemowin is wanitoon, and the act of reclaiming and remembering, which is mikan. Using multiple languages and genres, offering definitions, descriptions and several poems originally composed in Anishinaabemowin and translated into English, this article asks questions about history through the lens of other languages and cultures. This methodology challenges us to see how cities are shaped by relations with the human and other-than-human world and demonstrates how cities are interconnected points. By revealing the names lying underneath colonial-era maps, we are reminded of the connections that shaped Indigenous ancestral practices, contemporary realities, and future possibilities for reconciliation. Anishinaabemowin is used as a means of historiography to trace the genealogy of urban centers and reveal the process by which the colonial landscape was constructed. By foregrounding Anishinaabe ontologies and poetics we can map reparation and social healing. As we are faced with extinction or evolution it is important to study Indigenous languages and philosophies as we seek ways to survive.RÉSUMÉ:Cet article met l’accent sur la perte d’identité par l’entremise de la colonisation cartographique. D’un point de vue anichinabé, un grand nombre des centres urbains les plus diversifiés de la région des Grands Lacs d’Amérique du Nord se trouvent actuellement dans des baies, le long de rives ou à la confluence de lacs et de rivières. Avec le temps, ces endroits ont changé, mais nombre d’entre eux perdurent depuis des siècles. L’identification de quelques-unes des plus vieilles villes datant d’avant et d’après la colonisation, une période connue comme étant une période de perturbation, dévoile plusieurs idées reliées à l’expérience de perte, qui, en langue anichinabée, est wanitoon, et à l’acte de reprendre possession et de se souvenir, qui est mikan. À l’aide de multiples langues et genres, lesquels offrent des définitions, des descriptions et plusieurs poèmes originalement composés en langue anichinabée et traduits vers l’anglais, cet article pose des questions au sujet de l’histoire vue par d’autres langues et cultures. Cette méthodologie nous met au défi de voir comment les villes sont façonnées par les relations avec le monde humain et autre qu’humain et démontre comment les villes sont des points interconnectés. En dévoilant les noms se trouvant sous les cartes de l’époque coloniale, nous nous r","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-04-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49171817","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Introduction The introduction to this special issue on “Loss and the City” was put together throughout the spring, summer and fall of 2020 when the world grappled with the devastating and bewildering spread of COVID-19. As the epigraph suggests, our world and our cities looked radically different in lockdown and the sense of loss and potential loss was palpable. In the midst of a pandemic, it seemed somewhat obscene to be continuing with the quotidian work of thinking, reading and writing and we did so in fits and starts, knowing that we were incredibly fortunate to spend even a bit of time contemplating the intellectual side of issues that we care about so deeply. We were often raw and overwhelmed but we were also driven by a sense that, in this world of suffering, we might be able to say something useful about loss, cities and how the two have intersected and overlapped historically. And, truthfully, on some occasions writing became a form of refuge—an opportunity to escape from daily fatality rates, government negligence, stories of economic exploitation, vulnerable isolation, and dashed hopes and dreams. This special issue on loss and the city emerges out of Loss: A Symposium held at McGill University in the spring of 2018.2 At the time, our intention was to bring various academic sub-fields into conversation, particularly scholars working in Critical Refugee Studies and Indigenous Studies. Sensitive to shared histories of loss and displacement, as well as concerns about the unrelenting marginalization and neutering of any agency on the part of those who have encountered and lived through loss, the symposium was deliberately structured to think about loss as more than an end story. We were prompted by four questions: What is loss? What causes loss? What remains? And, what is beyond loss? These questions were posed distinctly to the symposium’s participants and yet they ultimately overlapped in terms of scope and content. Significantly, people largely gravitated to the question of “what remains?”, wanting to engage with this question
{"title":"Loss and the City: A Special Issue","authors":"L. Madokoro, Steven High","doi":"10.3138/UHR.48.2.01","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/UHR.48.2.01","url":null,"abstract":"Introduction The introduction to this special issue on “Loss and the City” was put together throughout the spring, summer and fall of 2020 when the world grappled with the devastating and bewildering spread of COVID-19. As the epigraph suggests, our world and our cities looked radically different in lockdown and the sense of loss and potential loss was palpable. In the midst of a pandemic, it seemed somewhat obscene to be continuing with the quotidian work of thinking, reading and writing and we did so in fits and starts, knowing that we were incredibly fortunate to spend even a bit of time contemplating the intellectual side of issues that we care about so deeply. We were often raw and overwhelmed but we were also driven by a sense that, in this world of suffering, we might be able to say something useful about loss, cities and how the two have intersected and overlapped historically. And, truthfully, on some occasions writing became a form of refuge—an opportunity to escape from daily fatality rates, government negligence, stories of economic exploitation, vulnerable isolation, and dashed hopes and dreams. This special issue on loss and the city emerges out of Loss: A Symposium held at McGill University in the spring of 2018.2 At the time, our intention was to bring various academic sub-fields into conversation, particularly scholars working in Critical Refugee Studies and Indigenous Studies. Sensitive to shared histories of loss and displacement, as well as concerns about the unrelenting marginalization and neutering of any agency on the part of those who have encountered and lived through loss, the symposium was deliberately structured to think about loss as more than an end story. We were prompted by four questions: What is loss? What causes loss? What remains? And, what is beyond loss? These questions were posed distinctly to the symposium’s participants and yet they ultimately overlapped in terms of scope and content. Significantly, people largely gravitated to the question of “what remains?”, wanting to engage with this question","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-04-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46191981","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
ABSTRACT:In 2014, The Negro Community Centre (NCC) located in the Little Burgundy neighbourhood of Montreal was demolished after being closed for nearly 25 years. As one of the first organizations of social, cultural, and community support for Black folks in Montreal during the twentieth century, it is remembered by those who attended as a site of empowerment and encouragement. While almost all the building’s debris has been removed from the site, there still remain large stones surrounding the hole were the NCC once stood as a reminder of the loss of a site of Black sociality. In the physical world the NCC no longer exists, however, when its 2035 Coursol address is entered into Google Street View, the centre stands upright—its digital presence defying its physical absence. As such, this article is an opening-up of what it means to experience place through images and through “digital remains”. In doing so, it proposes that an understanding of the experiential can be taken up anew through a focus on lost material sites of Black life or Black geographies. In what ways can virtuality and spatial imagery generate a paradigmatic shift in how we participate and observe the past? With a particular focus on the interplay of presence and absence as well as the virtual and the actual, this article is concerned with paradoxical encounters with images.RÉSUMÉ:En 2014, le Negro Community Centre (NCC) situé dans le quartier de la Petite-Bourgogne, à Montréal, a été démoli après avoir été fermé pendant près de 25 ans. En tant qu’un des premiers organismes de soutien social, culturel et communautaire pour les personnes noires de Montréal au cours du XXe siècle, il s’agissait d’un site d’habilitation et d’encouragement pour ceux qui y sont allés. Bien que presque tous les débris du bâtiment aient été retirés du site, il reste de grosses pierres autour du trou qui se trouve là où se tenait jadis le NCC, lequel rappelle la perte d’un site de sociabilité noire. Dans le monde physique, le NCC n’existe plus, mais lorsque son adresse au 2035, rue Coursol est saisie dans Google Street View, le centre s’y trouve toujours — sa présence numérique défiant son absence physique. Par conséquent, cet article examine la signification de vivre un espace par des images et par des « restes numériques ». Ce faisant, il propose qu’une compréhension de l’expérientiel peut être reprise en mettant l’accent sur des sites matériels perdus de vies noires ou de géographies noires. Comment est-ce que la virtualité et l’imagerie spatiale peuvent générer un changement de paradigme dans la manière dont nous participons au passé et l’observons? En mettant un accent particulier sur le jeu entre la présence et l’absence ainsi qu’entre le virtuel et le réel, cet article traite de rencontres paradoxales avec des images.
{"title":"Life After Demolition: The Absented Presence of Montreal’s Negro Community Centre","authors":"Kelann Currie-Williams","doi":"10.3138/UHR.48.2.04","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/UHR.48.2.04","url":null,"abstract":"ABSTRACT:In 2014, The Negro Community Centre (NCC) located in the Little Burgundy neighbourhood of Montreal was demolished after being closed for nearly 25 years. As one of the first organizations of social, cultural, and community support for Black folks in Montreal during the twentieth century, it is remembered by those who attended as a site of empowerment and encouragement. While almost all the building’s debris has been removed from the site, there still remain large stones surrounding the hole were the NCC once stood as a reminder of the loss of a site of Black sociality. In the physical world the NCC no longer exists, however, when its 2035 Coursol address is entered into Google Street View, the centre stands upright—its digital presence defying its physical absence. As such, this article is an opening-up of what it means to experience place through images and through “digital remains”. In doing so, it proposes that an understanding of the experiential can be taken up anew through a focus on lost material sites of Black life or Black geographies. In what ways can virtuality and spatial imagery generate a paradigmatic shift in how we participate and observe the past? With a particular focus on the interplay of presence and absence as well as the virtual and the actual, this article is concerned with paradoxical encounters with images.RÉSUMÉ:En 2014, le Negro Community Centre (NCC) situé dans le quartier de la Petite-Bourgogne, à Montréal, a été démoli après avoir été fermé pendant près de 25 ans. En tant qu’un des premiers organismes de soutien social, culturel et communautaire pour les personnes noires de Montréal au cours du XXe siècle, il s’agissait d’un site d’habilitation et d’encouragement pour ceux qui y sont allés. Bien que presque tous les débris du bâtiment aient été retirés du site, il reste de grosses pierres autour du trou qui se trouve là où se tenait jadis le NCC, lequel rappelle la perte d’un site de sociabilité noire. Dans le monde physique, le NCC n’existe plus, mais lorsque son adresse au 2035, rue Coursol est saisie dans Google Street View, le centre s’y trouve toujours — sa présence numérique défiant son absence physique. Par conséquent, cet article examine la signification de vivre un espace par des images et par des « restes numériques ». Ce faisant, il propose qu’une compréhension de l’expérientiel peut être reprise en mettant l’accent sur des sites matériels perdus de vies noires ou de géographies noires. Comment est-ce que la virtualité et l’imagerie spatiale peuvent générer un changement de paradigme dans la manière dont nous participons au passé et l’observons? En mettant un accent particulier sur le jeu entre la présence et l’absence ainsi qu’entre le virtuel et le réel, cet article traite de rencontres paradoxales avec des images.","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-04-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42502036","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
ABSTRACT:Recent scholarship that contends with the ethical and political difficulty of representing loss has emphasized the importance of Indigenous, racialized, urban, and/or otherwise oppressed communities’ refusal to recite “pain narratives”. According to these formulations of refusal, there are some things about which the academy does not need to know. Not as much scholarship has considered that there may be some pain about which we do need to know. Drawing on archival records, nine months of ethnographic embeddedness in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside (DTES), and conversations with two DTES organizers, this article responds to this question by arguing for representations of loss that cut against the spectacularity of pain narratives by rendering visible how loss manifests in the everyday. By way of example, this article contextualizes loss at a Single Room Occupancy (SRO) hotel called the Astoria Hotel. Tracing the history of the Astoria from the early 1900s to the present-day, this article shows how ongoing death, loss, and incumbent remembrance at the Astoria was not—and is still not—inevitable. It shows how DTES organizers, including those connected with the DTES SRO Collaborative and the Tenant Overdose Response Organizers, are working against violent forces which threaten the neighbourhood and community. In doing so, this article brings together studies of urban history, ethnography, and public memory to take seriously the notion that some pain does matter, while at the same time, inviting critique and further discussion of what it means to subvert pain narratives and what constitutes the work of refusal.RÉSUMÉ:Des études récentes qui affrontent les difficultés éthique et politique de représenter la perte ont mis l’accent sur l’importance du refus des communautés autochtones, racialisées, urbaines et/ou opprimées de raconter des « récits de la douleur ». Selon ces refus, il y a des choses que les chercheurs n’ont pas besoin de savoir. Bien moins de recherches ont considéré qu’il pourrait y avoir de la douleur que nous devrions connaître. À l’aide d’archives, de neuf mois d’intégration ethnographique dans le quartier Downtown Eastside (DTES) de Vancouver et de conversations avec deux organisateurs du DTES, cet article répond à cette question en soutenant des représentations de perte qui vont à l’encontre du côté spectaculaire des récits de la douleur en mettant au jour comment la perte se manifeste au quotidien. À titre d’exemple, cet article contextualise la perte dans un hôtel avec des chambres individuelles (SRO) nommé le Astoria Hotel. En retraçant l’histoire de l’Astoria du début des années 1900 à nos jours, cet article montre comment la mort, la perte et les souvenirs à l’hôtel n’étaient pas — et ne sont toujours pas — inévitables. Il montre comment les organisateurs du DTES, notamment ceux connectés avec la DTES SRO Collaborative et les Tenant Overdose Response Organizers, luttent contre des forces violentes qui menacent le quartier
{"title":"Beyond Pain Narratives? Representing Loss and Practising Refusal at the Astoria Hotel","authors":"Angela May","doi":"10.3138/UHR.48.2.05","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3138/UHR.48.2.05","url":null,"abstract":"ABSTRACT:Recent scholarship that contends with the ethical and political difficulty of representing loss has emphasized the importance of Indigenous, racialized, urban, and/or otherwise oppressed communities’ refusal to recite “pain narratives”. According to these formulations of refusal, there are some things about which the academy does not need to know. Not as much scholarship has considered that there may be some pain about which we do need to know. Drawing on archival records, nine months of ethnographic embeddedness in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside (DTES), and conversations with two DTES organizers, this article responds to this question by arguing for representations of loss that cut against the spectacularity of pain narratives by rendering visible how loss manifests in the everyday. By way of example, this article contextualizes loss at a Single Room Occupancy (SRO) hotel called the Astoria Hotel. Tracing the history of the Astoria from the early 1900s to the present-day, this article shows how ongoing death, loss, and incumbent remembrance at the Astoria was not—and is still not—inevitable. It shows how DTES organizers, including those connected with the DTES SRO Collaborative and the Tenant Overdose Response Organizers, are working against violent forces which threaten the neighbourhood and community. In doing so, this article brings together studies of urban history, ethnography, and public memory to take seriously the notion that some pain does matter, while at the same time, inviting critique and further discussion of what it means to subvert pain narratives and what constitutes the work of refusal.RÉSUMÉ:Des études récentes qui affrontent les difficultés éthique et politique de représenter la perte ont mis l’accent sur l’importance du refus des communautés autochtones, racialisées, urbaines et/ou opprimées de raconter des « récits de la douleur ». Selon ces refus, il y a des choses que les chercheurs n’ont pas besoin de savoir. Bien moins de recherches ont considéré qu’il pourrait y avoir de la douleur que nous devrions connaître. À l’aide d’archives, de neuf mois d’intégration ethnographique dans le quartier Downtown Eastside (DTES) de Vancouver et de conversations avec deux organisateurs du DTES, cet article répond à cette question en soutenant des représentations de perte qui vont à l’encontre du côté spectaculaire des récits de la douleur en mettant au jour comment la perte se manifeste au quotidien. À titre d’exemple, cet article contextualise la perte dans un hôtel avec des chambres individuelles (SRO) nommé le Astoria Hotel. En retraçant l’histoire de l’Astoria du début des années 1900 à nos jours, cet article montre comment la mort, la perte et les souvenirs à l’hôtel n’étaient pas — et ne sont toujours pas — inévitables. Il montre comment les organisateurs du DTES, notamment ceux connectés avec la DTES SRO Collaborative et les Tenant Overdose Response Organizers, luttent contre des forces violentes qui menacent le quartier","PeriodicalId":42574,"journal":{"name":"URBAN HISTORY REVIEW-REVUE D HISTOIRE URBAINE","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-04-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45061440","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"历史学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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