In Our Home - on Neighbours and Togetherness by AlbanianPavilion2021

IN OUR HOME

ON NEIGHBOURS AND TOGETHERNESS

ALBANIAN PAVILION 2021

IN OUR HOME On neighbours and togetherness

Biennale Architettura 2021 How will we live together?

National participation of the Republic of Albania Exhibition on view May 22 - November 21, 2021 Arsenale , Venice - Italy

Authors/ Curators Fiona Mali Irola Andoni Malvina Ferra Rudina Breçani Contributing writers Arba Bekteshi Artan Fuga Blendi Salaj Egin Zeka Erion Kristo Julian Bejko Julian Beqiri Katie Beck

Commissioner Elva Margariti Minister of Culture

Supported by Municipality of Tirana

Togetherness begins in our homes

CONTENTS p. 6 IN OUR HOME

p. 64 NEIGHBOURS IN CINEMA

p. 10 THE ALBANIAN HOME AT LA BIENNALE

p. 78 RESIDENTS WITHOUT HOMES

Elva Margariti

Julian Bejko

p. 14 A REVELATION OF TOGETHERNESS

p. 84 NEIGHBOURHOOD AS COUNTERSPACE Arba Bekteshi

p. 24 AN ACCOUNT OF NEIGHBOURLINESS p. 30 ALBUM p. 58 BEING NEIGHBOURS Erion Kristo 4

p. 90 CREATING AND RECREATING NEIGHBOURHOODS p. 136 BEING NEIGHBOURS TODAY

p. 144 WHAT HAPPENED TO THE “VILLAGE”? Katie Beck

p. 154 A GLIMPSE OF PRESENT DAY NEIGHBOURLINESS

p. 190 CITIES WITHOUT NEIGHBOURS p. 196 NO SIZE FITS ALL p. 206 TOGETHER ALONE

Arba Bekteshi

Julian Beqiri

p. 160 THE “PALACE” I LIVE IN

p. 218 PRIVATE COMMONS

Blendi Salaj

p. 164 THE SCALE OF HAPPINESS Egin Zeka

Artan Fuga

p. 224 PAVILION p. 244 HOW WILL WE LIVE TOGETHER?

IN OUR HOME

in our home

For Albania, at the wake of this new decade, the answer to the question “How will we live together?” is simply: know your neighbour! More people are living next to each other than ever before—almost 60% of the world’s population lives in urban areas, but paradoxically the number of people feeling lonely is higher than ever. The COVID-19 pandemic further accentuated this phenomenon but on the other side it redirected our focus towards our homes and close living quarters—especially the spaces we share with our neighbours. Neighbourliness is a social bond that owes its existence only to the built environment. Almost every human being lives next to another human being, with city population densities breaking records yearly. This bond depends on each and everyone’s willingness to communicate with a stranger. But not just any stranger: a stranger that has a lot in common with us, a stranger who lives just a few steps away. Together with these strangers, we shape the identity of our apartment buildings, our neighbourhoods, our city. Depending on this bond, our perception of life in our home can completely change - it could be negative and alienating but it could also be secure and positively meaningful. Our current global state of mind has clearly shifted towards an isolated mode of living, spreading an epidemic of loneliness. We have become extremely selective in regard to the relationships we want to create in our immediate built surroundings. In Albania, this transformation happened in a single generation. Many young Albanians have parents who lived in unimaginable times of isolation and economic 7

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hardship. The contradiction is that despite this situation, many of them - friends, family and neighbours - relied on and accepted each other in a community that has virtually disappeared today. Diving deep in the waters of globalization and individualism, we no longer care who lives right next to us. We ask ourselves: how many of our neighbours do we know today? How many did our parents know? Twenty years ago, in Albania, neighbours were closer than relatives. They had their morning coffees together, they would lend and borrow extra chairs for special dinners, they would share their telephones or televisions, they would come together for endless hours of play and entertainment, they would trust each-other with their house keys! Architecture played its role in this transformation. The urban fabric and the built environment have changed dramatically in only a short period of time, and today we find ourselves to be only customers of the housing industry. But at the same time we are yearning for a bond, which once fulfilled our need to belong in a community. The traditional Albanian home was centered around one room – the living room / guest room (dhoma e pritjes), used to share time with people who were not family members. This included visitors of all sorts, but most often (almost everyday) – it was neighbours. The heart and hearth of the old private house was brought into the modern apartment buildings, where families sacrificed a bedroom just to have a presentable space dedicated to socializing with others. 8

in our home

People lived in open homes! This relationship is brought to the pavilion through personal stories, shared with us by hundreds of people and old Albanian films, produced during the socialist regime by the “New Albania” Kinostudio. Albeit filled with propaganda dictating the perfect socialist behavior, these films never failed to depict the typical life of Albanian families in their homes and neighbourhoods. Despite everything, both in life and cinema, the small-scale communities that existed in Albania were vibrant, vital and grounded in human connection. The Albanian Pavilion digs into the past to address the future: why knowing our neighbours is not the default anymore? Why don’t we live in open homes? What is the role of architecture in fostering neighbourliness? Through contributions of experts in urban planning, architectural design, sociology, urban anthropology, philosophy and journalism, this project attempts to answer these questions in an effort to view architecture as an integral cog in encouraging or discouraging togetherness for neighbours. As a result, driven by the conviction that the quality of our future life together depends first and foremost on our collective consciousness, the Albanian pavilion attempts to symbolically bring to attention what or who might lie beyond our apartment’s walls.

on neighbours and togetherness

THE ALBANIAN HOME AT LA BIENNALE

Elva Margariti Commissioner Minister of Culture of the Republic of Albania

in our home

I am part of the “latchkey” generation of children - part of a compact community, where everyone knew everyone. Each of us has an album of photos from weddings, birthdays, celebrations, where among the faces of family and friends, stand out also those of neighbours, ubiquitous, on whose doors we would knock for our most basic needs; for two more chairs; to watch a match or a movie if they had a TV… It was strange how “our home” was so large when our space was so cramped. It was almost transparent, surrounded by incessant prying eyes and ears. In the most isolated country of Europe the homes were almost wall-less; whether you wanted to or not, you were part of the community, of the neighbourhood… And how strange this kind of coexistence may seem to us today, as we live in homes with more square meters of space, within thick insulating walls, as if to regain the lost intimacy during the years of dictatorship. The neighbourhood has lost its former meaning and the neighbour, in times of great demographic changes, is a stranger, with whom we often don’t even share a greeting. The Albanian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale, authored by four architects (Fiona Mali, Irola Andoni, Malvina Ferra and Rudina Breçani), analyse the relationship between space and community relations, taking us back to the times when every home was similar to the other, with the same spaces, furniture, programs on the TV screen, dresses in the closet, with a telephone wire going up and down the building stairs. Their research into this past, where they themselves are 11

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also protagonists, through the stories of people and their families; film footage from the Central State Film Archive; the thoughts of scholars and anthropologists, facing the new conditions of community life, especially during the COVID-19 pandemic. All this, puts us in a whirlpool of reflection on what we have become and would like our society to be in the future, in a world with increasingly flexible boundaries where coexistence is fundamental. This reflection leads us to the answer to the question posed by curator Hashim Sarkis for the 2021 Architecture Biennale: “How will we live together?”, which is simply: Know your neighbour! If we expand the concept of home, Albania is trying to become part of the big European family, in that home called Europe, and as a result, for the sake of this coexistence, we will need to get to know each-other and our neighbours better. I wish this pavilion, with its Albanian features, will attract as much attention as possible from the critics and the international public, which should probably quench any aroused curiosity, precisely in Albania.

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A REVELATION OF TOGETHERNESS

in our home

“We need a new spatial contract. In the context of widening political divides and growing economic inequalities, we call on architects to imagine spaces in which we can generously live together: together as human beings who, despite increasing individuality, yearn to connect with one another [...].” Hashim Sarkis The first words of curator Sarkis were enough to inspire the very essence of this project. Actually, not really inspire it, but reveal it to us. What is about to be unfolded in this publication, is our revelation of togetherness! It might sound nostalgic since it is simultaneously a memory dive about lost connections as much as a factual, documented research, but that’s where its very relevance stands. We didn’t have to imagine spaces where we can generously live together. We knew them. It was our own homes, and the homes next to our homes, and the ones next to them. It was our neighbourhoods! We all grew up in four different Albanian cities, in the ‘90s, right after the fall of the socialist regime and the beginning of the transition towards a liberal state, in troubled and uncertain times. Our days were very similar to each other’s: the most part of them we would spend in our neighbourhoods - not necessarily in our homes. On weekdays, after school, we would spend hours playing with our neighbour friends, outside in the courtyard, or the lane between the dwellings, or inside each-oth15

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er’s homes. All these spaces were generously available to us - at all times! Whenever we wanted (practically everyday), we would knock on our neighbour’s doors and would be welcome inside as if their home was ours too. The spaces we inhabited were synonymous to the life happening in them, and they were given meaning by us, together with our neighbours - they were our places. Our homes felt different because of this trait. Our neighbourhoods felt different, and it turns out that that was the difference between inhabiting and belonging somewhere.

In Lule’s garden. Photo courtesy Fiona Mali

in our home

This is me and my sister on a winter day in 2004. In the background, you can see the two-story house of our neighbour, Lule. We are here in her courtyard, but - she didn’t even know we were there (and no - we were not trespassing)! Lule’s house, where she lived with her husband Pal and her daughter Diana, was about 30 meters away from my apartment building, and yet to me it seemed like it was in a totally different land. Her courtyard was very big, and a large part of it was actually an orchard full of various fruit trees which only added to the perception of it being “a whole other land” to me. The entrance to her courtyard was placed in such a way that it didn’t have a direct visual connection to the house, so she couldn’t really immediately see who came and went out of her property. Nonetheless, she never locked that door! The children of the neighbourhood could just walk in and safely play there as much as they wanted. This simple gesture, which today seems inconceivable, implied not only trust and generosity of spirit, but also a wish or pleasure of having others in her space. To me, who lived in a 70m2 apartment with five other family members, this meant a lot! The opportunity to expand my everyday living space was very precious, and imprinted something in my identity that wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for her and all the other neighbours who welcomed me in their spaces and spent time with me. Fiona

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At home with my neighbour. Photo courtesy Irola Andoni

This picture was taken in my home, on an afternoon in the summer of ‘94. Back then I would spend most of my time playing with my neighbour, who was also my best friend. Needless to say that my mother (in the picture next to me) was also friends with his mother, and that only contributed to the endless hours we would spend together in each-other’s homes.

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Growing up in the suburbs of Tirana was a blessing as a child. I would spend time playing outdoor games in a neighbourhood that was still in the making, which still had a lot of tall trees and open spaces. Not far from my house there was a little “forest” - that’s how we called it, that sadly has disappeared today, replaced by more housing. All of my neighbours lived in single family houses whose entrance doors would face the narrow street in front. It was a dead-end street where it was difficult for two cars to swap. Playing carelessly in this narrow street was a daily habit, and it was not a problem if the ball would end up crossing one of the garden walls as we could just enter and pick it up again. The garden doors were always open, if one of the doors would be locked we would assume our neighbours were out of the city. My favorite time of the year, as for most of the children I assume, would be the summer holidays. I rarely spent any time indoors, the summer in Tirana is hot and we would always find shade to improvise our games. The day would begin by calling each-other out in the street and a round of playing “hide-and-seek”. On rainy days we would play on each-others houses or shelter staircases. Looking back at the house I grew up in, fills me with gratitude for the freedom I have experienced and the sense of security that prevailed in my neighbourhood. We knew each and every family living on that street, while today some of the houses are rented out and my parents have also moved out. Irola 19

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Stair pose. Photo courtesy Malvina Ferra

We didn’t get together deliberately for this picture, nor did we dress up for it. This was the ordinary view of every school day, back in ‘99. Me and my older sister (the girl with the glasses), went to the same school. Every morning, we would hear our names called out loud by our neighbours and best friends, and would leave together for school.

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We used to live in a two-story condominium. The staircase visible in this picture was our favorite hangout place. At the time, the stairs were open, and that made us feel like we were outside, but still in a more intimate setting. Just in front of our building we had some huge willows that would be climbed by the bravest ones through the stair opening. If I just describe what those stairs have witnessed, I would be telling the whole story of my childhood. Our neighbourhood was enlivened with children at that time. After finishing homework, we would all gather to play the game of the day. In those stairs we have taken our best postures for “The most beautiful pose” game, we have improvised doll houses, we have hidden-and-seeked, we have paraded down them as we were competing for the “miss neighbourhood” crown. But, without a doubt, our favourite thing to do was just to slide down the handrail. Our next door neighbours were the people we were closest to. The staircase landing between our apartments was just like a long corridor of one big house. We have moved our furniture up and down those stairs many times when we needed to repaint the house, as our downstairs neighbour was so kind to host us every time. Nowadays that old building still stands, with an added entrance door for security reasons. The staircase opening in the first floor now is closed up with windows, and one can no longer slide down the handrail. That staircase is now the reflection of a new period. Malvina 21

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With my babysitters, Roza and Arleta. Photo courtesy Rudina Breçani

in our home

My family and I moved to Vlora when I turned 6 and enrolled into elementary school. Until then, we used to live in a small town close to the city, on the ground floor of a 4-story apartment building with a vast open lot in front, in which us kids of the neighbourhood would gather to play all kinds of games. My mom had to work all day at the office, and my dad was working abroad. Kindergartens had been closed since 1991, so my neighbour and her daughters were my babysitters from when I was born. I spent more time with them than I did at my own home! They lived on the fourth floor of our apartment building. The daughters, Arleta and her sister, Roza, would feed me, change me, play with me, and take me on walks around the block or on the playground while my mom was busy working from home. Their mother, Liria, used to knit sweaters for me, and I still remember the afternoons where I would just go up to their floor and take a nap on their couch. These pictures were taken from when I was born up to when I turned 6 and me and my family moved out of that apartment. My favorite is the upper-left one: I’m posing alongside Arleta and the little lamb they had brought to their apartment that day, with which I was completely obsessed! Rudina

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AN ACCOUNT OF NEIGHBOURLINESS

in our home

Being neighbours is as old as civilization itself. The very act of living in proximity to someone else was the beginning of life organized in settlements, and later cities. “Before the city came into existence, the village had brought forth the neighbour: he who lives near at hand, within calling distance, sharing the crisis of life, watching over the dying, weeping sympathetically for the dead, rejoicing at a marriage feast or at a childbirth” (Mumford, 1966, page 24). The term “neighbourhood” does not have a clear definition and researchers tend to define it in different forms, socially or spatially, as a unit of analysis. Neighbourhood, according to Pebley and Sastry, is the place where people live, the area that surrounds someone’s home (2004). Neighbourhoods as enclosed spaces with defined boundaries are difficult to be determined (Taylor, 2012), nevertheless socioeconomic data are often assembled and used to analyse neighbourhoods (Betancur and Smith, 2016). Scholars such as Forrest and Kearns (2011) define neighbourhoods as social arenas and promote the importance of neighbour relations in policy-making. Another term used to define neighbourhoods and neighbours is “community”. Community per-se is defined as a group of people with common interests, values, identities (Watt, 2013) that is often space-based (Betancur and Smith, 2016). In large cities and localities, communities overlap and are not geographically fixed (Charles and Crow, 2012), nevertheless the term points towards a cohesive en25

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tity that sticks together (Blokland, 2017). “Neighbourhood” and “community” both have definitions tied to people and places and are the main keywords of this publication. There is an increased interest and need among scholars, researchers and professionals to argue these terms accuracy, applicability and pertinence. As the social and spatial realms some times overlap and other times are skewed, modern-day neighbourhoods and communities as units of analysis are difficult to define. Do we live in a neighbourhood if we don’t know any neighbours (socially)? Where does a neighbourhood start or end (spatially)? We are living in a time when temporality prevails and the gap with the spatial is getting wider. While in principle a neighbourhood should be a community, today proximity does not necessarily translate as community, and this term is being explored outside a geographical anchor. “It used to be that people were born as part of a community, and had to find their place as individuals. Now people are born as individuals, and have to find their community” (Bill Bishop, 2008). The sense of belonging is a social practice and performance (Helbrecht and Dirksmeier 2013), and the built environment plays an important role in it. We should be attentive to engage in social relations with others, as communities are everywhere and they are urban as long as we will live together (Blokland, 2017). 26

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“Some people may have roots and other may have routes, but all do community” (Talja Blokland, 2017 p.13) An urban future Living in cities has attracted an extensive attention this last decade, considering that for the first time in history, 56% of the world’s population lives in urban settings (UN, 2020), the percentage being even higher in North America, Europe and Latin America with 80%. The future is an urban future. Cities perpetually serve as the core economic engines of societies (80% of the global economy comes from urban areas) and they have been planned, built, governed and transformed constantly. Cityscapes have mirrored shifts in governance models, structural power, crises, revolutions and natural disasters. They have always been the ground where the future of the society has been imagined (Zhang, 2010). They are not only stages where life happens, but also play their part in impacting our quality of life. This urban experience is in a crisis now more than ever, as we have embarked into an isolated mode of living. Cities around the globe are preparing for resilience, as crises of different causes have manifold impacts on society, economy and environment. Cities are unstable entities faced with unexpected events (Amin, 2014). Adaptation and resilience have become the keywords to facing the uncertain future. Without collective consciousness there cannot be social resilience, and that begins with neighbourhoods - the places that foster social relations and encounters, from public and anonymous to private and intimate. 27

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The following is an account of neighbourliness, as the social relation that is born from the spatial, materialized and inscribed onto it, and finally surpasses it to become an independently meaningful bond. Our interest lies in the role of neighbourly relations in the midst of city life, their impact in the identity of both people and cities, how they have changed over time through political systems, scales and disciplines. In an attempt to address the future, we will analyse the past and more importantly the present.

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ALBUM

in our home

In February 2020 we launched a campaign on social media under #neighbourstories. We asked people to send us their personal testimonies of life with neighbours, either in the form of a photograph or a short text. To date, we have received around 70 photographs and hundreds of stories, ranging from 1968-2005, some of which we have illustrated and put together in this book. These stories provide a real account of neighbourliness and open homes. They encompass all kinds of everyday activities, special events, close friendships or whole community engagements. Twenty years ago neighbours were closer than relatives, as all of these testimonies can account for it. In the words of B. Kapexhiu: “of course you had brothers and sisters, but none was readily available when you needed something, since they lived far away. Neighbours were right there and then, only a knock away. Sometimes not even a knock we never locked doors in our floor, and just went in and out of each-other’s homes as if we were part of the family.” Surely, neighbourliness is not always and for everyone harmonic, agreeable or even positive. In many cases it can be the embodiment of indifference or hostility, but this album proves once again the value and impact of quality relationships among people in their own wellbeing and the happiness of their communities. “Neighbours are quite simply people who live near one another. [...] the most obvious special feature of nearness as a setting for relationships is the exceptional cheapness with which it can permit good relationships and the exceptional costs it can attach to bad ones” (Abrams quoted in Bulmer, 1986, page 18) 31

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“We had just arrived from Kosovo, seeking shelter in our neighbouring country which soon became our temporary home. Our new neighbours took us to the sea. I was 5 years old and too excited to visit it for the first time. We remained good friends even after.” photo courtesy Alma Paçarizi, 1999

“We are posing at the entrance of our apartment building, on a short playing break. Left to right: Ledio, Ezioni, me, Flavia & Alba. I was 5 years old, the oldest of the group.” photo courtesy Doris Alimerko, 1995

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photo courtesy Mira Kazhani, 1995

The curly girl in the picture with me, is Sonila, my neighbour whom I haven’t seen in over 20 years. In the photograph we imitate the American movies we watched on TV. We put on our best clothes, bought ice cream and asked the only photographer in town to take a picture of us to keep as a souvenir. In the ‘90s the neighbours were Netflix; MTV was our club and disco. The neighbours were our world, where we shared every secret but also the most ‘ordinary’ things, such as bread, oil, salt and sugar, including what seems most absurd today - we handed them over our own house. We left them the key. We trusted them! 33

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photo courtesy Ergisa Bebja, 1995

“The first snow of winter always felt like a holiday, even on weekdays! Everybody would come outside to play and this year we didn’t forget to capture our joy in a photograph.” “Playtime with our next door neighbour, Anisa, at grandma’s house. Our families have been neighbours for 31 years. Not a single day has gone by without them coming to our house or us going to theirs.” photo courtesy Ariela Jorgo, 1998

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“This picture was taken at the end of the Miss Neighbourhood 1998 show. The 14 children in the picture include the beauty contestants, scenographer, show host, photographer and assistants. We would organize this event ourselves every summer in the neighbourhood daycare center - just for fun! photo courtesy Ina Çenko, 1998

“It was a time when we were too young to party in clubs, and social distancing wasn’t invented yet. So, it was home parties all the way! What happened next, is history...” photo courtesy Keti Prifti, 1998

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“Celebrating Jorida’s birthday (our neighbour from the third floor). The ladies of our neighbourhood posing for the photo. Me and my sister are the twin babies that everybody wanted to hold.” photo courtesy Pamela Jorgo, 1997

“1st of January. Like every year, me and my neighbour Xhoi, collected the consumed fireworks before visiting each other’s homes. Our respective moms would then send us back home with a bag full of oranges, apples and dried fruits.” photo courtesy Antonela Kola, 1999

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photo courtesy Elion Kollçaku, 1999

“Everybody in my neighbourhood was loving and caring, especially the well known tailoress Shahqe Berberi. She taught me how to play domino! I remember her vividly, by the piano, always smiling and full of joy.”

photo courtesy Edvin Thomollari

“Our everyday was inseparable from the outdoor games. Four boys and a wheel - a guaranteed recipe for the ultimate day of fun!” 37

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“Every New Year the whole neighbourhood was invited to our little concert. Me, my sister Ivana and the other girls, would spend the whole week prior, at each other’s homes, rehearsing the moves, songs & wrapping presents.” photo courtesy Sabina Hoxha, 1996

“A new baby on the block! My brother, Enea, in the arms of our neighbours. The one laughing out loud - Mita, has been our neighbour for more than 25 years. My mom loves chatting with her about politics, every morning!” photo courtesy Rudina Breçani, 1997

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photo courtesy Eridana Karkini, 1994

“Wedding celebrations would last a whole week & the neighbours were usually on duty to help with all organizations: from food, to music, clothes and make-up. Here I am, as a bride, arriving at my husband’s home, among my old and new neighbours!”

photo courtesy Dorela Ferra, 1996

“On my birthday, dancing with my best friend who lived upstairs, wearing our absolute best dresses!” 39

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“Me with my neighbours and best friends, Joli and Blerta (all 8 years old), back when we didn’t have a personal camera and had to go to the park to get photographed. Many years later, we still remain good friends.” photo courtesy Blerina Mali, 1985/1995

“My 8th birthday, celebrating with the kids from the neighbourhood. In these parties you had to invite everyone, even the kids you didn’t like that much.” photo courtesy Xhoi Musliaka, 2000

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“This picture was taken in Durrës, on a day at the beach with our neighbours. I was 6 years old. We were so close with them, we even spent the weekends together. As children, in the summer we could only think of one thing: the beach! So our parents would get together to organize the “neighbours weekend”. In the morning we would leave at 7AM sharp for the train station. We were relatively poor and not every family had everything needed for a day at the beach, so each of us shared what we had and in the end nothing would be missing. Someone, like me in this picture, would take the radio to listen to music.” photo courtesy Kostana Morava, 1990

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photo courtesy Jurgena Alijaj, 1994

“There’s no wedding without feast. In any celebration, our neighbours would bring their musical instruments, and would play for free to honour the occasion.”

“I actually don’t remember this I am the baby in the picture. 19 neighbourhood kids gathered for someone’s birthday, is something I surely couldn’t experience anymore when I became their age...” photo courtesy Egi Mali, 2000

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“My neighbour, Liria, knitted me a sweater every summer, to be ready for the coming winter. That year’s color white!” photo courtesy Rudina Breçani, 2000

“The Kosovo War exodus made us find and treasure new friends who wholeheartedly welcomed us in Albania. I’m here with my new neighbours in Tirana, who made it possible for us to spend an unforgettable summer of nonstop play and fun.” photo courtesy Klodian Krasniqi, 1999

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“The blonde girl, Aida, had been our neighbour for 10 years. We were so close to each other that we couldn’t possibly think of celebrating Easter or any other holiday without her!” photo courtesy Malvina Ferra, 1996

“On a Sunday, with my colleague/ neighbour in the village where we worked for 2-3 years. We were enjoying a moment of rest, ‘visiting’ each-other over the fence”

photo courtesy Hyrije Sala Kurti, 1956

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“Our favorite game was jumping from this staircase two, three, four... steps at a time. We were not allowed to leave the building as it was unsafe during the 1997s uprisings in Tirana, so we improvised games on the staircase or landings.” photo courtesy Oerd Bej, 1997

photo courtesy Anisa Kushta, 1998

“My birthday parties looked like this: all my neighbour friends dressed up for the classic picture my mom would take, blow the candles, eat a piece of cake and then race outside for the games marathon!” 45

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“This photo shows a moment from the neighbour’s wedding to which we were invited. The party took place in the neighbourhood, in the backyard of one of the houses.” photo courtesy Mimoza Kristo, 1974

“The day me and my sister were baptized (I am the baby screaming in the middle of the crowd). Our godmothers were two other sisters who had been our next-door neighbours for 10 years!” photo courtesy Egi Mali, 2004

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“My neighbour Ela, my sister and I, used to play “brides” all the time. Usually we’d take turns, but this time, we all dressed up and decided to take pictures.” photo courtesy Ana Kroqidhi, 1996

“Waiting all together for the New Year and watching the fireworks from the roof of our building had become a tradition. This is a picture of me, my grandmother and our two neighbours, Daniela and Ana, only one minute into 2003.” photo courtesy Elio Xhahollari, 2003

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photo courtesy Fiona Mali, 1994

“The day of my first swim, as a two-yearold. We used to go the lake on summer weekends, together with our ground floor neighbours Iris and Dorela.”

photo courtesy Evis Cerga, 1976

“An easy pose that perfectly captures the mood of our ordinary days: my mom is wearing hair rollers and I am the little girl in my neighbour’s arms. There were no filters between us!” 48

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“The little wooden door in our courtyard, that was never locked, connected us with our neighbours. So, we didn’t have to go out to the street to go to our neighbours houses. It was my grandmother who first taught me what trust and affection for one another is!” photo courtesy Fjolla Spanca

“In my home, with 10 kids who lived all in our building! We’re looking neat for the picture, but more of that cake ended up in our faces than our bellies.” photo courtesy Rudina Breçani, 2000

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“My friends calling from outside the window, would make me finish the homework in a heartbeat. He had build our own city in the neighbourhood, with houses made of stone and wood, hospital and school. The event of the year was “Miss Neighbourhood“ and our VIP guests were our parents.” photo courtesy Albana Murra, 2001

“My neighbour who had moved out of town invited me to her new home for the summer. Here I am with my neighbour’s new neighbours. Needless to say, we instantly became friends.” photo courtesy Malvina Ferra, 1998

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“Being the youngest of the neighbourhood kids was a real challenge. You had to complete all kinds of everyday tasks given by the older ones and only then you could become part of the cool squad!” photo courtesy Iden Petraj, 1998

“It was my 8th birthday. I’m the girl with a ribbon on my head. Ir is a precious memory from the beach in Durres. In the photos there are also my older sister, brother, cousin and our neighbours.” photo courtesy Mimoza Kristo, 1968

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“Once a year, in the spring, we would paint the house, and the neighbour across the hall never hesitated to give us a hand.” questionnaire story

“I was six years old, and home alone. Our neighbours had trusted my parents with the key to their apartment, so I was supposed to stay home until they got back. But, I had other plans. So I slid their key under their entrance door, and wrote a note on a piece of paper as I had just learned to write: “Your key is under the door” and stuck it outside.” story from Jurtin Hajro, 1987

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“My mother has her coffee twice a day with our neighbour, once in our house, and once in her house. They have been neighbours for 35 years, imagine how many times they’ve had coffee together to this day!”

questionnaire story

“For New Year, birthdays, engagements, weddings, special occasions, we visited each other. Even when someone bought a TV, it was an occasion to visit.” 53

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“In the neighbourhood we had spaces where we could gather and play without being disturbed. The careful eye form a window, of a mother or grandmother gave us security. Today we are afraid to let the children play outside because there are no car-free areas and we also no longer know the people around and don’t feel safe.” questionnaire story

“When I was little, I used to spend time in my neighbour’s house almost every day. I often did my homework in their company.”

questionnaire story

in our home

story from Flutura Hajro, 1990

“Our next door neighbour’s son got married, but they didn’t have a spare room for the couple to spend their wedding night in. So we lent them our own master bedroom for their first night as newlyweds! They never forgot it.”

questionnaire story

“It was not unusual to help each other even with house cleaning, especially for special occasions when we would expecting people paying us visits.” 55

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“Our favorite game was hide-and-seek, and we loved playing at my upstairs neighbour’s home because it was of full great nooks to hide in.”

questionnaire story

“We used to live in a ground floor apartment. Since we were the first family in the building to buy a TV, whenever there were football matches, festivals of special programs we would direct the TV screen toward the window overlooking the building front yard, where all the neighbours would gather to watch together.” story from Haxhi Hajro, 1970

in our home

“When cell phones did not yet exist, our neighbours came to our home to talk to their relatives abroad, as only we had a telephone in the building.”

questionnaire story

“For the end-of-year holidays our neighbour Drita, a small, petite but hardworking woman, would help my mom to prepare the baklava pastry layers. The process lasted almost a whole day.” 57

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BEING NEIGHBOURS

Erion Kristo Lecurer of Political Sciences, Sociology, Social Anthropology. Phd in Philosophy from the University of “San Tommaso”, Italy. UCLA Fullbright Visiting Scholar in the Department of Political Science. Author of many articles on literature in magazines and newspapers, editor and translator of dozens of published books, civil society activist.

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Being neighbours is a reality and a concept. A multifaceted reality and an equally conglomerate concept, which obeys to some rules and no rules at all, some periods and no time at all. Neighbours were once connected through kinship and other family ties. Today, neighbours are connected by the amount of money they are willing to spend to own apartments in certain locations, so - it is quite by chance they live next to each other. To put it simply, in Albania we have known three kinds of neighbour relations: pre-communist, socialist and democratic. The pre-communist neighbour relationship is very intriguing. If you take a look at the important cities of Albania, such as Shkodra, Berat and Gjirokastra, you would find excellent neighbourliness rules and traditions. You might even find Kanuns (of a very high bounding legal level) that regulated life to the finest details. Houses in Berat could only be built according to a certain scheme, the same applied to the houses in Gjirokastra. It suffices to recall the excellent neighbour relations of Korça, Përmet, etc. Such excellent neighbour relations are found in urban areas as well as in rural areas. It was common for neighbourliness to be regulated by traditional law and order, but also by customs and habits, which seem excellent compared to today’s democratic chaos. Once, there were rules for the use of waterline, the pastures and the forests, for community life, communal construction, weddings, and funerals. There was an established hierarchy of how people should sit, talk, and gather. The elderly would settle the problems encountered by anyone in the community. In a sense, matters appeared simple, even though people carried pistols in their waist59

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bands. There was no government in these areas, but there was order! This distant period - beautiful and picturesque, still unstudied in its entirety and depth, was completely erased by the communist era (or, socialist era - because that is how the post second World War regime called itself). During this time, the cities and working class underwent great development and expansion. As a result of the industrialization process, more people moved from the countryside to the cities. As a result, new neighbourhoods were created, even in the old cities of Berat and Gjirokastra. Furthermore, cities such as Vlora, Fieri, Lushnja, Tirana, and others, also grew. The ancient cities of Durrës and Elbasan became industrialized. New cities, such as Bulqiza, were established, due to the development of the mining industry. Villages were developed and grew too, with the introduction of large constructions such as the so-called apartment buildings, administrative and social facilities (cultural centres), schools, kindergartens, etc. The mentality of the communist (socialist) neighbour was quite different. For the first time ever, people began to live in collective housing units (apartment buildings). These were generally buildings of four or five stories, seldom six, and nine in extraordinary cases. These apartment buildings were precisely laid-out in neighbourhoods, and neighbourhoods were envisioned to have residents coming from all over the country. In the apartments in Vlora there were people from Çamëri, from Greek minorities, from the villages around and from many other regions, who were often also specialists of different fields and disciplines. All these 60

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people now resided in the same building. People from the Egyptian and Roma communities were accommodated mostly on the ground floors. Communist (socialist) neighbourliness was peculiar. It was a way to overcome the chronic poverty of the period. At the same time, it was also a way to overcome the absence of the family and relatives’ support, which had dominated the concept of neighbourliness in past centuries when they all lived close by. In general, neighbours were easy to communicate with and showed respect for eachother. In my apartment building lived heads of enterprises, residents coming from villages, working class individuals, intellectuals, ethnic minorities. Over the last years of communism, when shortage of food was taking its toll on all the country, certain individuals started to keep goats and chickens in their balconies. Some collected medicinal plants to increase their meagre income. Spying was a whole other problem on its own. The Democratic Front and the Neighbourhood Councils were the ones defining the rights to study, employment, and housing. The regime had the power to intervene in various community and individual conflicts, even in love matters. Nevertheless, respect and fear of the system prevailed. Our homes were open! You would only ring the bell and march in, without even considering that your neighbour might not be presentable for a visit. Our neighbours' books were our books. The insufficient food was also shared following the principle: you give me a cup, I give you a glass. Families would signal their poverty to each other. It was the neighbourliness of thin walls, where everything could be 61

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heard: the quarrels, the caresses, etc. etc. With the fall of the socialist regime, that never became communism, the world changed completely. The construction industry underwent rapid development, becoming the country's core industry. Apartment buildings were erected everywhere, in towns and villages, in touristic and historical areas. People flocked to cities. The villages remained extremely underdeveloped. Those who did not move to cities, fled and emigrated elsewhere. Most villages were abandoned, some completely deserted. Today’s neighbourliness is unknown, often oblivious. It could be manifested as the "click clack" of high heels in the middle of the night, or as cooking smells when someone opens their door for ventilation in the unventilated hallway of the building. It could be heard as a piece of classical music, waking you up very early on a Saturday, with the same tune played for months. Sometimes it’s built upon conversations on political beliefs, football fanaticism, and a bit of cafe’ provinciality. It is the neighbourliness of crudeness, which is starting to take some form due to recent legal interventions. We are finally getting some degree of self-government, funds are being raised, bills are getting paid, elevators are moving. I remember when my father used to plant trees and flowers in the backyard of the communist apartment block in Vlora, a space which today has become an abusive, locked parking lot. Only now, in front of our ten-story "democratic" building in Tirana, we have flowers again because some greenery lovers have planted and preserve them fanatically. 62

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Once, we used to know every nook and cranny of our neighbours’ lives; today we no longer know who lives in our building, nor the “symphonies” they play day and night. New people (mostly tenants) are always coming and going. Bicycles are piled up on different floors. Garbage and waste are sometimes left where they do not belong. But, when the earthquake struck us to our cores more than a year ago, we discovered that in the building lived some nice people too. Should neighbourliness be reinvented? For the sake of the community, yes. At first on social media, then in real life. Maybe regulations and institutions can bring the change that civic culture is unable to bring.

on neighbours and togetherness

NEIGHBOURS IN CINEMA

in our home

In our research on neighbourliness, cinematography played an important role as a medium of illustration and analysis. This is due to the considerably extensive presence of neighbours in old Albanian fIlms, produced by the stateowned “New Albania” Kinostudio, the only center of cinematographic production, who ran from 1952 to 1992, and produced a total of about 270 titles of feature films, documentaries, animated films and chronicles (AQSHF). Framed by the ideology of the totalitarian regime, these films were means of propaganda and aimed to convey an ideal reality and perfect image of socialist behaviour, and also “educate” the people on how to ‘properly’ live their lives. Even though we are stepping into a sensitive ground in discussing them, it would be a mistake not to recognize these films’ importance in the study of neighbourliness, both as a social phenomenon and as a spatial manifestation. The research began by identifying scenes where neighbourly exchanges are present in these films. After watching all the films we could find, 18 films were identified, shot between 1973 and 1990, that showed relevance to the topic. Starting from those that have a considerable presence of neighbour dialogue and interaction in their plots, up to those where neighbourly relations are at the center of the narrative. These films pertain to drama and comedy genres, and all tackle themes related to everyday life, family issues and socio-cultural problems. All the films portray a tight community relationship. Neighbours are shown as an important part of everyday life and it is clear they are in frequent communication and they practically know everything about the 65

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actuality of each-other’s lives. All of the films were subjected to censorship, so obviously, they didn’t show the neighbour that proved to be dangerous when they doubled as an informant to the surveillance system. Almost all of the films render an image of a caring, concerned, involved neighbour. However, the fact that they were censored does not by default negate the truthfulness of the scenes among neighbours or the existence of sincere and caring neighbour relationships in that time, as reassured by people’s personal testimonies and stories. Whenever possible, the directors and screenwriters were also able to introduce several aspects that would reveal other sides of neighbours too. One such case is the film “Even so” (1989), by director/screenwriter Bujar Kapexhiu, where neighbourly relations form the basis for plot, portraying neighbours for the first time also as inclined to personal interests and favoritism. He explains to us that “in comedies it was possible to express certain aspects that wouldn’t be allowed in dramatic films. Using humour, we could ironically “attack” some social phenomena, without it being taken too seriously to be censored”. Most of these films (except for “Madam from the city”, 1976), are shot in urban settings, with the majority shot in Tirana, which is what makes them all the more relevant to an architectural and urban analysis. The city, the neighbourhood, the apartment buildings are extensively shown in these films, as some of them were even shot in real apartments and not film sets. Neighbour relations unfold in the neighbourhood open spaces, playgrounds and lanes, 66

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building staircases and hallways, inside the apartments corridors, living rooms, bedrooms, balconies. The small everyday interactions, or even tight relationships between the neighbours observed in these films amount to more than 50 short clips of 1-5 minutes each. It is precisely these short clips that are of interest to our project, for they depict the ways neighbours used their own spaces and their common spaces to interact with each-other. They present in a very discernible way the neighbourliness of ‘open homes’, which remained still massively existent in the main cities for at least a decade after the fall of the regime.

on neighbours and togetherness

“Spoiled Mimoza” “Mimoza llastica”

1973 Director: Xhanfise Keko Screenplay: Nasho Jorgaqi Music: Robert Radoja, Aleksandër Lalo Source: AQSHF

In the building near “Kavaja” Str. in Tirana, every day is the same. All the little girls living in this building are friends. After they wake up and get ready, they knock on one-another’s door in a call for play in their favorite place, the courtyard. It belongs exclusively to them!

“The newest city in the world” “Qyteti më i ri në botë” 1974 Director: Xhanfise Keko Screenplay: Muharrem Skënderi Music: Gjon Simoni Source: AQSHF

This neighbourhood is always lively because all the children living there have conquered the courtyard between the apartment blocks. Together they carry on different missions, from playing “soldiers” to actually building a miniature city.

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“Madam from the city” “Zonja nga qyteti” 1976 Director: Piro Milkani Screenplay: Ruzhdi Pulaha Music: Agim Krajka Source: AQSHF

In this small village community, everyone is a neighbour. They take care of each-other as if they were family, perform late night craftwork sessions, pay visits whenever someone is sick, and get together to manage flooding during a late night downpour.

“In our home” “Në shtëpinë tonë”

1979 Director: Dhimitër Anagnosti Screenplay: Kiço Blushi Music: Aleksandër Peçi Source: AQSHF

When a young boy disappears for hours, all the neighbours gather to comfort the worried mother. Doors are open for the neighbour in need, they pass the tense hours together in their living room/guest room, and use the stairs and halls as extensions of their apartments.

on neighbours and togetherness

“A small delay” “Një vonesë e vogël”

1982 Director: Xhanfise Keko Screenplay: Bashkim Hoxha, Xhanfise Keko Music: Aleksandër Lalo Source: AQSHF

These little classmates are also neighbours. They double-check their homework over a balcony chat - so convenient!

“The town lights” “Dritat e qytezës”

1983 Director: Fehmi Hoshafi Screenplay: Sabri Godo Music: Tasim Hoshafi Source: AQSHF

Every weekday starts at a fast pace, but all the neighbours catch up in the 5 minutes of walking down the stairs. Whoever has a fridge, stores food for the other neighbours. They share their problems and good news and are part of each-other’s dining tables.

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“Taulant wants a sister” “Taulanti kërkon një motër” 1984 Director: Xhanfise Keko Screenplay: Nexhati Tafa, Xhanfise Keko Music: Hajg Zaharian Source: AQSHF

Taulant’s best friend is his neighbour, Ola, who just got a baby brother. He is happy only at her home where he can forget his loneliness and convince his parents to get him a little sister. Their parents are close friends too - they share personal problems and seek each-other’s advice.

“Mondi and Diana” “Mondi dhe Diana” 1985 Director: Besim Kurti Screenplay: Gaqo Bushaka Music: Maksim Shehu Source: AQSHF

Neighbours, classmates and best friends, Mondi and Genci, spend all day long together, from morning till late in the evening at each-other’s homes. Mondi, the mischievous, never walks down the stairs, but Genci doesn’t really like sliding.

on neighbours and togetherness

“On the verge of life” “Në prag të jetës”

1985 Director: Piro Milkani Screenplay: Vath Koreshi Music: Limoz Dizdari Source: AQSHF

When smart phones didn’t exist, calling from across the balcony would do the job. These neighbours communicate freely with each-other, despite the distance between them. No matter the age, they are all close, making promises and looking after one another.

“And the day comes” “Dhe vjen një ditë” 1986 Director: Vladimir Prifti Screenplay: Teodor Laço Music: Thoma Simaku Source: AQSHF

To receive their guests, the upstairs neighbours need to borrow some chairs. Apart from furniture, they also have a small chat and share recent news.

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“Twice checkmate” “Dy herë mat”

1986 Director: Bujar Kapexhiu Screenplay: Bujar Kapexhiu Music: Aleksandër Lalo Source: AQSHF

Kopi’s wife prepares a banquet in honour of an esteemed colleague of his - the Albanian chess champion. However, Kopi’s chess-player friends are not invited. In a home banquet, the wife decides, so all the invitees are actually the neighbours!

“Endless rumours” “Fjalë pa fund”

1986 Director: Spartak Pecani Screenplay: Natasha Lako Music: Aleksandër Lalo Source: AQSHF

A young family is put through a hard time. Their new neighbours get too involved with their personal life and start spreading rumors.

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“Invisible world” “Botë e padukshme” 1987 Director: Kristaq Dhamo Screenplay: Vath Koreshi, Kristaq Dhamo Music: Aleksandër Peçi Source: AQSHF

Piro returns home to find a note from his son saying that he would be staying next door. At the neighbours’, he has already fallen asleep so the father doesn’t wake him up, he can sleep over. To repay the debt to the neighbours, he will accompany both boys to school the next morning.

“My family” “Familja ime”

1987 Director: Albert Xholi Screenplay: Rozi Theodhori Music: Hajg Zaharian Source: AQSHF

Tasi and Kalina, two elderly neighbours see each other every day because of the proximity and openness of their balconies. This is their only meeting place, but that doesn’t stop them from sharing coffees, conversations, plants, utilities. They get so used to each-other, they pick up each-other’s songs, while minding their own business.

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“Strings for violin” “Tela për violinë”

1987 Director: Bujar Kapexhiu Screenplay: Pëllumb Kulla Music: Rexhep Hasimi Source: AQSHF

A new apartment was just granted to Muco, the famous violinist. News travels fast among neighbours so they wait for him in the stairs to congratulate him.

“The women’s replacement” “Zëvendësi i grave” 1987 Director: Fehmi Hoshafi Screenplay: Kastriot Mahilaj Music: Agim Krajka Source: AQSHF

A win-win neighbour situation: a busy working mom needs to leave her baby in trusted care, and an elderly lady needs to pass her time and feel useful (free of charge of course).

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“Even so” “Edhe kështu, edhe ashtu”

1989 Director: Bujar Kapexhiu Screenplay: Bujar Kapexhiu Music: Ardit Gjebrea Source: AQSHF

A telephone is this film’s protagonist. As the Sakos settle in the building (a family of high social standing), people immediately start calling them on Sotir’s telephone, the upstairs neighbour. Quickly, there’s no more secrets between them.

“After the last date” “Pas takimit të fundit” 1989 Director: Fehmi Hoshafi Screenplay: Bashkim Kozeli Music: Tasim Hoshafi Source: AQSHF

Young Linda needs a dress for a party, and her neighbour Liza doesn’t hesitate to lend it to her. They don’t just share clothes, they also confide their problems in each other, and Linda often sleeps in Lisa’s home when she is alone with her children.

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“A boy and a girl” “Një djalë dhe një vajzë” 1990 Director: Ibrahim Muça, Kristaq Mitro Screenplay: Shpresa Vreto, Petrit Ruka Music: Gjon Simoni Source: AQSHF

Anila and Artan are neighbours. They are the same age and attend the same school. Despite their own personal problems, whenever they need, they are there for eachother. Even if that means being a messenger to deliver secret love letters.

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RESIDENTS WITHOUT HOMES

Julian Bejko Lecturer in the Department of Sociology, University of Tirana. PhD in Political and Historical Philosophy from the University of Paris, France. His areas of interest, study and work are Political Sociology, Image Analysis and Criticism, and the History of Sociological Thought. Author of the original work The Society of Cinema in three volumes I The Old Regime and the People’s War (2012), II - Reform. Duty. Consciousness (2013), and III - The New Albania (in progress); in which the Albanian society is studied in its history and complexity through cinematographic images of Kinostudio Shqipëria e Re.

translated from Albanian by Erion Ndreçka 78

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In the late seventies of the past century, the state regime in Albania was nearing its retirement age, while the country's cinematography was escaping its totalitarian dark period. Movies featuring topics such as industrialization, emancipation, and mind-numbing ideology were left in the past. Analysing the urban reality and the new man as the output of previous processes, were the future. Such is the movie “In Our Home” (directed by Dh. Anagnosti, 1979) which precedes a new period that will soon include gloomier topics and issues. Tirana becomes the epicentre of attention due to its micro-sociology of everyday life and neorealism when portraying the proletarian families. The title and soundtrack imply prosperous living in our socialist home. Family and collective life are pallidly simple and almost accusing. Barren images and the everyday routine are depicted during the 24 hours that the film unfolds. The movie comes to life thanks to an adventurous kid that skips school and manages to reach a rural road and waits there for his driver father. The neighbours and other persons join in with affection while his mother and sister search for him. His sister is afraid to admit she is in love – avoiding the opinion of her own parents and the judging eyes of the neighbours. The dominant image of the time focuses on cleanliness, public order, safety, and urban community. All of these complied with the authoritarian and disciplinary planning of the system. Urbanization was required by the socialist industry as it needed the workforce. Population grew, especially the urban population, yet living conditions were not improved. The socialist city played the important 79

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role of a moral guide for society and of a political orthopaedic device for the deviations. The new man was being created based on the semi-rural mindset which implied that people already knew each other and would form a collective by relying on a structure of memory. It was shameful to be different from the others, to demonstrate your superiority, uniqueness, or contempt. Collective living – with all its variations and issues – was primarily about a certain culture that modelled honourable and shameful behaviour, feelings and thoughts, under state warranty. Inhabitants preserved the tradition of reciprocal acquaintance, and their hearts and homes were open in both good and bad times. The famous solidarity and affectionate neighbour’ relations – today idealized because of the present concerns with loneliness – were modelled simultaneously by traditional morals as well as the necessity to live next to other people as a way of surviving the considerable poverty. The extreme physical and social closeness, shows the superiority (often asphyxiation) of the community over the individual and individuality. Collective life was based on the society of the masses and common property, whereas “private” and “intimate” were forbidden concepts that belonged to the capitalist world. The politico-social education aimed at opening up the individual, suppressing subjectivity, confessing personal problems, listening, spying and reporting on the neighbour beyond the wall. The anthropological ideal of the regime was the creation of a community density without boundaries, under a siege of guards, executioners, barbed wire, bunkers, searchlights, and the watchful neighbour as a permanent security camera. 80

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Abiding to the collective authority provided people with a kind of psychological shield, as opposed to the anomic character of the never-ending transition period. Some neighbours would offer shelter and protection while others would pose a threat for words and actions within the house. Fear of judgement and moral punishment that could become politically dangerous, managed to intimidate people and provide a degree of control, while at the same time simulating a double reality of hypocrisy. One one side everyone had to obey the imposed norms; while on the other, discontent and forbidden desires were secretly sublimated in a mysterious world. Being watched by your neighbour just increased the illegal pleasure of enjoying what was considered morally unsafe for the socialist individual. The neighbours were potential troublemakers or trouble-shooters, sources of fear or love, wrongdoers or allies in hardship. Anyone could set foot on the other’s territory without being considered a trespasser, since all lived in a kind of prison without internal walls and doors, without a clear demarcation of the individual or family notion, amidst values and falsities co-existing at the same time. The film “In Our Home” defines a space that is familiar and yet public, which makes us recall the nostalgic past and the bother of an imposed familiarity. The socialist manual of good behaviour within the family members of their homes, instructed children to be open to a friendly neighbour but tight-lipped to another neighbour, to stay clear of provocative questions about political points of view of their parents, and other similar things. People were preoccupied not only visually with things that should not be visible but also 81

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acoustically, with erotic or political sounds that could penetrate the apartment walls and reach the monitoring ear of the neighbour. The apartment itself was devoid of intimacy, with often older family members pressuring the younger ones often turning the home into a conflict zone - a sign of poverty and an underlying need for personal space. The 1980’ cinematography represented the tense urban reality and a regime not powerful enough to take actions, as opposed to the previous idealized narrative full of promises worn out by political inflation. The state tried to use feature movies to moralize the behaviour of a society on the verge of moral breakdown. Simultaneously the movie camera pierced the inner man and displayed the birth of new habits, the agony of an urban class that was eagerly waiting for the regime to collapse and escape from our home. Despite its wishes and needs, the socialist city of late 1980’ was hardly staying intact because of the coercive artificiality, overpopulation, exaggerated poverty and intervention of the others. I am not sure if it is good luck that after one decade the houses and the country were privatized and became mine or yours, because what was ours was a dirty shirt woven by a multitude of anonymous hands.

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NEIGHBOURHOOD AS COUNTERSPACE

Arba Bekteshi Urban anthropologist working in Tirana. Her work focuses on mediations of its changing urban landscape, negotiations regarding conceptualizations of public and private spaces, as well as agency relations. She uses psychogeography and arts-based research to think with the various components of the ethnographic field. She has a double undergraduate degree in Southeastern European Studies and International Relations from the American University in Bulgaria, an M.A. in Anthropology of Development and Social Transformation from the University of Sussex, UK, a Masters in International Communication from IULM University, IT and an M.Sc. in Archaeology from the University of Tirana, AL.

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Neighbourly relations in apartment buildings The construction of housing in Tirana switched from horizontal forms of dwelling, in one-storey vernacular, Ottoman- or Italian- influenced houses, to vertical multi-family buildings. The meeting places moved from the streets or the squares, to the stairs of the apartment building. The neighbourhood transformed from horizontal to vertical. This also meant that people lived closer to strangers in adjacent apartments, rather than in larger houses with gardens. The latter were usually inhabited by households of numerous nuclear families, and the homestead expanded as the ménage grew. Life in an apartment was shared among several nuclear families as well, but still fewer than what people were used to. Maybe it was the fact that adjacency equaled familiarity added to the reality of scarce resources that formed the basis for close and caring neighbourly relations in Tirana. Systems of care came to be organically and perhaps would have not existed otherwise. Constant radical care, that went against the extreme social control and oppression of the system, was practiced daily. The praxis of extreme control sought to introduce distrust amongst the population by employing a series of alienating tactics, such as forcing family members, relatives and neighbours to spy on each other. However, not to recognize the importance of neighbourhood relations as part of homemaking as resistance to the system, would be a big misstep. In the male-dominated, brutal political life, women worked daily to establish and strengthen homemaking structures. Homemaking was solidly the performative function of women. 85

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Neighbourly relations during that time, were such that you would keep the neighbour’s weekly meat ratio in your small freezer; you promptly ran upstairs to notify your neighbour receiving a planned phone call from a remote village up north; your neighbour kept an eye on children playing in the communal apartment building space; you left your apartment keys with the neighbour. One would invite their neighbour over to look at new furniture, electrical appliances, or a new furniture arrangement to possibly replicate. A new, bigger colour TV meant that relatives and neighbours would gather in celebration to watch music festivals and sport matches. Inviting your neighbour over to talk about frivolous making and doing helped people thrive within the dictatorship. In an apartment building life spilled from the apartments to the stairway (shkalla). The word stairway came to include the whole building, its residents and their exchanges in it. The apartment building with the stairs at its trunk and the apartments as spurs, stood for a branched-out system of living, where the lives of all families infallibly came together. The stairs were a topos of encounter, where lives came together to form new social structures. Shkalla provided a built and relational environment for multiple and interrelated collective actions, taking the forms of joy, care, support, learning, etc. By claiming the stairs, people claimed the neighbourhood and their neighbourliness away from political ideology. Comradeship, radical care and counternarratives Taking care of your neighbour and making sure that 86

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they not only had enough to go by, but actually found joy in small daily gestures, somehow matched the authorities’ rhetoric. It was the women who did so, not by upsetting the paranoia of the system, but by playing a role in the discourse of a new society, which articulated values such as equality albeit solely on paper. If the stairway in the apartment building became a place of care and encounter, it then also turned into an extension of the apartment, of the home. Ironically enough, the extension of your home to that of your neighbour was an unconscious, unplanned and undesired socialist happenstance, a sprout toward not just thriving but truly achieving some equality. In a society where all spaces became state owned, the privacy of the apartment was fragmented and monitored. As one’s daily activities were dictated by the state apparatus, participating in systems of neighbourly care implied the existence and superimposition of a comradery completely separate from that of the Party. These practices of care were thus a tool of resistance, and ultimately the means to thrive within the given circumstances. We need to recognize the radicality of a care that allowed an indomitable spirit of compassion to emerge out of terror and deadly violence. Consequently, a shift in focus from the macro narrative of the new socialist man to the micro histories of homemaking, is a reconciliation that is owed to the generations of Albanians that lived through, what they called, communism. Along these lines, it is obvious that there exists a narrative of everyday life as countering the system of fear. The counter narrative stemming from the apartment buildings of Albania, is one of radical care as a 87

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feature of everyday life. The stairways, apartment buildings and neighbourhoods analysed here, can be considered Lefebvrian counterspaces par-excellence. Although Lefebvre imagines modes of being and relating in contradistinction to neo-capitalist spaces, the concept of counterspace suits the description of these Albanian neighbourhoods. Our neighbourhoods were counterspaces not because they are compared in opposition to dominant spatial organizations, but by them being constitutive of daily rhythms of care and homemaking, constitutive of a difference that emanated hope. The neighbourhoods were Lefebvrian counterspaces as they simultaneously represented, resisted and overturned socialist reality. Neighbourhoods played the role of framers of autonomous rhythms that, at least partially, disrupted power structures (although the case can be made for the state apparatus allowing these rhythms as mere noise, or a proper cover up of its intention to control). Thus, at a time when neighbourhoods were counterspaces, neighbourhood relations stood as counterstructures. The exhibition showcases the complicated representation and discourse surrounding counterspaces that emerged during the Albanian dictatorship regime. The remediation of films in the context of the exhibition renounces sentimentality stemming from the past, to address the need to reimagine different forms of neighbourly relations in the present-day.

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on neighbours and togetherness

CREATING AND RECREATING NEIGHBOURHOODS

with a contribution by Egin Zeka 90

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Being neighbours, seems at first glance, a very easy and simple subject to grasp since everyone can immediately relate to it. However, the more you dive into it, the more it unfolds very complicated aspects and dimensions of community life and societies. All these layers are intertwined and have consciously and subconsciously shaped the way we live together. As neighbour relations practically depend on the physical environment as much as on the social context to develop, it is crucial to understand how the spatial and built factors have impacted the transformations of this bond. It’s actually a ‘chicken-and-egg’ question: what shapes neighbourhoods? Is it the way neighbours interact with each other and transform the spaces they live in? Or, is it the physical environment that guides the way neighbours behave? “The forms in which cities take shape are deeply determined by economic arrangements, social relations and divisions, legal constructions and political systems; in turn, the material forms of cities provide the conditions in which key social and economic processes are produced.” (Fran Tonkiss, 2013) In a short journey through the transformation of Albanian neighbourhoods, we attempt to analyze how people and buildings have affected each-other in the shaping of not only neighbourhood identities, but even cities. We examine the trajectory of change in the built environment responding to policies, economic and political ideologies, from the Ottoman occupation, the later Italian influence 91

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and occupation (1920-1945), to a socialist and isolated regime (until 1991) and then towards free-market capitalism. The discussion is framed towards the social relatedness between residents in the transforming physical context and the importance of neighbourliness in fostering community. Mahallas Albanian cities up to the 1950’s majorly resembled typical ottoman settlements. The Ottoman city is formed around the concept of neighbourhoods called “Mahalla”. These cities or small towns were composed of very distinct neighbourhoods, formed on religion, kinship or ethnicity bases. The neighbourhood was not just a spatial component but also a social entity. Each neighbourhood had a kind of homogenous character and solid social structure. The religion was at the center of the system of values and social norms. As a result, the religious clerics [imams or priests] had a ruling role not only in spiritual dimensions but also in other issues related to administration and daily life. There was a high level of autonomy, self-sufficiency and auto control in the decision-making process and maintaining of the neighbourhood. The central authority representatives were more concerned with administration of security and taxes. Many issues related to social life, services, infrastructure and facilities were managed within the neighbourhood through different ‘informal’ institutions. The central position of the religion was also reflected in the spatial structure of the neighbourhoods: they consisted of mainly residential zones organized around a religious building or complex. For example, in a typical Muslim 92

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The first map of Tirana, 1917

Areal view of Tirana, 1920. Source: AQTN

Old neighbourhood street, Korça, 1960 Source: pelasgoskoritsas.gr

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neighbourhood the masjid was located at a visible place equidistant from the perimeter of the neighbourhood. Nearby the masjid you would find a small plaza, covered by a large plane tree, a drinking water fountain, a cafe’, and some small services and workshops. The residential district consisted of 1-3 floor private houses surrounded by courtyards and tall perimeter walls, organized either in an attached or detached fabric, located along narrow organic streets, forming a compact settlement pattern. The central area of the city, that connected all the neighbourhoods in terms of spatial, economical and social relations, consists of the bazaar, the big mosque and other service zones. This central hub was a place of coexistence, vibrant life and exchange. The major cities in 1930 had populations ranging from 20.000-30.000 inhabitants (Korca, Shkodra, Tirana, according to the Italian census of the time). Tirana was a small town of only 305 ha, with a population of 15.000 citizens when it was declared the capital city of Albania in 1920. Neighbourliness was developed inside the houses as much as outside of them, in the narrow streets and small plazas in between. The traditional Albanian house was centered around one room - “oda e mire” / “oda e pritjes” / “oda e miqve” - which word by word is translated as “the ‘good’ room” / “the waiting room” / “the guest room”. It functioned as the living room / guest room and it was a space especially dedicated to expecting guests, to socializing with anyone who wasn’t a family member - especially neighbours, who were the most frequent ‘guests’. This room had to be presentable 24/7, as people could come 94

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Bedroom

First Floor Plan Traditional dwelling with a porch on the whole front, Shkodra, Source: Fitore Gashi, 2019

Fire Room

Porch

Sofa

Traditional dwelling with a porch on the whole front, Shkodra, Source: Fitore Gashi, 2019

Guest room of the Kadare traditional dwelling, Gjirokastra, Source: Into Albania

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Guest Room

at any time and would always be welcome! Architecturally speaking, it was the most elaborated and important room of the house, carefully designed and specially adorned to show the respect of the family to any guest that would come and visit them. The presence of this room asserts the general mindset of any Albanian at the time - they would keep their homes open at all times to the other and thus be open to socialization, to solidarity and to community. First and foremost this shows the significance and necessity of living with others. Concepts of individual / isolated lives were absolutely unthinkable at this time. The connection to neighbours was also often manifested physically when two adjacent houses had a shared a well (Krymi, 2020) or in other cases with small openings located in the walls that connected their gardens. A small door, or window, would often be introduced as a shortcut to communicate with the neighbour. Rows of houses would have such passages, and sometimes people didn’t have to go out to the street at all to get from the first house to the last. The presence of anyone in the community, either in the courtyards or in the houses of the neighbourhoods was incredibly common and frequent. During the period between the I and II World Wars, there were considerable western influential interventions in the major cities of Albania. Tirana, as the capital city, was quite transformed under the Italian influence and occupation. In order to make it a ‘proper’ city with modern infrastructure and public buildings, the traditional architecture buildings (adobe houses) were demolished to make space 96

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Areal view of the new Tirana Boulevard, 1944. Source: AQTN

for the new vision with wider and straighter road networks. During this time of urban affluence, the boulevard as the main backbone axis of the city wiped clean on the north side the existing oriental urban fabric and in the opposite direction, was extended towards the new ‘city to be’. Important public buildings were also erected along the boulevard and the city centre. Similar scenarios were happening in other colonial cities, where urban plans and architectural designs were presented as superior, thus reordering the city structure and the local population (Capolino, 2011; Janet Berry, 2000; Wright, 1991). The fascist Italy was interested in keeping the hegemony over colonies by extending the control on how cities were built and family life conducted (Wright, 1991). The Italian occupation was short, they fled the country in 1943, as a result some of construction works for new public institutions and infrastructure were suspended. Nevertheless, Tirana managed to preserve the identity of its neighbourhoods with low rise buildings and 97

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“Gjuhadol” street in Shkodra of a western-influenced architecture. Source: Luzati

cul-de-sac urban fabric, in combination with the imposed Italian interventions in the city structure. In a few major cities (like Shkodra, Korça, Durrës, etc.) new housing and service units were erected, designed by Albanian architects in western styles (especially Italian and Austrian). These new additions to the cities formed new compact neighbourhoods as well, where neighbourliness was present similarly to the rest of the older city. Such areas, like the historical district of Shkodra (Luzati, 2012), thrived due to houses that doubled as workshops. Differently from the public buildings and axes envisioned by the Italians, these areas preserved suitable human scale and proportions which certainly formed a healthy ground for vibrant community life. These areas today are especially attractive to tourists, and their use has almost completely switched to commercial functions. 98

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A(part)ments After World War II, Albania entered a new political era, the communist regime. A new urban future of the country was envisioned. The ideology of the time was seeking to build the ideal socialist society, with egalitarian access to services, housing, and education. The existing vernacular fabric was not aligned with this vision, so the regime’s intervention was radical and went to the core of the way people lived in their homes, neighbourhoods, and cities, as it wanted to eradicate an outdated mode of life and mindset. Cities would manifest the socialist state in their built environment. The scale and ambition to build new housing blocks and neighbourhoods required an authoritarian state, thus, to facilitate this process, the conflict of land ownership was eradicated: the government appropriated everything. In the centrally planned economy, private property was abolished, and the land was nationalized. To accommodate the large number of families coming to the city and the growing population, private family houses were substituted with multi-family residential buildings. Single-family housing was discouraged in cities, as it did not go well with the ideology of the time. During the first years, to radically detach people (especially wealthy families) from their private properties, the state took their houses and placed in them other inhabitants. This extreme strategy created a massive rift and immediately brought changes to the identities of the buildings and neighbourhoods themselves. The city centre of Tirana was no exception. The old bazaar with shops, houses, bars, the church and other public buildings on the upper north99

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east side of the square were considered as deteriorated or capitalist remains and were torn down. As demolitions took place, a part of the city's identity was lost forever (Dhamo et al., 2016). In rethinking the socialist future, planning practices and architecture were crucial components in organizing industries, new housing blocks, road infrastructure, schools, hospitals and open spaces (Hirt, 2014). The urbanity of cities played an important role in transforming the community life and society at large (Zarecor, 2018). The new residential districts were planned with pedestrians in mind as personal vehicles were never an option for the masses, so schools, nurseries, shops, and bus stops were placed within walking distance from the apartments. The ideal vision of the time was offering to the residents of a given district, equal access to goods and services, often depending on the necessity to build housing blocks and infrastructure at the same time. The expansion of the city was rationally planned and controlled with masterplans, by state run institutes that would design for the decades to come. However, the construction quality and materials used were poor, and large scale interventions were slow. In some cases, the infrastructure failed to be ready at the same time as the residents would move in, there was a constant need and lack of materials and labour force. Sometimes projects were interrupted, reflecting the fragile state of the economy. The new built environment provided for a blank canvas where community life and society at large could be reformatted. Most of the population was accommodated in apartment buildings. The multi-family blocks were con100

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“50 vjetori” Block, Tirana Source: AQTN

The 9-story high-rises, Tirana Source: AQTN

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Masterplan for the “50 vjetori” block, Tirana, 1976-1989 Source: NTPA Archive

Ground floor plan, Apartment block, “Myslym Shyri” Street, Tirana, 1976-1989 Source: NTPA Archive

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structed by different entities, always channelled through central state enterprises. Sometimes they would be built also through ‘volunteer’ work, with the initiative of different state enterprises with the aim of accommodating their own employees. For this reason, often the inhabitants of certain neighbourhoods did not only share their living quarters with each other, but also shared their workplaces - they had a lot in common and knew each other quite well. If they didn’t share their workplace, surely their children shared the same kindergarten and schools. The apartment buildings were generally of 4-5 stories high, and were usually quite similar to one-another, all over the country. Their core was an open stairwell, the apartments were quite similar and compact, with all the spaces laid out in an extremely efficient way. Only the units located in main streets or important crossroads had ground floors dedicated to services, so the majority of the buildings were in fact of pure residential use. The Albanian, who was so far used to living in his private house, in a vernacular context, was now placed in this sterile setting. Neighbour relations were redefined as the new physical space demanded it. The tradition and need to communicate and rely upon one’s neighbour remained quite unchanged from the pre-communist period, but this relation was now manifested in a different built environment.

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The open spaces between the buildings were particularly generous during these years, as the land value did not interfere with the design proposals. They were open playgrounds for all the children of the neighbourhood, where practically every apartment had visual access. They provided ample freespace for improvisation and were treated as a large common courtyard. Life happened out there as much as inside the apartments. They would be empty only during mealtimes when the inhabitants would be in their homes, but bustled with life during the rest of the day. The toys one could buy were very limited, as Albania was in extreme isolation from other countries, but improvised games with ball and rope were a very usual scenery in the car-free neighbourhoods. The lack of private cars also contributed to having a sense of security in leaving the kids to play freely outside. From morning until noon they were especially used by smaller children and elderly residents, while in the afternoons the older children would join as well and parents would always be around. The stairwell was the bridge between the exterior open space and the interior of the apartment. The generally warm weather of Albania allowed for totally open staircases, which were filled with natural light and were clearly visible from the outside. It was a common area usually shared by 10 different families in small buildings (2 apartments per floor), up to 20 families in larger ones (4 apartments per floor). It provided areas with different degrees of privacy: the landings between the apartments of each floor took different characters as each set of neighbours would use them 104

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Open space in a scene from the film “Spoiled Mimoza”, 1973 Source: AQSHF

Open space in a scene from the film “The newest city in the world”, 1974 Source: AQSHF

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Drawing of typical staircases in the socialist apartment blocks

differently. They were like a large corridor that extended from each apartment. The stairs themselves would be the spaces of quick encounters among the neighbours of different floors and thus a bit less private and shared among all the inhabitants. A lot happened in those stairs and landings, starting from play when outside was too sunny or rainy, to daily conversations of catching up, to using part of them to keep umbrellas, shoes, plants, etc. Even though the building plan was laid out with extreme efficiency, the stairwell proved to be enough to accommodate many functions beyond mere transition. 106

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A neighbours stair scene from the film “In our home”, 1979 Source: AQSHF

A neighbours stair scene from the film “The town lights”, 1983 Source: AQSHF

A neighbours stair scene from the film “Even so” - the girls are playing with a jumping rope, 1989 Source: AQSHF

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On the façades, balconies played another role on neighbourly exchanges: they were a spatial relationship that often brought neighbours of different buildings closer to each-other. In a time when cellphones did not exist and telephones were not present in every household, ‘balcony calls’ were the most popular. In many cases balconies of different apartments were very close to each-other, and this was often seen as an opportunity to spend time together while also having a view towards all the interesting action out in the street or open spaces. On days of good weather, balconies were the preferred location for having coffee, or just hanging out and having casual conversation. The apartments in these multi-storey buildings were quite different in layout than the typical houses Albanians used to live in, and resemble more the apartments we live in today. They were quite small, and typically had 1 or 2 bedrooms (3 bedroom apartments were rare), a living room that was also used as a dining room, with a very small annex serving as a kitchen / cooking area. The living room/dining room/kitchen space was in fact always referred to as just ‘kitchen’. In general the apartments had the same furniture and their interiors were sometimes so similar they became unrecognizable from each-other. The main differences were the presence or absence of some home appliances: the telephone, refrigerator, TV, oven, etc. Some of those appliances were not present in everyone’s home because not everyone could afford them. People living in the same building pertained often to different economic backgrounds - for example, a seamstress could live next to a doctor, and it was often the case that she would be allowed and even welcome 108

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Balcony scene from the film “My family” - neighbours having coffee, 1987 Source: AQSHF

Balcony scene from the film “On the verge of life” - neighbours chatting, 1985 Source: AQSHF

Balcony scene from the film “Even so” serenade, 1989 Source: AQSHF

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Plan of a typical apartment - living room/guest room by day (G-left) and bedroom by night (B-right).

Guest room scene from the film “In our home”, 1979 This room is also the siblings bedroom Source: AQSHF

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to use the telephone of her neighbour, or watch a special program on TV together. These objects sometimes became the very reason neighbours were in constant communication and so open to sharing and exchanging with eachother. The need for one-another’s help stood at the core of this close relationship. A very interesting phenomenon that emerged spontaneously, was that of bringing into the modern apartment the concept of the ‘living room’/’guest room’ (dhoma e pritjes). It was by personal design and not through any socialist-imposed ideology, that almost every albanian integrated this concept into their apartment. It was still fundamentally important for every family to have a decent and presentable space to welcome others in their home. In the small apartments they were given, it was more often than not impossible to have a dedicated room to spend time with those outside of the family circle, because according to them, their kitchens could not be respectable enough for any visitor. So, strangely enough, especially people who lived in 2 bedroom apartments, started to adapt one of their bedrooms to double as a living room for guests. Armchairs and a coffee table would be placed in the middle of the room while sofas would turn to beds at night. Something that would seem far-fetched to us today, was then omnipresent. Besides the multi-family housing blocks, in the organic neighbourhoods both in cities and villages composed of low-rise individual houses and narrow connecting streets, neighbours kept their old tradition of using both their houses and common spaces. 111

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Old and new in ‘dialogue’, Tirana Source: AQTN

Low-rise compact neighbourhoods, Tirana Source: AQTN

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Their homes were still open to neighbours and visitors at all times and the occasional connecting passages between neighbours were kept functional too. The narrow streets in-between were the extensions of the ‘private’ courtyards, as spaces where everyone came together, and neighbourhoods could still be clearly identified because the unified community played a prominent role. In this new reality, despite the extreme control of the regime to permeate the private sphere, people managed to have rich and meaningful interactions with each other. People living together in these apartment blocks did create their communities, and the stories we have gathered in the course of our project are a testimony of it. The community cohesion and the shared support were common features of socialist cities. Communism was certainly one of the worst periods the Albanians have suffered as a population, as the totalitarian regime was one of the harshest, but people also found ways to stick together. Many testimonies look back to the way people lived in communities with a certain nostalgia, yearning for a bond that once fulfilled their need to belong in the social realm. Adaptation With the collapse of the Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc, Albania was the last country to overthrow the totalitarian regime. In the aftermath of communism, the country entered into a frantic transformation period, towards a freemarket oriented system. Scholars such as Stanilov (2007) and Zarecor (2018) argue that socialist cities did not cease to exist when the government model changed, as they were 113

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not bound by time. The built environment endured and is still imprinted in the contemporary cities we inhabit today. The physical space produced during communism was reconfigured and adapted during the transitional decades of post-socialism. The government in Albania embraced the capitalist model and the neoliberal ways of governing cities became visible. Some cities grew rapidly, others shrunk and struggled to survive in the competitiveness of the free market to offer jobs. These years saw the concept of ‘private’ play its part in people’s lives as dramatically as the concept of ‘public’ had done for the 45 years prior. Land was redistributed to its owners, but through a scheme that proved to be risky to say the least, and is responsible for major problems that have not been solved to this day. In the new reality of private land and free market, Tirana was especially developed rapidly. An infusion of capital, housing, office buildings and commercial services fueled the surge of consumer culture. Whole neighbourhoods were deconstructed and reconstructed in a delirious rhythm. During these last 3 decades, Tirana has undergone yet another complete makeover. The population grew 4-fold since the 1990s, with the infrastructure struggling to keep up with the demand. The patterns of urban life were once again challenged and redefined. The prolonged shift and transition period had consequences not only on the built environment, but also on nature. Informal dwellings, a construction trend which today happens way more seldom, began and they dramatically 114

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Aerial view of Tirana, 1980 Source: A2 CNN

Aerial view of Tirana, 2020 Source: A2 CNN

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and irreversibly altered the landscape. Encouraged by the misallocated transfer of property rights from the state to the people, everyone was building private houses wherever land was empty and free. Arguably, this was also a psychological after-effect of the socialist way of life, which found people needing to secure wealth and real estate property for personal security as well as economic well being in a time of uncertainty. No criteria or standards were considered during this process, as there was no supervision whatsoever. The central parts of the cities suffered from a type of informality that penetrated the neighbourhoods too. After years of caring for the collective, people were now building with a focus directed only to the private, to their own space, facilities, properties. No one tended to what happened beyond the walls, beyond their own doorstep, pointing to a deep existential identity metamorphosis. Most of the urban social relations within a society are facilitated by the spaces in between buildings. Their communitarian nature can be attributed to their purpose: they’re to be used and shared among people living close to one-another, or occasionally, designed to serve a larger community. These are the most significant marks of community everyday life. The first transitory period was the one that involved the most demographic migratory movements, which was accompanied by a stimulation of “usurpation” as a general concept: starting from usurping the land, buildings, parks, water bodies, to historical sites, etc. This chaotic informality was formalized by a state that was unable to control and manage the situation. Therefore, this whole process left visible marks in the territory. Public space was wrongfully 116

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used to serve private activities, while the agricultural and natural land was used for housing. Usurpation somehow also contributed to an increased hostility among people as the sense of community lost its significance. Today, it is not possible to talk about distinct neighbourhood units in terms of spatial, economic and social organization. The developments after the establishment of the pluralistic political system, and liberal economy after the 1990s, created a complex, multi-layered urban morphology. During this transition, the quiet, green areas between residential buildings were the first ones to lose their identity. These open spaces were occupied by other constructions, in most cases the ground floor inhabitants would extend their living quarters into the officially public space, and in some other cases even high-rise apartments buildings would ‘fill the gaps’ or just bluntly be planted right in the middle of them. What was left of these open spaces, started to struggle physically also with the increase of vehicular traffic, and the rising number of personal vehicles that had to be parked in wherever there weren't any buildings. We analysed the transformations of open space in 6 neighbourhoods of Tirana (see p. 126-127), with an average result being that in 30 years the built footprint has doubled and the open space has been cut in half. Economy and wellbeing in the consumer society were now related to having things, rather than having free space for interaction. Parking lots and buildings started to replace the playgrounds. These changes undoubtedly affected neighbourliness, because they made people spend more 117

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Overcoming cars, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

time inside the safety and comfort of their own homes and especially children started to spend less time playing outside. Personal vehicles also enabled people to spend their valuable free time in other more attractive places, especially natural and touristic locations. This could arguably be seen also as an act of escape from their deteriorating everyday setting, their neighbourhoods and even the cities. On the other side, ground-floor use was highly diversified, not only along main streets but even within the neighbourhoods. Apartments were adapted into different service spaces, but especially cafes, bars and restaurants. The cafe’ culture was quickly transposed from the homes and balconies of people, to the new businesses that started to appear in every corner. The apartment buildings themselves were subjected to 118

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many physical changes as well, as many inhabitants ‘added’ something to their apartment. This was manifested especially in the balconies: because of functional necessities, but also as an expression of a need for privacy, the open balconies were closed either with glazing, or even bricks. This simple fact surely contributed to neighbours not interacting as much anymore, it blocked the mutual visibility of the building courtyard and the balconies of the inhabitants; each closed balcony seemed to say ‘leave me alone in my safe cocoon’. Another interesting act was that of placing large fenced doors in the stair landings between apartments. This especially happened on the higher floors, when 2 or 3 neighbours would agree among each other to have this extra door, a sign of either need for additional safety, or eagerness to claim the space as personal belonging. These seemingly small modifications in the blocks and apartment buildings, amounted to an unrecognizable urban fabric, to a patchwork of ‘personal touches’, to a city where the act of claiming ‘personal’ space was physical, visible, obvious! People in general were not happy with this view, and yet they themselves created this, one by one. These changes to the ‘common’, must have caused frustration too - surely, decisions that should be taken together, or allowance that must be taken from all the neighbours was the right spirit to guide the post-socialist man towards the liberal neighbourhood. An avalanche of actions based on the ‘well, he did it, why shouldn’t I?!’ attitude, started without notice, and soon the general aura became quite tense. Being neighbourly couldn’t come so naturally after that. 119

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Room turned grocery store, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

Ground floor café, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

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Fenced door in an apartment building, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

Closed balconies, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

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“8 Marsi” block

“11 Janari” block

“Miqësia” block

1990

2020

Open vs. built-up space transformations in 6 neighbourhoods of Tirana 1990/2020

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“50 vjetori” block

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“1 Maji” block

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“Partizani” block

Scenes from the film “Spoiled Mimoza”, 1973 Source: AQSHF

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Same places today, Tirana 2021 Photos by: Arnold Bezhani

Scenes from the film “In our home”, 1979 Source: AQSHF

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Same places today, Tirana 2021 Photos by: Arnold Bezhani

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Housing market The number of Tirana’s residential areas consisting of high-rise apartment buildings (+6 stories high) is increasing perpetually. From the first blocks to be erected, since the 90’s, the quality has undoubtedly increased with time. Many are solitary buildings placed in the available single plots. Others are part of larger residential complexes that have managed to have car-free open spaces. Residential buildings make up the biggest chunk of the construction industry in Albania. It has proven to be a very lucrative business to get into, and many entrepreneurs (even some without any construction expertise), have entered this sector. Housing quickly became just a profit industry, devoid from any social responsibilities, and we have all become its customers. The commodification of the housing sector, which is a phenomenon that is troubling many other countries, has reached Albania too. Shifting from the notion of building and providing homes towards real estate investments that create market value, had its influence in the social bonds and responsibilities of the future residents. Designing residential buildings in these conditions means maximizing interior apartment areas and shrinking as much as possible the common spaces. In Albania, common spaces are not part of the property rights of each resident, but are sold to them with the same price per m2 of the apartments. Buying a home is mostly reduced to the quality of materials and number of square meters inside the apartment. People do not care anymore to have shared spaces, and care even less about shared ownership. 126

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Common spaces have been out of the question, since the mindset of developers and clients (future residents) has clearly shifted towards private gain and maximizing profit. Local authorities, architects and urban designers have not addressed enough the importance of shared spaces in new buildings or neighbourhoods. Elevators were a big and longed-for commodity, so the stairwell became a secondary feature - its mere presence was enough, as long as it respected a minimum width for two people crossing. So, placing the circulation core inside the building became the norm - only rarely would it have openings to allow for daylight anymore. These new layouts fundamentally changed the ways and spaces neighbours used to interact with each-other. Unless you intentionally went to knock on their door, now you could only meet your neighbour by chance in the elevator. In all likelihood, this probability is not very high compared to using stairs going up and down. The stairwell now is usually a completely separate and secondary part of the vertical circulation - the apartments have a much more direct connection to the elevator in a common corridor. Such a seemingly small change, has actually taken away all the interaction that otherwise happens in an open staircase, where people pass by every apartment door to go up and down. Everything that has happened to the circulation layout has greatly diminished the odds of running into neighbours more often, seeing them more and increasing the chances of interaction - hence, getting to know them. The corridors between apartments are in most cases extremely small and dark. It’s impossible for people, or kids 127

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Drawing of staircases in recently designed apartment blocks. Projects undisclosed.

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to spend time there anymore, like they would do in a well-lit and slightly larger common space which facilitates interaction. Nowadays, depending on the plot and general design of the building, these corridors sometimes combine up to 7 apartments (as long as there’s a large enough elevator), forming a sort of tunnel in proportions, which is far from being welcoming. As for the open spaces between buildings, they have been a conscious concern mainly in the cases of new residential complexes. Singular apartment buildings generally tend to only comply with minimum allowed distances from the other buildings and streets, and the results are often disappointing in terms of providing quality open spaces for the residents. What is left unbuilt from these building plots is usually the sidewalks or car passage to the underground parking. The complexes however, especially in the past decade, have given more consideration to the design of open spaces available to their residents. The quality of materials and use of greenery has increased over the years, as also the buyers have started to appreciate and consider these features more and more. Especially in Tirana, there are several such complexes, housing many inhabitants, as they become the preferred contexts where citizens want to live. Nonetheless, the way these spaces are actually used, by design or not, doesn’t exactly evoke healthy community relations. Several factors should be analyzed to tackle this issue: Firstly, the ground floors of most of the apartment buildings are dedicated to services, which in principle, is a 129

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good step towards mixed-use neighbourhoods and thriving community life. As mentioned before, the majority of ground floor spaces, even inside the complexes, are being used as cafes, bars and restaurants. These services use up in most cases also the exterior space, for placing tables and chairs. Even though sometimes these interventions do enliven a certain part of the neighbourhood, in the majority of the cases, this extension to the outside is done by fencing and covering the area with physical structures that almost resemble an addition to the building. Again, the comfort of the client is manifested in the open public space by blocking it to the other users. This way of using (or more like usurping) common space is counteracting and damaging its very purpose - to be open to its inhabitants. These design faults have largely become a ‘trend’, which becomes even more disturbing when the number of such cafes is just too high for the size of our neighbourhoods. As of 2016 Albania is the first country in the world for the number of bars per capita, 1 bar per 152 residents (INSTAT - 2016 Structural Survey data). This inflation has given rise to a pronounced need for diversification in terms of socialization spaces, however it seems like the deep-rooted habit of spending hours in them is still resisting the changes towards this goal. The frequency of seeing others and being seen in the neighbourhood cafes contributes to neighbours recognizing each other at least by face, but as an activity it remains quite individual (everyone in their own table with friends or family) and doesn’t provide opportunities for neighbourly exchanges or community building. 130

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Open spaces in a recently completed residential complex. The covered spaces are cafés. Tirana, 2021 Photo by Fiona Mali

Children’s playground in the same residential complex. Photo by Fiona Mali

Open spaces and unaccessible greenery in a recently completed residential complex. Tirana, 2021 Photo by Fiona Mali

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Secondly, the materials used in newly designed open spaces, and especially the layout of the green areas influence the direct use of the space by its residents. In some cases the greenery is elevated 50 cm above the ground, which is enough to block the users, especially the eldery or children. Such design solutions only serve an aesthetic purpose, defeating its purpose for spending time on a bed of grass. Another evident problem is the use of materials for paving. In order to increase the quality of these open spaces, these materials are in many cases too ‘fancy’ and make the space uninviting or inappropriate for children to play freely, draw on the pavement, or improvise in any way. The design of open spaces is crucial in guiding the inhabitants’ use of them - they must be user and child-friendly, they must invite participation and involvement. Under this light, it can’t be said that these new built complexes have fostered community life. These developments have increased the comfort level for their residents by providing more services, but have not managed to create the right context for them to create connections, feel like they belong and take ownership of the place they live in together. A new vision for the future - “Tirana 2030” - Tirana’s General Local Territorial Plan by Stefano Boeri Architetti was approved 4 years ago. This event officially allowed the restart of the redevelopment and gentrification process, which was halted for several years up to the plans approval through a nation-wide building moratorium. The ambitious plan envisions the future of the city as polycentric, breaking the monocentric organization of the 132

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The vision of the General Local Plan - Tirana 2030 Source: Municipality of Tirana

city. Furthermore, the urban sprawl of the city is restricted by an orbital forest (metrobosco) of 2 million trees to be planted by 2030. The plan emphasizes the need for a compact and consolidated urban space and new infrastructure built around it. TR030 proposes innovative instruments, such as transfer of development rights, in order to acquire public space or services as an alternative solution to expropriation, and also conditional building intensity. Where developers might increase the building intensity as a “volumetric bonus” by providing public services, higher construction quality, high level of sustainability or low environmental impact. Such instruments and policies, if applied correctly can have a very positive impact on the city life. The articulated vision of Mayor Veliaj for Tirana’s future is 133

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“giving the city back to its citizens” (Veliaj, 2015, p. 1). The Municipality of Tirana has been developing a child-friendly agenda since 2019, committed to designing a better environment for the youngest. Programs such as redesigning or creating new playgrounds have equipped neighbourhoods with much needed safe spaces for the children and were highly supported by the community (at least in most cases), yet there is room for improvement even on these positive initiatives. According to Mayor Veliaj, the municipality has managed to open 44 playgrounds in 44 months, an impressive number of interventions. These interventions could be more meaningful and impactful to the neighbours if they were included in a participatory process. Such processes can be key to building healthy communities, as the process itself becomes a ground for communication and collaboration, and on the other hand, it won’t raise doubts about the public investments on the inhabitants' side. “If there is no room for… a fair hearing, then people will question the legitimacy of decisions” (Kymlicka, 2002, p. 291). Approaches, such as ‘one size fits all’ or ‘the experts know better’ are the ones the city needs to break clean from. The fundamental belief on deliberation is that if more citizens participate, there are greater chances for better outcomes and public goods. Advocating for deliberative processes and holding political authorities accountable, starts by building trust amongst residents. 134

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Recent children’s playground in a prefabricated housing block, Tirana 2021 Photo by Fiona Mali

Open space in the same block Photo by Fiona Mali

Improvised volleyball field in the “1 maji” block, Tirana Photo by Leonora Milani

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BEING NEIGHBOURS TODAY

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Everybody has neighbours, but does everybody know them? People live in neighbourhoods and communities, not only in their homes (Madden and Marcuse, 2016). We occupy apartments or houses, but at the same time we live in places and form social bonds with the ones close to us. The population shift from rural to urban areas has escalated after 1991 in Albania. The country now ranks in the first place in the Balkans for population density in urban areas (Politiko.al). Every day almost 70 residents from other cities or rural areas come to settle in Tirana (Politiko.al), contributing to the increasing housing demand and the ever-changing social relations between residents. To understand how much being neighbours has changed, we conducted a survey to get a sense of the numbers. In our survey, we asked people about their past and present relations with neighbours along with questions about their living context, how long they have lived in their home and how they see the future of their communities. We recorded 321 responses of individuals between the ages of 18-60. Only 7.5% of the responders lived in rural areas, and 28% lived in private houses as opposed to condominiums. Overall, 97% admitted that the sense of the community was stronger before, where 8/10 people responded that they used to know more than 10 neighbours, compared to only 5/10 people now knowing more than 5 neighbours. 73% said that before they used to know even their relatives’ neighbours, while today 32% have never had interactions with any of their own neighbours. 137

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How many neighbours we used to know vs. how many we know now. Source: Questionnaire results, 2021.

Today, 1 in 10 people responded that they didn’t know the name of any of their current neighbours. The same number, one in 10 adults, also applies in the UK, but the number increases to 1 in 8 people aged 25-34 and 1 in 6 aged under 25 (Office of National Statistics, 2018). Similar results are reported by Pew Research Center in 2018, where older generations of Americans are more likely to know their neighbours compared to the younger ones. However, in Albania of the 64% of responders who had lived in the same place for more than 5 years, only 6% said that they knew none to one of their neighbour’s names. 138

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The share of people who had a good relationship with their neighbours was 42%, while 74% of these consider two or more neighbours as their friends. Similar results are also recorded in the UK, where two fifths of the adults consider at least one of their neighbours as a close friend (Aviva Study, 2019). In Albania, only 41% responded that they would trust their house key with their neighbours, while this number is higher in the US, 66% responded that they would feel comfortable leaving a set of keys with their neighbours (Pew Research Center, 2018). Only a total of 8% admitted to having different community activities in their neighbourhoods, and these were in the form of sports, collective building chores, and walks. Of them, 23% said that they do not participate, either because of lack of time, or age discrepancies. The presence or lack of common spaces to interact in with neighbours was split in half. When asked about the preferred activities to organize within neighbourhoods, most of the responses said picnics, children’s games, and meetings to discuss neighbourhood issues. Social events among neighbours are rare also among Americans who know one or more neighbours, only 14% get-together monthly or more often. Having contact with neighbours and chatting on a regular basis is not a common feature anymore. The time when neighbours were close seems to be fading away. The necessity to reach out to one’s neighbours has changed for numerous reasons. When the social tension is high, creating bonds with the ones that live next to you is proven to be true (Dunkelman, 2014). The political, economic and spatial changes in Albania, had unreversed effects on cohort and 139

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Correlation between years of living in the same residence and neighbours known. Source: Questionnaire results, 2021.

personal relationships. It seems that neighbours in dense urban areas, had close relationships until 2005 at most. It took 15 years for the major cities and especially Tirana to transform neighbourliness from a social norm into something rare. The dependency on one another has changed due to a greater economic and social freedom. According to Dunkelman, nowadays personal relationships have changed because we have limited social capital, we have less time and more things to do (2014). Some have attributed the decline of neighbourliness to sprawling communities, but the decline is happening even in big compact cities. As a result, more people are living lonely lives. 140

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A study by the Jo Cox Commission in 2017, found that 9 million Brits “often or always” feel lonely, leading to the decision of the Prime Minister Theresa May at the time, to appoint the first minister for loneliness. Furthermore, the UK’s Office for National Statistics showed that people aged 16–44, renters and those less strongly attached to their neighbourhood were more susceptible to feeling lonely. “[...] we know nothing of our neighbours a priori. In highly urbanized societies the neighbour as near-dweller is typically neither a friend, nor a stranger, nor an enemy, but an unknown one whom we approach somewhat warily. Indeed wariness is perhaps the principal affective trope involved in neighbouring today.” (Painter, 2012, p. 10) When asked about the importance of getting to know your neighbours, 97% of our respondents think that everybody should know their neighbours, and 9/10 people responded that they would like to rely on their neighbours. Living isolated lives and reducing the everyday interactions has an effect on how we perceive communities. According to surveys conducted in the UK (Aviva Study, 2019) and USA (City Observatory Report, Less in Common), getting to know your neighbour makes you feel safer at home. Also, 92% responded in our survey that they would feel safer if they knew their neighbours. People that have good relationships with their neighbours have admitted that they feel part and care more about their communities. Homeowners, compared to tenants, are more bound to create relations within their communities. They are more likely to welcome newcomers and also help out. Nevertheless, we are entering the generation of 141

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rent, according to an international study (Statista Global Consumer Survey, 2021). There is a widening gap between income amongst young adults and the house prices, making it difficult for people to get into the housing ladder. House prices have increased 7-fold in the last two decades in the UK, according to a report by the Institute for Fiscal Studies (2020), resulting in a sharp decline of home ownership among 25-34 year olds. Likewise, millennial ownership in the US is also at a record low, according to government reports. Countries with the most renters households, such as Switzerland (68%), followed by Germany (64%), France (47%) and UK (44%) are contrasted by countries such as China (14%) or Russia (11%). Owning property in post-socialist countries such as Slovakia (89%) and Poland (83%) is still important and renting is not very popular. For Albanians as well, owning a home is one of the most important life achievements and is seen as a top prerequisite towards a secure livelihood, which is proved by a total of 92,5% homeowners (INSTAT, 2019). Nevertheless, the number of renters is growing in big cities and the demographic is changing, especially in Tirana. Not everyone gets along with their neighbours, even though creating relations with your neighbours is proven to make you feel safer and even increase the happiness in a community. Considering your neighbours as trustworthy and having someone to turn to when you might need them, is the most important part of building a sense of community and of belonging to where you live. Cultivating trust amongst neighbours is important to achieve it in a broader context as a society, therefore starting from local small 142

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groups, remains a prominent task (Yosano & Hayashi 2005). According to the study of Aviva in 2019, the number of people who would like to get to know their neighbours in the UK, has more than doubled (48%) compared with the same study done 3 years before in 2017 (only 20%). Almost 90% of people in our survey responded that they would like to participate in common activities in their neighbourhoods. But in order to have an active community, people need to engage with one another. In order to facilitate these interactions we need to plan for and design spaces that can encourage community interaction and neighbourliness.

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WHAT HAPPENED TO THE “VILLAGE”?

Katie Beck Journalist with over a decade of experience, working in foreign news for the BBC based in the US, Australia, France, Israel, and Palestine. She is currently a MSc student studying City Design and Social Science at the London School of Economics, focusing on the social impacts of urban design, particularly in the realms of gender and inequality.

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There was a V in the road in front of the house where I grew up where two dead-end streets met. A lot happened in that V, and the window above our kitchen sink had a perfectly framed view of it. On weekends and school holidays kids in the neighbourhood would often meet there before we embarked on a full day of playing in the street. This was the mid-eighties. Our street was in a quiet, residential neighbourhood on the Hawaiian Island of Oahu, about a ten minute walk down a steep hill to the beach. A lot of families on the street had kids and there was a sense of trust and community between most of the neighbours. No one had cell phones then, and we didn’t bother with landlines either. We’d just walk over, knock on each other's doors and utter those magical words: “can you come out to play?” Then we’d venture out to the ravine behind our houses where we sometimes found toads and ducklings, or hike up the hill at the bottom of the road that led to a pair of leftover World War II bunkers. We’d wander in and out of each other's houses to get snacks or play and then head back outside to collect seed pods and race them along the drainage ditch that ran down the hill. Sometimes on really hot days someone would run home and grab an egg and see if it would sizzle in a frying pan on the burning pavement. We’d stay outside until the sun began to go down and we heard the cacophony of parent’s shouting “dinner!” telling us it was time to come inside. We moved away from that street when I was ten, and the memories seem so idyllic now, it’s hard to tell if things really were that perfect, or if facts have been smoothed 145

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Neighbours in Hawaii, 1986. Photo courtesy: Maya von Geldern

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over with the passage of time and a thick layer of nostalgia. I often reflect back on my childhood experiences as I try to navigate parenting my own kids. My daughter is nearly two, just about the age I was when we moved into the house in front of the V, and my son is six. I think about how big my network of trusted people was back then and how much freedom I had to explore. My kids, like many others their age, are living a profoundly different kind of childhood now and I want to know why. The recent British Children’s Play Survey, found that kids in the UK play for an average of under 3.5 hours a day (with significant variations across different demographic groups) and only half of that play is done outside. The study also reported that kids today are allowed to play by themselves (without adult supervision) roughly two years later than their parents were (At around 11 years old compared to 9 years old). The study concluded that parental attitudes are one of the most consistent factors in how children experience play, and parents and carers in the study reported fear of child abduction and road safety as major reasons for limiting their children’s freedoms. “Independent mobility” is how researchers refer to children’s ability to play outside in their neighbourhoods without adult supervision, and numerous studies show that the benefits that come along with it are vast. Beyond physical activity and access to nature, having the freedom to explore alone or with other children, allows kids to build critical thinking and problem solving skills and increases self confidence. But balancing the benefits and the risks is a challenge. 147

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Traffic dangers, it turns out, are very real. According to UK Government statistics, there were 13,574 car related casualties involving children 16 and under in 2019 (the most recent year data is available for). Of those, 2,696 resulted in serious injuries and 39 were fatal. Child abduction is more complicated. Although the spectre of a child disappearing haunts every parent, facts about kidnapping are hard to pin down. While we do know that a majority of child abductions are perpetrated by a parent or someone known to the child, It is difficult to collect reliable data on these types of crimes. In the UK a number of different agencies hold different pieces of data related to child abductions and they are collected in different ways meaning that there are no accurate official numbers on child abduction in a given year. That being said, according to government figures it is estimated that there are roughly 1,330 reports of missing children each year in the UK. This is referring to reports made to police about missing children. But these numbers can be misleading. Attempted abductions may not be reported, sometimes one missing person may be reported more than once, and reports of missing people are not necessarily people who have been abducted. Children are reported missing for many reasons besides kidnapping and according to a UK government report on missing children and adults, 75% of children reported as missing are found within 48 hours and 90% are found within 5 days. Regardless of the likelihood, the fear of a child being snatched by a stranger is very real and has real impacts on people’s behaviour. When kids talk about the biggest limi148

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tations to their freedom to play, they cite a combination of traffic dangers and getting permission from their parents. And it's the fear of potential threat from strangers that compels parents to limit their kid’s freedom. This fear often grows out of a breakdown of social cohesion. When people don’t know each other it is a lot harder to trust them and easier to fear them. Thinking back to my childhood neighbourhood, the thing that seems so incredible now is that everyone knew everyone else on the street, kids and adults. I got in touch with some of my old neighbours to compare memories and to try to understand what’s different now. My next door neighbours — sisters both with children of their own and living in a different state now — remembered the freedom that came with growing up on the street. Maya, who has two sons, said she was imbued with a sense of independence and creativity because of her ability to roam and explore as a child. She thinks her kids do have something similar now, they are allowed to go out in the neighbourhood together to play outside with neighbours, but she feels things are different too: “I think the difference is multi-faceted. Less single-income families with stay-athome parents, more technology, less time outside... I think one of the major differences is also the cost of living. Safe, quaint neighbourhoods tend to be more expensive and not as family-friendly for all.” Maya’s younger sister Thea, who has a son and a daughter, said the people she grew up with on that street were more than just neighbours: “we relied on one another, fought and made up, lost and gained family and 149

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friends together. We shared so many experiences, our lives were woven.” She says her son who is nine, is starting to gain more independence “aided by technology like GPS, long distance walkie talkies, texting, etc.” and she says his freedom is tempered in other ways that her’s was not: they live on a busy street now and although they are surrounded by neighbours they know and like, car traffic and her fear of crime limit her children’s ability to roam free. I also spoke to Sandy who lived across the street from us. She raised her four kids in that house (and had a hand in raising everyone on the street), now she has eight grandkids who visit her in the same place. She said looking back she thought the biggest factor for her as a parent in feeling we were safe to roam free, were the neighbours on the street. “It depends on the people and the trust of the people and we did have trust in the people for sure.” In retrospect, that trust is, and was, pretty rare. In 1972 when the National Opinion Research Center started the General Social Survey, and first asked Americans how much they trust each other, 46% said they believed: “most Americans can be trusted” since then the number has been on a steady decline. A recent study by the Pew Research Center found that 71% of Americans think their fellow citizens are less confident in each other than they were 20 years ago and they cite things like isolation, loneliness, greed and dishonesty among the reasons why. I keep coming back to the African proverb: “It takes a village to raise a child.” The phrase is so overused in western parenting conversations and publications now, it seems to have nearly lost its original meaning. The no150

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tion that beyond their parents, a kid’s extended family, neighbours, friends, teachers, etc., create a wider trusted community that share the responsibilities of raising them is a beautiful one, and I feel I benefited from that kind of thinking. But the “village” seems increasingly rare today. Where trust once held people together and created space for kids to be independent, fear of strangers is stripping away closeness in some communities and shrinking the freedoms kids have. The dense inner city neighbourhood in East London where we live now is remarkably different from where I grew up, but there are similarities: we live on a quiet, dead-end, residential street near green space and many of the houses here have kids around the same age. There are pleasantries exchanged, but there is not a great sense of community amongst the neighbours. And kids rarely, if ever play outside in the street. In thinking about the differences between my own experiences as a kid and how kids experience play and neighbours now, both the risk of injury from cars and the lack of social cohesion are at the root of the problem. But in many ways the two issues are intertwined. While the fear people experience is a social problem, the solution may at least in part, be spatial. In his book Urban Playground, Tim Gill explains that like my neighbours reflected, the issues impacting how we live today are complex. The combination of fear of crime and strangers, changes in the textures and rhythms of domestic life, and growth of technologies that feature heavily in the daily lives of adults and children have fundamentally altered 151

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how we perceive ourselves and others and how we live. Gill also talks a lot about road traffic, something seemingly removed from creating trust between neighbours. But, he argues, if people felt less physical risk of cars, they would be more likely to spend more time on the street, which would provide more opportunities for meaningful social interaction, which in turn could create the space to build strong social networks between neighbours like the ones I experienced as a kid. And once those networks are established, parents could begin to feel confident that their children are safe to explore the world around them independently. So, how do we get from where we are now to where we want to be? Thinking about what I valued most in my childhood has sparked a conversation between me and my mom and the neighbours who helped to raise me. And those conversations have made me question the status quo. Some people have reported a newfound closeness with neighbours as a result of being locked down throughout the pandemic. Maybe the forced intimacy that came out of a limited geographic mobility could be a small silver lining of the past year, to be built upon as things reopen and emphasis is placed on helping kids re-emerge into social life. Organisations like Playing Out are trying to help residents make their neighbourhoods safer by taking action at a local level. They suggest things as small as bringing a chair out in front of your house or as big as working with local councils to close residential streets to car traffic temporarily to make space for kids to play and parents to get to know each other. And there are other initiatives like School 152

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Streets which aims to make walking to and from school safer by refocusing priorities away from car traffic and onto people. Maybe the collective force of these programs and others will be a starting point for beginning to build back the social networks that underpin healthy communities and allow for more independence for our kids.

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A GLIMPSE OF PRESENT DAY NEIGHBOURLINESS

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There are still places which resemble fragments of the communities and neighbourhoods once present everywhere in Tirana. One such place is a small neighbourhood near the former Kinostudio buildings, now the Ministry of Culture, the Marubi Film School and the Klan Television Studios. Between the Gezim Erebara and Shenasi Dragoti streets exist a series of two-storey residential buildings erected during communism that are mainly populated by people of Roma and Egyptian origin. They have not been renovated as they should have been, but are kept immaculate. The alleys of the neighbourhood are spotlessly clean, so much so that one would not dare walk through for fear of dirtying them. Most often small green spaces that surround these apartment buildings are fenced, turned into small gardens, rich with plants and trinkets. The stairway connects two floors, and each floor has two apartment doors facing each other. On occasional apartment doors white curtains are hung, standing to symbolize their open-door arrangement. Children are free to walk in and out of apartments as they please. At the beginning of one staircase, the inhabitants have installed a small metal gate, pulled but not shut, to render the idea of a private space, an antechamber of sorts, enclosing the whole space of the building. A vigilant woman, a mother or grandmother, is always keeping an eye over any movements in the modest space that the building offers, especially those of strangers. The spaces between apartments are embellished with framed pictures and plants. These spaces are often used to place a washing machine or cooking appliances that do 155

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Old building, “Kinostudio” neighbourhood, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

Metal gate / private space, “Kinostudio” neighbourhood, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

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not fit in the house, or to avoid noises and odours inside the apartments. Just like it used to happen, everyone can tell what dishes are being cooked as savours spread in the air. On sunny Sundays, when children have taken to playing on the streets and on the small green spaces afforded in the area, lunchtime is announced by the first woman to place food on a stove. On warm days, in a harmonious rhythm of everyday life, household after household hangs their washed clothes to dry outside their windows, on stairway landings, or the building gardens, at times ranking them from the largest piece of clothing to the smallest. At first sight, to a foreigner this must look as an alterity of the Roma and Egyptian community that live in the area, and not necessarily a feature of the residents of the city. Truth is, these dynamics are traces of what Tirana used to be. The affectivities in this small neighbourhood are very much an example of the care model that used to be present not just in Tirana, but throughout Albania. These apartment buildings in this specific area are not used to contain the life lived there, instead they nourish it. This is why life spills out of the apartments onto the windows, stairways, tended green spaces turned into proper lush gardens, and lanes and alleys. But the process is not a one-way endeavour. Life spills into and inside the apartment - neighbours and their children are tended and cared for. Everyday life strategies are shared with the intention of progressing in doing what is best for everyone. Here, the residents restore a sense of order to the chaotic urban life outside of their neighbourhood perimeter. 157

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Building entrance, “Kinostudio” neighbourhood, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

Children playing in the streets, “Kinostudio” neighbourhood, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

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Neighbours gatherings, “Kinostudio” neighbourhood, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

Neighbours in the streets, “Kinostudio” neighbourhood, Tirana, 2021. Photo by: Leonora Milani

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THE “PALACE” I LIVE IN

Blendi Salaj Journalist, Lecturer and Social Activist who has been on the forefront of Online Media since the mid 1990’s when he was a student in the United States. One of the founders of peshkupauje.com, one of the leading Albanian language blogs on the internet - a platform for citizen driven media and a censorship-free zone. In 2008 he earned a degree in Communication Sciences and New Media from Worcester State University in Massachusetts. He has since hosted multiple TV and radio shows, and become a strong voice for activism and human rights.

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The building where my family and I live, is almost identical to the one where I grew up during the ’80s and’ 90s. In Albania, we call these usually 5-6 story buildings “palaces”, even though they do not resemble the image of this word at all. Some even commonly call them "Enver’s palaces", although he himself neither built them, nor ever lived in such buildings. However, this name seeks to distinguish them from the "new apartment buildings", or "towers" built in post-communist Tirana, which are equipped with elevators and underground parking, entrance halls illuminated by contemporary design and, sometimes, even with a "concierge" sitting behind an imposing counter. But, going back to the “palace” I live in. This one has 10 apartments facing each other spread in 5 floors and an open staircase connecting them, which I climb up to the 5th floor several times every day. In the mornings you can smell various foods because the kitchens on some floors have an air vent directed towards the stairs. I like to play the game of guessing what’s being cooked on each floor. The only trouble: it whets the appetite. Swallows make nests in three of the five floors of the building, and a vine, planted on the ground floor, casts a shadow up to the terrace, where my neighbour has built an open gym, equipped, unfortunately for me, with a heavy and loud barbell. We bought this apartment a little over five years ago, and I can say that now I know everyone living here. I’ve seen the residents of this building put-together and very well-dressed, going out with smiles on their faces on sunny mornings, but I’ve also seen them almost naked run161

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ning down the stairs, trembling in horror. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon in September, when the weather in Tirana was still warm and the sky was clear. I remember we were watching something on Netflix; it was around four o'clock in the afternoon when the walls and floor started shaking. We picked up the kids as fast as we could and waited for the first tremors to end. My wife was one of the people who came down the stairs barefoot. With a 2-month-old baby in her arms, she didn’t have time to find any shoes to put on as she rushed outside to descend 5 floors in a few seconds. Several minutes later all the residents of our 5-6 story building (the neighbour across from me has added a sixth floor on his side) were downstairs standing shocked in the front yard, most of them trying to place phone calls. The neighbours from the house across our building offered my wife a pair of slippers and something warm to throw over her shoulders. My “palace” is a strong and quite elastic building, as we witnessed with our own eyes while it was shaking that day. Seeing it move that way was a rare sight and, in this aspect, I’m aware that I’ve seen something phenomenal. It swung left and right, like everything else around, but it was not damaged in any serious way. After the earthquake, the neighbour from the third floor, who’s quite the craftsman, repaired the superficial damages throughout the building and informed us in detail about who had suffered the worst and who the least. These are the circumstances in which I met many of the people next to whom I live. I worked with one of them for a long time before I bought the apartment two floors 162

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above him, and we are old friends. I remember the expression on his face when I was telling him where my new apartment was located. "I think we will be neighbours. I'm sure you bought a house in my building." - he told me, without hiding his joy. The pandemic that hit the world in 2020 has affected our building badly as well. During this time, one of the residents died, although not directly related to Covid-19. However, something happened after his death that made me think. I did not learn about it in the usual way – through word of mouth among neighbours, but through Facebook. The father of a colleague of mine, with whom I am friends on Facebook, had offered condolences to the family of my late neighbour in a post, praising the outstanding sports skills he had displayed in his youth. So, it was only thanks to Facebook that we were able to offer our condolences as well. We live in a time when we see more of those who don’t live next to us (whom we may call our virtual neighbours), ‘meeting’ them on social networks, over photos, videos, and texts. But in the hour of need, those near us are the most important people in the world. Having known them in dramatic circumstances, I now know that they are ready to help me for practically everything, and that I, too, must be ready to be near them when they need me. Our eastern-style apartment building is old, and the stairs in some places are damaged, but we have something there that is ours, and we like it!

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THE SCALE OF HAPPINESS

Egin Zeka Lecturer of Architectural and Urban Design at the Department of Architecture and director of Center of research and Design in Applied Sciences (CoRDA) at Epoka University, Albania. Holds an MSc in Urban Design and PhD in Urban and Regional Planning (2020) at Istanbul Technical University, Turkey. His research interests are: urban design, generative design, urban morphology, traditional settlements and bottom-up urbanism.

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Is there an optimal settlement scale to live in that fosters a certain quality of relationships to guarantee its inhabitants happiness? In search of the right balance between individuality and community, freedom and dependency. Childhood in a village I grew up in a village near Pogradec, a small city in south-eastern Albania. I must admit I am nostalgic for this time, but beyond that personal feeling, I think there are many other aspects worth discussing related to the social life this settlement provided. My village can be considered a big one in the Albanian context, but it was a place - like in every small settlement - where you knew almost everyone by name. This was an important condition to feel secure, to know that you belonged and were attached to a certain place. No doubt, there are also disadvantages to living in a small settlement like this, where there might exist certain stereotypes and a lack of opportunities that can be encountered in big cities. But a specific scale where you can identify yourself as part of a larger entity is a crucial feature for a community. Until the mid 1990s, the village had a very compact structure, composed of some kinship-based neighbourhoods - “mahalla”, a term inherited from the ottoman period. The neighbourhood patterns were very distinct in the overall layout of the settlement. The sense of belonging and attachment was even stronger within each of these neighbourhoods. Although concentrated in a small area, the neighbourhood was full of life, diversity and dynamism. It provided 165

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many qualities for a happy life. It was an especially wonderful habitat for children, who could have a productive and healthy growing process, in physical, psychological, spiritual and social dimensions. Personally, I feel very lucky to have grown up in such an environment, despite the modest economic conditions. A very valuable quality of our neighbourhood was the presence of the life-cycle - where different generations lived together, caring for each-other and learning from eachother. Christopher Alexander explains this quality by saying: “It depends on the presence of a balanced community, a community that can sustain the give and take of growth. Persons at each stage of life have something irreplaceable to give and to take from the community, and it is just these transactions which help a person to solve the problems that beset each stage” (1977). The oldest people in the neighbourhood were respected by everyone and had specific nicknames used by all the inhabitants. For example, my grandmother was called ‘ane’ (mother) by everyone. Others were “mama Bukurija”, “nëno Hyska” (grandmother), “aba Nazimja”, “xhaxha Feimi” (uncle), “xha Jashari” (uncle), “xha Kurti”, etc. These nicknames were beautiful nuances of different identities and commonness. They were considered to be mothers, grandmothers, great aunts and uncles to everyone. The neighbourhood was like a big family, with a diversity of generations, where we enjoyed the stories told by the elderly and they enjoyed the vividness and liveliness of us kids around them. Loneliness was never an issue. Another interesting thing was that we, the kids, usually 166

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would get food wherever mealtime would find us. I enjoyed taking small pieces of bread with butter from “nëno Hyska” or have breakfast with “djemkat”, my relatives who were older than me and with whom I shared the same courtyard. Kids, having no stereotypes or prejudices, play the most important role in the creation of a sense of neighbourliness. This was also the case in our neighbourhood. We could very easily transform almost every public or private space, building and nooks and crannies we could find into a playscape. There were no areas specifically designated to play. The street itself was the most generous playscape, fitting to numerous games, from football to the ‘buttons’ game. The street was also the area of interaction and socialization with the kids from other neighbourhoods. But beside that, ‘private’ yards, terraces, walls, roofs, gardens, trees, gates, etc. were very commonly used as spaces to play.

Everywhere was a playground. Sketch by Gentian Zeka

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Everywhere was a playground: 1. Neighbourhood square 2. Village square 3. Playground in nature Sketch by the author

Playing in the neighbourhood streets Sketch by Gentian Zeka

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Everywhere was a playscape. There were also no pre-designed toys or playing equipment. Everything was improvised and built by the children, sometimes with the assistance of the adults, with local, natural and spontaneous objects and materials. The only ‘industrial’ elements used to produce playing equipment were some bearings, bolts or nails. Many games, passed down through generations, were implemented or improved using new components. There were also many new games and toys we invented. I can count more than thirty games that we could play in one year. Some of them were more consolidated, yeararound games, while some others were seasonal. There was no way to get bored by playing the same games. This was an incredible process of creativity, learning, self-building, mastering skills, inventing, recycling and adapting - all very significant prerequisites for a healthy growing process in physical, mental, spiritual and social dimensions. I must admit that with the introduction of TVs in every house, satellite antennas and video games we started to spend more time inside our homes. Nevertheless, these new technological ‘guests’ did not change that much of our routine of playing outside. But, for sure, they were important signals of how new technologies would obliterate these colourful routines and bring a standardized, sterile, and in many cases, problematic condition for children's growing process and enjoyment of life. A sense of solidarity was naturally present in our neighbourhood. We shared time, spaces, facilities, equipment and toys on a daily basis. On the occasional events of weddings, funerals, or other similar circumstances, this 169

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Terraces used as common spaces Sketches by the author

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sense of solidarity was expressed in every dimension. The women gathered to prepare the food for the receptions while the youngsters and children were engaged to collect tables, chairs, plates, spoons from the other neighbours. I remember that many of these items had recognizable signs so the redistribution to their owners could be easy. Nowadays, such an experience is practically non-existent because these types of events are organized in restaurants or reception halls. The vibrant, rich process of sharing, preparing, organizing, helping and enjoying - in many cases including a stressful but exciting rush - was transformed into a passive experience of just consuming and being served. A very interesting pattern of collaboration, which at some level still exists today in certain villages, was the preparation of a kind of cereal for the winter season called “petka”. This was a wonderful process during which all the women of the neighbourhood came together during summer, in an open terrace that was well exposed to sunlight, and for several hours prepared the amount of “petka” that one family could consume for the whole winter. It would be repeated for days on end, until every family of the neighbourhood had its own winter storage complete. Beyond just food preparation, this process was also about socializing, talking, sharing and sometimes gossiping. The main space used for the preparation and drying of the “petka”, was the largest terrace in the neighbourhood, located above the carpentry workshop of xha Feimi. This same terrace served also as the venue for wedding banquets, funeral receptions, washing and drying of carpets, etc. Very often, it was even a playground adapted 171

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The ladies of the village preparing “petka” Sketch by Gentian Zeka

Drying fruit on the roofs Sketch by Gentian Zeka

Playing and having tea on the terrace Sketch by Gentian Zeka

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by us to host different games. It is amazing how a spontaneously built space could be so flexible and act as a social hub hosting such a great variety of activities. Unfortunately, after the mid 1990s, many of these qualities and patterns of neighbourliness started to dissolve. Families were growing and there was a need for new housing units. Also, infrastructure in the existing houses was insufficient to provide the facilities and meet the ‘needs’ of ‘contemporary’ life. The economic conditions also improved a lot. People started to focus more on their individual well-being. All these changes, combined with other issues, accelerated the process of building new houses in the agricultural land located in the lower part of the village. Now, people started to have bigger, more comfortable houses but they lost their neighbourhood. These houses were built in large, rectangular plots - meant exclusively for agriculture - and were the origin of a long process of building sprawl in the outskirts of compact settlements. These inhabitants now lived quite far from each other and at the same time had to deal with lack of infrastructure. A new territorial layer emerged, something between agricultural land and settlements, but it was none of them. It had no resemblance to the compactness and the urban tissue of the old village neighbourhoods. Furthermore, the relatives, who once lived close by in the old neighbourhood, now had built their new houses in the agricultural plots that were not necessarily close to each other. Certainly, the changing socio-economic conditions and the new lifestyle contributed to the demise of the existing social pattern and the sense of the community. 173

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From compact neighbourhoods to urban sprawl. Sketch by the author

Since a long time now I do not live there anymore, but my parents and some relatives still do and I visit the village often. It has suffered too many changes. High vehicular presence now makes it difficult for people and especially kids to use the street as they used to before. Another problematic phenomenon is that day by day people are abandoning farming and agricultural activities. There is also access to most of the services that can be found in cities. Many families have access to the internet and at least one smart device. There are many advantages to this, but the village faces a big risk of irreversibly losing many great qualities in the process and I’m afraid it’s just not a better place now. For example, often I see children sitting in spots where they find wireless connection and play with their tablets or smartphones for hours. Fortunately, they still are present in the street and use it as a playground, but the diversity, dynamism and the vividness that it had when I lived there as a kid, is lost. I visit my village often, and it still presents a great alternative to the city for many experiences and interactions I yearn for. A sense of neighbourliness and 174

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solidarity can still be felt and everyone still knows everyone. It would be very naïve and romantic to aim for a similar experience in contemporary city life. However, I think it is worth it to learn from the village communities and try to build relationships and spaces that can recreate some of these qualities in our cities. Studying in a big metropolis After finishing high school in Albania, I moved to Istanbul for my university studies. In this new chapter I had to face a big contrast. From a small settlement of around 2000 inhabitants, now I was going to live in a city with a population of 15 million people. Istanbul is a cosmopolitan, multifaceted city with many layers of history, cultures and social patterns. Integrating myself in this colourful, dynamic and dense new habitat was exciting, scary and confusing at the same time. I remember many times being in different parts of the city within the same day and by the end of it, I would feel like I had visited many different cities. However, it did not take me long to adapt to this new context, partly due to the many similar aspects of our culture and the Turkish. It is almost impossible to discuss with certainty about different social patterns and neighbourliness in such a diverse and dynamic environment, however there are many facets worth mentioning. Turkey in general inherits a very rich and strong neighbourhood concept from its Islamic and Ottoman past. Some of these social, economic and spatial patterns can sparingly still be noticed in present-day Istanbul. 175

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The role of the traditional neighbourhood in defining the social, economic and spatial structure of the city started to fade after the transformations of the 19th century. The neighbourhood concept dissolved furthermore during the modernization process after the 1920s, and almost disappeared in the neo-liberal era. Nowadays it is hardly possible to identify a strong presence of that neighbourhood concept in big cities, especially in the Istanbul metropolitan area. Nevertheless, some interesting patterns continue to survive sporadically in the contemporary life of Istanbul. The life of any student in Istanbul, as in every other city, is very dynamic and fast, packed with different activities and in general differs from that of a permanent resident. Most of the time is not spent in the living quarters and the apartment (if you don’t live in a dormitory) resembles more a hotel room rather than a home. Furthermore, you live in a ‘temporary’ mood - I moved almost every year to different locations to rent apartments. For any student, experiencing neighbourliness is just not part of the general attitude and mindset, so there would not be much to say - however, the growing number of students worldwide and also the extension of graduate and post-graduate studies have made this specific demographic reach a considerable weight in the overall population of cities, and it sometimes merges with the local population in terms of living quarters. I lived in Istanbul for about eight years. The neighbourhoods I lived in can be divided into three main categories. The first one was a central place with a more modern lifestyle, surrounded by many office buildings and some institutions along the main streets. People living here had a 176

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better economic standard compared to many other parts of Istanbul; there was good urban infrastructure; and there was a considerable amount of public spaces and facilities. Here I observed the lowest degree of neighbourliness. The second one was a traditional neighbourhood with a more conservative character in terms of religion and local customs. It had good urban infrastructure - although not as good as the first one - and people living here could be considered as lower middle class, with a stronger religious identity. In this area neighbour relations were the strongest [in comparison to the other two]. The last one, was a very densely populated area with a higher level of informality and lack of infrastructure. Neighbour relations in this quarter could be considered as average. This experience could arguably hint to a relation between the quality of infrastructure and services for the residents, their lifestyle and the sense of neighbourliness they develop. In many other contexts I have observed during my studies, the two extremes - luxurious or poor infrastructure and services (especially in informal contexts) - don’t manage to foster healthy or close neighbour relations. One of the circumstances in which I have observed and experienced neighbourliness in Istanbul, is the grocery stores - called ‘bakkal’, located in a very close distance to the dwellings. The grocer (bakkal) was the man who would know almost everyone in the neighbourhood. It was very common that apart from shopping, one would engage in a short conversation with the ‘bakkal’. Inevitably, with the introduction of the supermarkets or shopping malls, the role of the ‘bakkal’, in economic and social terms, massively 177

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disappeared. Another instance worth mentioning, which I have experienced myself many times, was the offering of food to the students by families living in the same building. It was often on special occasions like local celebrations, when special food was prepared - especially desserts - and shared with neighbours, but first and foremost with the students. This was a small gesture of neighbourliness that was highly appreciated. I must admit that in general, in Istanbul there was a high degree of solidarity with the students, with the citizens creating many opportunities to help them economically and socially. A very common neighbourhood phenomenon in Istanbul are the small cafés, called kiraathane, located near the central areas of the neighbourhoods or along the main commercial streets. These are small socializing spaces, especially frequented by male customers. In the companion of continuously served hot tea, they chat loudly, play domino or watch football games. The cafés or other small tea serving units called ‘çay ocağı’, serve tea to almost every local business or esnafs, morning till evening. It is very common to enter, for example, a clothing store, and the owner asks if you would like to have tea. Frequent tea sessions spur socializing experiences between neighbour tradesmen or artisans. In front of their shops they always place some small chairs where they sit to chat, drink tea and enjoy observing life on the street. Another interesting activity that happens on certain days and locations is the neighbourhood bazaar. One day of the week, a considerable area of the neighbourhood is 178

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Shop front tea conversations Sketch by the author

Bazaar day in Istanbul Sketch by the author

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closed to traffic and all the streets are transformed into a large temporary bazaar. Very early in the morning the traders of the bazaar (pazarci), start to assemble their temporary tents and bazaar benches (tezgah), and when the sun rises, the bazaar is ready for the citizens. Soon, it is filled by people from the neighbourhood or adjacent areas who come to buy different goods. The bazaar day plays an important role in the socialization of the neighbours, especially for the women, who use an important part of the day for ‘bazaaring’. To be honest, in the beginning, I was quite disturbed by this intense, busy, noisy activity happening in my neighbourhood, and I often avoided passing through the bazaar streets. But later, I started to enjoy this vibrant activity, as a chance to become a part of the social ‘action’. Finally, I must mention the neighbourhood mosque and the facilities around it as an important spatial and social component that plays a role in defining the neighbourhoods in Istanbul and generates relevant social activities. I observed - although to a much lower degree compared to the ottoman city - that it still has an impact on structuring the neighbourhoods. Especially during the Friday sermons and other religious activities such as Ramadan month, Ramadan Feast, Feast of sacrifice and blessed nights (kandiller), the mosque and its surrounding area are full of life and activities, mostly frequented by the residents of the neighbourhood it pertains to. The confrontation of two polar realities, one a very small settlement and the other a big metropolis, proved interesting in many aspects. The first one is a place where everybody knows everybody, and in the other one can be 180

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totally anonymous. In terms of social relationships the small scale contexts can have many advantages but at the same time they hold many limitations and challenges related to individual freedom and a variety of opportunities. Compact neighbourhood relationships, sometimes, can produce problems regarding personal independence, creating a social pressure phenomenon. In Turkey, this is a well-known issue. Peer pressure (not limited to adolescents) - and specifically “mahalle baskısı” (‘neighbourhood’ pressure) is a term appositely created to address the excessive involvement of the neighbours community in the inhabitants’ personal lives. This phenomenon is a valid and sometimes determining factor for people choosing to escape small settlements and live in big cities. In these terms, Istanbul is a huge opportunity, especially for young people or students coming from small conservative towns. It provides a great setting for individual freedom, self-expression and independence. But on the other hand, this extremely crowded and chaotic habitat can also induce social and self-alienation. Working in Tirana After finishing my studies, I came back to my country to work and live in the capital. Being the largest city of Albania, with a population of around 1 million, Tirana is considered a metropolitan area. But after a long time in Istanbul, in the beginning it looked like a small town to me. I used to walk everywhere, even in distances considered too long. Of course, this would change later, after I got used to the new city scale. In general, I must say that Tirana pos181

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sesses a human scale in terms of distances and urban morphology. After living for nine years in this city, I must admit that there are many problems in terms of neighbourliness in both social and spatial aspects, but there’s always potential for improvement. Although at a more moderate level, I believe Tirana possesses many attributes of metropolitan life, as explained by the German sociologist and philosopher George Simmel. In his theory of modernism, Simmel argues that rationality dominates the social organization of modern society and money is the main factor that defines social relations. According to him, the city, especially the metropolis, is the representation of all attributes of modern life, which offer many opportunities for individual and social progress. The metropolis is the place for individual independence, great freedom, diversity, dynamism, change, creativity and productivity. Differently from small homogenous settlements/towns, it offers a complex environment of diversity. It possesses a huge potential for learning, exchange and improvement. The biggest attraction of the metropolis is the freedom that it offers. If in a small settlement, everyone knows each other, in the big city, when you are out of your apartment, no one knows you. This is very intriguing in terms of independence and freedom. But on the other hand, as pointed out by Simmel, this creates a phenomenon of alienation. You walk in big boulevards and crowded streets, but you are alone in this crowd. In this habitat, firstly, the humans are alienated from their environment, then from other people, and finally there is self-alienation. Signs of such alienation have already been manifested 182

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in Tirana. The most part of social relationships is characterized by a highly selective tendency - among limited circles of friends, co-workers or relatives. A general sense of the neighbourhood that speaks to all the city cannot be determined, though in certain situations and contexts one might distinguish forms of socialization. It is very common for neighbours living in the same apartment building to not have any kind of communication with each other. People follow a systematic routine, in a rush of completing the daily tasks, or the ‘needs’ that the system ‘imposes’. Time for pausing, thinking and reflecting is very limited. Slowing down is almost impossible. As a result, there is less time for the family, children, friends and of course, neighbours. Another issue contributing in non-establishing of neighbourhood relationships is the temporality of residents at a certain zone. A high number of people are not homeowners, and usually have to move frequently to find suitable rental apartments. This is a complex problem decidedly related to the housing policies in Albania. There is an absence of social housing strategies and an enormous speculative housing market. In this context, it is very improbable to build relationships with your neighbours. Being in a mindset of temporariness and continuous moving, makes people remain on the surface of relationships. I am a renter and have lived in the same apartment for the past seven years. This long period has helped to form neighbourhood relations up to a certain point. My apartment is part of a five story building without an elevator, so the silver lining in this case is that through taking the stairs multiple times a day, I have had the chance to cross with my neighbours 183

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frequently. I know some of them by name, and at least, we always greet each other. Unfortunately our interactions do not go beyond these greetings. I have a closer relationship with some of the people who own or work at the small retail shops on the ground floor of our building. Usually I have short conversations with the grocer around the corner and many times I leave my keys or other items with him. In terms of size and scale only, Tirana could be considered balanced in a comparison between my village and Istanbul - it is far from the small, tight-knit settlement where everybody knows you, but still has the (still undeveloped) potential for healthy and balanced community relations, where you can have both personal freedom but also be known and involved in your neighbourhood. So, now in Tirana, one can witness a ‘clash’ of many different layers of history, social mentalities and urban development approaches, that point to a still existing ‘identity crisis’. These layers are first and foremost apparent in the vastly different characters of its neighbourhoods - starting from the informal ones, to the expensive high-rise complexes or even gated communities. The urban redevelopment and modernization process is embodied in large-scale infrastructure projects, modern apartments, high-rise buildings, big shopping malls, new cars, many cars. On the other side, in the inner blocks of Tirana and the periphery, there is still a high presence of diverse and spontaneous human scale spatial features, but they majorly come in the form of informality and are accompanied by a lack of infrastructure and facilities. It is these areas that hold the most potential to create stronger 184

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In-between the high-rises. Sketch by the author

Human-scale streets in Tirana’s neighbourhoods. Sketch by the author

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neighbourhoods. These environments have a kind of spirit of place and rich urban patterns that overall might be advantageous for better social interaction. A considerable amount of the existing urban morphology has already been replaced by standard high rise apartment blocks. These new apartment buildings provide better infrastructure in physical, and probably, economic terms. But on the other hand, they are destroying the spirit of the place - which is very crucial for the sense of a neighbourhood, and are replacing the rich spatial and social pattern - albeit spontaneous and informal, with monotonous, sterile, spaces that are very similar to each other. If we consider the quality of the city only as a matter of physical and economic comfort, surely these developments can be considered very positive. But, in my opinion, the city is a complex system of interrelated values, embracing a wide variety of patterns, which are difficult to cultivate in these standard housing blocks. With a people-oriented perspective and creative strategies, the existing built-up environment - which at first might seem problematic and chaotic - could very easily be transformed into a habitat that besides quality neighbour relations, provides also good physical conditions and economic efficiency. Is there an optimal scale for happiness? “A citizen should recognize the citizens of his polis by sight…” Aristotle The discussion and rumination on the size and scale of the city is as old as the concept of the city itself. In antiquity, the Greek philosophers have talked about it exten186

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sively. Although in some cases they made calculations on a city’s optimal number of inhabitants, commonly they have emphasized that the size of the ‘city-state” is related to many complex issues. Self-sufficiency, justice, rule, governance, etc. are some of the criteria that should be taken into consideration when evaluating the city and its size. This question is still puzzling in our time, probably more than ever before, and many scholars, urban planners, architects, sociologists have put forth different proposals regarding the size/scale of the city and neighbourhoods. In many cases, these are too schematic, neglecting the dynamic systems that form the urbanity. For example, the ‘Garden City’ concept of Ebenezer Howard; ‘Radiant City’ of Le Corbusier or 'Broadacre City’ of Wright, are typical examples of reducing the city phenomenon to stark calculations, spatial diagrams and architectural forms. Regarding the neighbourhood concept in city planning, the studies of Clarence Perry in the 1920s have had a considerable importance on influencing later developments. Perry stresses that in vernacular settlements there is a strong concept of neighbourhood and identity, and notes that in modern cities many of these qualities were lost. His concept of ‘neighbourhood unit’ was developed on the idea of having the school as a core facility that can generate a neighbourhood of families with children, sustaining the notion of life-cycle and diversity. He further elaborates his concept by making calculations of the number of habitants, size of the neighbourhood, its boundaries, the street layout and the location of open spaces, institutions and shops. The ideas of Perry have been very influential and still are, espe187

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cially in the suburban developments. This concept might be subject to criticism for its simplistic schematic approach, focusing on certain segments of society and neglecting the existing diversity in cities and promotion of urban sprawl. Other attempts to propose ideas of neighbourhood were done also by the ‘new urbanists’ following a kind of neo-traditional approach and suggesting compact, mixed-use, walkable neighbourhoods. Although the principles sound very promising, the concept of planning to accommodate this diversity has been considered problematic. Differently from many modernists, that would prefer to plan and design every space and relationship, other authors like Jane Jacobs, Christopher Alexander, Jan Gehl have focused more on the qualities of placemaking, by emphasizing the importance of complexity, diversity, dynamism, spontaneity, human dimension, quality of public spaces and many other aspects. Actually, most of these qualities are already present in many urban fabrics. Instead of considering the city as a tabula rasa and inserting standard apartment blocks - trying to build a narrative from the beginning, it would be a better strategy to improve the quality of the existing urban space in these already rich urban and life patterns. This is becoming one of the biggest challenges regarding the future of urban development, not only for Tirana, but for every city. Day by day we are clearing out the rich and dynamic patterns – not necessarily historic, considering them as informal and chaotic. By replacing them with regular apartment blocks, we think that we are creating a better city. In my opinion these interventions are 188

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doing the exact opposite. Undoubtedly, these new apartment blocks offer better infrastructure and larger, indoor and outdoor spaces. To address the urban spaces that I consider rich in patterns but lack in infrastructure and facilities, the approach should aim towards revitalization, especially focused on shared spaces and infrastructure. I believe this approach holds the highest potential for providing a place for better neighbourhood relationships. In terms of distances, proximity to services, shops, cafés, schools, Tirana can certainly be considered a walkable, human-scale city. The problem stands in the quality of the infrastructure connecting different areas, lack of pedestrian paths and qualitative public spaces. If we can manage to improve the infrastructure in the inner residential areas, providing more walkable paths and small public spaces, we can increase the opportunity for social interaction. The active ground floor, organic streets, human scale buildings, diversity of patterns combined with better infrastructure and less vehicular presence, make up an assured recipe for healthy neighbourhoods and societies.

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CITIES WITHOUT NEIGHBOURS

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Can there be cities without neighbours? Although it may sound baffling at first, this question is spurred by the increasing worries of gentrification accompanying the improvement of living conditions in districts and neighbourhoods. The rising numbers of “temporary” neighbours in the last decades create the circumstances to ask such a question. There are many studies that explore how and why neighbourhoods change; the factors are multiple. Land as commodity, has transformed and changed neighbourhoods beyond recognition. Gentrification in the name of capturing and extracting value is a continuous challenge. Change is also attributed to migration and the changing composition of neighbourhoods and households. Gentrification, also commonly known as displacement, usually happens when new developments in an area, almost always followed by rising house prices, push long-term residents out because of the increasing unaffordability. There are different criteria to be used when assessing if a neighbourhood has been gentrified, among which ethnic and racial composition of the neighbourhood throughout the years, median incomes, and rent prices. Through time, low-income neighbourhoods counted numerous disadvantages, lacking in public services, education facilities, transportation options, jobs, and, on occasion, suffering from mortgage redlining. As a result, in the past they did not provide attractive grounds for investors to pour money in. In recent times, the situation has changed, since these neighbourhoods often offer vast underutilized land which can be sold at lower prices, all things that appeal 191

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to developers. The displacement of the long-term residents takes away from the sense of identity and community within a neighbourhood by negatively adding to the notion of “temporary” neighbours, i.e., residents who move frequently, often due to housing prices. Moreover, as the lower-income residents of a neighbourhood move from the now unaffordable neighbourhood to an area with lower rents, and are replaced by higher-income, the segregation of economic classes is accentuated. These two reasons make gentrification a worrisome phenomenon. “The rent prices are a huge contribution to why we aren’t able to socialize in our community,” says a resident in a Seattle ‘microhousing’ development. “I’m getting a new studio now, and I have to pick up more hours at work, which takes time out of how much I want to volunteer or socialize or participate in block parties. I have to work harder to live in the area that I want to live in, and as a result, I’m not contributing to the community” (Andrews, 2017). Change is not necessarily a bad thing, and if calibrated carefully, investment in an unkempt neighbourhood can have positive effects on its residents, which may now benefit from additional public goods and spaces. In neighbourhoods with high home ownership, revitalization occurs as opposed to displacement. These homeowners may benefit from selling their house at a higher price than the original one. The new spaces in-between could facilitate and foster the neighbourly relations between citizens living in close vicinity. Additionally, by living in a more pleasing neighbourhood, residents may be more encouraged to care about their 192

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neighbourhood and to be more involved in the activities happening there, be it political discussions or get-together events. Fortunately, there are ways to fight gentrification in the cases where home ownership within the neighbourhood is low. These include, but are not limited to, inclusive zoning, offering developers higher levels of density in return for funding more affordable housing units in their projects, protecting elderly and long-term residents from property tax increases, and establishing community benefits agreements with investors in large projects to ensure that local residents benefit from the investment (Van Tol, 2019). The most popular policy measure is rent control, although urban economics teaches us that it has both winners and losers. The existing tenants, who get to keep their apartments, are the ones who benefit the most from rent control, however, because it can lead to a shortage of housing supply in the long run, the investors, the potential movers, and owners are the ones at a loss. The latter has also the option to set their houses as AirBnBs to maximize their profits, hence contributing even more to the shortage. The major advantage of rent control is its ability to affect the permanence of people in a place and help in protecting the sense of community within a neighbourhood. “Things like shared ethnicity and culture are powerful ways to create a community within a building that was never designed for one” (Andrews, 2017). If this tool is implemented, the policy should weigh the costs and benefits carefully. One thing that is difficult to predict though in these assessments, is the state of the world in 2020. In light of the 193

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Covid-19 pandemic, the way we live in cities has already begun to change with many inevitably wondering if cities are heading towards their death, as people have started working online from their homes and leaving the city centers in massive waves (Quealy, 2020). First, Covid-19 will not kill off cities like New York and London. Global cities will not only survive but revive—as they did after even deadlier epidemics, economic crises, wars and natural disasters in the past—as their commercial spaces are transformed into mixed-use areas where people live and work. This is because the clustering force—of talent and innovation—is a core characteristic of this new reset. But, smaller cities and suburbs as well as rural areas also have the ability to thrive as people flock to them because of their ability to do far-flung jobs remotely (Florida, 2020). “Some young people are leaving cities earlier than is typical, while some older people are speeding up retirement moves. Fewer newcomers are giving cities a try, meaning the people moving out aren’t being replaced by fresh residents. […] Suburbs are emerging as the winners from these changes, marking the end of a decadelong growth trend for big cities. Companies intent on lowering overhead and retaining talent are opening offices there, and developers are adding amenities to keep entertainment dollars local.” (Campo-Flores et al, 2021). Last year we were also met with a strengthening of virtual communities, which have been on the rise for the past two decades. “’In many cases, social media can lead to a 194

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false sense of community’ leading people to avoid face-to-face interaction” and “that’s not something Facebook can fix” are, however, two prevailing sentiments which challenge how realistic the substitution of actual neighbourliness with virtual friendships is (Andrews, 2017). By spending more time at home, people may find the time to socialize with their neighbours more. During the heavy waves of quarantine, residents of the same apartment buildings relied on each other more, for instance to help with groceries. At the same time, if people can effectively work from their house, in the future, the number of temporary neighbours will lower as more people will station to affordable places from which they will not be too eager to leave.

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NO SIZE FITS ALL

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The future is a “culturally organized dimension of human life” (Appadurai, 2013 p. 294). Though there have been various efforts to revert the undeniably declining trend of neighbourly relations among people living close, their success remains to be determined. Neighborliness is such a subjective and abstract concept that defining it in one sentence would be limiting at best. Add here the multiple and varying components to be factored in during such evaluation and the task appears impossible. What follows is a brief analysis of some of the efforts undertaken throughout the years to fight this phenomenon. Neighbourliness will equate social capital and belonging. Why should we even care about restoring these connections? Firstly, and perhaps also most obviously, studies have shown that nurturing better relationships with neighbours significantly improves one’s well being. As strong neighbourly connections are associated with building trust, they have positive effects on reducing crime rates and creating a mutual aid and support network. Additionally, certain older demographics seem to associate closer connections with neighbours in the past with being happier. Meik Wiking, founder of the Happiness Research Institute, says that: “In every study we do, in every data set we look at, whether it’s local, national, international, the quality of our relationships is often the best predictor of whether people are happy or not” (Imagine, Space10 podcast, ep. 2). Even though there are no specific studies to confirm that the declining neighbourliness and happiness trends are of a cause-effect nature, their correlation could well be explained by the dramatic lifestyle 197

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changes of the last decades. A less obvious, but pressing, reason to foster these relationships is that of political relevance and power. Civic communities, according to Putnam (1994), can make a difference on government’ performance. The Italian study on institutional reform of the new regional governments created in 1970, investigating the differences between north and south Italy, highlights the importance of social relations in the economic development of a place (ibid.). Despite the contested methodology used by Putnam, the importance of the citizen participating in civic engagements has gained momentum in democratic governance. Civic participation and neighbourhood organization are often overlooked by all parties involved, however, strong connections and well-informed discussions among neighbours have the power to shape neighbourhoods and the lives within. Bypassing tangent solutions, like apps, where if you ask for help you may find neighbours offering their availability, this publication aims to focus on the root of the issue: neighbour relations connected to housing and physical space. No doubt a step in the right direction, nowadays we see the rise of social networks targeting neighbour relations, such as Nextdoor, where you connect to your close community, organize events, discuss issues, or ask for help. However, one is to be skeptical of technological solutions to fight technological consequences. “What carries the relationship [neighbourliness] is not the ad hoc elements taken alone, but the relatively perma198

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nent and deep-seated attitudes of which these may be held to be expressions” (Mann, 1954). Each relevant level of housing is paired with an answering approach. Since the definition of success is subjective, and additionally, its rate does not only depend on one factor; each of these mentions should be taken with a grain of salt and considered in their context with open-mindedness. Some solutions may work in some places, and perform poorly in others, whilst some ideas could be restrictive in theory, but work well in practice. It is important to distinguish the different levels and elements then, starting from the basics, i.e., property rights, moving onto apartment buildings and private house plots with their indoor and outdoor spaces, followed by neighbourhoods, the respective spatial construct, zoning policies, facilities, and lastly, institutions. In slums, the introduction of basic rights can be a first step towards improving neighbourly conditions. Such was the case of more than a million squatter households in Peru, where, after being granted legal rights and ownership to the land they occupied, the owners were freed of the concern they had to guard their property from the neighbours. This decision was made, however, for the purpose of introducing the squatters to capital markets, following a suggestion of Hernando De Soto (2000), but the effects produced were unexpected, demonstrating how difficult it is to predict the effects of such institutional reforms (McMillan, 2008). The efficiency of replicating this idea in another context with similar circumstances is questionable. 199

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Slums in Peru Source: elizabeththeblogger.wordpress.com

Apartment buildings offered many more chances at interaction among the residents, especially considering they were housing more people in smaller spaces. The people who opted to live in these buildings, either as tenants or owners, were poorer, and facilitated by the presence of common spaces like the staircase or corridors, could rely on one another for activities like babysitting, some extra food, or companionship. As time went on, and people adjusted to technological and politico-economic waves, they became more self-reliant and secluded, accompanied by the bold claim that democracy drives isolation. Today, the efforts towards building these relationships are dominated by the inclusion of common spaces among the private units, such as collective kitchens, laundries, or open and green spaces. 200

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A proposal by Iwo Borkowicz in 2016 envisioned the apartment buildings of Havana, Cuba, as a mix of collective and semi-private spaces to fight the ongoing housing crisis the city was facing. Although it was targeted primarily at residents interacting with tourists, the “exchange of stories, daily routine, and experiences” (Zilliacus, 2017) would be unavoidable among locals living in the same building. The case of single-family housing is a little trickier. The lack of interaction is greatly influenced by the sharp-cut distinction between private plots and public streets, with no grey areas in between. There have been numerous suggestions and solutions in the past to mend the difficulties that private housing brought for people, and women in particular, which when implemented, would increase the overall neighbourliness quality as well. Community houses and houses that are connected by a community space for single parents and women looking for jobs as caretakers, cooks, or housekeepers are worth noting. However, one interesting suggestion has come in the form of changing the shape of the plots to accommodate a community park or playground between the privately owned houses. The allure of implementing this approach on new untouched parcels is understandable, however, executing it on already established suburban sprawl seems to be a rather unrealistic feat; should we give up on the latter altogether? Even between building blocks, there is space for intervention. The renowned urban theorist, Jane Jacobs, strongly advocated for creating smaller building blocks in her day, and hence having more frequent streets, located in between them. Although her arguments were primarily eco201

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Collective housing possible zoning Source: Iwo Borkowicz collective housing guest rooms business publicly accessible

Conversion of private suburban plots to hold a common space in between Source: adapted by the author from Hayden, 1980

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nomic, according to her such a shift would inevitably result in people crossing each other more often and interacting. By making streets wider, they would host more people, create more room for interaction, and be safer overall. For Jacobs, streets are where the vitality of any space lies and grows. Additionally, she also encouraged introducing more diversity within any neighbourhood both in use and in building age. As she observed, during specific hours of the day, like peak work hours, lunch break, and work shift end, you could predict the dynamism of a block or a street. Where diversity lacked, vitality suffered. Gans, however, astutely pointed out during his critique of her work that the assumptions that people desire diversity, and that diversity is what ultimately creates city vitality and interaction are flawed. He noted how Ethnic neighbourhoods in New York thrive because of their working-class culture, where kids play unsupervised on the streets, although the appearances of their units are homogenous. That socio-economic class would not blend well with the Bohemian middle-class that lives on the upper east side of Manhattan for instance (Gans, 1993). Regardless, this touchy subject makes for a double-edged sword. On one hand, lack of diversity within a neighbourhood may result in segregation in the long run, whereas introducing more diversity may drive up housing costs and end up in gentrifying the neighbourhood and long-term residents moving to more affordable places. Even in the cases where more diversity is feasible, residents could opt to create relationships only with neighbours of the same socio-economic or Ethnic background. 203

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“If a community's baseline of social connectedness is, to a substantial degree, baked in, no amount of neighbourhood mixers is going to solve the problem of social advantage breeding social advantage. […] The counterintuitive solution might be creating the space for organic solutions, rather than seeking a proactive social-capital agenda” (Brown, 2019). Moving on and increasing in scale, one strong and predominant suggestion for working towards improved and strengthened social relations among the residents of the same neighbourhood is the creation and enforcement of neighbourhood organizations that are politically involved in shaping said neighbourhood, like committees or activist groups. Though civic involvement in such matters is definitely a plus, there is a tangible and concerning downside to this proposal: in the case you do not share similar opinions, one of the groups is alienated, and in the end, there is more animosity than before. “What's needed is an opening up of pre-political space — to focus on good (rather than just proactive) governance, to empower the less-advantaged in local communities now dominated by the well-connected and well-off, and to allow space for unions, fraternal organizations, and churches to prove themselves necessary” (Brown, 2019). Recently, slowly but surely, there have been positive efforts in the right direction to include the children in neighbourhood planning by creating youth committees where they can voice their opinions, despite not being able to vote. 204

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This kind of early engagement is an example of a positive step in the right direction as it encourages feelings of belonging and connection to their neighbourhood in individuals since they are very young. However, unfortunately, it does not solve the existing problems. And why is that? If solutions are so faulty, should we even bother to try? The answer to that is ‘YES’ in capital letters. Without strong communities, people miss out on the opportunities to live in safer households, streets, and neighbourhoods, they miss out on support, and they miss out on belonging to a place and having their voice heard. The analysis of the cases in this publication does not have pessimistic undertones, rather it aims to shed light on the fact that the one-size-fits-all approach is doomed to fail. Each of the scales discussed above cannot function in a void, as well as it cannot function without linking with the others. Moreover, there is no one definition of success, it is as subjective as the concept of belonging. Neighborliness has manifested in different political, social and economic conditions and in different urban-rural settings and densities. It’s impossible to shelter all those opinions under one umbrella. “Ultimately, social capital is an essential but not unalloyed good, one that needs to be pursued […] not with the imaginary, abstract individual but with the personalities of human beings as they are actually given to us in association.’ If we seek an antidote to identity politics, to toxic exclusionism, to excessive tribalism, we must make intermediary associations necessary again” (Brown, 2019). 205

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TOGETHER ALONE

Julian Beqiri Architect, urbanist and independent researcher. He holds a master’s degree in Architecture from Polytechnic University of Tirana and a master’s degree in Urbanism from TU Delft, Netherlands. For four years he worked as an architect at OMA (Office for Metropolitan Architecture) in Rotterdam, until 2020 when he joined the Architecture Department of Epoka University, Albania, as a lecturer. He leads the collective DISPACED (Dialectics of Space Design) which investigates the realm of design through the lenses of philosophical thinking. His architectural writing concerns the intersection where these fields meet and overlap.

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To avoid the sensitive issue of how collectivism relates to modern democracy we need to explore the rules and negotiations for bringing together groups that are composed of diverse and sometimes opposing interests. The city itself consists of a greater model of a collective project and the major problems that we face today can only be solved collectively (Hehl, 2013). This livelihood which is common to all and which Bruno Latour (2004) calls the “parliament of things” will face the challenge of bringing facts and values together by asking one basic question – “How can we live together?” Collectivism revised “The housing question can only be solved when society has been sufficiently transformed” (Engels, 1872 English translation 1995). “How can contradictory urban dwellers live together and produce a world that is common to them?” This is a question that Bruno Latour put forward in Politics of Nature: Bring the Science into Democracy (2004). To “collectivize”, he continues, means to continuously establish practices that “collect” different lifestyles, social manifestations, and beliefs. But, with a minimum of private ownership and a maximum of planned economy the Albanian communist system carried collectivism to its furthest extreme: Our kind of collectivism was more of an imposed structure which was also clearly reflected in the built environment. So, the history of condominium housing in Albania is the history of the typical middle class families which did not differ much in terms of ways of living. Therefore, the future of shared 207

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living in a democratic society will come differently and most likely revised. However, there is a lack of social clarity when addressing the notion of a community as an area located between the public and the private sphere. The authoritarian regimes make it difficult for people to change jobs and places, and interactions within small communities remain solid and intact. But, with the changing of political systems the embracing of a more liberal society sacrifices collectivism in the first place. In order to make collective living a reality we need to make sure that the physical structure and social vision corresponds and in the case of Albania this new equilibrium has to strictly avoid the enforcing of a collective identity. Matter of course, certain architectural schemes might still be functional, but acknowledging the fact that there is a vast range of desires would allow us to better adjust the built environment. That means that collectivization in housing should no longer aim at meeting the needs of the average person/family but instead make room for flexibility so everyone can adjust his living spaces in accordance with his wishes. Again this would unite people but this time in diversity. The multi-layered system of cities provides an ideal context for collective living. In the current models of shared living we can define sharing based on economic, political and social intentions but, nevertheless, all of them aim for a new vision of social reform. Housing is becoming more communicative, networked and diverse, and also it is better expressing the lifestyles’ transformations. An increasing level of prosperity has had a direct impact on the average 208

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Lange Eng Cohousing Community Dorte Mandrup Studio, Denmark Photo by Stamers Kontor

Aerial view, Lange Eng Cohousing Dorte Mandrup Studio, Denmark. Source: dortemandrup.dk

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amount of available living space per person. So countries like Germany and Denmark have the highest level with 47 m2 and 52 m2 respectively, and while the pluralization of ways of living is changing, the demand for diverse living spaces is also increasing. Responding to this, new models of co-living have emerged and one of the most successful ones is the Bofællesskabet Lange Eng in Copenhagen designed by Dorte Mandrup. This self-organized and self-operated complex consists of 54 condominium units that house over 200 residents and enclose the green courtyard as a perimeter block, with communal garden, fruit trees, playgrounds and seating areas. Each individual apartment is directly connected to the courtyard. A two-story community house is located at one corner of the perimeter block, with a communal kitchen and large dining room for around 100 people (A History of Collective Living: Forms of Shared Housing, 2019). As co-living almost goes hand in hand with co-working there are various workshops, along with a playroom for children, small library, and cinema and lounge area. According to Dietmar Eberle (2019) the relevance of collective living in the minds of a younger generation today is, on the one hand, an expression of a lack of sustainable access to living space on economic ground and, on the other hand, to understand and redefine oneself in a different way on the basis of experience. In most of the cases it is the residents themselves who classify the degree of publicness and new values such as participation, independence and solidarity prevail. Some types of shared living attract a distinctive group of community-minded people, 210

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Lange Eng Cohousing Community Dorte Mandrup Studio, Denmark Photo by Stamers Kontor

Coop Housing at River Spreefeld Carpaneto Architekten + Fatkoehl Architekten + BARarchitekten Photo by Ute Zscharnt

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who might act as catalysts for neighbourhood networks and activities. In this respect, different forms of shared living can make room for a variety of co-housing, and multi-generational housing has proven to be successful. As the baby boomer generation ages, chronic loneliness grows and according to Ingrid Beckner (2019) older people often remain in dwellings that they can no longer fully occupy. After children move out, or following a divorce, smaller yet more expensive apartments are unaffordable on an old-age pension. Multi-generational housing seems likely to grow in popularity but it will have to come in combination with the kind of architecture that is particularly appealing to the younger people. According to Kathleen Scanlon (2019), coliving schemes bring a youthful clientele that can balance neighbourhood demographics and boost demand for local businesses and services. A very successful example of cluster apartment concept is Coop Housing at River Spreefeld in Berlin designed by BARchitecten, Fatkoehl Architekten and Silvia Carpaneto Architekten. It consists of 64 residential units situated across three seven-story buildings and about half of the dwellings are conventional one-to five-room apartments. The remaining areas contain a variety of different rooms that are used collectively. What is new in the models of shared housing is the presence of rooms with no designated purpose (flex rooms) which can be appropriated by individuals temporarily or for a longer period of time.

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Being contextual – Being distinct: Commonality versus invasive publicness “Man can transform himself by transforming the world and can structure himself by constructing structures; and these structures are his own, for they are not eternally predestined either from within or from without” (Piaget, 1971). While the communist regime took the concept of collectivism to the furthest extreme resulting in the enforcement of a collective identity, it gradually transformed our cities’ urban forms into political bodies. The centrally planned built environment aimed for an obliteration of patterns across class, age, or gender, but on the contrary, it installed mass standardization and significantly restricted individual freedom. But, today, liberating architecture from politics requires the liberation of the society in the first place. As Adam Curtis puts it (2002) we have entered the century of the self, so the architecture of living spaces does not see people as demographic groups of age, incomes, social strata, but instead attempts to address their underlying individuality and motivation as well. Therefore, it appears impossible to disentangle or separate large urban transformations from metamorphosis in our everyday livelihoods. However, adopting spatial structure from the traditional houses can preserve local cultures and have an economic impact as well. This is the case of an already established culture of landscape design linked to the Albanian lifestyle and neighbourhood values: the kitchen garden. This flexible design addressing the issue of inner courtyards has always aimed at making room for a better expression of local identities. It 213

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is the kind of landscape pattern which not only expresses people’s individuality but also works as the central feature of an ornamental, all-season landscape. This ever-changing design dominated by self-expressiveness could easily absorb collective efforts on different scales and between different social strata. As Gudrun Sack notes (2016) “living is a social expression; social cooperation and cooperation is expressed through living”, the moving to a market economy made architecture a way of expression increasingly communicating people’s individuality. This brought informality in architecture and as we try to examine the changing attitudes towards individual expression, we see architecture more and more embracing it. “If people mattered,” Manuel Castells argues (1998), “the informal economy would be treated as the real economy” considering the number of people it involves. But it is this informal and undefined design which adds to the fabric of the neighbourhood thus making our culture unique. We built a collective knowledge and remaining contextual is what makes us recognizable. In this respect, the courtyard would serve as a conjunction of many separate gardens while keeping people involved in the gardening process. This would make the urban form a reflection and a manifestation of our collective existence and the courtyard a canvas of different plantation patterns. As we analyze the revitalization of busy urbanities it is worth mentioning the case of São Paulo, Brazil where kitchen gardens in urbanized areas have become real products of the collective effort. The organization Cidade sem Fome (Cities without Hunger) (2004) in São Paulo transforms unused 214

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land into community gardens by introducing agriculture to a highly urbanized environment.

“Cidades Sem Fome” mission towards the eradication of poverty and unemployment. Photo: Divulgação

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Public Art Rediscovered “Architecture is often intended to be primarily functional and not communicative, but, nonetheless, it functions as a form of mass communication” (Eco, 1973). In her book The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone (2016) Olivia Laing tries to give answers to questions linked to city loneliness and technological implications in uniting or separating people. As she gives her own experience in exploring New York City by way of art, from Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks to Andy Warhol’s Time Capsules, Laing conducts an electric, dazzling investigation into what it means to be alone, illuminating not only the causes of loneliness but also how it might be resisted and redeemed (Laing, 2016). Likewise, experience has shown that actively engaged civic society prepares the conditions for any political expression or other demonstrations of inner values. As those values are generally showcased through public art, they can significantly contribute to the shaping of contemporary urban identities. In this respect, the domestic art would assist in the creation of distinctive neighbourhoods particularly through the creating a sense of cohesiveness and expression of identity. When we think about the rediscovery of public art we have to consider the fact that it will be part of people’s daily activity and will have the potential to contribute and be just as vital as other parts of the built environment. A very successful example in this regard is the initiatives being realized through the Calgary Public Art Program’s Watershed+. Fire Hydrant Drinking Fountains by “Sans façon” blurs public art with public function providing 216

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safe and free drinking water in a playful and unexpected way. This design is an exploration of the role of public fountains as social spaces, creating different forms of gathering intriguing and inviting to celebrate something we often take for granted, drinking water (Charles Blanc, Tristan Surtees, 2013).

Fire Hydrant Drinking Fountains, Artist: Sans façon with City of Calgary, Canada. Source: Sans Façon

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PRIVATE COMMONS

Artan Fuga Prof. Dr. Artan Fuga is the author and translator of many books in Albanian and French, in the fields of philosophy, sociology and communication, including “The fall of the city”, “The wheel of torment”, “The monk”, “The origin of power, property and wealth”, etc. Member of the Academy of Sciences of the Republic of Albania, he has headed the scientific sector of Philosophy and Sociology, the department of History of Philosophy and later of Philosophy and Sociology at the University of Tirana. From 1998 - 2003 he was a lecturer at the Department of Sociology of the University of Paris - X - Nanterre in France.

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When I first heard about the idea of reconceptualizing the common spaces in apartment buildings, at first, I was sort of shocked! Architects of a new generation challenged exactly one hotspot that post-communist countries regard as a particularly unspeakable taboo: private space. I thought to myself: How could it be possible that in a building with many separate apartments, synonymous with private spaces, to also create a common social space? However, new emancipating ideas are always shocking at first. Knowing this very well in principle, the shock pushed me to think several times over the proposal that could actually give new meaning to this habitat. The project seemed a bit utopian to me. The Albanian of the post-communist period has become somewhat selfish. This is only natural, if you consider our history of communist urban development where living spaces in 99% of cases were not private property. The residents could only dream of their apartments being their own. They didn’t value them as a collective good. As soon as the communist regime fell, a relatively strange new urban culture began. A resident would do everything to have a clean, well furnished, comfortable apartment, but would leave behind the common space starting from the doorstep and continuing to the stairs, streets, and further to the urban environment aggravated from debris, air pollution, dirt. The concept of integrating into apartment buildings common social spaces seemed to me more like a whim of playing with volumes, a provocation of the explosive fantasy of the architect who wants to break the concep219

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tual routine of architectural design, perhaps even an anti-conformist attack against the individualism of rampant post-communism, which is still practically premature. But in the meantime, I was thinking that architecture, like philosophy, art, literature and music, plays its own emancipatory role, so - why not try new forms of imagining the relationship between private spaces and social spaces in collective apartment buildings? Why not have places designed with transparent aesthetics where residents communicate with each other, exchange conversations, benefit from a common space where micro-local urban opinion is built, organize their evenings, their holidays and everything that would save them from urban loneliness? Meanwhile the unimaginable happened. For months during the Covid-19 pandemic I have recalled exactly how practical, how real, how useful, besides provocative, emancipatory and avant-garde this idea is. People have been isolated for months. And above all, the common spaces such as squares, theaters, meeting rooms in institutions became dangerous because of infection risk. I realized that between the private space inside the apartment and the social space of large dimensions such as streets, squares, clubs, urban cafes, there was exactly one common intermediate space missing. This intermediate space would be as private, i.e. inside the "building", as it would be public, i.e. open to its inhabitants. There, people would know each other as neighbours, their sanitary condition would be more protected from infections, and that would be the space where people would find each-other again in the circumstances of a pandemic. 220

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However, it no longer seems to me that this would be a space only for unusual occurrences like the anti-atomic bunkers would be in the conditions of a nuclear war. Not at all. It is known that the big city separated the individual and his family from the primary social integration groups. The village's opinion faded, the patriarchal family disintegrated, hundreds of thousands of people fled the rural residential areas where they lived under the control of local opinion, towards the big metropolises. Man went out into the big society, but in the meantime, along with the liberation from groups of a somewhat conservative morality, he also lost his collective identity. Once part of the industrial-era labor collectives, what will happen with it when post-industrialization strongly disintegrates the labor collective for the broad urban masses? Loneliness and individualization make one weak and disorganized, in the face of mass culture, propaganda, and various manipulations. Anomie and propagandistic manipulation go together. A common space near the private dwelling would create the possibility of establishing social physical connections over short distances. In dozens of families, in groups of hundreds of people who would have the opportunity to exchange opinions with each other, the individual would find strong social support. In this common space, there would be an environment of acquaintance, instead of what there is today, where no one knows their neighbour for more than a superficial greeting. The Covid-19 pandemic brought us a little back to the 221

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craftsmanship era, when, for instance, during the Middle Ages or the period of Humanism, people overlapped in the same physical space their apartment, their workplace, atelier, and the space of their social connections with others. Working from the internet, teleworking, seems to have repeated the past, but in the circumstances of digital information and communication technologies. People started working inside their apartments, even from their bedrooms alone. Virtually, co-workers, students, collaborators, subordinates, and supervisors have entered these bedrooms. This time, as a mixture between the virtual and the material, the habitat, the atelier, and the socializing space were superimposed on each other. Why not think that in the world of decades from now such an overlap could also occur between private and social spaces within collective residential buildings. Aren't elevators, bicycle parking spaces, terraces, stairs, hallways, common parks around the apartment buildings already doing that? The future remains open. The private habitat has begun to show that its isolated walls have begun to explode. Once upon a time in the traditional Tirana of artisanal and Islamic culture, the garden walls or fences of every adobe house were open. You could go from garden to garden without going out on the street at all. You could go around the city without having to get out on the road. Thus, this idea anticipates a future society, by having strong roots in tradition. Hence, we are not dealing with an anthropological organization of spaces never tried before. Today too, family events are organized more and more in public places near residential neighbourhoods, even sensitive events such as 222

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funeral ceremonies, weddings, birthdays. A unique example in Albania where in important cities almost everyone on the ground floor has a pharmacy, cafeteria, shop, hair salon, lawyer’s office, etc., as private businesses. Why not have that social space, as functional as it would be, inside the condominiums, where it could become a norm and standard of built space, like the underground parking lots, stairs, landings, halls …

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PAVILION

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The Albanian pavilion at the 17th International Architecture Exhibition - La Biennale di Venezia, attempts to bring to attention what or who might lie beyond our apartment’s walls. It is an invitation to cross these barriers and rediscover a connection that fulfils our need to belong and makes a place out of our address, transcending the purpose of our buildings, neighbourhoods and even our cities. The pavilion evokes a once thriving socializing space – the living room / guest room (dhoma e pritjes), as a place of sharing that was lost between the walls of new apartments – the essence of open homes. Three such neighbouring apartments, besides sharing their walls, share a space that can only come to life if the visitors/neighbours are willing to make the discovery. The interiors of the apartments become the outside of the pavilion. The visitors recognize at first glance they are stepping into a familiar home setting. Abstracted, monochrome, furniture is flattened on penetrable walls. The furniture is inspired by the interiors of several films which depicted typical Albanian apartments. They feature objects that were usually shared with neighbours when they would need, or wish to: a telephone, a television, a refrigerator. The walls of the apartments are meant to be crossed through discreet ‘portals’ that lead to an imaginary room in-between the walls. The visitors / neighbours coming from the different apartments, reach the core of the expe225

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rience – the evoked room, where they witness neighbourliness first hand. Here, in our home, the visitor is surrounded by neighbours being neighbours. Short sequences from three different Albanian films are projected on three of the walls of this room: “In our home” (Në shtëpinë tonë) (1979), by Dhimitër Anagnosti, “Taulant wants a sister” (Taulanti kërkon një motër) (1984), by Xhanfise Keko, and “Even so” (Edhe kështu, edhe ashtu) (1989), by Bujar Kapexhiu. In these films the neighbours play important roles and their interactions are virtually set in every space of the neighbourhood or building, be it personal or shared. For a total of 4 minutes and 30 seconds, the visitors are immersed in colourful neighbourly ‘action’ that contrasts the exterior of the pavilion. They watch neighbours share the streets and open spaces of their neighbourhood, the stairs and hallways of the buildings; knocking on and opening their doors to welcome each-other in their apartments’ entryways, living rooms, kitchens and even bedrooms; sharing their telephones, having coffee and lunch; children playing, napping and growing together; helping and confiding in each-other… simply living together. A fourth mirror wall turns this room into more than an immersive ‘cinema’ - it becomes a reflective space that alludes to an important question: what has become of us, and our homes? 226

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Apartments

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Film triptychs

“Even so”

“In our home”

“Taulant wants a sister”

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How will we live together

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How will we know our neighbours ? 245

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Dare to cross your walls

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Embrace the positive in co-

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coalesce//coaut //coexist//cofou cohousing//com mmon//commu munity//comple sensus//conflue ation//collective cooperation//co 248

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thor//cocreate und//cohesion// mbination//counication//comementary//conence//collabore//co-living// o-ownership//... 249

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Design matters !

good, peoplefriendly design CAN invite interaction 250

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Don’t buy only square meters ! demand quality both in the private AND shared spaces 251

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Publication

Pavilion

Texts Arba Bekteshi Artan Fuga Blendi Salaj Egin Zeka Erion Kristo Fiona Mali Irola Andoni Julian Bejko Julian Beqiri Katie Beck Malvina Ferra Rudina Breçani

Curators Fiona Mali Irola Andoni Malvina Ferra Rudina Breçani

Editors Fiona Mali Irola Andoni Malvina Ferra Rudina Breçani

Commissioner Elva Margariti Minister of Culture Video production & editing Kube Studios Besjon Tanuzi Arnold Bezhani Anxhela Ferra Mikel Tanini Exhibition set-up Luigi D’Oro Studio & Arguzia

Assistants in graphic design Sindi Balla Ejona Karkini Gledisa Golikja

Lighting designer Cosimo Masone

PR & Communication Oerd Bej

Institutional coordination Doris Alimerko (MoC) Sonila Kora (MoC) Alma Mile (MoC) Greta Bresha (MoT)

Printed by Graphic-line 01

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Graphic executive Felice Simeone

With the collaboration of:

Special thanks to:

National Film Archive of Albania (AQSHF)

Ador Hoxha Agata Kowalska Bujar Kapexhiu Dhimitër Anagnosti Erion Ndreçka Ina Brata Jona Osmani Jurtin Hajro Roza Anagnosti Thomas Logoreci

National Center of Cinematography (QKK)

Audio-Visual Authors Protection Forum (FMAA)

Everyone who shared their personal stories and photos with the Albanian Pavilion

© 2021 Ministry of Culture of Albania; Fiona Mali, Irola Andoni, Malvina Ferra, Rudina Breçani This publication was realized through the generous support of the Municipality of Tirana. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without permission. Copyright of all images are owned by the artists, reproduced with the kind permission of the artists and/or their representatives. All the images/drawings with unspecified sources are a product of the authors. 263

“In our home” brings to attention what or who might lie beyond our apartment’s walls. The Albanian Pavilion is an invitation to cross these barriers and rediscover a connection that fulfils our need to belong and makes a place out of our address, transcending the purpose of our buildings, neighbourhoods and even our cities. This project digs into the past to address the future: Why knowing our neighbours is not the default anymore? Why don’t we live in open homes? What is the role of architecture in fostering neighbourliness? Through contributions of experts in urban planning, architectural design, sociology, urban anthropology, philosophy and journalism, it attempts to answer these questions in an effort to view architecture as an integral cog in encouraging togetherness for neighbours.