“The Grass is Greener Where You Water It”: How London’s Green Spaces Enshrine Social Inequalities

Ruman Kallar [LinkedIn]

The COVID-19 pandemic brought the importance of urban green space to our physical and mental wellbeing into sharp focus. Yet, as access to high-quality green space becomes increasingly limited to those who can afford it, we must also understand urban green space as a rich site of social production and contestation. This essay explores the topic of urban green space through the lens of deprivation, gentrification, and segregation- tracing patterns in London’s green spaces from Kensington to Peckham. This essay will consider the role of urban green space in displacing economically vulnerable Londoners through a process of “green gentrification,” where green space is wielded instrumentally for property gains. Evaluating the self-segregating rhythms of park usage flows, this essay will examine how social inequalities are reflected in the design and function of London’s public parks. It will therefore be argued that disparate access to high-quality green space reflects and reproduces the city’s social inequalities, mapped onto the landscape by capitalistic urban planning.

Urban green spaces support the health and wellbeing of city-dwellers by filtering air and water-borne toxins, facilitating allergen-immuno responses, and providing natural sceneries and recreational spaces that reduce the psychological impact of urban living (Kimpton et al. 2016: 304). The term ‘urban green space’ refers to places within cities that foster plant life, such as parks, greens, forests, communal gardens and sporting fields. This essay will focus primarily on London’s public parks as the most used form of green space, with reference to communal allotments and residential gardens as additional case studies. I will argue that London’s green spaces reflect and reproduce the city’s social inequalities, as access to high-quality green space is unequally distributed in favour of white, wealthy communities (Wolch et al. 2014). To illustrate this point, I will address three primary objectives in relation to London’s green spaces: deprivation, gentrification and segregation. I will begin by evaluating inequalities in access to green spaces across social groups, caused by a lack of investment into areas with higher levels of social deprivation. I will then assess the role of green spaces in displacing economically vulnerable Londoners, exacerbating social inequalities through a process of “green gentrification" (Dooling 2009: 630). Finally, I will consider how social inequalities are reflected in the design and function of public parks, upheld by park users who self-segregate according to class and ethnoracial divisions.

Green space scholarship has seen a resurgence over the COVID-19 pandemic, when outdoor spaces offered valuable respite from social isolation and prolonged confinement during lockdowns (Low 2020). An experimental documentary film entitled “Breathing Space,” explored the tensions that arose between staff in East London’s Victoria Park who were tasked with enforcing lockdown regulations, and visitors who were eager to use the space. One visitor remarked that the park offered “a space to breathe, to bring breath into the body... to nourish the body in some way” (Wilson and Raczynski 2021). Urban green spaces thereby constitute rich sites of social production and contestation, though they remain under-theorised within anthropological study (Tilley et al. 2017: 2). Exceptions include Low et al.'s (2005) study of public parks in the United States, and Tilley’s (2019) ethnography of West London’s Holland Park. Both studies maintain that hegemonic white middle-class values are reflected in high-quality parks. In this essay, I will combine anthropological scholarship with data from public health studies, urban studies and environmental criminology, to illustrate how social inequalities are reflected and reproduced by disparate access to urban green space (Kimpton et al. 2016) (Wolch et al. 2014). I will also draw upon social and political theory to explain this data, demonstrating how spatial distribution in urban landscapes reflects austere socioeconomic policy (Koch 2018). 

Parks and Deprivation

In a book entitled, ‘London is a forest,’ Wood (2019: 1) argues that access to urban green space “makes the city liveable, meaning that it is both a pleasant place to live and work.” An article listing the “best” parks in London names the stately and impressive: Hyde Park, Green Park, St. James’ Park, Holland Park, Richmond Park, Greenwich Park, Regents’ Park and Hampstead Heath (Barnaby 2021). Whilst this is not an exhaustive list, it illustrates the concentration of high-quality parks in affluent neighbourhoods (London Sustainable Development Commission 2020). This further creates ethnoracial inequalities in access to green space, as ethnic minority populations tend to be concentrated in poorer wards of cities as a by-product of class segregation (Greenhalgh et al. 1995: 19). Identifying a link between income inequality, access to green space and life expectancy in urban environments, Mitchell et al. (2018: 12) note that people who are less exposed to green environments are “less protected from income deprivation related health inequality.” Likewise, a study of deprived urban neighbourhoods in Scotland found that greater access to green space led to lower levels of perceived stress, particularly for women (Roe et al. 2013). Beyond the utilitarian contribution of urban green spaces to public health, parks also represent “a lifeline to another kind of world,” through their therapeutic, natural materiality (Greenhalgh et al. 1995: 13). Thus, uneven access to well-provisioned green space contributes to disparities in the quality of life available to people of various backgrounds.

Access to residential green space is similarly stamped by class and ethnoracial bias, highlighted by the London Sustainable Development Commission’s finding that Black people in England are four times less likely than white people to have outdoor space at home (LSDC 2020). Further still, whilst owner-occupied homes are “more likely to be detached or semi-detached houses,” social housing is mainly comprised of flats, rarely having access to residential gardens (Greater London Authority 2019: 116). The “no ball games” signs that litter social housing estates demonstrate how residents are restricted from making use of local green space, and are subjected to disciplinary microaggressions that alienate them from their homes (Koch 2018: 1). To accommodate increasing demand for housing in London and optimise profit generation, many properties initially designed as houses have been portioned into flats, further reducing the number of homes with gardens. Gardens in split-property rentals can become unpleasant and obsolete spaces when tenants are restricted from maintaining them. Private gardens have thereby become a valuable commodity reserved for those who can afford them, with 21% of London’s homes having no access to outdoor space (Ibid I). According to Greenhalgh et al.’s study (1995: 14), whilst many park users do have access to private residential gardens, they choose to visit public parks as the physical distance from home lends to the feelings of relaxation and detachment from the stresses of everyday life. Whilst public parks are important to everyone in this regard, they are especially essential in environments such as these, where high-quality public green space provision is vital but remains scarce.

Furthermore, people may be disinclined to visit parks in areas with widespread social deprivation due to fear of crime and antisocial behaviour (Forestresearch.gov.uk 2021). This constitutes a critical aspect of study in environmental criminology, where scholars have suggested that “green space can function as a social hole,” because they “include hidden areas that create opportunities for public nuisance or crimes such as drug use, or more violent offences such as robbery, assault or rape” (Kimpton et al. 2016: 304). However, it is widely held across the literature that such generalisations should be avoided, as green space crime is sensitive to the specific structure of the space, its location, and its social context (Ibid I: 325). For example, whilst parks in poorer areas may be more susceptible to vandalism, litter and fly-tipping, this may reflect the relationship that local users have with the area, indicating a “loss of ownership and local loyalty” due to a lack of maintenance and investment (Greenhalgh et al. 1995: 14). Thus, green space crime and fear of crime can be “designed out” through provision of adequate lighting and amenities such as cafes, shelters, benches and sports courts, inviting diverse visitors and facilitating a social environment as “busier parks are perceived to be safer parks” (Ibid I: 68). Busy urban parks also increase place attachment and guardianship, promoting social cohesion and preventing crime (Peters et al 2010: 93). The maintenance and provision of amenities for local public parks could therefore produce safer environments and address social inequities in deprived neighbourhoods, if funding can be secured (Berman et al. 2019: 414).  

Inconsistent and reduced funding to London’s green spaces mirror “the demographic and socioeconomic makeup of a borough” (London Green Spaces Commission 2019: 8). According to the London Green Spaces Commission, funding discrepancies can be attributed to the fact that green spaces are managed by individual boroughs, raising income through events, grants, or ad hoc donations from neighbourhood “friends” who preside over park management on a voluntary basis (2019: 6). This is reified by Tilley’s ethnography of Holland Park in Kensington and Chelsea, London’s wealthiest borough, describing the park’s collective of Friends as highly involved figures (2019: 374). The LGSC also reports that green space heterogeneity makes it difficult to secure funding based on a consistent purpose or service that they provide (2019:8).  Resultantly, urban green spaces remain relatively low on the political agenda, as the benefits are difficult to quantify. The LGSC proposes that reframing urban green spaces as “natural capital” may offer a solution, evidencing the economic contribution of green space services valued at £5 billion per year to secure funding (Ibid I: 17). Other options include channelling funding from health and education services into green spaces by stressing their interrelation, and commercialising green spaces as sites for events to generate additional income (Ibid II). Milton critiques that the natural beauty and emotional resonance of green spaces should constitute sufficient criteria to elicit state protection, but instead “discourses of environmental protection have to be framed in terms of a rationalist logic of cost-benefit analysis” to be taken seriously (2002: 139 cited in Tilley 2019: 12). Whilst I agree with this notion, I would add that the duty to democratise access to green space benefits should also be sufficient to secure state investment, though in this current climate of austerity, it is not. Importantly, Greenhalgh et al. (1995: 4) raise that “the decline of urban parks cannot be reversed by money alone,” as the ways in which parks are funded and managed need to be modernised to suit the needs of all communities, necessitating a radical rethinking of political conservatism towards social wellbeing altogether.

Parks and Gentrification

Whilst I have highlighted some of the ways in which green spaces can be improved to benefit low-income city dwellers, there is a delicate balance to be struck here. Increasing access to high-quality green space is likely to displace economically vulnerable residents through “green gentrification”- the use of environmental planning for property gains that exacerbate socioeconomic inequalities whilst “espousing an environmental ethic” (Dooling 2009: 630). An example of this can be seen in the “village moniker” employed by several of London’s estate regeneration schemes, appealing to naturalist images of rural English settlements (Woodcraft et al. 2019: 106-114). The “urban village” is depicted “as an antidote to the anonymity, dynamism and instability of urban dwelling,” best suited to middle-class professionals moving into the city from rural areas (Ibid I: 113). Several social housing estates have been demolished to accommodate this mode of regeneration, including the Ferrier estate in Greenwich, now known as “Kidbrooke village, a safe, sustainable modern community” (Kidbrooke regeneration 2018 cited in Preston 2016). Preston argues that these regeneration schemes are legitimised by disparaging rhetoric regarding the estates they are set to replace (2016). Due in part to its brutalist design as a concrete set of towers, the Ferrier was perceived to be so crime-ridden that it was termed, “Britain’s hardest estate” by the media (Ibid II). In an analysis of Kidbrooke Village’s promotional films, Preston highlights how green space is wielded for economic incentives; “while the Ferrier was deemed isolated from surrounding areas and lacking in green amenities,” Kidbrooke village is marketed as being in an ideal location, right beside Sutcliffe Park, and with ‘Blackheath literally one station away” (Ibid III). The implementation of a new park was also central to creating a renewed sense of place and visual differentiation between the Ferrier estate and Kidbrooke Village (Ibid IV). This demonstrates the commodification of green space as an asset for profit generation, “in the city’s primary characteristic as a vessel for capital investment” (Ibid V).

The insincerity of the environmental ethic that precludes green gentrification is made explicit by the simultaneous destruction of green space in areas with widespread deprivation to make way for new developments. Designed to accommodate the 2012 Olympic Games, East London’s Olympic Park promised to “create neighbourhoods with more community, a new version of the ‘good life,’” in the shift towards the “urban village” development model (Woodcraft et al. 2019: 108). Despite campaigning from local users, the 100-year-old Manor Gardens allotments were bulldozed to accommodate this regeneration, installing a temporary walkway in the allotments’ place (Taylor 2012). The allotments provided an important location for community cohesion and sustainable food production, with diverse intergenerational users enjoying the restorative benefits of gardening (Ibid I). Buckingham posits that allotments offer a “contemporary site for reworking gender roles,” with increasing numbers of women participating in a traditionally male practice (2005: 178). For South Asian, low-income women- constituting a significant demographic in Tower Hamlets where Manor Gardens once stood- allotments provide an important site for socialisation, gardening collectively to reduce the isolation of urban living (Ibid I). This directly contradicts the Olympic Park’s mission statement to produce “sustainable communities,” as the development disrupted those that already existed. Allotments are a scarce resource in high demand across London, demonstrated by ten-year waiting lists for access to Bermondsey’s allotments (Southwark Council 2021). This complicates the notion of “green gentrification,” as green spaces are simultaneously added and subtracted to generate capital. Ultimately, low-income communities are consistently the first to have their access to green space revoked.

This notion is reified by the case of Jocelyn Park- colloquially referred to as “Peckham Green,” which was recently demolished to make way for housing developments despite opposition from residents. Campaigners highlighted contradictions in the council’s claim that the park had to be built over to tackle the borough’s housing crisis, as neighbouring estates are being demolished. Dwindling the supply of social housing whilst building a surplus of luxury apartments that constitute 89% of new builds in the city, “London is building the wrong housing to resolve the crisis” (Action on Empty Homes, 2021). Jocelyn Park constituted an important recreational area for residents, whose grievances were posted on Twitter by the campaign account, “Peckham Green Save It.” One pertinent clip showed two elderly women from a nearby residential home, stating that with the removal of the green, “now we have nothing” (@Peckham_Green 2021). Relating back to themes of deprivation, local green space is particularly important to elderly and disabled people who cannot travel the distance to visit parks in more affluent areas. The demolition of Peckham Green provides further evidence of a lack of protection afforded to green space in areas with widespread deprivation, despite being the places where green space is most indispensable. Where access to green space reflects neighbourhood class composition, contestation over green space provision reiterates the political disenfranchisement of the working-class.

Parks and Segregation

Self-segregation occurs within parks because groups from various demographics experience and interact with green spaces differently. In an ethnography of Prospect Park in Brooklyn, New York, Low et al. (2005: 40-65) note that the differences in participation between white people and people of colour is reflective of socioeconomic hardship, as working-class people tend to have less recreational time due to longer working hours. Relating back to housing deprivation, many park users explained the appeal of the park in relation to the confinement of their homes, providing relief from cramped apartment living (Ibid I: 58). Whilst some activities are common among all users, such as exercise or using the playground, picnics and cookouts are predominantly hosted by people of colour, who are more likely to visit in groups and stay within the same section of the park during each visit (Ibid II: 57). Comparatively, white users are more likely to describe the purpose of their park visits as being for “personal communion with nature” (Ibid III: 65). These categories are not fixed but reflect general patterns of use, illustrating how green space can “become identified with one or another group, some defined by ethnicity and others by activity” (Ibid IV). In relation to gentrification, an elderly Black man interviewed by Low et al. (Ibid V: 60) noted that the maintenance of the park reflected the presence of white people in the area, “when minorities move in, they let things fall apart.” Some people of colour expressed that they were disinclined to visit the park as “there are too many restrictions on activity and behaviour” conforming to middle-class norms, and multiple Black male interlocutors expressed that they felt unwelcome in the park, as white people regarded them with fear and hostility when they visited (Ibid VI: 62). Thus, differential experiences of green space interaction can reaffirm divisions between groups of people.

Shifting our focus back to London, high-quality green spaces become status symbols for residents in areas that can afford them, constituting an exclusive basis for community formation. For example, Tilley argues that people move to Kensington and Chelsea to be near Holland Park, an immaculate, 54-acre green landscape including lawns, trees and flower beds, statues, the infamous Japanese Kyoto and Fukushima Gardens, the Dutch Garden, wildlife (including peacocks), a restaurant and cafe, and even an opera pavilion (Ibid I: 374). Beyond the opportunities for expansive leisure offered by the park’s amenities, proximity to Holland park indicates the social status of residents who can afford immediate access to such an elevated green space (Ibid II: 354-363). Tilley identifies a “self-segregating rhythm” in park usage flows, as residents refrain from visiting the park during weekends, when the number of visitors from outside of the borough increases (Ibid III: 374). The park becomes a contested space where local users feel entitled to priority access, perceiving non-local others as intruders (Ibid IV). Low et al. (2005: 23) contextualise this by arguing that landscape parks are “built to middle-class standards” of politeness, whilst working-class people have historically been directed towards “vernacular recreational parks,” thought to be better suited for their “loud and rowdy behaviour.” Linking back to the affiliation between crime and parks in poorer areas, these class-affirming stereotypes have persevered over time, allocating well-provisioned green spaces to affluent white Londoners.

This understanding of green spaces as class markers is further evidenced by the contrasting condition of Kensington Memorial Park (KMP), a smaller park situated 1.3 miles north of Holland Park, nearby the Lancaster West Estate where the remains of Grenfell Tower still stand. According to Tilley’s description, the two parks are “as different as chalk from cheese,” indicated by the notable absence of amenities in KMP (2019: 376). Tilley describes elements of the park as being prone to anti-social behaviour, its “relative poverty reflecting the majority of residents who live in the area” (Ibid I). These residents constitute some of the weekend visitors to Holland Park, contemptuously avoided by wealthy, weekday regulars. Tilley acquaints the higher levels of crime in KMP with the lack of consistent policing in the area, whilst the feeling of safety in Holland Park is “undoubtedly because of the permanent presence of the police in the park” (Ibid II: 385).  It is significant here to recognise the link between Holland Park’s status as an “essentially white park,” and local visitors’ preference for police presence, as well as the equation of police presence with safety (Ibid III: 54). Greenhalgh et al. (1995: 4) note that in order to create an inclusive environment that maintains the park’s status as a “realm of urban freedom,” we should focus on improving park management and amenities, rather than increasing surveillance. Whilst police are called upon occasionally to address rare cases of vandalism, drug abuse or homelessness around Holland Park, residents believe that crime rates are low because “those kinds of people don’t live around here” (Tilley 2019: 376).  This rhetoric is demonstrative of a “punitive citizenry,” supporting recourse to law and order to regulate class distinctions as part of a broader ideological mission to punish poverty (Koch 2018: 4). The social inequalities reflected and reproduced by green spaces are justified in this way, demonstrating how entrenched social divisions have become self-regulating.

Conclusion

Ultimately, one must concur that London’s green spaces reflect and reproduce social inequalities through disparate access to high-quality green spaces. Well-provisioned green spaces are disproportionately concentrated in affluent neighbourhoods to the benefit of white, wealthy Londoners, who stake claims over spaces which come to represent class and community identities. In comparison, people from lower socioeconomic and ethnic minority backgrounds are restricted from accessing green space, as London’s green spaces constitute valuable commodities that can and will be exploited for property gains. Consequently, limited green spaces enjoyed by marginalised communities are vulnerable to demolition for regeneration, despite challenges posed by residents. Proposing a way forward, Wolch et al. argue that urban planners “need to focus on urban green space strategies that are ‘just green enough,’ and that explicitly protect social as well as ecological sustainability” (2014: 244). Whilst I agree with this notion, I have demonstrated throughout this essay that London’s green space strategies are primarily motivated by capital, and so will continue to reflect and reproduce social inequalities, until it is no longer financially gainful to do so.

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