Introduction

This article discusses how residents, in a neoliberal era, can influence policies that trigger gentrification and how this plays out in cities with different socioeconomic and participatory systems. With the backdrop of the 2008 crisis, this article sets out to explore how influence attempts from residents, and government reactions to those attempts, evolve over time and consequently influence trust in urban governance. Through the comparison of two gentrifying neighbourhoods in different urban and social contexts, we explain how conflictual processes arise when residents are not allowed to influence decisions that affect their neighbourhood (^{Innes and Booher, 2006}). Our main research questions are: which political mobilization strategies do residents use when frustrated with participatory processes? What are the institutional, economic and social factors that explain residents’ reactions to these processes? We hypothesise that residents' different strategies are conditioned by the institutional settings, the social configuration of the place and the wider socio-economic situation.

Research should not limit itself to studies of the global metropolises. On the contrary, there is a need to investigate the diversity and complexity in all kinds of cities (^{Robinson, 2006}). In this article, we adhere to this effort through an in-depth comparison of urban spaces in the North and South of Europe: Tøyen in Oslo and Lavapiés in Madrid. This study allows us to discuss participation under different circumstances (^{Dodson, 2014}). While both cities are capitals, they are located in countries with different participatory systems and urban regeneration strategies. For example, in Lavapiés previous local governments stimulated gentrification through public investments from 1997 to 2011. In Oslo, there have been several Area-Based Initiatives (ABIs) to improve challenged central city areas in the period 1997 to 2007. In 2014 (to 2018) a new ABI was initiated to compensate for the displacement of a major landmark institution from the Tøyen neighbourhood to the developing waterfront. Both neighbourhoods are central districts where immigrants have settled. The areas have a polarised population with marginalised residents coexisting with a new, young, urban social class. In general, the areas are densely populated. Some of the residents live in overcrowded apartments, have a low level of education and low standards of living. In both cases, residents pressure for more influence, albeit through different strategies. This article takes the historical backdrop of these first urban regeneration operations in both territories into account.

We first provide a state-of-the-art on the relationship between urban governance, participation and gentrification. Then we present the methods used and the comparative analysis. Lastly, we discuss the results and conclusions.

Conceptual framework

Participation in gentrifying neighbourhoods

Participatory democracy is increasingly used in local governance as a way to involve residents and avoid conflicts. Gentrifying central neighbourhoods are typically polarised, making participatory democracy more challenging than usual. New and old residents often have different interests depending on whether they own their apartment, whether they are older, have children and other factors. Furthermore, stronger groups can effectively lobby their interests at the expense of other groups.

There is an academic discussion on the democratic dimension of participatory democracy (^{Moulaert and Cabaret, 2006}). One of the major debate topics is whether governance networks are an opportunity for democracy (^{Stoker, 2004}) or a risk (^{Swyngedouw, 2005}). While the former celebrates the promise of urban governance to include marginalised residents through new mechanisms of direct democracy, the latter warns about the lack of representativeness, transparency and accountability of these networks. Several studies on citizen participation in local governance demonstrate that it is challenging to get people to participate. Often, the most powerful stakeholders or “the usual suspects” dominate, and input from participatory processes seldom seems to have a strong and direct impact on political decision-making (^{Lowndes et al., 2006}; ^{Michels and de Graaf, 2010}; ^{Hanssen et al., 2014}; ^{McKenna, 2011}).

Still, with the 2008 crisis new ways of participating are increasing worldwide. New social movements that use less traditional methods play a crucial role in pressuring local governments to reform (^{Della Porta, 2011}). An extensive collection of literature exists on protest mobilisation, and its successes and failures (^{Bosi et al., 2016}). Unresolved conflicts often lead to frustration and lack of trust if participation fails to fulfil its initial promises (^{Lawless, 2010}). Local groups can then opt-out of top-down participation initiatives and initiate bottom-up ones instead (^{Ferilli et al., 2015}). This situation typically occurs when urban regeneration plans trigger gentrification processes. It is important to point out that these urban change processes often affect diverse groups of residents in different and usually conflicting ways (^{Porter et al., 2009}).

There are many theories on how social movements succeed in influencing policy. However, it is widely accepted that grievances must exist at the outset. Other critical factors include changes in power relations, structural conflicts of interests, and the role of what ^{Jenkins (1983)} calls movement entrepreneurs, that are proactive in organising protests. The importance of movement entrepreneurs appears most relevant for social movements among deprived groups and broadly disorganised collectives. There is little agreement on the types of resources involved in social movement success. However, resources such as organising and legal skills and professionals and college students, with discretionary time on their hands, seem to be necessary (^{Jenkins, 1983}; ^{Braathen, 2020}).

One of the most discussed issues of participatory democracy is whether and to what extent citizens can influence policies. Although increased citizen influence is often a goal with participatory democracy, participation is frequently just symbolic or organised to inform the municipality about resident preferences and opinions. Typically, it does not really open up for influencing the policies causing the gentrification (^{Ferilli et al., 2015}; ^{Lawless, 2010}, ^{Chorianopoulos, 2009}). There is a growing body of research on how global and local factors impact participatory initiatives in urban regeneration processes (^{Parès et al., 2014}). A few are stories of success (^{Biddulph, 2011}), but most are accounts of failure (^{Blakeley, 2010}). Unresolved conflicts from urban regeneration programmes compromise the cooperation between grassroots and governance networks negatively affecting governance trust (^{Savini, 2011}; ^{Uba and Romanos, 2016}).

The “ladder of citizen participation” is a theoretical representation of participation practices involving citizens to different degrees (^{Arnstein, 1969}). This theory states that participation contributes to transferring power from those in power to the powerless. On the one hand, the role of citizens in participatory processes has traditionally been limited to providing information based on which government, and sometimes in cooperation with other actors, can make decisions. Often this frustrates the residents since their participation may be perceived as mere tokenism or manipulation (^{Blakeley, 2010}). Arnstein’s categorisation of participation types is static and does not observe how attempts to influence and government reactions to those attempts evolve.

Factors conditioning the outcome of participatory governance in urban regeneration have been explored through comparative analysis (^{Geddes, 2005}). Two kinds of factors have been identified as particularly important. First, there are institutional settings organizing relationships among stakeholders within the neighbourhood (^{Savini, 2011}; ^{Parès et al., 2012}). Second there are local factors such as neighbourhood characteristics, the prevalence of social capital within a community, and the existence of previous conflicts within the neighbourhood (^{Parès et al., 2014}). Figure 1 illustrates how entrepreneurial governance, leads to urban interventions that trigger gentrification processes which also triggers social mix, conflict and collective protests (^{Musterd and Andersson, 2005}; ^{Blokland et al., 2010}). The residents’ response will depend on the top boxes, the economic situation, the collective action capacity, whether the governance system is entrepreneurial and whether there is a responsive, participatory system. When the participatory system is non-existent or weak during a challenging economic situation in the city, and when there is a high capacity for local action there is greater risk for protests. The figure has a timeline with urban intervention influencing the social mix of groups of people who have competing community interests to varying degrees. Trust in governance, and urban interventions will change over time as residents see how their interests are safeguarded (^{Reichborn-Kjennerud et al., 2021}).

Source: own elaboration.

Figure 1 Participatory processes in central neighbourhoods 

During gentrification processes, which can vary in their unfolding depending on whether they are government-initiated or primarily triggered by market forces, the social mix of resident groups occurs. Social mixing starts in the beginning of the process, when the first gentrifiers arrive in the neighbourhood- This is followed by an intermediate stage that often ends in segregation if areas are fully gentrified (^{Lees, Annunziata and Rivas-Alonso, 2018}). However, at this early stage, social mixing can have a positive impact on residents with fewer resources, increasing social capital in these areas (^{Musterd and Andersson, 2005}) and facilitating the emergence of movement entrepreneurs (^{Jenkins, 1983}). However, some authors are sceptical to the beneficial effects of this social mixing (^{Brattbakk and Wessel, 2013}; ^{Blokland et al., 2010}).

Methodology

Case research that can generate causal explanations is well suited for answering “how” and “why” questions and supports a nuanced understanding of observed patterns. Additionally, case methodology and qualitative methods, like interviews and document analysis, allow the researchers to develop new knowledge (^{Yin, 2015}). In both cities, we have used multiple sources of information to understand the economic, institutional and social background and the participatory systems in our two cases. We mainly used qualitative methods (interviews and document analysis) and complemented them with quantitative information about both neighbourhoods from official statistics.

To identify which types of public administrative system we deal with in our case study of Tøyen and show how different participatory measures work within this framework, we used official district council (DC) documents on the ABI. Document analysis was the primary method used in this study. We went through all available documents in the DC of Gamle Oslo’s electronic archive from June 2013 to May 2016. Various documents related to the ABI were collected, analysed and summarised in tables. The most important documents include:

We read all the case documents from the preparatory stage to the final decision to understand resident participation and see what decisions were made in the end. This approach provided us with insight into the different parties’ views on participation. Newspaper articles and reports about the ABI served as important sources of background information.

Additionally, eight people were interviewed using a semi-structured interview format to allow for a free-flowing conversation. The participants were selected strategically and can be considered expert informants (^{Dorussen, Lenz and Blavoukos, 2005}). The residents were also considered expert informants as they actively participated and took part in former resident initiatives in the area. The informants were interviewed from May to October 2015.

The informants were:

In the case of Lavapiés, there are very few official documents available on the ABIs in the area. Consequently, most of the information has been collected through literature reviews in this case. Moreover, we analysed interviews conducted with experts on the longest-lasting ABI (1997-2011) and subsequent interventions in the area. The Lavapiés-related documents used in the present study included:

Other sources such as the Statistical Service of the City Hall of Madrid, the National Institute of Statistics (Municipal Register and 2001/2011 Censuses) and the statistics from the “Idealista” (real estate website that reports on housing prices) were also utilised.

Finally, we interviewed nine informants between 2015 and 2017 in Lavapiés. These informants were:

Finally, between 2018 and 2019 we conducted additional interviews in Tøyen and Lavapiés to update the information collected. In total, 25 politicians and bureaucrats and nine representatives for residents were interviewed in the Tøyen area. In Lavapiés, 11 in-depth semi-structured interviews were conducted with councillors of the four political groups represented in the City Council (including the councilman-president of the Central District neighbourhood associations, Department of Citizen Participation officials and urbanism and social innovation experts in the neighbourhood.

Economic and social context

The International Financial Crisis, which started in 2007-08, led to several years period of economic stagnation in most parts of Europe. Spain had GDP rates that were negative or close to zero between 2008 and 2014. Norway also felt the impact of the crisis. However, after one year of stagnation, economic growth eventually picked up and continued to increase in the following years. Norway experienced a very mild recession, but by 2010 the GDP bounced back to 2008 levels (^{Aamo, 2018}).

Madrid, on the other hand, faced a long-lasting unemployment period. For example, in 2013, 20.45 per cent of the general population and 51.18 per cent of those under 25 years were unemployed (^{National Institute of Statistics, 2019}). The economic crisis, coupled with high levels of perceived corruption among the political establishment triggered a loss of confidence in the entire political and institutional system. On 15 May 2011, one week before the municipal and regional elections in Spain, thousands of people gathered in Sol Square in Madrid. Additionally, the so-called “Indignados” occupied the public spaces of Spain’s main cities during the spring of 2011 protesting the political and economic situation and its consequences for people's lives.

Interestingly, the economic and political crises forged interest alliances between the traditional neighbourhood inhabitants, neighbourhood associations, trade unions and new social movements. These alliances demanded alternative urban plans, based on citizen participation, safeguarding the social needs of inhabitants and protesting ambitious plans for physical urban renewal.

Case description: Lavapiés and Tøyen

Participatory practices in the two cities

The questioning of the traditional institutions ended up turning the participatory model of Madrid upside down. Previously, the model was primarily controlled by the mainstream political parties through the direct representation of neighbours designated by political parties themselves (vocales-vecinos). Associations were subsidised by the city councils, which were also sometimes linked to the parties. Inhabitants’ opinions and demands were previously filtered through the traditional neighbourhood associations (^{Ruano, 2010}). Given these circumstances, it is not surprising that “Ahora Madrid”, a broad citizen alliance led by Podemos, opted for a new participatory model inspired by the deliberative practices of the M15 movement in 2015. Consequently, there was more room for individual participation in face-to-face and virtual spaces (such as the “Decide Madrid” platform). In this new participatory system, it is possible to discuss local issues, present bottom-up urban renewal projects and implement the city's participatory budget. Furthermore, Podemos did very well in the 2015 local elections forming part of a new political majority in several small and large cities in Spain.

Before 2015, Madrid’s participatory system was not responsive to residents’ inputs. For example, meetings with resident representatives were only advisory, and the community received little information. One interviewee stated : ⁶

Previous local governments have not been interested in participation. In a couple of cases, residents self-organised to make their voices heard. In the case of Lavapiés, new urban movements tried to organise a new community centre, but both the City Council and the regional government refused to allow it.

In 1997, different groups came together in the Red de Colectivos de Lavapiés (Network of Lavapiés Collectives) to protest the lack of resident participation in the urban renewal projects of Lavapiés. These stakeholders were the traditional neighbourhood’s associations (from the 1970s), various groups of immigrants, the squatter movement, NGOs and cultural and environmental associations. The municipality actively tried to hinder participatory initiatives and attempts to influence city policies. As a result of pressure from the Network of Lavapiés Collectives, some social interventions and participatory initiatives were implemented: “subsidies were finally given to a number of projects put into practice by various associations and NGOs. By means of its grant policies, the Ayuntamiento introduced the seed of discord into the Network” (^{Díaz Orueta, 2007:189}). One of the interviewees⁷ stated: “They only used the parts of the plan that they were interested in, especially propositions including opportunities for economic investment”.

Thus, suggesting that the local government was primarily interested in business-friendly proposals.

In the second stage of the ABI only the traditional neighbourhood associations participated in the meetings. The ABI was characterised by the lack of coordination in the public administrations, resulting in disconnected interventions. The strategy of Madrid’s then conservative local government (1991-2015) was to ignore and hinder social contestation, instead of negotiating with urban movements (^{Díaz Orueta et al., 2018}). The plan did not allow citizen participation, fundamental housing rights were ignored, and residents felt their needs were disregarded (^{Ruano et al., 2019}). This attitude triggered the mobilisation of traditional residents, new social movements, squatters, immigrant associations and anti-globalisation movements that had hardly had any common interest until then. This coalition recalls the dynamics that gave rise to the Network of Lavapiés Collectives two decades before.

In Norway, participation is important both in national and local policies and is mandatory in the plan and building act. The ABI agreement in Tøyen is not mandated by law but explicitly mentions that residents and local interest groups and associations, shall participate in the decision-making process. Norwegian ABIs are usually committed to welfare goals for residents. Local businesses and a broad representation of state and municipal actors are also typically involved. However, in the Tøyen agreement, the state is very involved, essentially only funding earmarked resources. Therefore, it is somewhat unclear what the municipal government’s responsibilities are, the programme’s goals, whether it should be a programme supporting residents in need of assistance or upgrading the area. In this sense, there is a lack of a shared understanding of the best measures to apply. Furthermore, it is unclear which actors should be involved and what their roles should be (^{Brattbakk, 2015}). As a result, there have been tensions between local politicians, the local administration, and the neighbours regarding citizen participation and prioritisation in the new ABI. For example, one interviewee stated:

We had no influence. We gave them tons of suggestions, but none of them were taken into account. Instead, they just checked that they had organised a participatory meeting. We will never ever let them do this again. We had a petition going with 600 signatures that we need a sports arena. We represent 750 residents.

The City Council clearly states the importance of citizen participation in the Tøyen ABI (^{Oslo kommune, 2013}), but differences in perceptions about the ABI mandate led to conflicts between residents and the local administration. The local administration was unsure about the intentions of the different neighbourhood associations. As one of the local politicians stated:

The administration of the city district saw themselves as spokespersons for residents with drug and psychiatry related problems. They considered the resident representatives to be “hipsters” only preoccupied with their own concerns.

This statement reflects the conflictual understanding of the ABI. The local public administration thought that the funding should be primarily used to strengthen ongoing operations helping the weakest groups in the area. The action groups’ opinion was that it should be used to upgrade the local area (^{Brattbakk, 2015}). As expressed, in the quote below, by one of the residents’ representatives: “We lost all the positive institutions such as the Munch Museum. (…) By grouping all the humanitarian organisations together in one small geographical area you are turning a whole district into clients”.

The residents did not want more institutions for destitute groups: They expected the ABI to be more comprehensive and meet the resident’s needs. As one of their representatives put it:

When the administration uses most of the ABI funding for operations that should be funded through the Municipalities’ normal budget, then the ABI will not make a difference. Then it’s just business as usual.

We wanted sustainable measures that would prevail over time. We did not want the money to just fund an increase in the number of municipal employees.

At a public meeting, the politicians were criticised for not listening to the residents, not engaging residents, and making up measures that no one wanted. As one resident expressed it:

Why do we have to use our park to construct a science centre? A science centre is ok, but not if it is to compete with a sports arena.

We do not need more initiatives that our children stand outside and look in on.

The local politicians established a reference group to secure resident influence in the different projects within the ABI, but the group did not work as well as expected. A local politician said:

Cases were supposed to be open to feedback from the reference group before a decision was made. But this was not what happened. The cases were closed. Then it was up to the district council to make potential changes. That makes it hard. You relate to the formal structures of the Municipality, but this becomes a problem for participation.

It was demanding to make the administration understand that the reference group had an independent role and was supposed to be our watchdogs.

The participatory system set up for the ABI was considered manipulative in the residents’ eyes because it did not grant them real influence. Residents were not, in practice, able to influence decisions on how the ABI funding was to be used locally.

After massive protests, the organisation and participation processes were changed in 2016 to allow more citizen participation and influence (^{Reichborn-Kjennerud and Ophaug, 2018}). At the beginning of the ABI, they had a loosely organised consultative group. However, it evolved into an organised advisory group, the Tøyen council, instead of a reference group that gave residents more influence over the ABI funding.

Discussion

The two cases reported in the present study show how people engage in protests when their space is threatened by stakeholder interests alien to local needs, especially when participatory processes fail to stop them. However, the reaction to these threats depend on economic, institutional and social factors. For example, in Madrid’s financial crisis, the economy was pressured, making it more tempting for the local government to opt for an entrepreneurial strategy catering primarily to business. Simultaneously, the residents’ frustrations increase with economic struggles, lack of responsiveness (i.e., low on Arnstein’s participation ladder) and mistrust in local government.

The comparison of the two neighbourhoods is illustrated in Figure 2. The green dots illustrate Madrid’s situation, whereas the orange dots illustrate Oslo’s situation. This figure highlights the low trust, advanced gentrification, a challenging economic situation and a weak participatory system in Madrid. The opposite was true for Oslo. Even though the participatory system also did not work well in Oslo, the politicians and administrators were more responsive. In response to these pressures, Madrid residents mobilised and voted out the mainstream political parties leading to radical changes. In Oslo, reactions were less dramatic and led to adjustments in the local participatory system.

Source: own elaboration.

Figure 2 Comparison of the two neighbourhoods 

The main goal of this article is to understand which political mobilization strategies residents use when frustrated with participatory processes in two gentrifying neighbourhoods. Also, we identify the institutional, economic and social factors that explain these different strategies (Table 1). Our findings confirm that the public administrations and governance systems did not allow for real influence high up on the participation ladder in either case. In Tøyen, formal participatory systems led to the dissatisfaction of the residents. In contrast, residents of Lavapiés were denied real influence and previous unsuccessful attempts to participate attenuated the trust in the local government. In both cases, the residents were frustrated, but they used different protest strategies to gain influence.

In the Oslo case, residents were not united in an interclass alliance the way they were in Madrid. The Norwegian neighbourhood, with a socially mixed population and potential conflicts of interest, the resident’s local action capacity worked less effectively. Before the residents got to know each other and started collaborating, the different groups’ interests were diverging. For example, new residents owning their own homes could benefit from gentrification, whereas the residents living in social houses risked displacement. This situation reduced the new residents’ legitimacy with the local district administration that protected residents depending on welfare. In Madrid, the local government was not responsive to the united interclass alliance of Lavapiés that finally mobilised politically and contributed to a new political platform’s electoral success.

In Lavapiés, the restrictions on public participation were substantial. The traditional position of Spanish power-holders was to exclude protester's voices in governance (^{Fishman and Everson, 2016}). The ABI initiatives did not include social and local economic policies or measures to support the local community. Nor did the city have goals or policies that involved residents in urban renewal projects. Consequently, governance and participatory systems did not facilitate dialogue with the local residents. Instead, traditional associations (many of them indirectly attached to mainstream political parties) and politically-appointed neighbours presented themselves as the residents’ only representatives. On the contrary, the governance and participatory system in Tøyen were more welfare-oriented, but not sufficiently attuned to residents’ preferences.

Furthermore, a clear coalition between residents was not as evident in the Tøyen case as in the Lavapiés case. The highly educated Norwegians were mostly homeowners, whereas most of the other residents were tenants. However, this situation was within a stable economic state and trustworthy welfare system. Additionally, a participatory system was in place, stating that residents are to be heard in Tøyen. This type of system is standard procedure in Scandinavian countries (^{Grønbech-Jensen, 1998}); however, the local administration hindered the existing participatory systems from working as planned, at least partly because they had a different understanding of the funding mandate than the protesting residents. As a consequence, the residents felt manipulated. Importantly, even though the institutional, welfare and socioeconomic situation differed between Oslo and Madrid, participatory mechanisms functioned unsatisfactorily in both cases.

Conclusion

We started by asking how participatory processes play out differently in two inner-city areas. We soon realised that contextual variables such as the economic situation and the neighbourhoods’ socio-demographic characteristics were powerful explanatory factors for the political mobilisation strategies used by residents. Tøyen and Lavapiés are located in cities belonging to very different political and social cultures. However, both neighbourhoods are close to the city centres, have high relative rates of immigration and population density, a social heterogeneity typical of gentrification processes, low relative educational levels and substandard housing. We observed that the participatory institutional settings, the social configuration of the neighbourhoods and the wider socio-economic situation had a decisive influence on the population’s response to the public authorities’ policy. More specifically, we found that a non-existing or poorly working participation system, as well as a severe economic situation combined with high social capital in a neighbourhood favour rupture, rather than reformist, strategies.

In the case of Lavapiés, the driving force in neighbourhood gentrification was boosting the city’s tourism policy through physical renovation measures and the upgrading of cultural facilities. In the case of Tøyen, the intervention policies combined physical renewal with social measures targeting the most disadvantaged population, which is consistent with the Norwegian welfare state goals. Despite these differences, in both cases the local population perceived urban regeneration as a threat to their interests because it did not take their opinions into account. In Lavapiés, the large population living in privately rented housing feared displacement. This fear is based on the dynamics of gentrification and touristification of the neighbourhood. In Tøyen, the poorest people live in social housing that the local government planned to sell. These residents feared their displacement from the neighbourhood. The more affluent residents, on the other hand, opposed interventions that were not based on their demands. In the end, both social groups converged in their protest against changes that were not based on local demands. Although both cities had systems for citizen participation, they were perceived as incapable of channelling the citizens’ demands and concerns.

In Tøyen, urban renewal was viewed as symbolic and insensitive to local needs. On the other hand, in Madrid, the immigrant population and the new social movements raised their voice against the high housing costs and the neglect of social needs during a harsh economic crisis. This uprising was mostly because the principal actors of the participatory institutions (i.e., the traditional neighbourhood associations) were now incapable of representing the interests of the neighbourhoods. It is likely that the less difficult economic situation in the Nordic country, social measures and trust in political representatives, together with a less well-established neighbourhood coalition, culminated in a milder response to municipal intervention. It also appears as though these factors stimulated adjustments in the participatory system and created citizen advisory bodies.

The reactions of Tøyen residents stand in stark contrast to those of Lavapiés. Spain's political class has been perceived as inefficient, corrupt and directly responsible for unemployment and evictions. In this situation, the residents felt the channels of participation were invalid. Eventually, new social actors acting as dissident groups formed their own coalition and replaced the traditional political parties. This coalition of actors with distinct interests, focused on winning municipal elections, stopping urban interventions and radically modifying the citizen participation model. Better knowledge of residents’ strategies helps understand the political effect when democratic initiatives are insufficient or cosmetic. From the perspective of local governments, top-down participatory processes without effective channels of neighbourhood influence tend not to last over time. From the perspective of social movements, this instability favours political mobilisation strategies for the extension of the right to the city. This is especially true in economically and politically tense contexts, as well as in neighbourhoods where cross-class protest strategies are organised.