NEW TIES: Embodied Resistance on the Urban Stage
Delaney Connor
December 16, 2024
▦ 1 AN INTRODUCTION
Urbanity defies all natural orders. Urban landscapes are coerced and coercive. They are not merely an amalgamation of buildings, streets, and parks—they are the set and setting within which social, economic, and political lives are performed. Their urban spaces are parceled patchworks—each component and connecting element determined, foremost, by economic priorities: profit maximization, privatization, commodification, hierarchy, and competition. If urban spaces are shaped by capitalism’s invisible hands, then might the lives lived within them, too, be tethered to the whims of their puppeteering hands?
This paper provides a material analysis of the possibilities of human connectivity within urban spaces. Using a combination of imagery, data visualizations, and case studies, it asks: What forces shape our urban landscapes, and how do these forces impact the experiences of those who inhabit them? Why is physical space uniquely positioned to forge social bonds? What kinds of spaces best foster social and political connection? Why are such spaces so scarce in neoliberal urban environments? And crucially, what urban conditions resist commodification and cultivate solidarity? In exploring these questions, we reveal how the design and control of cities determine not only who is included in or excluded from communal life but also how urban spaces can become powerful sites of political engagement and collective action.
▦ 2 THEORIZING SPACE ITSELF
(Urban, and all) space is shaped by the forces that govern our societies. Or, as French Marxist philosopher and sociologist Henri Lefebvre argues, “space is not a thing but a social product” (Lefebvre 1974, 13). It is the physical setting of human reality, produced and reproduced by the state, our capitalist system, and accompanying social hierarchies. British-American Marxist geographer David Harvey points a finger, suggesting that “political experience taught the bourgeoisie another lesson that could be used to check the undue radicalism of any urban-based political movement: superior control over space provided a powerful weapon in class struggle” (Harvey 2008, 72). Spatial domination, herein, is implicated as a means and perpetuator of social control. And is made possible not only through how land is governed but through the very intentions for and use of space. Under capitalism, space is commodified, regulated, and segregated, transforming it into a tool for social domination. The coercive nature of capitalism, as Harvey notes, utilizes space as a means of asserting class power, ensuring that the urban environment is structured to maintain the status quo (Harvey 2008, 76).
Lefebvre traces outcomes, highlighting how the regulation of space stifles creativity and social potential. “When exploitation replaces oppression, creative capacity disappears” (Lefebvre 1974, 72), he writes, emphasizing the alienating effects of capitalist urbanization. For Lefebvre, urban spaces should be sites of collective creation, dynamic expressions of human interaction and agency, rather than commodities or mere settings for capitalist transactions. He writes that the city “has always been the work of citizens, of people with different ideas, talents, and experiences; it is always collective” (Lefebvre 1974, 101). But participation in the production of the city as an oeuvre—a living work of art shaped by its inhabitants–requires creative capacity, a function of surplus time and agency.
▦ 3 URBAN ALIENATION
How, then, is the human experience also shaped as something that functions within the very same economic system and physical world that our capitalist economic system produces? In brief: the human experience within capitalist urban life is defined by alienation. As individuals navigate the physical and social realms of urban life, they are not merely moving through space but are simultaneously empowered and limited by the resources (time, money, energy) their position with the social order affords. Lefebvre conquers that the capitalist city is a site of alienation, where individuals experience their relationships with each other through the mediation of property, commodities, and labor (Lefebvre 1974, 72). The city, then, is a space of fragmented human relationships, where people become disconnected from one another, even when in proximity.
As author and scholar Kristin Ross points out, alienation in the urban context leads to “an inability in all areas of life to grasp or think the other” (Ross 2024, 54). Lefebvre expands this by suggesting that alienation prevents us from seeing how urban spaces strip us of our dignity, our social connections, and our potential for collective action (Lefebvre 1974, 36) or more simply “we are constantly confronted with our inability to be together” (Lefebvre 1974, 89). This alienation, however, is not merely a passive condition; it also serves as the foundation for collective political resistance. Ross describes that as creating a “distinctly new revolutionary subject” (Ross 2024, 20), where resistance to domination is forged through recognition of shared realities and political mobilization. But how, and more importantly, WHERE is collective action built?
▦ 4 SPATIAL (/ˈspeSH(ə)l/) BONDS
The ability to gather and interact in proximity is central to how collective action emerges. Physical space is a primary conduit for forging social bonds, but the nature of these bonds often reflects the characteristics of the space in which they are formed. Proximity allows for the building of solidarity networks that activate during moments of need or crisis. As British Historian Eric Hobsbawm blatantly asserts, “under conditions of misery and discontent, people need space to plan revolutions” (Hobsbawm 1996, 84) then later writes “in cities, the experience of proximity to other people, especially those in similar conditions, often leads to a collective response to social problems” (Hobsbawm 1996, 85). The physicality of shared space enables the exchange of ideas, the formation of collective strategies, and the establishment of resistance movements. In these spaces, the embodied experience of conflict—what Ross refers to as “inhabiting conflict” (Ross 2024, 43)—is central to political consciousness development. Furthermore, as American philosopher Nancy Fraser notes, the public sphere is not simply a space of discourse but “the informally mobilized body of nongovernmental discursive opinion” that can challenge the state’s authority (Fraser 1990, 119).
Jane Jacobs reductively asserts in The Death and Life of Great American Cities, “the best thing we can do for cities is to create conditions where people feel safe and comfortable to connect” (Jacobs 1961, 213). But Ross puts a more active spin on Jacobs’ sentiment, stating that “we make our community by defending it” (Ross 2024, 44). The defense of space (and even ideologies), whether through occupations or other forms of collective resistance, creates stronger social bonds than passive opposition. The “commune form” described by Ross is an example of how the defense of space becomes a form of collective political practice, built through occupation and mutual aid (Ross 2024, 39). The social friction created between diverse classes and identities in defensible spaces—what Ross terms a “polemical political community” (Ross 2024, 65)—fosters a multi-constitutive political consciousness.
▦ 5 MOVEMENT! SPACES!
While spatial bonds can emerge in moments of defense, they also unfurl in places intentionally designed or appropriated for sustained resistance and solidarity. These are what scholars have termed “movement spaces”: environments where political ideologies are embodied, where action precedes ideas, and where social bonds give rise to enduring political solidarity. Academics have sought to define such spaces through overlapping frameworks: subaltern counterpublics (Nancy Fraser 1990), heterotopias (Michel Foucault 1967), the commune form (Kristin Ross 2002), counter institutions (Nandini Bagchee 2019), activist estates (Bagchee 2019), social infrastructure (Eric Klinenberg 2018), appropriated space (Henri Lefebvre 1991), spaces of contention (Byron Miller 2012), insurgent publics (Michael Warner 2002), assemblages (Manuel DeLanda 2016), autonomous zones (The Zapatistas, et al. 1997), transgressive spaces (Tiqqun 2012), and prefigurative spaces (David Harvey 2000). What they all seek to typologize is a recognition that these spaces are both sites of protest and places where new social relations are practiced and nurtured. These spaces, which can range from community centers to urban squats, dance clubs to churches, barber shops to bookstores, provide the material (physical) foundation for collective action.
Sometimes, movement spaces are forged under conditions of spatial occupation. Kristin Ross’ scholarship surrounding the Paris Commune highlights the radical potential of movement spaces, arguing that “the occupation of space is a form of political expression, one that asserts the right to the city and challenges the authority of the state and capital” (Ross 2024, 101). In occupation movement spaces, activation is often in opposition to the literal or symbolic ownership and use of urban space. But it also can be an experiment with new forms of governance, cooperation, and social organization. To name only a few, these sites include campus protests, the ZAD (Zone à Défendre) in Notre-Dame-des-Landes, France, the Stop Cop City movement in Atlanta, Georgia, and the CHOP/CHAZ (Capitol Hill Occupied Protest/Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone) in Seattle, Washington. These spaces exist in intentional impermanence yet embody laboratories for imagining and enacting alternative futures.
Movement spaces are characterized by their ability to support social interaction and political organizing. Harvey describes movement spaces as “prefigurative spaces, where the social relations of the future are practiced in the present” (Harvey 2008, 214). Harvey is building off of Murray Bookchin’s theorization around “prefigurative politics,” positing that the practices and structures within these spaces can be used to embody the future society we seek to create, essentially laying the groundwork for a world rooted in autonomy, democracy, and justice. In movement spaces, this is realized through collective decision-making, mutual aid, and non-hierarchical forms of organization that reject capitalist, state-controlled structures. These spaces, whether through direct action or occupation, allow participants to experiment with social relations that prioritize cooperation over competition and solidarity over exploitation. As Bookchin asserts, the building of a new world requires more than rhetoric—it requires “the creation of new institutions that reflect new social relationships” (Bookchin 1986, 23).
Movement spaces, in this sense, become sites for such experimentation, where the seeds of a radically different society can take root and grow. Movement spaces offer a direct counterpoint to the alienation and atomization produced by capitalist urbanization.
MORE INFO → Figure 1: Movement Space Typologies
Appropriation vs. Domination (Y-axis): This axis measures the degree to which a space is either reclaimed (appropriated) by marginalized groups for collective use or controlled (dominated) by state, capital, or institutional forces. Appropriated spaces are those where the power dynamics are challenged and spaces are used to resist dominant structures. Domination refers to spaces regulated or governed by systems that exert control over their use and meaning, often in ways that suppress autonomy or collective action.
Private vs. Public (X-axis): This axis represents the public accessibility and ownership of a space. Private spaces are controlled by individuals or corporations, typically for profit or exclusive use, while public spaces are generally open to all, maintained by the state or municipal authorities. The distinction between private and public relates directly to how space is accessible, who has control over it, and how it is used by communities versus private interests.
Reactive vs. Proactive (Z-axis): This axis reflects the agency and political intent behind a space. Reactive spaces are those where resistance arises as a response to external pressures, often acting in opposition to pre-existing conditions or injustices. Proactive spaces, on the other hand, are those where communities or activists deliberately create new forms of governance, cooperation, or social relations, often in pursuit of alternative futures or prefigurative politics.
MORE INFO → Figure 2: Public Land Uses
▦ 6 NYC’S LABORATORIES
New York City has long served as a haven of transformation for communities seeking to escape oppressive conditions and redefine their futures. Since its urbanization, waves of migrants and displaced populations have arrived in search of new opportunities. Yet, racial capitalism has permeated urban experiences and social relations, perpetuating the marginalization, relegation, exclusion, and exploitation of these very communities. In response, neighborhoods subjected to disinvestment became spaces where marginalized groups forged autonomous zones, resisting and subverting the prevailing urban order.
The fiscal crisis of the 1970s deepened this disinvestment. Amid municipal economic collapse, the state withdrew social programming and services, exacerbating neglect in working-class neighborhoods. “Urban withdrawal,” as Harvey (2008) describes, allowed communities to assert autonomy in abandoned spaces, where “political and cultural power was left in the hands of those who could create it.” The withdrawal of the state created fertile ground for the development of community-controlled spaces and experimentation in urban homesteading, sustainability, and collective action.
One such example is the Lower East Side’s CHARAS/El Bohío Cultural and Community Center, founded in 1979 by former members of the Young Lords and the Real Great Society (RGS). A group of young Puerto Rican’s, amid systemic neglect of their community and neighborhood, acquired and inhabited the derelict, former elementary school. Through the Adopt-A-Building program and sweat equity, community members took on the labor of transforming CHARAS/El Bohío and other neighboring abandoned buildings into vibrant cultural and political hubs. As Nandini Bagchee (2019) notes, CHARAS/El Bohío’s mission within the Loisaida movement centered on “Housing, Community, and the Environment,” reflecting the community’s drive to reclaim urban space from neglect and use it for collective good. The center’s programs included arts, education, and even sustainable practices like solar-powered housing and geodesic dome building, embodied an alternative vision of urban life. For the residents and activists involved: it was a form of self-determination, a physical manifestation of reclaiming agency in a city that had long been hostile to their needs. Yet, with the encroachment of gentrification in the 1980s, CHARAS/El Bohío and other similar initiatives faced the threat of displacement. Despite prevention efforts, in 1998 the Giuliani administration sold the building to a private developer (Bagchee 2019, 147). But, two decades later after relentless community organizing, a 2006 landmark designation, and purchaser bankruptcy, the CHARAS/El Bohío has been purchased and is in planning to be repurposed for community benefit. But, the extent to which the flourishing autonomy made possible in its initial form may be rendered impossible amid modern conditions.
Past and present grassroots movement spaces in New York City like The Peace Pentagon, ABC No Rio, Mayday Space, The P.I.T., and Woodbine demonstrate the ongoing need for collective sites that respond to existential crises. Woodbine’s manifesto declares the necessity of building new worlds—social, ecological, and spiritual—to counter the alienation and exploitation inherent in late capitalism. It provides a space for collaboration, healing, and skill-building aimed at surviving and transforming the Anthropocene, a period defined by environmental collapse and social disintegration (Woodbine Manifesto). These case studies highlight the cyclical nature of space-based resistance. From the radical experiments of CHARAS/El Bohio to the more contemporary efforts at Woodbine, these spaces not only offer resistance to oppressive systems but also create new forms of social and political solidarity. In this sense, they act as “prefigurative” spaces, where alternative social relations are enacted in the present, providing models for a different future.
▦ 7 REPRESSIVE MECHANISMS
Despite the transformative potential of movement spaces to nurture solidarity and political resistance, numerous barriers significantly hinder their creation and sustainability. Neoliberal urban policies, gentrification, and the increasing commodification of space have made it progressively difficult for grassroots movements to secure, occupy, and maintain physical spaces. As Kristin Ross (2024) argues, the commodification of urban space creates a world “organized for trade and profit,” where spaces are valued not for their potential to foster community or collective good, but for their exchange value within capitalist markets. This shift has led to skyrocketing rents, effectively pricing out organizations and communities that seek to establish non-commercial, people-centered spaces. In cities like New York, where speculative real estate interests dominate the landscape, even long-standing activist spaces face displacement as developers capitalize on high-value properties, further exacerbating the scarcity of affordable spaces for social movements.
The reality of sustaining movement spaces often necessitates commodifying certain aspects of the space or relying on community financial support, paradoxically forcing spaces committed to resisting capitalism to engage with the very market forces they seek to oppose. Additionally, the increasing privatization of public space and the surge in state surveillance further complicate efforts to organize in open environments. Public spaces, once seen as arenas for protest and dissent, are increasingly monitored and controlled, limiting the scope for unregulated collective action.
Moreover, the commodification of space entrenches boundaries that exclude marginalized groups from fully participating in communal practices. As Ross (2024) points out, the capitalist city “produces not only individualism but the fragmentation of social solidarity.” Even spaces of resistance can become arenas of exclusion, reinforcing divisions rather than promoting inclusivity. Nevertheless, the very contradictions of urban life—where social fragmentation is juxtaposed with the shared struggles of marginalized communities—still provide fertile ground for moments of collective solidarity. These moments, though fleeting, reveal the persistent potential of movement spaces to challenge and transform the urban landscape, even in the face of structural obstacles.
▦ 8 HORIZONS
Creating more movement spaces requires a radical reconfiguration of urban space, one that challenges the prevailing systems of land ownership and governance. Under neoliberal policies, land is commodified and financialized, often at the expense of marginalized communities. To disrupt these dynamics, it is essential to consider opportunities for the decommodification of land. Community Land Trusts (CLTs) offer a promising model, enabling communities to reclaim control of land subjected to market forces. CLTs represent an alternative to the speculative real estate market, granting communities land use control and ensuring it serves the collective interest rather than private capital.
There lies potential energy within the swaths of under-utilized publicly owned land. Municipal and state governments hold significant power over vacant or underutilized properties, which, if repurposed, could serve as spaces for community-led initiatives. This is especially salient in cities like New York, where public land is increasingly privatized. The transformation of cultural institutions—such as museums, libraries, and theaters—into sites of grassroots activism can further subvert their traditional role as pillars of state and capital, turning them into spaces of political engagement, mutual aid, and collective struggle. These institutions, as Bagchee (2019) suggests, “can be harnessed as sites of cultural production that create connections across communities and foster new forms of solidarity.”
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## Projected CRS: NAD83 / New York Long Island (ftUS)MORE INFO → Figure 3: Public Land Uses Mapped
In the fight for more movement spaces, policies that promote commercial rent control can help protect these spaces from the forces of gentrification. However, the creation of lasting change requires more than just policy intervention. It requires the building of alternative structures of governance and community organization. This is where the concept of “dual power,” outlined by Kristin Ross (2024), becomes crucial. In dual power models, communities work alongside or in opposition to state structures, establishing autonomous forms of governance that meet their needs while reducing reliance on the state. Over time, this process can render certain dysfunctional traditional state structures irrelevant, as new institutions based on collective self-management take root. As Ross (2024) writes, this approach represents “a conceivably longer-term practice of working alongside state structures and, in effect, substituting for the state in cases where the state has failed to respond to the general interest.” This substitution ultimately “requires unearthing forgotten skills and developing new capabilities” to create institutions that reflect new social relationships.
The potential for these alternatives can be seen in the libertarian municipal society described by Bookchin and Bagchee (2019), which advocates for small self-governing urban assemblies with clear social and ecological goals. These assemblies form the basis for a larger democratic confederation, enabling decentralized decision-making that challenges both state and capitalist structures. In such a system, movement space creation becomes integral to the broader project of building a society rooted in cooperation, solidarity, and ecological sustainability.
In addition to political and organizational strategies, the cultural and material aspects of space must remain salient. The expropriation of land for private-market development, particularly in urban areas, continually erodes the availability of space for movement organizing. Thus, reclaiming space is not just about resisting displacement but about reimagining how space can be created and maintained for the collective good. This process echoes Ross’s (2024) concept of “communal luxury,” shared resources or experiences that provide high-quality benefits for all community members. By focusing on spaces that foster cross-class contact and cooperation, we can build more inclusive communities that are better equipped to resist capitalist exploitation.
Ultimately, the creation of more movement spaces requires a materialist approach, one that understands the fundamental link between land, ownership, and power. This analysis must be informed by the experiences of marginalized communities who have long fought for access to space and resources, and who offer valuable lessons in building a more just and equitable urban environment. By learning from indigenous traditions of land stewardship, we can develop new practices for sharing and caring for land and the space atop it that support ecological sustainability and social justice. If movement spaces proliferate, “the city can inspire and encourage political engagement” (Bagchee 2019, 7). In doing so, we not only reclaim space for resistance but also create the conditions for a new kind of urban life, one rooted in cooperation and collective care.
▦ BIBLIOGRAPHY
Bagchee, Nandini. Counter Institution: Activist Estates of the Lower East Side. New York: University Press, 2019.
Bookchin, Murray. The Ecology of Freedom: The Emergence and Dissolution of Hierarchy. Palo Alto: Cheshire Books, 1982.
DeLanda, Manuel. Assemblage Theory. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016.
Foucault, Michel. “Of Other Spaces.” Architecture/Mouvement/Continuité 5 (1967): 46-49.
Fraser, Nancy. Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1990.
Harvey, David. Spaces of Hope. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000.
Klinenberg, Eric. Palaces for the People: How Social Infrastructure Can Help Fight Inequality, Polarization, and the Decline of Civic Life. New York: Crown Publishing, 2018.
Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell, 1991.
Miller, Byron. Spaces of Contention: The Politics of Collective Action. New York: Routledge, 2012.
Ross, Kristin. Communal Luxury: The Political Imaginary of the Paris Commune. New York: Verso, 2015.
Ross, Kristin. The Commune Form: The Transformation of Everyday Life. London: Verso, 2024 . Tiqqun. The Cybernetic Hypothesis. 2012.
Warner, Michael. Publics and Counterpublics. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2002.
Zapatistas, et al. The Zapatista Reader. 1997.
▦ DATA VISUALIZATIONS
Figure 1: Movement Space Typologies
Data source: I created this data myself.
Analysis: To produce the data that informed this plot, I first constructed a table consisting of a column to represent each axis. I next reflected upon then assigned each row (or movement space typology) with a corresponding value between -1 and +1 for each of the three columns (public vs private; reactive vs proactive; appropriated vs dominated). I then used the plot_ly package to produce the 3D cartesian graph.
Results: The results are meant to work in conversation with those of the subsequent graph, represented in Figure 2. And to serve as a repository for those interested in analogous movement space typologies and their typologizers. This visualization shows the clustering of the different movement space typologies, in space.
Figure 2: Public Land Uses
Data source: This data is from NYC OPEN DATA and provides information on various public and private cultural institutions across New York City, including their names, addresses, and types.
Analysis: I summarized the dataset of facilities according to the column SUBGRP. I then exported this summary table into a spreadsheet and performed the same analysis as above, where I assigned each row (public facility type) a corresponding value between -1 and +1 for each of the three columns (public vs private; reactive vs proactive; appropriated vs dominated). I relied purely on my subjective notions towards the use of the space-types, and where they existed along the three continuums.
Results: There is a distinct proliferation of public, appropriated, proactive spaces. But, their severity within this quadrant is modest. It is most interesting to consider the juxtaposing quadrants and the spaces represented within them (meaning the quadrants kitty-corner from one another).
Figure 3: Public Land Uses Mapped
Data source: This data is from NYC OPEN DATA and is from the same set as above.
Analysis: I filtered this dataset for public facility types that were listed as “cultural institutions.” I then joined the spatial data with a neighborhood shapefile, to attribute a neighborhood to each cultural insititution. I then created a color palette and mapped each institution, coded by type, on a map of NYC. The map is interactive to where users can filter for different tpyes.
Results: When navigated within, this visualization provides insight into the distribution of cultural facilities across neighborhoods and boroughs. There is a clear concentration in Manhattan and Downtown Brooklyn.
Next Steps
There is SO MUCH more I wish I could have done with data, in reference to this project. I tried and failed to create a summary table of the Cartesian 3D plots. I also struggled to successfully analyze the availability of public park space, within each neighborhood. And investigate the policing of those very spacea. I also would’ve also liked to incorporate additional data sets, such as income levels and demographic information, to analyze how the distribution of cultural facilities intersects with patterns of socioeconomic inequality. Or, conduct a more in-depth case study of neighborhoods with significant disparities in cultural facilities to understand the social, economic, and political factors influencing access to cultural resources. Alas – never enough time!
THANK YOU FOR READING
- Delaney