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To cite this article: Andrés Di Masso & John Dixon (2015) More Than Words: Place, Discourse
and the Struggle over Public Space in Barcelona, Qualitative Research in Psychology, 12:1,
45-60, DOI: 10.1080/14780887.2014.958387
Introduction
Psychological research on human-environment relations has been conducted primarily
within the subdiscipline of environmental psychology. Such research has shown how indi-
viduals’ cognitions, emotions, and actions are shaped by the material settings in which
they unfold. It has also elaborated a range of concepts designed to elucidate the spatial
dimension of human experience, including place attachment, place identity, and territo-
riality (e.g., see Altman & Low 1992; Proshansky, Fabian & Kaminoff 1983). Recently,
this spatial dimension has increasingly engaged researchers working in the companion dis-
cipline of social psychology, who have explored, for example, how physical settings are
linked to collective processes of belonging, remembering, identification, and differentiation
(e.g., Bonaiuto, Breakwell & Cano 1996). More fundamentally, they have explored how the
very meanings we attribute to our material environments are themselves a product of social
45
46 A. Di Masso and J. Dixon
Four Perspectives
We can identify four potential approaches to the resolution of this discourse-space dual-
ism that are implicit within the existing literature. These resolutions are rooted in research
traditions that overlap and interpenetrate one another in complex ways, including critical
psychology, cultural geography, urban studies and affect theories.
The first approach is illustrated by Macnaghten’s (1993) analysis of a public inquiry
into a controversial landfill site plan. The inquiry pitted a group of developers, for whom
the planning application was framed as a business opportunity, against the county council
and community representatives, for whom it was framed as spoiling the local landscape.
Macnaghten identified the main discursive constructions of “nature” deployed to define the
meaning of the proposed location and explored their rhetorical functions. Most important,
he related these arguments to external constraints (i.e., power structures such as legislation),
to the dispute’s final outcome (i.e., the inspector’s report) and to the ensuing environmen-
tal consequences (i.e., for dealing with the landfill itself). After evaluating the competing
arguments, the inspector produced a report in which a particular construction of place war-
ranted a concrete material outcome (i.e., a physical landscape that remained unaltered).
Place-discourse, it seems, can have all-too-tangible consequences. To echo Macnaghten’s
evocative phrase, words can literally “move mountains.”
The second approach is illustrated by Cromby and Nightingale’s (1999) critique of
social constructionism. If Macnaghten emphasized the material consequences of place-
discourse—words can move mountains—Cromby and Nightingale foregrounded the role
of embodiment, materiality, and power as extra-discursive realities that limit the nature and
consequences of practices of linguistic construction. Indeed, they proposed that materiality
is a precondition for the discursive constructions that inform everyday experience, and,
more specifically, listed the location of bodies and the organization of space as two of
these preconditions. According to this approach, talk about the material environment is
both enabled and constrained by its concrete organization, which shapes the conditions of
possibility under which particular rhetorical constructions become meaningful, plausible
and consequential. For example, a neighbourhood whose design, infrastructure and archi-
tecture divides members of particular social groups from one another or relegates some
members to marginal spaces beyond community boundaries also delimits the constructions
of place and people-place relations that can be meaningfully or coherently formulated (see
Buizer & Turnhout 2011; Di Masso 2012; Durrheim & Dixon 2005).
48 A. Di Masso and J. Dixon
ing into sharper focus a new object of empirical and methodological enquiry: the messy,
complex, and constantly unfolding, entanglement of material geography, embodied prac-
tices, and language that structures place-experiences over time. Durrheim, Rautenbach,
Nicholson and Dixon’s (2013) study of nightclubs in South Africa offers one example
of how this kind of approach might work in practice, without pretending to resolve its
underlying philosophical tensions. Their ethnography examined both how cocktail bars
were linguistically constructed as sites of heterosexual opportunity that constitute women
as sexualised objects of desire and, simultaneously, how this process implicated a myriad
of other material structures and embodied practices. The material structures were instituted
within the design, visual imagery, and decor of place. The embodied practices were insti-
tuted within the dress codes and conduct of staff and patrons, which ranged from mundane
activities such as sitting, walking, and talking to overtly sexualised practices of flirting,
watching, and dancing. According to Durrheim et al. (2013), this “affective ensemblage”
of practices together constituted the cocktail bar as a space of heterosexual and hetero-
normative desire: a space that privileged certain ways of being and acting, certain bodies,
and certain gendered and sexualized identities.
In sum, these approaches clarify the relationship between material space and place-
discourse by providing four main ideas. First, discourse about space potentially affects
physical space; second, physical space limits the sorts of discursive place-constructions that
are available, possible and meaningful; third, in experiencing physical or discursive space
there is always an “excess” that eludes our analytical focus if we consider only the material-
as-physical and the immaterial-as-discourse; and fourth, the space-discourse dualism may
be potentially eroded by redefining the analytical unit of empirical work as an affective
patterning in which place-discourse, emplaced bodies and material space are treated as
inextricably intertwined in the production of human-environment relations. We develop
and illustrate the latter idea (see also Durrheim, Mtose & Brown 2011) in the rest of our
article.
From this perspective, the linguistic and the material, the intangible and the physical,
the imagined and the real, are re-specified as relational properties and processes that perma-
nently create, reproduce and modify human-environment relations as part of an indissoluble
unity. Materiality and the emplaced body are neither more nor less “real” than the discursive
productions with which they dynamically interrelate in order to produce environments that,
at some point, become “thinkable,” “feel-able,” “usable” and so on.
By redefining the practices that construct human-environment relations as dynamic
assemblages, we acknowledge that some elements will remain under-explored in any given
moment of analysis, which inevitably entails limitations of emphasis, focus, and perspec-
tive. We acknowledge, too, that the concept of assemblage may stand in lieu of a better
developed vocabulary, methodology and perhaps even political imagination. Nevertheless,
we believe that this concept allows us to begin to transcend the discourse-space dualism.
Most important, it replaces an analytics of disjunction (discourse or materiality) with an
analytics of articulation and jointness (discourse/materiality). Ultimately, in this article at
least, we are less interested in showing what discursive and spatial-material analysis inde-
pendently contribute than in showing what is missing if we do not explore them together
(for similar approaches, see Conlon 2004 on the mutual constitution of public space, bodies
and sexualities, and Tamboukou 2010 on assemblage as a new social ontology illustrated
through the interrelationships between education and art in women’s narratives). In the next
section, we seek to foster an emerging analytics of assemblage by outlining an illustrative
case study.
Between 2000 and 2007, a complex, and occasionally violent, struggle unfolded
between the various parties interested in the space’s development. Some parties affirmed the
rights of local people to create a self-managed park (residents, neighbours and squatters);
others sought to enforce the original urban regeneration plan (city council and developers);
still others were opposed in principle to the occupation but also criticized the city council’s
plan (members of local civic organisations). Ultimately, following a controversial consul-
tation process, the Self-Managed Park of the Hole of Shame was demolished, its occupants
evicted, and an institutionally approved public square was created in its stead. The Hole of
Shame became “Figuera’s Well gardens.”
Elsewhere, we have presented a detailed analysis of discourse about the evolution of
this public space. We have described, for instance, how stakeholders constructed, contested
and warranted different versions of human-environment relations in order both to justify the
occupation and to oppose it (see Di Masso, Dixon & Pol 2011). However useful in its own
right, this earlier work also highlighted for us the limitations of a methodological and con-
ceptual approach based solely on the analysis of linguistic texts. It seemed to gloss over vital
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features of the struggle for the Hole of Shame and, perhaps most important, the intimate
connections between the discursive, embodied and material dimensions of that struggle.
At the same time, simply supplanting an approach focused on everyday language about the
Hole with an approach that emphasized its concrete and embodied nature seemed to us to
miss the point. The concept of place-assemblage thus emerged as a potentially useful ana-
lytical tool—a tool that highlighted how the Hole’s transformation comprised a process in
which material and discursive elements were complexly and dynamically imbricated and,
in fact, how understanding the role of one element literally demanded understanding the
role of the other.
the “real timing” of the relational articulation of material, embodied and discursive prop-
erties meeting in the actual episode to create a “locational” reality. One set of episodes
included text or talk physically located in the Hole of Space that seemed to have a “place-
indexical” quality, making sense only when emplaced geographically (e.g., see Scollon
& Scollon 2003; Benwell & Stokoe 2006, pp. 209–10). The other set of events involved
circular sequences of text/talk, spatially located embodied actions and physical environ-
mental changes (i.e., materially consequential discursive action frames and discursively
consequential material actions). As we will illustrate, the timing factor is central. It keeps
analysis within the margins of what we could call a space-embedded criterion of “observ-
able relevance” (Antaki 1994). That is, analysis concentrates on what is actually going on
in the space, as a space-and-time pattern of assembled properties. However, this process
involves a narrative reconstruction of events years after the struggle happened. Since the
time factor is central in shaping place-assemblages, we may acknowledge that an “in vivo”
analysis of those episodes would have probably offered a perspective closer to the “zeit-
geist” of the ongoing struggle, not easily reproducible years later but nonetheless present
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Episode One: Planting the Christmas Tree. The Hole of Shame struggle was, above all, a
struggle over spatial occupation and control. Indeed, use of the term “occupation” is only
possible because the struggle involved the physical appropriation, use and transformation
of an empty patch of ground. The planting of a symbolic fir tree on December 15, 2000
(Figure 1) represented its (concrete) starting point. The neighbour who video-recorded this
event offered the following account:
Extract 1
Despite the fact the Ayuntamiento1 has not made clear what is going to be done
on the soil, the demolitions have started already. A small group of neighbours
claim for a green zone. That’s why they have planted a Christmas tree.
The planting of this tree began to create a place whose meaning, we would argue, arose
only through the interrelation of its various material, embodied, and linguistic elements.
A number of things are worth noting here. First, what was planted was a tree and not, say,
a flag, washing machine, or city council sign: the object was chosen to signify something
green, natural, organic and true—not as a matter of necessity, but in combination with
the other elements with which it was imbricated (e.g., Extract 1). Second and relatedly,
52 A. Di Masso and J. Dixon
Figure 1. Fir tree planted inside the Hole of Shame (Source. “El Forat”; Falconetti 2004).
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this process depended upon a complex amalgam including the tree as a cultural sign, the
immediate physicality of the tree, the bodily practices involved in the planting, and the
discourse that arose around its planted presence. Third, it is not incidental that this tree
was installed inside the empty space. The location chosen had place-indexical properties,
made possible by that environment and not just any other. If the tree had been planted just a
street away, for example, its meaning would have been entirely different. Fourth, of course,
we concede that planting the tree did not, in itself, articulate, elucidate or finish a political
project. Accounts such as Extract 1 allow us to glimpse how the fir tree was rhetorically
constituted as an act of political protest. Nevertheless, we insist that this outcome arose
through the indissoluble combination of material, geo-indexical and discursive properties
that created, in that space, a meaning-full reality. It arose as an assemblage.
This theme can be illustrated further by considering the sequence of events that fol-
lowed the planting of the tree. To begin with, the act of planting was itself read as a seditious
action by local authorities, who responded by sending an official to chop the tree down on
February 21, 2001. Residents responded by planting a second tree on March 9, 2001. The
significance of this act arose partly through the discursive practices that defined its mean-
ings. As Extract 2 illustrates, for example, neighbours constructed the second planting as a
positive act of resistance, an act that somehow encapsulated their political project to give
the space “life” as a green environment for local people. However, at least in part, such
accounts made sense and became effective because they were entwined with other material
and embodied practices.
Extract 2
Here in the neighbourhood we have decided, the neighbours and the Hole of
Shame Collective, to buy another fir tree. Tomorrow with the kids we’ll deco-
rate it a little and if this is a problem for the Ayuntamiento because we haven’t
asked them for permission, we ask permission now: permission so they don’t
remove it because it has life, that one has life.
To begin with, the second tree was of the same species as the original tree (a fir) and it
was planted in exactly the same spot as its predecessor. In this way, it could materially
embody the tenacity of a grass-roots struggle whose environmental vision had not been
More Than Words 53
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Figure 2. Hand-written sign in the second fir tree (Source. “El Forat”; Falconetti 2004).
altered by the official intervention. If a different tree had been planted in a different place, its
political environmental meanings would also have been altered. In addition, once installed,
the new tree could become a focus of other kinds of place-making practices. Consider, for
example, the photograph presented in Figure 2, which depicts a hand-written sign hung
from the branches of the second tree shortly after its planting. The sign reads: “I have a life.
Don’t cut me. Don’t kill me like happened to my brother (the Neighbours’ Collective of
the Hole of Shame).” The “death in the family” image here is clearly part of the rhetoric of
environmental resistance: it serves both as a condemnation of past government action and
as an emotive plea against future intervention. Crucially, however, it signifies a particular
set of environmental meanings precisely because it is hanging from that tree in that space
and not, say, on the wall of an activist’s living room. That is, again, it operates as a part of
an assemblage of place-making properties.
To conclude our discussion of this opening example, we wish to add that this second
tree was also removed and, once more, an identical tree was replanted in the same place.
Indeed, over the next year, several more trees appeared in the site of the original fir tree
and numerous community activities were organised there, including meals, street-theatre,
musical events and bicycle workshops. When police finally removed the park and evicted
its defendants in November, 2002, a digger was sent in to uproot the Christmas tree (see
Figure 3) and the administration erected a wall around the Hole of Shame in order to pre-
vent access to it. Interestingly, in this context, occupants’ resistance replaced the planting
of “real” trees with the production of symbols, objects and graffiti that incorporated tree
symbolism as part of a place-indexical rhetoric of resistance (see Figure 4).
Episode Two: The Wall of Shame. The Hole of Shame was cleared in November 2002 and
a quite different assemblage of elements emerged. Its occupants were evicted en masse,
several being physically wounded and arrested in the process (see Figure 5). Systems
of defence and surveillance were implemented to ensure that they did not return. Trees
were uprooted and other traces of the occupation removed. New territorial boundaries were
erected—initially in the form of plastic tapes that read “Police – keep out” and later in the
form of a concrete wall designed to permanently restrict access to the Hole (see Figure 6).
54 A. Di Masso and J. Dixon
Figure 3. A digger uproots the fir tree (Source. “El Forat”; Falconetti 2004).
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Figure 4. Graffiti in the Hole of Shame (Source. Nova Ciutat Vella n◦ 72).
Figure 5. Police charge in the Hole of Shame in November 2002 (Source. © Jordi Roviralta/Ediciones
El País, S.L., 2014).
More Than Words 55
Figure 6. Policemen standing by the Wall of Shame (Source. Isabel Esterman, http://www.flickr.com/
Downloaded by [Open University] at 01:38 26 May 2016
photos/isa_e/1959474001/in/set-72157603208358260/).
Extract 3
We denounce that, while the neighbour movement has dignified the Hole of
Shame planting trees in it, the Ayuntamiento has privatised this urban space by
building, under the police’s protection, a wall of shame that degrades the envi-
ronment and criminalises the neighbours. We denounce that the lack of means
to face the citizens’ fear of crime that we all suffer contrasts with the huge
abundance of forces of the Guardia Urbana2 to repress the neighbour move-
ment and to besiege the Hole of the Shame night and day during all week to
guard a simple wall. We believe that a popular initiative to defend a green area
from the threat of speculative projects and to humanise an urban space devas-
tated by the massive and indiscriminate demolitions deserves to be respected
by the public institutions.
In the account offered by the occupants’ social movement in Extract 3, for example, the
new defensive architecture of the Hole was portrayed both as an incarnation of the gov-
ernment’s neglect of local citizens’ demands and as an attempt to privatize what was
formerly an accessible and green space. This rhetorical contrast between the two spaces
was clearly designed to problematize the intervention. In pointing this out, we are not sug-
gesting that talk about environmental neglect and privatization was inevitably associated
with particular spatial or embodied transformations. Indeed, widely varying accounts of its
significance emerged at this time. Some framed the changes as a positive and necessary
step in the space’s development, others as a degradation of a valued environment of the
community. Some highlighted the legitimacy of police action, others its illegitimacy. Some
argued for calm acceptance, others for collective protest. Yet all of these accounts were
56 A. Di Masso and J. Dixon
oriented, in one way or another, to the shifting realities of an environment that had been
transformed in its basic design, layout and patterns of access, occupancy, movement and
usage. Accounts did not float free or independent of this reality but were complexly focused
on, enmeshed with, and delimited by, many other non-linguistic properties shaping a
place-assemblage.
By the same token, of course, discursive constructions of the material changes wrought
by local council and police created the impetus for forms of action designed to uphold or
reverse precisely those changes. Thus, during a public assembly, one neighbour explicitly
proposed to “gather in a demonstration, starting in the Hole of Shame, knocking down
the wall and taking the debris to the Ayuntamiento.” This proposal met with applause
and, immediately afterwards, some revealing graffiti appeared on the wall of shame (see
Figure 7). It read “1, 2, 3, Boom,” anticipating the collective action that was soon to take
place there, across the talking bricks. The ensuing demonstration (see Figure 8) began after
a popular meal and a music concert had taken place close to the wall and took the form of
a march through the neighbouring streets of Casc Antic. Yet again, we would argue, these
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details of geographic placement and route are not inconsequential but an intrinsic part of
its meaning. As they arrived back at the wall of shame, protestors used their hands, stones,
fence posts, bricks, sticks and pliers to cut the wire and knock down the wall (see Figure 9).
Within half an hour, it had disappeared and hundreds of people had gathered inside the
Hole of Shame. They clapped their hands in joy and used spades to dig new holes in the
soil and put new plants in them.
The point of this brief outline is not to offer a detailed or exhaustive account of events
that led to the creation of the so-called second Self-Managed Park of the Hole of Shame.
Rather, we wish merely to indicate how such events implicated a complex, unfolding and
mutually constitutive set of practices in which the line between discourse, materiality and
the body was constantly being blurred. In this process of territorial reclamation, a complex
assemblage of tangible and intangible practices served to create, or perhaps more accu-
rately to recover, a particular form of human-environment relations, including speeches,
marching, writing on the wall, digging and planting, and the physical destruction of territo-
rial boundaries. This assemblage reconstructed the identity of place by “plugging” its many
texts, bodies, movements and spaces into one other in different ways and at different scales
Figure 7. Graffiti on the Wall of Shame (Source. “El Forat”; Falconetti 2004).
More Than Words 57
Figure 8. Demonstration before knocking down the wall (Source. Arquitectes Sense Fronteres).
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Figure 9. The people knock down the wall (Source. “El Forat”; Falconetti 2004).
(from the micro-location of signs to police actions and institutional bylaws) (see Malins
2004). The “green and public space” of the local community was resurrected, even if it was
not to last.
Conclusion
Our rationale for writing this article was to extend the emerging discursive psychological
approach to human-environment relations. Discursive psychological research has already
made several important contributions to this field of inquiry, notably by drawing attention to
the role of everyday language in constructing the meanings of place and person-place rela-
tionships. By the same token, however, such research has generally overlooked how such
meanings and relationships are not a product of linguistic practices alone. If the discursive
perspective on human-environment relations is to evolve, we feel that it needs to transcend
its traditional comfort zones—to look beyond the analysis of linguistic texts in isolation
58 A. Di Masso and J. Dixon
and towards a more expansive approach that incorporates a wider range of methods, data
and sensitizing concepts.
In this regard, we have advocated an analytic framework that seeks to transcend the
space-discourse dualism implicit in the human-environment divide, by providing a more
complex, psychosocial account of emplaced subjectivity and social practice. Our frame-
work presupposes that physical spaces, embodied practices and place-talk simultaneously
shape each other as constituents of a same (but shifting) unity of sense and meaning.
As such, neither arises as an independent or sui generis reality. Rather, they are always
parts of an unfolding assemblage of elements, which crystallize in moments of mutual con-
stitution and delimitation within particular contexts. We have used the Hole of Shame case
study to illustrate just a few ways in which such assemblages unfolded within a particular
environment. In so doing, this framework echoes Foucauldian work that treats language as
inseparable from other meaning-making practices within discursive formations that already
include material spaces and embodied relations. Here, the discourse-space divide is simply
irrelevant. However, we believe that even to this audience the analytic tool of assem-
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Notes
1. City council.
2. Local police forces.
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