The Scopic Feast of Heritage and the Invention of Unthreatening Diversity in Neoliberal Cities

Abstract

This article explores the role that heritage might play in the representation of ‘difference’, within the context of neoliberal cities. The case is a large-scale urban change in the former working-class neighborhood of Gamlestaden, Sweden. Interviews and on-site observations revealed how authorized heritage practices can enable the celebration of particular social and cultural values, while naturalizing the erasure of others. People’s cultural diversity, and diverging interpretations of the past, have been guided by the power of heritage into a process of subjectification, according to which only ‘unthreatening’ forms of cultural diversity were celebrated and revealed legitimate. The ‘fetishized’ difference and particular historical records have served to conceal the political interest at stake in its’ production and maintenance, and led to a politicised representation of cultural diversity through what Annie Coombes’ terms ‘scopic feast’. All this was made possible through BID, the first neoliberal business improvement district model in Sweden, and its investment in a deeply rooted process of heritageisation. Uncritical engagement with difference in the context of heritage management and neoliberal urban development, make it appear almost natural to erase the cultural values that fall outside the authorized narrative of value.

1. Introduction

Cultural diversity and other notions of living together-in-difference are notably advocated in urban policies that celebrate ‘difference’ as a basis for the development of socially equal cities [1,2,3]. New public spaces, landscapes, and architecture are designed to enable innovative forms of social interaction, while cities host a wide range of cultural programs, including festivals, carnivals, Pride celebrations, and other religious events. Despite these efforts to make difference and cultural representations visible, scholars from diverse disciplines are concerned about an often-uncritical engagement with the underlining principles of diversity and inclusion and their conventional utility as sources of energy, legitimacy, and capital for urban change. Sociologists, for example, make a clear distinction between social contact and quality of social life, and explore the persistence of segregation by race and class, and the social basis of power struggles in the celebrated ‘multicultural cities’ [4,5,6]. Political scientists investigate power differentials and map coalitions of neoliberal business elites to explain the distortion of small businesses and minority groups and how this leads to polarised political and cultural landscapes in cities [1,7,8]. Geographers draw on notions of relationality, scale, and affect, among others, to explain the spatial and political representation of justice and rights, and to re-conceptualise the evolving space in the culturally diverse city [3,9,10]. Scholars of urban studies advocate the uses of diversity as a panacea for enduring urban problems—segregation, gentrification, displacement, representation, prejudice, fear, and other notions of inclusion/exclusion [11,12,13,14,15,16].

This article makes a contribution to these debates, using a critical heritage studies (CHS) perspective on diversity, inclusion, and urban change. It specifically explores the role that heritage may play in the creation of unnoticed forms of urban (in)justices. Heritage, in this article, is viewed as a continuously changing process of contestations, negotiations, and representations through which our realities become reconstructed and realised. Any conception that reduces heritage to material, official, historic, authentic, and/or universal aspects is therefore dismissed. Instead, heritage is engaged with in this article through its capacity to make change. Its political instrumentality can enable its expansion towards the politics of subjectification, sense of place, and other aspects of community development. It is argued here that the politicisation of heritage is entangled in the conception of ‘diversity’ and the ways it is employed in urban policies for change. In this sense, heritage can constitute the discursive backbone for legitimating particular patterns of diversity and naturalising, or even silencing, associated processes of gentrification, displacement, and other urban injustices.

These arguments and assumptions are investigated within the ongoing large-scale urban restructuring of the former working-class neighbourhood of Gamlestaden, located in the city of Gothenburg, Sweden. Large-scale urban renewal projects were implemented to improve the social and spatial conditions of the neighbourhood and its connection to the rest of the city. After this introduction, a short history of Gamlestaden is presented to explain how a hopeful narrative has served the celebration of the new patterns of urban change. In the subsequent section, the ways in which cultural diversity has been incorporated in the urban change of Gamlestaden are critically analysed following four analytical lines: wholeness and healing; monumentality and alienation; multiplicities and boundaries; and cleanliness and sameness. Next, the discussion of these lines shows how the representation of Gamlestaden’s cultural diversity, through that which Annie Coombes’ [17] terms elsewhere ‘scopic feast’, enabled an unnoticed process of gentrification and displacement. The locals with foreign backgrounds who could afford the new market value and lifestyle of Gamlestaden and contribute into the international outlook of the local community were only celebrated through Roshi Naidoo’s ‘unthreatening Other’ [3,18]. Uncritical celebration of hybridity, whether in museums or urban contexts, threatens to reduce diversity into symbolic representation rather than an attribute, and celebrates it only when it appears unthreatening, rather than inclusive.

2. The Case, Materials, and Methods

2.1. The Case

Gamlestaden is inhabited by more than 10,000 residents. About 32% of them were born abroad, while 42% have an international background—mainly from Italy, Iraq, Iran, Somalia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Syria, Finland, Yugoslavia, Poland, and Turkey. Their diversity has brought a mixture of second-hand shops, bustling markets, craft breweries, vintage shops, and restaurants to the neighbourhood [19,20]. The adjacent former industrial area has Gothenburg’s oldest indoor flea market, Bellevue market (Bellevue marknad) where a range of small-scale businesses, cultural associations, and a mosque are also located. Gamlestaden and its neighbouring Bellevue are today viewed as one area and centrally located (Figure 1).

The present built environment of Gamlestaden was built between the 19th–20th century over the ruins of the medieval town Nya Lödöse (1473–1624). The King of Sweden Gustavus Adolphus (or Gustav II Adolf) demolished Nya Lödöse in 1621 and instead built the city of Gothenburg near the Älv River, in order to improve the city’s security and proximity to the harbour. In the 17th century, some Dutch cultural elites (architects and planners), who helped build Gothenburg and dominated its politics, built large farms (locally known as Landerierna) on and near Nya Lödöse, adding a new layer of history to the demolished area. Several Landrierier were later built by locals for agricultural and sugar industries. An industrial boom between 1850 and 1950 made Gothenburg an attractive harbour and industrial city. It became popular for textiles, mechanics, and meat production, as well as the globally leading bearing and seal manufacturing company (SKF)—which was founded in Gamlestaden in 1907—and the vehicle manufacturing company Volvo in 1927. Nevertheless, working-class neighbourhoods in Gothenburg and other Swedish cities were poorly developed and lacked services. Continuous protests by workers’ unions prompted the Social Democrat Party, which led the country between 1932 and 1976, to form a national committee. Inspired by the Swedish Social Welfare model Folkhemmet (The People’s Home), which advocated equal access to housing with the ‘lowest accepted standards’ (LGS) (Land Code, Chapter 12, 18a §), the committee revealed the poor living standards in all working-class neighbourhoods [21].

After the Second World War, several economic recessions gradually drove industry and residents from the working-class neighbourhoods, worsening their living standards. This situation gradually changed, following the new economic and industrial growth. During the 1960s, new small businesses and cultural associations were founded in Gamlestaden, expanding the suburb’s geographical boundaries towards Bellevue and other neighbouring areas. Although it became renowned for its international character, the authorized narrative of the area’s decline stigmatised Gamlestaden for being a rundown, socially vulnerable crime area [22]. It also became locally known as the ‘most problematic’ and ‘shameful’ area in Gothenburg [22] (p. 148) [20]. In a report endorsed by the Swedish National Council for Crime Prevention, it was described as a ‘mistreated public environment and individual buildings, organised crime in the form of cars burning, explosions and armed fights, high levels of everyday crime, extensive social problems, black newspaper headlines and a high level of insecurity’ [20] (p. 4).

Informed by Folkhemmet, the Swedish parliament subsidised the construction of one million modern housing units (Miljonprogrammet), and large transportation infrastructure between 1965 and 1975. The new development paved the way for the demolition of many working-class neighbourhoods or marking them as ‘demolition areas’ on the detailed development plans. In Gamlestaden, a number of buildings and the main square were demolished to provide space for the construction of the two main streets: Artillerigatan and Gamlestadsvägen. Conceived as an ancient site, archaeological excavation works were carried¹ out to uncover historic traces of Nya Lödöse. The municipal real estate corporation Göta Lejon, founded in 1962, systematically purchased and demolished the physical properties that, according to the municipal Preservation Program, the Plan and Building Act, and the Environmental Code, should not be viewed as ‘typical Gothenburg’ or, according to the Land Code, do not meet the national government’s LGS. Apartments located in demolition areas with unclear development plans were rented out through cheap leases which made them affordable to residents on low-income, small businesses, unemployed people, alcohol addicts, or marginalised minorities. This history brought to Gamlestaden people from different countries, and their ‘foreign’ languages and styles are still visible in the current community.

During the 1970s, the economic situation worsened after the global oil crisis and the closure of the main shipyards in Gothenburg. This gave rise to a new environment for urban entrepreneurialism supported by the traditional public–private partnership, locally known as ‘the spirit of Gothenburg’ [23]. Driven by a free market ideology, the city’s rundown neighbourhoods were envisioned as fertile ground for business investment. Around 42 local property owners (including private and public housing companies, and private cooperative owners) and a consultancy firm formed the non-profit organisation Real Estate Owners in Gamlestaden (or Fastighetsägare i Gamlestaden) to debate the future of their real estates. As Göran Olausson, District Manager at Poseidon, a large municipal housing organisation, explained:

If we [real estate owners] become a major group of influencers, we can then partner with other municipal actors like Park and Nature, Safe and Beautiful City… If we invest together, we can attract new investments and make money together.

[22] (p. 150; original in Swedish, authors’ translation)

To demonstrate their alignment with the City’s vision of Safe and Beautiful City (or ‘Trygg, Vacker Stad), the Real Estate Owners in Gamlestaden re-named their organisation as Safe Gamlestaden (or ‘Trygga Gamlestaden’). They also established a coalition with several local authorities, including the Swedish Transport Administration, City Planning Department, Park and Nature Administration, and SDF Kortedala [24]. In 2014, the name of the organisation was changed to Hela Gamlestaden. ‘Hela’, in the Swedish language, literally means both ‘whole’ and ‘heal’. Hela Gamlestaden emerged with a market-orientated logic, through which all real estate owners shared the interest of upgrading the neighbourhood and increasing property values. Indeed, even private cooperative housing and social housing worked towards the same goal of increasing property values. A number of areas were thus ear-marked on the development plans as places for possible development, in that they possessed the ‘potential for’ housing, commerce, and/or offices.

Between 2007 and 2009, the State signed the West Swedish Agreement (or Västsvenska Paketet, with an estimated budget of SEK 34 billion) with the City of Gothenburg and Västra Götaland County, in order to implement several transportation infrastructure projects, in addition to housing and office premises. This included the construction of a transportation and commerce hub in Gamlestaden, to improve connectivity between the different areas within the northeast region (Figure 2). The agreement followed a vision for a ‘dense and mixed’ (tät och blandad) Gothenburg, which was framed to inform the preparations for the Gothenburg Quadricentennial Jubilee Exposition (‘Jubileumsutställningen i Göteborg’), to be held in 2021.

In practice, ‘mixed’ is broadly defined in terms of functions, such as habitations, offices, cultures, recreation, services, and commercial activities, and envisioned as a strategy to make areas feel alive, safe, and attractive [25] (p. 21). It is, however, unwittingly compared with both multiculturality (‘mångkulturalitet’/‘mångkulturell’) and diversity (‘mångfald’). Mixed is often used in development plans (practice), while multiculturalism and cultural diversity are sometimes distinguished from each other or interchangeably used in policy documents and discourses. Although multiculturalism has been used in Sweden since 1970s, the Swedish National Heritage Board (SNHB), for example, increasingly sees multiculturalism as effecting division rather than unity [26] (p. 22). In its 2030 vision, the SNHB called for an inclusive engagement with heritage:

‘Everyone, regardless of [their] background, experiences [should be able] to feel that they can have a claim over the cultural heritage that shapes Sweden.’

[26] (p. 4)

Considering the history of Gamlestaden as being located over the ruins of Nya Lödöse, the urban renewal projects in Gamlestaden viewed the re-birth of Gamlestaden as being not only ‘a dense mixed city close to downtown and water’ (‘Gamlestaden––tät blandstad nära både centrum och vatten’) but also a historic area. To document the historic layers beneath Gamlestaden, the County Administrative Board, which acts as a watchdog over the implementation of national policies, demanded that all land owners carry out salvage excavation works, following the Cultural Heritage Act (kulturminneslagen). The City’s Real Estate Property office commissioned The Archaeologists (or Arkeologerna, a part of the government agency of National Historical Museums) to carry out the excavations, together with the companies Rio Göteborg Nature and Culture Cooperative and Bohusläns Museum. As the project leader at Arkeologerna explained,

In the beginning we investigated everything and found out that important parts of Nya Lödöse were not documented by the previous excavations of 1914 and 1960s (Interview, May 2018).

To uncover the undocumented ruins, the county’s Cultural Environment Unit expanded the geographic area for excavation (Figure 3). This inclusive approach was shortly reduced to cover the medieval history of Nya Lödöse only, due to limited resources. Valuable finds were unearthed, brushed, cleaned, grouped and archived, then transported to the city museum and other official hosts.

In April 2018, Hela Gamlestaden was officially formalized as the first Business Improvement District Model (BID) in Sweden [27]. The foundation of BID represented an important turning point in the history of the Welfare State in Sweden, and an achievement for neoliberal forms of governance. BID initially emerged from a long tradition of private sector-led initiatives for revitalizing city centres in North American and Canadian cities. According to Hoyt and Gopal-Agge [28], BIDs are ‘privately directed and publicly sanctioned organisations that supplement public services within geographically defined boundaries by generating multiyear revenue through a compulsory assessment on local property owners and/or businesses’. Since the 1990s, BIDs are increasingly visible across the globe, including in Germany, the UK, Denmark, and Sweden [29]. BID’s Gothenburg also signed an official collaboration agreement with the municipality of Gothenburg and eight partners²: two administrative city districts, four city departments (respectively: real estate, building, traffic, and park and nature), one development and maintenance company, and the city insurance company. The agreement stated that:

Gamlestaden will be a harmonious and functional whole, where older and newer parts strengthen each other, where everyday life works well for new and old residents, where social networking, local initiative, cultural expression, security, the area’s exciting history and local identity can flourish…The district’s history, identity and culture are valuable for building the future of Gamlestaden.

[30]

The efforts of BID led to a language of optimism in the local debates, and the celebration of Gamlestaden’s ‘cultural diversity’, ancient and industrial history, modern architecture, luxury housing and commerce, international environment, and transportation infrastructure. In the following years, this language has been shared by a coalition of actors, from the private and public sectors, and re-emphasized in their networks. For example, the municipal reports explain the progress of the implemented urban renewal projects, and their contribution to the mixed city discourse and the Quadricentennial Jubilee Exposition of 2021. The Arkeologerna celebrate the large number of excavated finds, the knowledge they acquired about Nya Lödöse, and the new model of ‘public archaeology’ (e.g., The European Day of Archaeology) which inspired the organisation of guided tours during the excavation works to inform people of the historic significance of Nya Lödöse. BID’s newsletter, blogs, and debates also explain the specific achievements of the urban renewal project in terms of security improvement, modernisation, and services. As explained by BID, ‘It is extremely valuable that we now have hard data that shows that the efforts are producing results. Today, Gamlestaden is a neighbourhood where people choose to move and where they want their children to grow up’ [20] (p. 3).

BID’s reports constantly produce statistics to demonstrate the positive impacts of development (e.g., decline in unemployment from 9% in 2000 to 6.5% in 2015, and dependency on social welfare from 22% in 2000 to 5.5% in 2015) [20] (p. 33), and justify the need for new urban renewal projects. This has supported the celebration of BID in Gamlestaden, as many locals share the feeling that Gamlestaden has become an ‘alive’, ‘crime-free’, and business-friendly neighbourhood. Little attention, however, has been given to the recent debates that signal the growing processes of gentrification and displacement. For example, ETC Gothenburg, which is a left-wing political newspaper, stated that ‘there are no plans to prevent rent increases and displacement in Gamlestaden. This will lead to a gentrified neighbourhood with a homogeneous and economically strong group live, and where small shops, businesses and people with lower incomes were forced to leave once again [31]. The local newspaper Gothenburg Direct (‘GöteborgDirekt’) explained that the ‘Bosnia Express and another 15 musical bands will soon leave their studios’. Similarly, the Bunkeberget Skatepark was supposed to leave the SKF’s premises, as the latter planned to transform the skatepark into a building for parking. Furthermore, protests erupted against the construction of new housing units on Holländareplatsen park, and a group of concerned locals founded the Facebook page ‘Let’s Talk Gamlestaden’ (@GamlestadenGoteborg) to discuss the development plans in light of the poor circulation of information. Public and political debates increasingly assess the extent to which the ongoing urban restructuring responds to the present needs of culturally diverse Gamlestaden.

2.2. Methods and Materials

Field research in Gamlestaden was conducted between January and June 2018 to explore the urban change and the social responses to it. This included thirteen on-street interviews (5–10 min) and the organisation of an Open Day at Gamlestaden’s library where we presented different documents and maps about the neighbourhoods and invited people to reflect and engage. The idea was to map the different public opinions about the ongoing development plans. The collected data were thematically grouped to explore with the local community through semi-structured face-to-face interviews: eight with rentals (hereafter referred to as R 1–8); and four with members of private cooperatives (M-PC 1–4). The themes were meant to explore people’s cultural diversity, appreciation of Gamlestaden’s qualities, familiarity with the area’s history, involvement in debating, and association with the new social and spatial realities. Semi-structured interviews were also conducted with five civil servants, including the Project Manager of Gamlestaden Urban Restructuring (PM-GUR), the Director of the Eastern District of Gothenburg (D-EDG), the project leader at Archaeologerna (PL-A), the Director of the Real Estate Services Department (R-ESD), and an archaeologist from the County Administrative Board (A-CAB). The focus was on how the plans were designed and implemented, and how they considered diversity, inclusion, community outreach, values of heritage, local narratives, and social and spatial consequences, including gentrification and displacement. The Operational Manager of BID (OM-BID) was also interviewed to understand how it emerged, its policies for integration and equality, engagement with different community groups, coalitions, resources, and legislative basis. This was followed with an interview with the former District Director of Poseidon housing company (FDD-P), which was central in the foundation of BID. Furthermore, the manager of the Bellevue flea market (Bellevue marknad) (M-VIO) and a representative from the Bosnia and Herzegovina Association in the Bellevue industrial area (R-BHA) were interviewed to investigate how local qualities and actors have been involved in the development.

The interviews ranged from 45–120 min and were carried out in participants’ working or living spaces. Findings from the interviews were compared with analyses of different official and unofficial planning and heritage documents, as well as several public and political media publications, in order to uncover how Gamlestaden’s plural cultures, experiences, narratives, landscapes, semiotics, mobility means, functions, human experiences, and layers of meaning have been expressed in debates, maps, and spatial realities. Comparing the different empirical data led to the articulation of these four analytical lines:

∙

Wholeness and healing;

∙

Monumentality and alienation;

∙

Multiplicities and boundaries;

∙

Dirty-clean binaries and the creation of sameness and purity.

Despite their interlinked relations, these four are separated from one another for analytical purposes, as explained in the following section.

3. Results: Unsettling ‘Diversity’ through Heritage in Gamlestaden

3.1. Wholeness and Healing

Both ‘wholeness’ and ‘healing’ were used by BID to constitute the tagline ‘Hela Gamlestaden’. Inspired by the City’s vision for Eastern Gothenburg 2021 (or Vision Östra Göteborg [32]), Gamlestaden was envisioned as both a ‘harmonious whole’ (or ‘en harmonisk helhet’ [20] (p. 17), and an alive part of the eastern Gothenburg region (BID-Göteborgs Stad Agreement). As stated in the 2021 vision document:

Eastern Gothenburg is rich with people, culture and nature. There are schools, libraries, cultural centres, small towns and farms, but also places for cafes, clubs, unique unspoilt environments, ideal and cultural associations. We focus on these strengths to shape the area’s identity and self-esteem. There are many places for cross-border meetings. This perspective permeates all activities and planning. Like the sustainability perspective that is constantly present. We care about the beautiful natural environments in the district and how eastern Gothenburg, which consists of Gamlestaden, Bellevue and Kviberg, can become in 2021 a cohesive and viable business district.

[32]

Three main issues are emphasised in this vision. First, the newly built physical environment was revealed as being vital to spatially integrate Gamlestaden with the rest of the city, including the neighbourhoods Kortedala, Kviberg, Utby, and Bergsjön; and remove any spatial fragment (informal and not identified with authorised values) or scrap that might disturb the ‘greater’ whole and its order. Gamlestaden was also introduced as the centre of the region, justifying the construction of large-scale transportation infrastructure and other facilities on Gamlestaden Square. Second, the new development plan was legitimated for its focus on societal development, including education, public transportation, nature and culture, commerce, and housing [32]. In this context, the societal significance of the implemented project was measured following notions of ‘public good’, regional development, and benefit to the ‘majority’. Urgency was also given impetus by making reference to the ‘dark history’ (crime area), weak business investment, and isolation of Gamlestaden, as a neighbourhood and community. Some of the participants at the Open Day subscribed to this urgency, while others were concerned about the extent to which the large-scale development would threaten the local relaxed atmosphere and micro-dynamics of life. Several also explained how cultural associations might be forced to leave their premises due to changes in rent levels, buildings’ function, or displacement of members. This was confirmed by the interviewed representative of the Bosnia and Herzegovina Association (R-BHA), who explained that they were offered a new location in a nearby suburb. Third, the large excavation works and the construction of the regional station for buses, trains, and trams were celebrated, despite the disturbance they created in everyday life. While the new transportation hub was described as the gateway for new business investment in the region, the excavation works were characterised by their contribution to the historic significance and cultural identity of the region. As explained in the detailed development plan:

The planned area houses many buildings of cultural and historical values. Preserving them can add value to the urban environment and make it attractive. Their historical features and age variation are unique and can contribute to the creation of a mixed city. were forced to once again leave

[25] (p. 106)

The ways through which these values are communicated through cartography and preservation programs have a territorializing effect. Rather than an expanded representation of the past to realise the vision Hela Gamlestaden, the cultural and historical values were confined within horizontal and vertical boundaries. In addition to the selection of particular buildings and elements, the excavation works focused on the medieval history of Nya Lödöse (1473–1624), the 18th century Landriet, and the early 20th century industrial history of Gamlestaden. Other contemporary and intersecting layers of cultures and experiences were either symbolically represented, or else undervalued, silenced, or even erased by the power of limited resources and/or authorized discourses. Gamlestaden’s urban historiography was locally debated as a one-dimensional phenomenon, ignoring the diverse culture of remembrance that constitutes Gamlestaden’s landscape of memory, identities, and experiences. This raises several questions about the inclusionary principles of wholeness and healing that are communicated in the contemporary history of Gamlestaden, not only with other minority groups in other city areas, but also with the broader history of migration and mobility that characterised Nya Lödöse and other subsequent layers. These questions contribute to the growing debates on forgetting and remembering. Rather than only what and how best to preserve, Holtorf and Kristensen [33] (p. 313) encourage us to explore ‘how best to erase’, ’which part of the past may be forgotten, or which part of the cultural heritage may be destroyed’.

3.2. Monumentality and Alienation

Urban change in Gamlestaden involved a thorny process of selection in which particular buildings and spatial elements from the three aforementioned periods of history were protected, while others were erased. Some of the recovered archaeological structures of Nya Lödöse were used to inspire the architectural design of the newly built environment. For example, the historic location of Nya Lödöse Church was re-emphasised on the paved streets along the new shopping mall; the name of Nya Lödöse was also carved on the manhole covers; some of the excavated vegetation informed the newly installed plants; the names of the three main periods of history—Nya Lödöse, Landriet, and Industry—were carved on the leading steps to the Säveån Canal (Figure 4); and a limited selection of the archaeological finds were exhibited in a building attached to the new shopping mall [32,34]. While celebrated by ‘all’, very little has been debated about the very direct relationship between the informed physicality and the ideologies that particularly endorse it.

Monumentality has been a guiding principle to the selection process. It has a metonymic relationship to the entities (such as nation-states or authorised history) that they serve, and their ponderous ontology discourages thoughts of their potential impermanence [35] (p. 129). It also entails permanence, absence of temporality, symbolic representation, and authoritative power. When asked to explain how the mixed city discourse was considered in the development plans, the PL-A pointed to the archaeology-motivated new development, while the Project Manager of Gamlestaden’s Urban Restructuring (PM-GUR) used maps to demonstrate the mixture of function, design, and historic representations of buildings. It was also evident in the design program (Gestaltningsprogram) that medieval and industrial histories were specifically used to heritageize the new development. As elaborated in Platzer et al. [34] (p. 9),

‘The old industrial environment creates an exciting environment. Here [Gamlestaden Factories] there is a natural roughness that is important to exploit in the future development. The rough feeling should be preserved to help make the area a hippie place. “Rough and hip” can be achieved by… designing urban spaces with a rugged and not so well-arranged character’.

This neoliberal and class-inspired exploitation of monumentality provokes unnoticed aspects of social class and othering, justified by the notions of aesthetic, historic significance, and monumentality that Smith’s (2006) authorised heritage discourse re-emphasizes in heritage practices. This discourse is embedded in, and reinforced through, the main legislative documents that guide heritage and archaeology management in Gamlestaden and other areas in Sweden—including the Planning and Building Act (Plan- och bygg lag 2010), Environmental Code (Miljöbalken 1999), and the Historic Environment Act (Kulturmiljölagen 1988). It was therefore naturally shared between the heritage, archaeology, and planning practitioners. When asked to explain the focus on the history of Nya Lödöse, the PL-A referred to the County Administrative Board, while the County’s archaeologist pointed to the legislative documents:

In 2013, we investigated everything, especially the historic traces of the 18^th century Landeriet that lay beneath the 1930s industrial buildings. Now the County Administrative Board decided to limit the excavations to the physical traces of Nya Lödöse. This is a bit of a shame, because the Landriet period reveals many stories of farming life. (the PL-A, Interview, May 2018)

We follow the Cultural Environment Act (Kulturmiljölagen). We also considered that little information is available on the period 1400–1600 compared to 1900–1970s. The poor protection of the 17^th century also made it difficult to prioritise it, and additionally we were not prepared to discover large unexcavated areas from Nya Lödöse, such as the symmetry. The enlargement of the excavation area prompted us to make quick decisions so that we do not delay the development projects and afford the expenses. (A-CAB, Interview May 2018)

Broadly speaking, there is a tendency within authorised heritage and archaeological practices to establish a direct link of value to age, physicality and aesthetics; or, as Holtorf (2013) calls it, ‘pastness’. This was also evident in the initial development plans and design programs for Gamlestaden, which proposed the documentation of the archaeological finds that reveal the history of Nya Lödöse, and to preserve a number of selected buildings from the Landriet and industrial history. As shown in Figure 5, old and new landmarks are marked on the development plans to explain the location of Gamlestaden’s ‘old heritage’ and ‘new heritage’; while the names, origins, dates and the ‘external’ (and ‘internal’) characteristics of these landmarks were explained in separate additional tables [25] (p. 69). There is, however, no official account of the social and cultural experiences that wrap around these monumental heritages.

It can be argued here that the authorised language of monumentality in Gamlestaden is not only symbolically used to manifest diversity in terms of mixtures of aesthetics, function, design, and representation, but exploited through neoliberal policies to brand the new development, ignoring the cultural practices that wrap around the preserved monumental heritages. The heritageization of Gamlestaden (process of reconstructing its narrative of value) has certainly challenged Gamlestaden’s narrative of decline, but it might also lead to the alienation of its broader history, geography, and society.

3.3. Multiplicities and Boundaries

Each layer of history—Nya Lödöse, Landriet, industrial, and the ‘post-industrial’—has been shaped by migration, mobility, commerce, and other dynamics. These multiple layers of history are not consistently used in the development plans to explain the cultural diversity of Gamlestaden. Instead, diversity is used on national-ethnic grounds and a narrow perspective on migration as being a phenomenon rather than a constituent of societal development. The thick and broad history of migration that characterised Nya Lödöse before Gamlestaden existed, seem to have been reduced to the contemporary history of industry (19th–20th century) and refugeeism (1970s–today). As a ‘new saviour’, the value of the contemporary history of migration was conceived based on the new functions, material expressions, scales, and cultural backgrounds that it adds to the authorised expressions of the past. As described in the development plans, Gamlestaden is:

A mixed, culturally diverse and internationally vibrant neighbourhood with a continental touch that provides richness in both life and expression.

[25] (p. 41)

Similar to the vertical boundaries that separate the different layers of history, the new development plans enabled the emergence of horizontal boundaries between the different community groups. They emerged through the spatial juxtaposition of old residential buildings against the new luxury housing, as well as the fragmented small shops along Artillerigatan and Brahegatan, and the Bellevue industrial area, against the new luxury shopping areas in Gamlestaden Square (Gamlestads torg), the SKF premises (Nya Kulan) (Figure 6), the old textile factories (Gamlestads Fabriker), and the Slaughterhouse (Slakthuset). Furthermore, many places that were viewed with indifference (informal, unused, and no-heritage) were marked on the development plan as ‘lost spaces.’ This enabled the developers to propose new activities and structures for these spaces. Most of them were built from scratch, while other proposals were made to revitalise and discipline spaces occupied by small and informal structures, i.e., the boatyards and associations along the Säveån Canal. Walking the different streets of Gamlestaden, a stark contrast can be discerned through architectural design, style, spatiality, landscape, market value, function, and different kinds of social gatherings.

New feelings of social, cultural, economic, and political boundaries have grown in the neighbourhood. As R 4 explained:

The new construction does not seem to be for us. I’m not sure to what extent this development [pointing to Nya Kulan] is affordable in terms of life style and costs. It feels like there is a strong border diving us from it. (Interview, March 2018)

Conceived differently, the PM-GUR viewed the new mixture of functions and styles as being vital to revitalizing the dark history of the neighbourhood. Similarly argued, the D-EDG found the mixture of households based on level of income, architectural style, and ownership as a vital ingredient to revitalise Gamlestaden. This argument was supported by the interviewed civil servants and the OM-BID. The D-EDG also argued that promoting privatisation leads to new housing cooperatives, and this would enable the representation of local voices:

It is not the ‘utsatta grupper’ [vulnerable groups]. It is the well-educated young people who [can] make their voices heard… The BID in Gamlestaden is successful because it helps ‘ordinary people’ [become represented against the monopoly of] fancy private cooperatives. As a property owner, you attend meetings and discuss issues such as drug abuse, burglary, car theft, and things that are [relate to] bushes and trees, and bicycle lanes. So, it would no longer be [for] SKF, Platzer and other big companies to decide. (October 2018)

For the interviewed locals, privatisation, and a mixture of function, style, and income level lead to gentrification. When asked to explain who the ‘ordinary people’ of Gamlestaden are, the OM-BID indirectly referred to the new property owners who are ‘educated, economically and politically established, and self-confident unlike the old community who is “vulnerable”’ (Interview April 2019). While the OM-BID’s intention was to reveal the positive influence that politically aware residents can make on decision making, the new criteria of ordinary people undeniably leads to gentrification. One of the apparent examples is the future of the Bellevue industrial area. Social conflicts have been exacerbated between the residences of the new luxury housing and the business owners within the industrial area. The OM-BID characterised these conflicts:

People living there know it: to sell your apartment [while the area looks] like this [showing photos of waste in the market area] outside your door, of course it will affect your [property’s value]. Anonymous letters are addressed to the City: ‘oh you need to tear the place down and build something new because it doesn’t work’. (Interview April 2019)

It is also stated in the development plan that the industrial area is ‘relatively dilapidated and dirty and is experienced by neighbouring residents as unsafe, especially during night time’ [36] (p. 18). However, this was dismissed by one of the interviewed business owners. For him, the accumulated waste and socio-spatial disorder in the area are exacerbated due to poor waste management, and the ‘uncertainty we live under due to the postponed plans to evacuate us’ (April 2019). Today, there is a decision to protect the area’s ‘unique character’ as a small-scale business area and ‘heighten its status’ [25] (pp. 88–89) by preserving specific buildings [25] (p. 89) and rebuilding the rest of the area. However, this has not been translated into development plans, leaving the locals in a precarious situation. As the R-BHA explained, ‘we and other [cultural] associations were given notifications to evacuate. We will move to another area but we don’t know how and where’ (Interview May 2018). Leaving the area to exist in disorder and then stigmatising it is not unique to Bellevue. Many post-industrial cities in Sweden and other countries have been ‘punished’ after being stigmatised as being outdated, lawless, or a home for crime, and later ‘spatially cleansed’ (see, for example, refs. [35,37,38], to pave the way for new development that is ‘removed from past social troubles’.

3.4. Dirty–Clean Binaries and the Creation of Sameness and Purity

The social and spatial disciplining in Gamlestaden and Bellevue entailed the removal of all ‘spatial fragments’, the creation of spatial order, and the reframing of its narrative of value. Several small structures (streets, bridges, buildings, landscapes, and parking lots) and informal businesses and associations—especially those located in the Bellevue industrial area—were removed, or else are in the process of being replaced. The first part (DEL1) of the development plan described the Bellevue area as having:

A number of smaller property owners [who] own the area. Today, the eastern part of the beach towards Säveån is leased to various boat clubs and private small yards. One of them is the Estonian Boat Association, which is a shantytown (kåkstad) built by Estonian SKF workers, most of them were fisherman. As a whole, the area is relatively slumped with debris lying about, and is experienced by nearby residents as unsafe, especially in the evenings.

[36]

The second part of the development plan proposed the protection of the boatyards, after cleaning and spatially disciplining them.

Existing boatyards and associations constitute an exciting feature along the river and should be preserved but coordinated with a new stretch along the river... The boatyard workshops should be preserved, but they should be opened up and organised so that they become tidier than today. They can also help make the shoreline feel alive. Existing allotment gardens should be removed or organised in another form. Several parts are full of rubbish and must be cleaned and [should be] reformed to become part of the green belt.

[25] (p. 29)

Recent experiences from Bellevue revealed the officially driven process of spatial disciplining as being top-down and violent. For example, the Bellevue’s roundabout was evacuated of all informal structures and activities, which included a falafel kiosk, tram stop, and ‘unnecessary areas of asphalt’ (Figure 7). While this reduced traffic congestion around the very wide roundabout, one of the interviewed female locals explained how the local authorities ignored the protests to the decision. For her, the presence of the falafel kiosk provided people with a sense of safety during dark winter nights, while additionally the proximity of the falafel kiosk to the tram station made it possible for her to run into friends.

The OM-BID asserted that economic competition with the new shops is needed to prompt the small businesses raise their standards, including new commodities, decorations, price level, and modes of marketing. The ambition is to meet the preference and lifestyle of the new residents. This was captured from the interview with the OM-BID, who linked sustainability with class, standards, and mobility.

There is a bike shop on Artellerigatan. If you live in the new houses along the river or work in the big high house, you wouldn’t go to that bike shop [unless] someone tells you there is a bike shop there. It must look welcoming when you get there otherwise you will go elsewhere. The bike shop must increase its... [laughing and] the small businesses their sales—live and be sustainable! (The OM-BID, April 2018)

Raising standards and inspiring new socio-economic dynamics through cleaning up ‘ruptures’, ‘unnecessary’ spatial elements, and informality, might sound positive [39] (p. 35). However, the clean–dirt binary that ideologically guides the ongoing urban development has distorted the inclusive principles of diversity, and paved the way for new processes of othering and erasure based on class, ‘ethnicity’, income, spatiality, and cultural association. The pursued cleanliness in Gamlestaden entails not only social and cultural evacuation, but also a mixture of aspects imported from the past. This includes purity and integrity, similar to how cleanliness was conceived in ancient times, visual harmony as a sign of positive public representation of townships in medieval times, and the liberation from all earlier alterations to enhance ‘authenticity’, as advocated in the romanticism period. Additionally, these ideas of hegemony, harmony, and unity were also some of the principles that foregrounded the foundation of the modern nation states [40,41]. In this sense, the evacuation of social and cultural qualities from Gamlestaden in the name of modernity and regeneration is disingenuous, and promises to have severe social and cultural repercussions.

4. Discussion: Unthreatening Diversity, Hegemonic Representation, and Dispossession

The employment of the four analytical lines to research diversity and inclusion within urban change provided important insights on the role that heritage can play in the conception and employment of diversity within urban policies, and in normalising particular patterns of gentrification and dispossession. Inherited conceptions of the past and authorised heritage practices enabled the projection and protection of three grand periods of history––Nya Lödöse, the Landriet, and the industrial history––and the framing of the narrative of ‘typical Gothenburg’, according to which objects, sites, and other spatial elements were given official heritage status, without exploring or critically reflecting on their societal relevance. The analysis of this authorised process of value formation and inscription revealed another process of subjectification. While the contemporary history of Gamlestaden was shown to be dark, outdated, lawless, and temporary (due to demolition contracts), the experiences of today’s community—understood locally as being international—were deemed irrelevant to the narrative of value, or recognised as merely added value. In many ways, the celebration of diversity in Gamlestaden has been symbolic, and mostly mobilised to sell an image of Gamlestaden as being modern and historic, creative and hip, global and local, ethnic and Swedish, and vibrant and peaceful.

The unchallenged focus of the authorised heritage practices on monumentality, defined history, aesthetics, singular narratives, and the experiences of upper middle and ruling classes, made it natural to protect and celebrate the monumental structures of Nya Kulan, Landriet, and Gamlestaden’s old factories [36] (pp. 31–39). Additionally important is how these practices supported the suppression of any local response to the public and political debates that viewed the social and cultural relations of today’s community—including the Bellevue industrial area—as undesirable, dirty, or matters out of context [35,42]. In this sense, any process of gentrification, displacement, or erasure should be legitimate only when it does not harm the authorised values and layers of history. These findings on the role of heritage speaks to, and also adds to Wacquant’s [43] (pp. 67–69) analyses, which suggest that local authorities in Western cities often justify the ‘punishment’ of certain places after they publicly label them as a ‘lawless zone’, ‘outlaw estate’, ‘hellhole’, or outside the ‘common norm’. Indeed, Gamlestaden was punished for its proclaimed narrative of decline. However, this was further legitimated by declaring its contemporary history as being foreign to the narrative of value. ‘Confrontation and clean up, rather than saving and salvaging,’ [44] have become an informal policy for disciplining, healing, and upgrading in Gamlestaden.

In this policy, the process of heritageisation is forceful. As a self-reinforcing process, heritageisation, which began in the 19th century, continues to reconstruct and protect the singular narrative of the nation state otherwise operating within the dominating frameworks of the AHD. Its assimilative nature speaks to Naidoo’s [18] analysis of the fear of difference and sameness in the UK, and the politics of dispossession in a broader sense [43,45]. Naidoo observed that difference, which is defined based on ethnic and cultural backgrounds, often develops following a ‘fear of sameness’ within an ethno-national context. She argues that recognizing the ‘other’ as the same as ‘us’, disrupts the fantasy of wholeness in a much more profound way [41] (p. 81). She also explains how modern national projects still view the most threatening ‘other’ ‘who passes unnoticed amongst us’ [18] (p. 81). In Gamlestaden, the contemporary local community whose majority enjoy foreign backgrounds has been recognised as internationals, with an added value to the dominant culture and discourse.

The metaphoric propagation of Hela Gamlestaden, which was proposed to heal all Gamlestaden’s wounds, emerged at the end of the field work as being ostentatious, rather than comprehensive and inclusive. Its proclaimed focus on safety, infrastructure, spatial organisation, history, and landscape overshadowed a process of subjectification, spatially manifested through stark binaries between the now and then, us and them, and here and there. For example, the seven names of figures that were carved on each leading step to the Säveån [32] (p. 8) brought stories of the upper-middle and ruling class to the former working-class neighbourhood. Although the choice of names is not officially explained, the inclusion of one female name, Maria Habicht, who was the daughter (or the wife) of a Landriet’s owner, seems to pay only lip service to challenging the masculine narratives of history. The carving of ‘you and me’ on the last step from the top, symbolically aligns with RAÄ’s 2030 vision of inclusivity [32] (p. 8). It is unclear whether ‘me’ refers to the persons named on the steps, representing their authentic past, or to present citizens who represent the modern international outlook. Whatever it refers to, the often criticised ‘us–them’ binary has been revitalised here, (unconsciously) promoting a subtle dimension of socially and historically rooted difference in people’s social and spatial realities. Furthermore, luxury housing and offices were built along the two main streets—Artillerigatan and Gamlestadsvägen—and the communal train station, in addition to the Säveån Canal, and the protected monumental historic structures (SKF’s properties, Gamlestadens Factories, Slakthuset, and Landerierna). These developments are centrally located–– next to the relocated cultural organisations—and recognised for their aesthetic value, bountiful nature, and historic significance. As shown in Figure 2 and Figure 6, linking these areas together has produced a coherent geography, while at the same time serves the spatial clustering and demarcation of determined Others. In this context, Hela Gamlestaden inspired the reconstruction of ordinary and typical, while legitimating the displacement of the Others who failed to qualify for the category, ‘international’. It also entailed, or supported, a heritage-led form of collective dispossession for the subjects and things that fall outside the narrative of value.

In Gamlestaden, people might end up marginalised and segregated, but many are likely to ‘isolate [themselves] as a counter-response, pursuing self-reinforcing cycles of social involution and cultural closure’ [5] (p. 259). This was captured from the interview with the resident R 4 (April 2018) who stated that ‘the shopping mall in SKF’s Nya Kulan and the ‘fascinating’ housing nearby are unaffordable, foreign, out of context and not for us. I don’t think I will hang out there or even go for shopping’. Important here is engagement with the agency of the emerging gentrification, and closure as a two-way process of violation. In Gamlestaden, urban resistance to the ongoing economic exploitation, gentrification, and segregation is increasingly visible. Other forms of resistance might also become visible in the near future, against the silenced dynamics of ‘cultural assimilation’ [1] (p. 60), racism, class articulation, and assimilation.

How these forms of resistance will evolve in the future, and what role they might play in the governance of Gamlestaden and other similar neighbourhoods are particularly important to further investigate in the face of the language of optimism that dominants the local debates. The Project Manager of Gamlestaden’s Urban Restructuring (PM-GUR), BID’s Operational Manager (OM-BID), and the Director of the Eastern District of Gothenburg (D-EDG) considered it imperative that the celebrated diversity should experience a ‘small amount’ of gentrification. A similar argument was raised by the interviewed members of private cooperatives (M-PC 1–4), while the OM-BID cautioned the researchers of this article against spreading stories of gentrification in the city, and instead shoulder responsibility through employing a language of optimism.

Positive gentrification has become a dominant argument in urban renewal debates [15] in Sweden and other Nordic countries. Gamlestaden’s BID can be compared with Richner and Olesen’s [29] (p. 168) analysis of BID in Denmark. They explain how BID’s logic is ‘grounded in a firm belief in the market’s ability to provide public services in a more efficient and attractive manner than the public sector’. Its policy to establish coalitions of real estate owners and endorse the authorised heritage and mixed city discourses provided BID and other models of neoliberal economic development with representative power, to seek partnership with local authorities and give shape to safe spaces, where urban renewal projects and other processes of urban restructuring become propagated—this despite associated processes of injustices. The success of BID in spreading the language of optimism in countries with a long history of social welfare, reveals its power as a neoliberal form of governance. Ideologically, it advocates the projection of difference through a multiculturalism policy that exaggerates the internal unity of cultures, solidifies differences, and promotes the invention of ‘the Other’ and ‘the Self ‘. In the city of Gothenburg, similar ideological principles guide the municipal preservation program. As an inclusive practice, the program advocates and regulates the protection of the uniqueness of each layer of history. This practice is locally celebrated without any critical reflection on the ways in which inclusion and diversity are approached, defined, and employed in the face of heritageisation, and other processes of subjectification, signification, and representation at a larger societal scale.

In these processes, ethnicity, migration, minorities, vulnerable community groups, and other categories of othering are often mis-used—as Stuart Hall, Trinh Minhha, Homi Bhabha, and several postcolonial cultural theorists remind us—to celebrate a politicised version of diversity and sustain clear boundaries in societies. In Gamlestaden, the entangled relations between the authorised discourses of heritage and neoliberal economic development have supported the emergence of an unthreatening diversity, represented through Coombes’ [17] ‘scopic feast’. It is unthreatening as diversity and other notions of living together-in-difference are often marked and made visible in everyday life, so that the Other is noticed and recognised (see [18]); based on established hierarchies of power and socio-political dualism (authentic–added, local–international, typical–foreign) that protect the dominating frameworks of the AHD; and represented based on stark binaries enforced between an authentic past and an added value, official and unofficial heritage, scientific and local knowledge, personal and public, and experts and layman. Spatialising difference, connecting it to time, articulating it into a collage of exclusive identities, polarising it between a range of dualisms, and perceiving it as a heritage-led processes of otherness—as Coombes [17] (p. 42) explains elsewhere—‘threatens to collapse the heterogeneous experience of racism into a scopic feast’, where difference is represented ‘for easy consumption in ever more enticing configurations’. Coombes’ observation of the representation of difference and cultural diversity in museums, as an attempt to decolonise the West and the Other, is still relevant to today’s debates on cultural diversity within urban and other policies, and speaks to the current celebration of the unthreatening forms of diversity in Gamlestaden.

The approach to heritage in Gamlestaden’s urban renewal entails no critical engagement in the multiple layers of meaning that constitute its identity, broader history of societal change, and the archaeology of human experience [46,47]. As argued by Amin elsewhere, there has never been a ‘defence of the intrinsic merit of the open and mixed society, of the moral claim to citizenship of persecuted and displaced peoples.’ Similarly, the current political debates in Sweden that call for inclusive and plural heritage have not materialised in visible social or spatial realities despite loudly proclaimed political will. An exception is perhaps visible in the museum exhibitions (see, for example, the Museum of World Culture) that strive to document and manifest the global challenges of migration and climate change. Yet these exhibitions remain symbolic, making insubstantial engagement with the historic narratives that reveal people’s heterogeneous experiences of racism. Facing the slow divergence of the politicised notions of difference, it seems imperative to expand the meaning of diversity towards a ‘radical sameness’ [41] and situate it within the broad narratives of history, heritage, society, and geography. Indeed, the findings from the Gamlestaden foreground calls loudly for the decolonising of both heritage and diversity through a critical approach to the historicity and politics of people, territory, and space in order to realise a socially equal and just city.

5. Conclusions

The scopic feast of heritage and unthreatening diversity are not discussed here to solely unfold a contextual expression of the symbolic representation of difference, or to re-emphasise the inevitable diverse interpretations of the past in the face of official heritage. Likewise, exploration of their politicisation and/or their political instrumentality is not meant to explain another political stage of multiculturalism or cultural imperialism in space and time. Rather, the findings from Gamlestaden uncovered under-researched dynamics of urban injustices, in which notions of living together-in-difference are used as policy tools, enabled and legitimated through a devalued/unnoticed entanglement between a process of heritageisation and models of neoliberal economic development. In particular, the four analytical lines proposed here revealed an authorised dialogue between a monumental reconstruction of Gamlestaden’s history, which focused on the allegedly medieval, Landriet, and industrial expressions, and an economic exploitation of this history enabled and naturalised by Sweden’s first BID model. At the heart of this dialogue coalesce political struggles over space and territory, and emerging forms of new urban injustices in neoliberal cities.

In Gamlestaden, the projection of the three periods of history, and their exploitation in the ongoing urban restructuring, resulted not only in the authorisation of particular stories from these periods of history, but also in the evolution of legitimate ideologies of inclusion and exclusion. For this reason, it is not possible to dismiss the case of urban change in Gamlestaden as a neoliberal economic development project, concluding that current urban restructuring is a common renewal of a post-industrial neighbourhood, or a spatial manifestation of BID’s neoliberal economic exploitation of diversity in a context with long history of social welfare. Nor it is possible to dismiss Gamlestaden as conservative heritage, concluding that it is a spatial manifestation of a democratized process of heritageization or a refined AHD. It is important to understand the contextual relevance of the employed diversity, and acknowledge the very dynamics that amplify, enable, and legitimize the ideology behind its employment, without overplaying the blind forces of the market or downplaying the potential of heritage in urban change. These dynamics involve sets of relations that link urban change to the financial and administrative systems of the city, as well as to the authorised practices of heritage management.

Furthermore, the political purchase of hybridity and heritage in Gamlestaden suggests an active intervention from below against the authorised practices and discourses of urban injustices. While the enforcement of closure against those labelled ‘non-ordinary’ and ‘non-typical’ is devastating, it is imperative to acknowledge the new dynamics of resistance this closure triggers against the destruction of social commons, and the plural representation of the past. Building on Hammami and Uzer’s [48] analysis of urban resistance in Gothenburg, viewing heritage as a process with an agency provides new insights into how people can communicate their stories and preferences across geography, history, and societal groups; and provide them with new opportunities for urban change from below (see also [49,50]. In this sense, resistance would not be reduced to protest solely against economic exploitation [51], gentrification [52], marginalisation [5], or spatial cleansing [35]. Rather, there is a need to link heritage to resistance, and expand the two towards the under-researched experiences of de-signification, dispossession, assimilation, and cultural imperialism, and find heritage-led mechanisms that help disarticulate the exclusionary and arbitrary conceptions of diversity. These mechanisms can support the re-articulation of diversity as a necessarily contextualized, changeable, impure, plural, and inclusive formation. In this sense, heritage, resistance, and diversity should be approached as, in Coombes’ words, ‘an important cultural strategy for the political project of decolonisation’ [53] (p. 90), and for fighting the deeply structured relations that ground neoliberal hegemony and the growing ‘fear of sameness’ [18]. Such an approach might disrupt the epistemic continuity of restructuring Gamlestaden through the legitimate values of ordinary, typical, and official, and in the face of narratives of decline that are often used in neoliberal economic development policies to exploit former industrial neighbourhoods in Sweden. Gamlestaden is a small suburb in the city of Gothenburg, but the findings suggest that the scopic feast of heritage and unthreatening diversity are becoming increasingly predominant urban tools in Gothenburg and other (post-industrial) cities. Rather than starting a development plan by asking what should be preserved and/or erased, as often advocated by authorised heritage discourses, urban change in post-industrial and other cities should begin by exploring what we have ‘here’ and ‘now’, and how the employed change would influence the realisation of socially equal and just cities.