Direct action placemaking: transgressive interventions on the margins of Rome

ABSTRACT

This paper analyzes overlaps and relationships between informality, transgression, and direct action by juxtaposing two recent examples of activist placemaking in Rome: the creation of the Kurdish cultural center Ararat and the construction of Savorengo Ker, a short-lived example of dignified housing for a Roma community. Both case studies are dedicated to a building and its transformative power for the surrounding area as well as for the status of the groups involved in the creative process. Both projects were initiated by the Italian collective Stalker, which has developed a practice on the border between art, architecture, and urban activism since the 1990s. By exploring the unstable circumstances of these initiatives, the research offers insights into the complex implications of making places through informal and transgressive means. Ultimately, the case studies demonstrate the potential of informal tactics to empower underprivileged groups and suggest a new role for planners and designers.

KEYWORDS:

• Transgression
• urban informality
• direct action
• activism
• Rome
• Stalker/Osservatorio Nomade

Introduction

At the center of this discussion are two houses in Rome, the Ararat and the Savorengo Ker. Their origins, in 1999 and 2008 respectively, were in reaction to two “crises” of national scope, whose effects, however, were particularly noticeable in the capital. Starting in late 1997, several cargo ships brought hundreds of refugees, mainly Kurds, to Italy, many of whom found themselves stranded, homeless, and living in Roman public parks. Subsequently, in the spring of 2007, the municipal government declared a Roma crisis (emergenza rom) that led to the intensified demolition of Roma shantytowns and to the deportation of their inhabitants to supervised camps on the outskirts of the city. The two projects, respectively (co-)designed by Kurds and Roma, should not be considered as isolated dwellings, rather they were explicitly understood as starting points for the transformation of the areas in which they were located: a partially vacant former slaughterhouse and a Roma slum.

Both projects were initiated by the Rome-based group of artists and architects Stalker,¹ which has organized performative interventions in urban and suburban spaces since the early 1990s. These have included walks through forgotten and abandoned peripheral areas of Italian and European metropolises, as well as festivals and installations. In 1995, the group undertook an inaugural four-day walk through the neglected spaces of the Eternal City’s periphery, upending the image of Rome as a densely occupied city teeming with monuments (see Stalker: Attraverso i Territori Attuali 2000). Beginning with the Ararat project in 1999, the group complemented its ephemeral practice in metropolitan border spaces with longer-term actions to transform precarious places, alongside the social groups that inhabited them.

The majority of Stalker’s founding members² met while studying architecture in Rome, more specifically during the occupation of their faculty as part of a nationwide student movement in 1990 (Lang 2008). They criticized the overburdened and outdated structures of their department as well as the lack of connection between teaching and contemporary urban realities (Stalker 2008b). This backdrop of profound skepticism toward traditional architecture and urban planning is paramount to understanding the group’s practice based on direct experience in situ. Anne Lacaton once described Stalker’s relationship to the discipline of architecture as “a rupture that is at the same time neither a rejection nor a renunciation, but rather a position on the margins” (Lacaton et al. 2005, 41). Stalker’s marginal position is equally evident in the collective’s collaboration with institutions and its oscillation between formal and informal spheres and actions, as will be seen below.

The fact that the two case studies are both located in Rome is not coincidental (Figure 1). Since its designation as the capital of the young nation-state in 1871, the Eternal City has witnessed a multitude of informal uses, especially in the periphery, where, from the outset, different laws applied than those enforced within the ancient city walls (Insolera 2018). The rapid population growth in the postwar period led to poverty and the erection of massive informal dwellings, at the same time that developers constructed entire neighborhoods without the necessary infrastructure (D’Amico 2016). Starting in the 1980s, numerous self-managed social centers (centri sociali occupati autogestiti) were created in Italy, especially in Rome, through squatting (Mudu 2014). From the 1990s onward, a new wave of international immigration and refugee movements posed new problems for the city, which was unprepared to handle them.

Figure 1. Map of Rome. Elaboration: Stanislava Predojevic.

Methodological approach

The research is based on a multi-year investigation of the practice of the Stalker collective.³ Given that the case studies are situated on the threshold between the present and recent history, a methodological approach combining historical source analysis and field research was applied. The research draws on archival material such as unpublished documents, manuscripts, photographs and films, newspaper articles, and websites. Primary literature could also be consulted in some cases, especially regarding the Saverongo Ker project, since some members of the collective have published their experiences (see Careri and Romito 2016). In addition, the ethnographic methods employed included site visits, in the case of the Ararat project, and interviews, both with Stalker and with Kurdish and Roma representatives. Due to the complexity of the case studies, a detailed description of the two projects is necessary before the dimensions of informality and transgression as well as their relationship to each other can be elaborated upon in the comparison.

Ararat: new intercultural terrain

In March 1999, some 270 Kurdish refugees created a temporary favela of cardboard boxes and plastic sheets on the Oppian Hill, just opposite the Colosseum. They had come to Rome in December 1998 to support the leader of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party PKK, Abdullah Öcalan, who was under house detention on a German arrest warrant. Even after his departure in January 1999, they remained in Italy, which they perceived as a friendly country despite the lack of government support (Puggioni 2005, 334). While waiting for residence permits from the authorities, the refugees lived in the shantytown in the public park, in precarious conditions without sanitation facilities; they were provided with hot meals only thanks to a humanitarian organization (la Repubblica, 28 March 1999). When Stalker visited the favela, they not only saw the plight of the residents, but they were also impressed by the organization of the improvised settlement. Stalker member Lorenzo Romito described it as “a rare example of public space … there was the tea room, barbershops, a food store, and a small restaurant” (Basso et al. 2000, 44).⁴ In June of the same year, the Biennial of young artists of Europe and the Mediterranean took place in the Mattatoio, a former slaughterhouse that had been out of commission since the 1970s. As part of this event, the collective was invited by the regional architecture association to organize a workshop for students. In agreement with the social center Villaggio Globale that was present on the site, Stalker decided to occupy the ex-veterinary building of the Mattatoio, located just outside the festival area. The resident drug dealers were evicted and, as part of the workshop From Cartonia to Kurdistan Square, Stalker cleaned the building, and set up thematic spaces (a library, a tea room, a hair salon, and a kitchen), that echoed the organization of the favela, which had been evacuated by the police by then. During the workshop, which involved the autonomous social center and the Kurdish association Azad, the first Kurdish family moved into the house, as recalled by Romito (interview, 23 March 2021). The Kurds subsequently christened the house Ararat, after the mountain located in the territory of Kurdistan, where, according to biblical narrative, Noah’s ark first struck land (Figure 2).

Figure 2. Entrance of Campo Boario (Mattatoio). 2004. Stalker Archive.

The occupation and transformation of the neglected building was the cornerstone for its development into a place of hospitality and a center for Kurdish culture. In addition to accommodation and food, Italian and Kurdish language courses were offered and customs were celebrated, such as the Newroz Festival, the celebration of the Kurdish-Persian New Year that always takes place in March (Figures 3 and 4). At the same time that Ararat was being established, Stalker began to expand their activities to the adjacent area, the Campo Boario, the former cattle market, where there were already various tolerated and semi-legal uses by different groups. These included the Kalderash Roma living in caravans, the tourist carriage drivers who had their stables there, and scattered migrants from Senegal and Somalia. Among the initiatives Stalker carried out with these heterogeneous actors were intercultural lunches, musical events, and sculptural installations (see Careri and Lorenzo 2013; Lang 2006; Stalker 2000). Through a neighborhood festival, they aimed to introduce the Testaccio district to the Kurdish residents of the Ararat, and with the launch of an international ideas competition, they sought a careful redevelopment of the Campo Boario area while respecting the existing complexities and habitats of the groups already present. The majority of these initiatives were supported by institutions with an affinity for the arts (such as the Fondazione Adriano Olivetti and the French Academy). The overall goal was to transform the marginal site into a space of encounter and cultural exchange. In Stalker’s words, “the transformation of a boundary into a public space” (Stalker 2008a, 45).

Figure 3. Residents of the Ararat painting the map of Kurdistan on the ground in the light of the Newroz festival. 2002. Photo: Paolo Bruschi.

Figure 4. Flyer announcing the Kurdish New Year’s celebration. Stalker Archive.

In 2002, as a result of archaeological research by the municipality, a hole in the asphalt of about 350 square meters was dug in the area immediately in front of the Ararat building. Stalker spontaneously decided, together with some of the Kurdish residents and in consultation with the other communities on site (but not with the site’s rightful owner, the municipality), to build a public garden on top of it (Figure 5). As described on the group’s website, their intention was to reclaim a space, which had mainly been used as a parking lot (Lang 2006, 203), to create a shaded place for the summer months by planting vegetation on the exposed terrain.⁵ With the deliberate use of plants from the region of Kurdistan, a place of remembrance was created for the Kurds stranded in Rome.

Figure 5. Creation of the garden in front of the Ararat building. 2002. Photo: Romolo Ottaviani.

Today the garden has become a small oasis within the Mattatoio compound (Figure 6). It serves both as a vegetable garden for the Ararat kitchen and as a public meeting place. The Ararat building has become the most important Kurdish “house” in Rome and a frequent stopover point for Kurds in transit. Due to its central role in terms of networking, organizing, and representing Kurdish concerns, it has become a surrogate for a diplomatic representation (DinamoPress, April 22, 2016).⁶ The only self-managed refugee shelter within the ancient city walls has even found its way into popular culture (see Zerocalcare 2017). To this day, the Ararat remains active as a mediator and producer of culture. There are regular events and Kurdish dance and theater groups, as well as Italian courses taught by volunteers, which are also open to non-Kurds, according to Silan Ekinci (interview, 18 March 2022), the only one of the initial arrivals at the Ararat who remained in Rome. The Newroz festival, which attracts hundreds of visitors every year, is a sign of visible continuity. It demonstrates that the Ararat has not only become an important place for the demonstration of Kurdish culture, but it also continues to enrich the neighborhood and the city.

Figure 6. Garden of the Ararat. March 2022. Photo: Patrick Düblin.

Savorengo Ker – a ‘formal’ counter project

While the Ararat project was the beginning of a long-term engagement with Kurdish refugees in the Campo Boario, Savorengo Ker embodies a culmination of Stalker’s preoccupation with Roma living conditions. The group’s engagement with the reality of the Roma was grounded in the historical interest of the collective (see Careri 2005), in encounters with the Kalderash Roma at Campo Boario, and in the politically tense situation in Italy in the late 2000s.

The Roma embody “Italy’s ‘others’ par excellence” (Solimene 2011, 637). Although their presence on the peninsula can be traced back at least 600 years (ERRC 2000, 13), they are considered “the archetype of unwanted ‘criminal’ immigrants.” (ERRC 2000., 16) As a result, they have been systematically excluded from public life through politically enforced segregation to a greater degree than anywhere else in Europe (ERRC 2000., 17). In the 20th century, their numbers increased, especially in the 1990s due to the Yugoslav war, and again in 2007 when Romania joined the European Union (Clough Marinaro 2009, 273–74). In May 2007, the municipal government, along with provincial and regional representatives, presented the so-called “Security Pact for Rome.” This document foresaw the construction of four “solidarity villages,” all of which were to be built outside the city, beyond the ring road. The term is euphemistic, as in reality they were fenced container camps with regulated access, no communal spaces, and precarious infrastructure (Clough Marinaro 2009, 278–79). The majority of Rome’s roughly 15,000 Roma were to be forcibly relocated to these “villages.” As a result, large-scale forced evictions of numerous Roma settlements took place, often unannounced, destroying existing Roma huts and property – a course of action about which the city government boasted (Clough Marinaro 2009, 277).

In response to the “security pact” and the politically provoked crisis, Stalker intensified its engagement with Roma. The group’s actions included mapping informal settlements along the Tiber, public invitations to spend the night together under a bridge over the Tiber and in the “village” of Castel Romano, as well as a roadtrip in nine RVs with international students to the countries of former Yugoslavia to research Roma living conditions. Many of the actions were met with direct or indirect resistance from the authorities (see Careri and Romito 2016, 51–54).

By far the most controversial project was Savorengo Ker. It began under the programmatic title “From Camp to Neighborhood” (Da campo a quartiere) in collaboration with the Department of Urban Studies of the University Roma Tre and the Roma community of Casilino 900, the largest Roma camp in the capital, founded in 1968. The roughly 700 residents, most of whom came from the countries of the former Yugoslavia, lived without sewer systems and with scarce supplies of water and electricity (Anzaldi and Carlo 2011). The government promised improvements, but instead intended to transfer the residents to the new “solidarity villages,” which, in addition to the undignified alternative of living in containers, would have meant tearing families apart. Stalker’s credo to date had been to improve problem areas from within, through resident activation as well as micro-interventions, rather than through architectural designs in the traditional sense.⁷ This attitude explains why the collective initially considered expanding and improving an existing shanty. However, the Roma insisted on building a new house to symbolize a better life (Careri and Romito 2016, 110).

The “House for All” – in Romani language Savorengo Ker – was launched with a flyer that previewed the goals of the “experimental house,” which was to be “expandable, customizable, demountable, self-constructible, flexible, economical, [and] environmentally friendly.” (Figure 7) The subsequent guiding question is at the same time an economic and a political one: “Who will manage to build a house of 50 square meters, whose price does not exceed that of a container?” By aspiring to surpass not only qualitatively but also quantitatively the containers provided by the government, the initiative was not merely a criticism but also a compelling counter-proposal to politicians. This stance garnered some attention, even if not in the sense hoped for by the initiators.⁸ Only this leaflet was authored by Stalker, instead, the design and construction process was directed by Roma. The activists had made a rough draft to estimate the costs of material, but this drawing was largely ignored by the Roma, as Careri and Romito (2016, 114–15) claim. Not only did the Roma involved have their own idea of implementation, (Figures 8 and 9) they intentionally kept the collective and the university in the dark regarding the house’s design. The surprise was all the greater when, in the end, a kind of mountain chalet stood before them (Careri, Muzzonigro, and Vasdeki 2015, 21) (Figure 10). When asked about the reasons for the secrecy, Najo Adžović, the spokesperson for Casilino 900, explained that, while the Roma trusted the activists in general, they feared that they could have compromised their design idea since most of Stalker were architects and therefore experts (interview, 14 December 2022).

Figure 7. Stalker’s invitation to launch the Savorengo Ker project. Stalker Archive.

Figure 8. Construction process. Photo: Max Intrisano.

Figure 9. Construction process. Photo: Max Intrisano.

Figure 10. Inauguration. July 2008. Photo: Giorgio de Finis.

Rather than consulting on design issues, however, Stalker saw its main task as providing the necessary legal documents. By complying with all building and safety regulations, that is, creating a legally legitimate house, the group desired nothing less for the Roma than to overcome their lawless condition (Careri and Romito 2016, 115). Since Roma in Italy have little chance of obtaining residence permits, it is impossible for them to prove how long they have been living in the country (ERRC 2000, 18–19). Although many of the residents of Casilino 900 had already been at the site for three generations, they were denied Italian citizenship, and thus they had little chance of finding regular employment.

The local authorities were initially sympathetic to the project, entered as a temporary prototype (il manifesto, 29 July 2008), but changed their minds once the house was in place, blocking its use through bureaucratic means and harassment, such as security checks and cutting off water and electricity (Careri and Romito 2016, 128). Local residents also protested vociferously. They feared that the Casilino 900 camp would not have been vacated if Savorengo Ker was approved. At the opening, the mayor, Gianni Alemanno, called the house a “provocation” for the neighborhood’s residents and falsely claimed that the project had not been agreed upon with the authorities (la Repubblica, 29 July 2008). The event attracted tremendous media interest and amplified the heated atmosphere (see Stalker/ON, Casilino 900, and DIPSU 2008, 159).

Savorengo Ker, “The House for All,” was opened at the end of July 2008, but could never be occupied due to the official blockades. In mid-December of the same year, it was burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances (Figure 11). According to the police, a lightning strike may have been responsible (la Repubblica, 12 December 2008). In February 2010, the Casilino 900 camp was evacuated and closed, and the residents were distributed amongst the various container camps (Armillei 2016, 235).

Figure 11. Remains. December 2008. Photo: Max Intrisano.

Transgression, direct action, and utopia

Before discussing their dimensions of informality, a comparison of the two case studies is instructive. In each case, the intervention was triggered by an emergency situation related to the housing conditions of a minority group. Both were responses to municipal action or inaction. Both projects aimed to provide what the municipality could not or would not guarantee: refuge for the Kurds and dignified housing for the Roma. That said, the houses were much more than paternalistic welfare homes: the Ararat and Savorengo Ker were each actively designed by the group in question. Their tremendous symbolic value is reflected in the naming of the two buildings. Rather than being isolated objects, they were conceived as catalysts for further appropriations or designs of space in the adjacent environments. The public garden and the regularly recurring Newroz festival at the Campo Boario site exemplify the lasting consequences that the Savorengo project could have had on its immediate surroundings. Furthermore, the areas on which the two projects are currently or were formerly located are spaces that had experienced isolation and neglect. As a result, certain inherent laws developed, including informal (self-built, unregulated) forms of housing, which in turn led to tensions and frictions with the authorities or within the neighborhood. In both cases, Stalker cultivated its role as instigator and facilitator of a participatory process, with the aim of giving voice to the respective groups and improving their housing and living conditions. In this respect, both cases represent a way of activist placemaking. In this process, various rules were disregarded and boundaries transgressed. However, the manner of transgression was fundamentally different.

In the case of Ararat, the transgression was directed at the disregard of state property; on the one hand, in the occupation of the former veterinary building, and on the other hand in the appropriation of a flat area and its transformation into a garden. Since the beginning, the building’s occupation has been confirmed as a transgression by the authorities, who have responded to the rule-breaking with ongoing attempts at eviction (see for instance il manifesto, 21 March 2017). However, the violation of property rights was not an explicit protest, rather it served the goal of creating a space that could serve both as a home for the refugees and, at the same time, as a means of enriching the area and the surrounding neighborhood. The unlawful actions used in the process ultimately expressed distrust in the authorities and developers, who could not have been trusted with a comparable initiative. The actions of Stalker and its allies qualify in this sense as what anarchists call “direct action” – the exercise of power in the here and now without resorting to the mediation of other institutions, especially the state. It can be expressed in various nonviolent or even violent forms and always has as its goal an anarchist society, that is, one without any forms of oppression (Sparrow 1997). According to David Graeber (2009, 210), direct action is “a way of actively engaging with the world to bring about change, in which the form of the action […] is itself a model for the change one wishes to bring about.” In other words, the means (in this case, the occupation and furnishing of the vacant house in association with the Kurds) coincide with the end (the creation of a place of refuge and identification). “At its most elaborate,” Graeber continues, “the structure of one’s own act becomes a kind of micro-utopia, a concrete model for one’s vision of a free society.”

Indeed, Ararat represents a small utopia. Although its continued existence remains precarious, the project has received much encouragement and social acceptance (or at least indifference). Such reactions may be explained at least partly by its location in the still relatively isolated former Mattatoio and the associated Campo Boario, which, despite increasing gentrification (Marroni 2018; Wetterberg and Nyström 2022), has been able to maintain its autonomy to some extent. Over the years, the government has made hesitant concessions. In June 2007, it renamed the adjacent street “Largo Dino Frisullo,” after the Italian activist who vehemently fought for Kurdish rights (Confronti, February 2022). In November 2009, Ararat won partial recognition from the city. Since then, the Kurdish community has paid a token rent and financed various repairs (DinamoPress, 22 April2016). Nevertheless, due to ongoing threats of eviction, the center finds itself continually in a contradictory state of semi-legality.

In the case of Savorengo Ker, however, no unlawful actions took place. On the contrary, involving the authorities and providing the necessary documents and permits for the construction of the house ideally should have been Roma’s initial stride towards citizenship (Careri and Romito 2016, 115). In other words, a formal house was to represent the basis for a formalized social and legal status. However, the creation of a ”proper” – i.e. authorized – house obviously shook the image of Roma based on prejudice, thus creating new fears among the gadjé, the non-Roma. It undermined the erroneous attribution of the Roma as “nomads” (Piasere 2006, 11), since they had created a symbol of sedentariness for themselves and thus questioned their supposed otherness par exellence. In addition, the house raised fears that it would remain permanently and thus run counter to the eviction of the camp as demanded by local residents. The fact that the Roma built a formal house, which was even ornamentally decorated,⁹ was understood as a rebellion by those who had no right to rebel. Consequently, the serious transgression on the part of the Roma was the fact that their action contradicted the role imposed on them (the scapegoat, the criminal, the other, etc.). In other words, the transgression consisted of the intended formalization and the accompanying empowering of a (supposedly) eternally informal community.

Despite the disparity of transgression, the intervention in the Roma camp was once again a form of direct action. Although conceived within a rule-bound framework, the project was an attempt to set an example for a better society through a physical intervention on the ground. The means (the Roma building their own house) coincided with the goals (self-determination, dignified living) of the endeavor. The resistance to the completed house – first through the blockade of the authorities, then through suspected arson (Careri and Romito 2016, 123) – can ultimately be attributed to its potential as a concrete utopia.

Against this background, the immediate urban contexts of the two projects must be taken into account. Even before Stalker’s interventions, both the Campo Boario and Casilino 900 were exceptional spaces in which applicable law was suspended to a certain degree. Similar to the Roma in the Casilino 900 camp forced to live in informality, the residents of the Campo Boario represented different states of lawlessness: refugees, migrants, the occupied social center, as well as a Roma group (Pietromarchi 2006, 55). Since its closure in the 1970s, the Mattatoio has been a kind of permanent provisional space where formal and informal uses and developments have alternated and coexisted (Wetterberg and Nyström 2022, 242). The transgressive actions of the Ararat project (squatting, reclaiming) can be seen as in keeping with the heterotopian history of the Mattatoio/Campo Boario compound. Thus, the existence of informal uses seems to have favored the partial toleration (or ignorance) of the project.

While the Mattatoio is still within the ancient city walls, the Casilino 900 camp was located far from the city center in the Roman periphery. (see Figure 1) Surrounded by an auto salvage yard, a highway, and the runway of a former airport, it was relatively isolated spatially. Unlike the Mattatoio, it was not considered worthy of preservation; on the contrary, it was perceived as a nuisance and slated for clearance. Given this distinction, it seems obvious that there was more at stake for all parties in the intervention at the Roma camp than in the actions at the Mattatoio. The hurdles to transforming a Roma camp into a public neighborhood similar to that of a Chinatown – as Stalker had hoped to achieve (Careri and Romito 2016, 125) – were incomparably higher than adding additional informal public uses to a partially abandoned slaughterhouse where cultural initiatives had been taking place for years. The difference lies in the expansion of the informal spectrum on the one hand and the formalization of the informal on the other.

Informality between transgression, constraint, and opportunity

A transgression is typically defined as an infringement, a break with a law or a norm; etymologically, however, “transgress” derives from the verb “to step across” (OED 2023b), and thus underlines the act of crossing a boundary through bodily action. As a misappropriation of municipal property, the transgression in the case of the Ararat project was indeed a breach of law. With Savorengo Ker, however, a boundary was crossed that was not explicit; instead it was a moral transgression that broke unwritten “laws” and shattered entrenched stereotypes. While both examples occurred in contexts that were characterized by informal use or dwelling, only in the first case was the transgression a clearly informal act, i.e. occupation and furnishing without consultation with the owner. The transgression in the second example appears to have been a largely formal act: the construction of a prototypical house in consultation with the authorities after obtaining the necessary permits. Thus, the two case studies demonstrate that both formal and informal actions can manifest as transgressions, as well as the change from one state to another.

Informality is commonly understood as the absence of formality; the latter being defined as “accordance with legal form” and “conformity to established rule” (OED 2023a). Urban informality is often used interchangeably with marginalized settlements or slums, mostly with respect to megacities in the so-called Global South (Davis 2017). However, the example of contemporary Rome demonstrates that the phenomenon is not at all limited to poor and developing countries. Moreover, the dichotomous understanding of informality as the negative foil to formality has rightly been called into doubt. In particular, the view of informality as a deviation from the ideal state has been criticized (AlSayyad 2004; McFarlane and Michael 2012), which, among other possibilities, can lead to a problematic practice of “othering” informality (Acuto, Dinardi, and Marx 2019). Rather than distinguishing between formal and informal, there has been an increasing call for differentiating informality or for viewing the two poles as a unified continuum (Altrock 2012; Roy 2005).¹⁰

Ananya Roy advocates an understanding of informality as “a mode of the production of space and a practice of planning” (Roy 2012, 700) that pervades economic, spatial and social realms. In the context of Indian metropolises, she has shown that informal urbanism extends beyond impoverished slum dwellers, involving entrepreneurs, developers, and even the state.¹¹ Accordingly, the divide between the powerful and the marginalized is less defined by formal and informal areas or behaviors than by the consequences: the transgressions of the wealthy are often ignored or legalized, while those of the poor are criminalized (Roy 2011, 233). Ultimately, the authorities determine whether or not informality qualifies as transgressive. This relativity applies for the concept of transgression as well, as its recognition and severity depend on administrative judgement and public opinion. In addition to the interpretive sovereignty of the powerful, however, transgression and informality share another feature. They are not solely states determined by others but can be conscious acts – willful stepping across.

Although Savorengo Ker has so far been described as a project of formalization, upon closer inspection, the action is characterized by a formal-informal hybrid. The house made use of the informal technology of the shanty, at the same time that Stalker wanted to fulfill all legal requirements. This informal-formal dual nature is reflected in the apt designation of the house by Roma as “barrack with documents” (Stalker/ON, Casilino 900, and DIPSU 2008, 155). A closer look reveals that the way the activists provided the “documents” was anything but passive compliance. The collective had submitted the project as a temporary prototype, knowing that this was the only way to obtain a permit in the area classified as an archaeological zone. In fact, the intention, or hope, behind it was not temporary at all. Ideally, Savorengo would have become a sustainable home for the community and would have prevented the eviction of Roma from the camp (see Anzaldi and Carlo 2011, 9). In other words, by seeking authorization, Stalker attempted to stretch the scope of the legal in order to realize the unauthorized. This tactic opened up some room for maneuvering, but ultimately may have even contributed to the house’s limbo between authorization and non-authorization during its brief existence. This state of uncertainty is a key feature of informality, as Roy designates it “the ever-shifting relationship between what is legal and illegal, legitimate and illegitimate, authorized and unauthorized” (2009, 80).

The situation immediately after the opening of the two projects, however, suggests two different effects that informality had on the actors: a delicate but vast space of possibility at Ararat and a situation of coercion and paralysis at Savorengo Ker. Yiftachel’s concept of “gray space” (2009) is illuminating to distinguish these phenomena. In the case of Ararat, the municipality largely tolerated the informal state and allowed the actors on the ground great flexibility; the leeway was generous enough for the Kurdish cultural center continue to exist, and by creating the garden, the project could even be expanded. The contradictory melange of toleration and eviction threats is characteristic for “gray spacing,” by which authorities actively create uncertainty or “un-recognition” (92). In the case of Savorengo Ker, the municipal government intervened with bureaucratic measures, turning the legally formal status into an informal one. The effect was a deadlock that was impossible for the parties involved to resolve legally. The house could never be used, and it ultimately degenerated into a symbol of the authorities’ despotism toward the concerns of the Roma. In contrast to informality as a space of possibility in which certain transgressions were tolerated, here the state of informality was an imposed burden, foreshadowing the subsequent eviction of the settlement. Instead of “whitening,” i.e. legalizing, the gray space of Casilino 900, it was “blackened,” and destroyed. Since the State power decides whether or not to intervene, informality manifests in both cases as an “expression of […] sovereignty” (Roy 2005, 149).

Signs of empowerment: informal alliances and attitudes

In hindsight, Savorengo Ker embodies a failed dream that ultimately even seems to underscore the plight of Roma in Italy. The project neither prevented their deportation to the new camps on the outskirts of the city, nor did it change anything about the massive social disadvantages that Roma face. However, despite the episode’s melodramatic ending, the house did have the potential for a transformative effect for some Roma, as testified by the statements of two participants in the house’s construction. In the documentary film Once upon a time there was Savorengo Ker, Klej Salkanović states: “We began with the hope of doing something for our children and ourselves, to show the Italian government that we can do something when we get organized, that we’re not all criminals or thieves or whatever…”¹² Hakija Husović, as quoted in il manifesto (29 July 2008), expressed a similar opinion: “We have shown that the Roma community wants to work and understands how to do it … We just want more opportunities like this to prove our value and live in peace with Italians.” Both statements confirm that the action was intended to set an example. But they also show the persistence of socially imposed stereotypes. Salkanović and Husović do not stop at pointing out that they accomplished the project as a community; it is important for them to emphasize that the government and the public witnessed it. The fact that they had to “prove their value” with it is a sad testimony to the reality of a two-class society. Their demand for recognition and equality was met by Stalker with the inclusion of Roma in the construction of the house – even if only temporarily and on a limited scale. In this sense, Savorengo Ker was indeed an act of empowerment of an oppressed group; an empowerment, however, that was at the same time perceived as a social transgression.

Spared from this apartheid-like state of oppression and resisting the indeterminate fate of their gray space, the Kurds were able to build Ararat into a beacon for the “Kurdish cause.” While highlighting the persistent threats of eviction, Silan Ekinci enthusiastically underscores the project’s impact, particularly during its early phase:

Ararat for us was an immense revolution. It was a landmark, it was a point of uniting, it was also a point … where we Kurds made ourselves known to the Italians. … We introduced our culture, our politics and our food, our dancing, our festivals…. Therefore, Ararat was a school, both a human school for the Kurds and a school to learn about Kurdish culture for the Italians. (Interview, March 18, 2022)

This kind of mutual learning from each other was evident in the construction phase of Savorengo Ker, too, which Stalker described as a “construction site school” (Stalker/ON, Casilino 900, and DIPSU 2008, 155) while Adžović recalled a “social, integrative and communicative open-air workshop” (interview, December 14, 2022) (Figure 12). However, it is questionable whether such selective and fleeting experiences will gain relative acceptance for similarly sustainable projects like the Ararat in the foreseeable future. Bermann and Clough Marinaro (2014, 411) doubt that institutions will sustainably improve the situation of Roma; instead, they pin their hopes on the engagement of activists. As for Stalker, frustration with authorities led them to second-guess their approach to Savorengo Ker and fantasize about abandoning the formal attitude, occupying the house, and embracing the “informal state of limbo, the only one we were granted because at that point we were all Roma, we had no right to papers, no right to legality” (Careri and Romito 2016, 120–21).

Figure 12. “Construction Site School”. Photo: Max Intrisano.

The activists’ identification with the struggle of Roma may be exaggerated. However, it highlights the significance of informality as an attitude or tactic in planning and architectural design. In recent years, institutions and designers have tentatively shifted towards recognizing informal urban structures and dynamics. A prominent example is the United Nations’ “New Urban Agenda” from 2016, which departed from modernist dogmas and instead embraced incremental change and bottom-up initiatives. According to Mehaffy and Haas, this vision represents a move towards “design for self-organization,” (2018, 14) an understanding of planning that only provides the necessary infrastructure for individual, community-based processes. However, even a modest approach to planning and design may carry the risk of bureaucratic decisions and standardized solutions. In addition to the danger of employing paternalistic approaches, there is a tendency to idealize self-help in relation to urban informality (Rocco and van Ballegooijen 2018). To avoid these pitfalls, planners may have to adopt an informal stance themselves and engage in reciprocal exchange with the group and place in question. Facilitating self-organization requires an attitude of openness – one that rejects preconceived notions and does not shy away from periods of indeterminacy, nor from the dangers of occasionally stepping outside the authorized. If informality and gray spacing are tools of power and expressions of sovereignty by governments, then perhaps the adoption of informal and transgressive actions is a valid way to reclaim that sovereignty.

Conclusion: adopting an informal stance

The two projects Ararat (1999-) and Savorengo Ker (2008) demonstrate the potential and limitations of informal placemaking in the context of collaboration between minority groups and an activist collective. Additionally, the approach by the group Stalker and Kurdish and Roma communities, both in its transgressiveness and eclecticism, showcases informality as a tactic. Indeed, Roy’s conceptualization of informality as a mode (in the sense of method, manner, way of being) (2005, 148), although implied for urbanization processes, could also align with an activist approach. Similar to a makeshift barack, informal tactics do not follow a predetermined design. Instead, they are developed step-by-step using existing “material” in situ such as social and spatial realities. They are adaptable and flexible, allowing them to easily adjust to respective needs. However, due to their a posteriori nature, which precludes any overarching and hence reusable strategy, informal tactics necessarily remain contextual, individual and fragmentary.

If informality is regarded as a tactic that operates beyond the boundaries of the authorized and legal framework and challenges established ideas and prejudices, in other words, if the informal act is transgressive, how does it differ from resistance practices such as direct action? In fact, there is significant overlap. According to Graeber, direct action means “acting as if one is already free” (2009, 203), which indicates a high degree of self-organization, a characteristic often associated with informal action. The main difference, however, is that direct action operates in the mode “as if,” and thus provides a fiction. It is the affirmative fiction that a free and just society is possible through one’s own actions. As demonstrated by the case studies, constructing a house or occupying an abandoned building can provide visibility, agency, and empowerment for a disenfranchised group. Such proactive expressions of hope may bring activists and marginalized groups together, fostering collective urban change from below, regardless of the odds.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Peter Lang and the two anonymous reviewers for their feedback, and Ginny Wheeler for copy editing an earlier version of this paper.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1. The name of the collective was inspired by the 1979 film Stalker by Andrei Tarkovsky. In the 2000s, the group increasingly operated as Stalker/Osservatorio Nomade (Nomadic Observatory) in order to include additional actors and organizations in large-scale projects.

2. The membership of Stalker has been opaque and continuously variable. However, the 1996 document “Founding Act for the Establishment of an Association” (i.e. the legal formalization of the collective) indicates the following six individuals as founding members: Francesco Careri, Aldo Innocenzi, Romolo Ottaviani, Giovanna Ripepi, Lorenzo Romito, and Valerio Romito.

3. Patrick Düblin, “Transformationen des Hier und Jetzt. Zwischenräume, Gegenpositionen und die Kunst des Überschreitens in der Praxis des Kollektivs Stalker” (Transformations of the Here and Now. Interstices, Counterpositions and the Art of Transgression in the Practice of the Collective Stalker). Doctoral Dissertation, ETH Zurich, 2023.

4. All translations are by the author unless otherwise noted.

5. https://digilander.libero.it/stalkerlab/tarkowsky/giardino/iniziolavori.html. Accessed January 2, 2023. While most of the online content about Stalker’s activities has been lost, this website provides a rare glimpse into the collective’s early practice.

6. The journalist quotes Yilmaz Orkan, the former head of Azad Association, as saying: “‘Kurds do not have a state. Kurds run away from the states where they were born. Therefore, they don’t have consulates, embassies or cultural institutions. Ararat is all these things together.’ For example, ‘if an Italian citizen lives abroad and dies, his friends or family turn to diplomatic offices to bring back the body. The Kurds turn to Ararat.’.” https://www.dinamopress.it/news/7-fuori-mercato-ararat-l-ambasciata-curda-e-a-testaccio/.

7. With the project Imagine Corviale for example, Stalker/Osservatorio Nomade sought to transform a desolate, one-kilometer-long housing complex with various “non-invasive” interventions (see Pietromarchi and Santori 2006).

8. The Prefect is said to have been interested in cloning the prototype for the newly built camps (Careri and Romito 2016, 126).

9. Apparently, the aesthetic appearance of the “chalet” was criticized as “too much luxury for the Roma” (Careri and Romito 2016, 122).

10. The demand for a more nuanced perspective on (in)formality resonates with Michel Foucault’s rejection of a dichotomous understanding of transgression and limit. Instead, he argues for a spiraling relationship between the two “which no simple infraction can exhaust” (1977, 35).

11. This diagnosis is true for modern Rome, too. Insolera claims that “the real urban management rule in Rome” has always been “maximizing profits through every possible parasitic exploitation of property” (Insolera 2018, 287).

12. C’era una volta Savorengo Ker, 2011, directed by Fabrizio Boni and Giorgio De Finis. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRsllzP3Wmk. Translation from subtitles.