Naming streets – constructing heritage in four Swedish post-asylum landscapes

ABSTRACT

This paper explores the processes of naming streets in four Swedish post-asylum landscapes and, consequently, the processes of constructing heritage. The paper shows that the memorialisation of (1) hospital buildings, staff members and architects; (2) the hospitals surrounding nature and park landscape; and (3) historical periods predating the hospital and the time of deinstitutionalisation are central ways in which heritage is constructed. The paper further explores how different discourses materialise in the name-giving processes. The examples are further discussed in relation to arguments made by scholars about how the past of the post-asylum landscape is remembered. In doing so, assumptions about what the heritage of post-asylum landscapes consists of are critically discussed.

KEYWORDS:

• post-asylum landscape
• street name
• psychiatric hospital and asylum
• urban development

Since the late 1980s, the world has witnessed a process of deinstitutionalisation and the closure of psychiatric hospitals, transforming them into post-asylum landscapes. A post-asylum landscape is a new kind of spatialisation of hospital areas where urban development transforms them into business parks, school campuses, prisons and/or residential areas (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015). Moon, Kearns, and Joseph (2015, 23) argue that a central but sometimes overlooked aspect in research is the cultural heritage processes that accompany the urban development of post-asylum landscapes. Although I agree with Moon, Kearns, and Joseph’s (2015, 23) claim that research on cultural heritage processes of post-asylum landscapes needs further exploration, it should be acknowledged that there exists research on the preservation of buildings (e.g. Franklin 2002; Weiner 2004), the challenges of adaptive re-use (e.g. Coleborne 2020; Osborne 2003), and the afterlife of asylum cemeteries (e.g. Harmon 2018; Rodéhn 2022). Scholars also discuss how history and heritage are constructed in post-asylum landscapes, for instance in terms of commemorations, monuments, plaques (e.g. Flis and Wright 2011) and museums (e.g. Obermark and Walter 2014; Punzi 2022; Rodéhn 2020). Notably, these discussions have appeared in the aftermath of deinstitutionalisation and the closure of psychiatric hospitals (Rodéhn 2022), and Coleborne (2020, 31) suggests that this period has availed space to discuss the past.

Yet, despite this examination of heritage, street names and place names have largely been overlooked in these discussions (Kearns, Joseph, and Moon 2012, 180; Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 73, 84–87, 122–126, 162; Rodéhn 2021). The present article seeks to make a contribution in this regard. Furthermore, it also aims to add knowledge to the ongoing discussion of street names as heritage. In post-asylum landscape discussions, scholars predominantly focus on the uses and abuses of the past in relation to major political transitions in various countries. Street names are discussed in terms of how they legitimise new political powers in the urban landscape (Duminy 2014; Gill 2005; Light and Young 2014; Palonen 2008; Shoval 2013; Wanjiru and Matsubara 2017). Scholarly discussions also focus on street naming as a process where an area’s authorised history is remembered, told and materialised in the urban landscape (Azaryahu 1996, 2012; Duminy 2014; Gill 2005; Light 2004; Palonen 2008; Wanjiru and Matsubara 2017). Within this body of research, it is suggested that street names can be considered as akin to monuments, since they remind citizens of what kinds of people and events are considered as important to remember (Azaryahu 1996, 2012, 45; Duminy 2014; Gill 2005). Street names are further considered as playing a role in forgetting some pasts and in creating new presents as well as futures in the urban landscape (Gill 2005, 492). The present article continues this discussion but in the context of post-asylum landscapes, which has received very little attention (Rodéhn 2021).

Points of departure

The aim of this article is to discuss how the past is remembered in four post-asylum landscapes. The paper discusses what is being remembered and how, as well as the different discourses intertwined in these processes. In exploring this, I focus on the post-asylum landscapes Umedalen in the city Umeå, Ulleråker in the city Uppsala, Långbro in the city Stockholm and Gertrudsvik in the town Västervik. The sites represent areas from the north of Sweden to the south and are located in different urban landscapes. I explore street naming during the period of deinstitutionalisation and the first phase of urban development. In order to explore name-giving as a heritage process, I examine archive material: minutes from city council meetings, committees and boards deciding on names (hereafter referred to minutes). I have also included documents associated with urban development processes such as reports and detail development plans. The material can be found in the Umeå city archive, Uppsala city archive, Stockholm city archive and Västervik municipality archive. The material is written in Swedish, and I have translated the quotes to English.

The archive material is considered as articulations – representations or meaning-making practices constituted by discourses (Hall 2013). Considering the material in this way is central in the discussion of street naming as a heritage process because ‘[t]he discursive construction of heritage is itself part of the cultural and social processes that are heritage’ (Smith 2006, 13). Explaining this, I draw on research in human geography explaining that street naming can be considered as a performative process that creates the space that it names (Duminy 2014, 314–325), and that street naming must be considered as cultural practice, where the past is used in order to create meaning in the present urban landscape (Azaryahu 1996, 2012). Street naming is therefore considered as a process of constructing heritage (Azaryahu 1996, 2012; Smith 2006, 47). Furthermore, in Sweden, street names are considered as ‘place names’, and as such they are recognised and protected by law as cultural heritage by Historic Environment Act 1988:950 (Lantmäteriet 2016). Street naming is a process where histories and social memories are embodied, and, as such, they become reflections of power. The names also inscribe a particular worldview into the landscape (Light and Young 2014, 669). Considering street naming as the construction of heritage means that heritage is not primarily understood as a thing or a place but as ‘a cultural process in which social and cultural meanings are negotiated made, re-made and/or rehearsed’ (Smith and Campbell 2011, 86). This means that street names are discursive products but also physical sites of memory where power, remembrance, language and space are conflated (Azaryahu 2012, 388). In other words, heritage and street names alike are constructed in discourse, which means that the cultural heritage that is constructed in the process of naming streets is both discursive and material as well as in a constant state of materialising. Discussing name-giving as a heritage process, I enter into dialogue with Kearns, Joseph and Moon, who argue that former psychiatric hospital areas largely prompt a ‘selective remembrance’ and ‘strategic forgetting’ (Joseph, Kearns, and Moon 2013, 140; Kearns, Joseph, and Moon 2010, 734; 2012, 180). They write that ‘[t]hese complementary concepts interrogate the creative tension between the retention of positive memories of the asylum and the simultaneous obscuring of more negative aspects of that past’ (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 26). In this text, I continue to develop these concepts by exploring not only what aspects of the past are remembered/forgotten but also how intersections of different discourses materialise in the post-asylum landscape.

Four Swedish post-asylum landscapes

The Swedish post-asylum landscape is the result of the changes in psychiatric care that eventually led to psychiatric reforms in 1995. It can be explained as ‘an effect of the overall restructuring of social welfare services and as the result of processes of rationalisation, reductions in public funding and a shift from the previously dominant model of public supply to mixed public – private solutions’ (Högström 2018, 317). The landscape is marked by urban development that has transformed the sites into a combination of care facilities, residential areas, business parks and school campuses. A central part of this transformation was the introduction of street names, since many streets in the hospital areas were not named prior to deinstitutionalisation. This also means that cultural heritage was created in the processes of deinstitutionalisation and urban development.

In Sweden, street naming is part of urban development; it is a municipal administrative and political process (Lantmäteriet 2016). The process of naming street varies slightly between the municipalities; street names are suggested by either a committee or a municipal official, and they are then taken for decision in either a municipal committee or the city council. Before being taken for decision, proposed names are often sent out for remittance to different authorities and also displayed to the public for comments or feedback (Lantmäteriet 2016). Street names must therefore be understood in line with what Light and Young (2014, 670) write: politically and culturally dependent and produced in particular context. When naming streets in Sweden, a theme is decided on, which forms the category for street names in that area. This determines the kind of names that the streets will receive (Lantmäteriet 2016). It is further decreed that the theme and category are derived from that area’s long history (Lantmäteriet 2016; Rodéhn 2021, 68–71), which means that street naming in Sweden is always a heritage process and a process where the past is negotiated.

Turning to introducing the four post-asylum landscapes, I begin in the northeast of Sweden. Umedalen, situated five kilometres west of the city Umeå (population ca. 130225), was founded as a psychiatric hospital in 1934. In 1986, the hospital was deinstitutionalised, though some psychiatric care continued until 1997. In 2008 psychiatric care was reintroduced to the area (Amcoff 2018, 14; Vikström 1985). Back in 1985, Umeå municipality bought some of the hospital buildings, and in 1987, the developing company The Baltic Group (now Fort Knox) bought the area for the purpose of developing it as a business park, a residential area and a sculpture park (Amcoff 2018, 14; Umeå kommun 1986). At Umedalen, the streets were named in 1986, in the 1990s and in the 2000s. A place name administrator (ortnamnshandläggare) was responsible for preparing name suggestions, which were taken to the building committee (byggnadsnämnden) (Berglund 2020). As will be discussed later, the developing company The Baltic Group was invited into the process of deciding on names (Table 1).

Table 1. Street names at the Umedalen post-asylum landscape (Umeå kommun 1986, 1991, 2003, 2008). The street names have been translated by the author. The English versions of the street names are literal translations.

Street name	English translation	Date	Association
Personalvägen (renamed Rampljusallén in 1991)	Staff Street	1986	The staff at the institution
Pärkällarvägen	Potato Cellar Street	1991	Local potato cellar
Aktrisgränd	Actress Alley	1991	The performing arts
Aktörgränd	Actor Alley	1991	The performing arts
Entrégränd	Entrance Alley	1991	The performing arts
Manusgränd	Script Way Alley	1991	The performing arts
Ouvertyrgränd (altered to Symfonivägen in 2008)	Overture Alley (Symphony Street)	1991 (2008)	The performing arts
Piruettgränd (altered to Piruettvägen in 2008)	Pirouette Alley (Pirouette Street)	1991 (2008)	The performing arts
Replikgränd	Lines Alley	1991	The performing arts
Sufflörgränd	Prompter Alley	1991	The performing arts
Teaterallén	Theater Avenue	1991	The performing arts
Rampljusallén	Spotlight Avenue	1991	The performing arts
Kavaljersgränd (altered to Kavaljersvägen in 2008)	Cavalier Alley (Cavalier Street)	1991 (2008)	The performing arts
Fjärilsvägen	Butterfly Street	1991	Nature, fauna
Insektsvägen (altered to Honungsvägen in 2003)	Bug Street (Honey Street)	1991 (2003)	Nature, fauna
Kattfotsvägen	Catsfoot Street	1991	Nature, flora
Skogsrundan (altered to Humlevägen)	Forest Loop (altered to Hoop Street in 2003)	1991(2003)	Nature
Videvägen	Willow Street	1991	Nature, flora
Viggens väg	Tufted Duck Street	1991	Nature, flora

Ulleråker is situated in the middle of Sweden, in the outskirts of Uppsala (population ca. 238000). Here a psychiatric care facility was established in 1811 and deinstitutionalised in 1988; nevertheless, psychiatric care continued until 2013, and some forensic psychiatric care still exists in the area. Ulleråker was subject to urban development during the early 1990s and then again in 2014. Streets were named in 1988 and during the 1990s. The street names were prepared by a board for name-giving (namnberedningen) at Uppsala municipality and taken for decision to city council (since then the process has changed) (Namnberedningen 1991a) (Table 2).

Table 2. Street names at the Ulleråker post-asylum landscape (Namnberedningen 1988; 1990a; 1990b;

1991a; 1991b; Uppsala kommun 1991; 1993). The street names have been translated by the author. The English versions of the street names are literal translations.

Street name	English translation	Date	Association
Ulleråkersvägen	Ull’s [the norse god] Meadow Street	1988	The area, the hospital
Kronåsvägen	Crown Ridge Street	1991	The ridge, an institution, the hospital
Frey Svenssons väg	Frey Svensson’s Street	1991	Attending physician, professor, director
Gustaf Kjellbergs väg	Gustaf Kjellberg’s Street	1991	Attending physician, professor, director
Bernhard Jacobowskys väg	Bernhard Jacobowsky’s Street	1993	Attending physician, professor, director
Emmy Rappes väg	Emmy Rappe’s Street	1993	Head nurse, director
Eva Lagerwalls väg	Eva Lagerwall’s Street	1993	Attending physician, professor, director
Henry Säldes väg	Henry Sälde’s Street	1993	Attending physician, professor, director

Långbro is situated in the middle-south of Sweden and is a district within Stockholm city, located south of the Swedish capital Stockholm (population ca. 975550). At Långbro, a psychiatric hospital opened in 1909, and care continued until 1993, but in 1997 the hospital was officially closed, though the last patients were relocated in 1999 (Långbro sjukhusmuseum 2020). The development company, JM AB, bought the area from the county council in 1998, which initiated a process of urban development that continued until 2006. The streets were given names in 1998 and during the early 2000s. In Stockholm, a committee of civil servants who were experts in the field suggested the names. The names were then decided on by the city planning committee (stadsbyggnadsnämnden) (Rosengren 2020). As will be discussed later, the developing company JM AB did voice opinions about some names and thus influenced the name giving (Table 3).

Table 3. Street names at the Långbro post-asylum landscape (Stockholms stad 1998, 2000, 2001). The street names have been translated by the author. The English versions of the street names are literal translations.

Street name	English translation	Date	Association
Gustaf Wickmans väg	Gustaf Wickman’s Street	1998	The architect of the hospital
Stora Manns väg	Big Man’s Street	1998	The hospital building: Stora manns
Stora Kvinns väg	Big Woman’s Street	1998	The hospital building: Stora kvinns
Kavelbrovägen	Corduroy Road Street	2001	Historical bridge/road
Långbrokungens väg	Långbro King’s Street	2001	Alfred Söderlund, owner of the land prior to it being a hospital
Bergtallsvägen	Mugo Pine Street	2001	Flora, the hospital park
Blågransvägen	Blue Spruce Street	2001	Flora, the hospital park
Glasbjörksvägen	Moor Birch Street	2001	Flora, the hospital park
Silverpilvägen	White Willow Street	2001	Flora, the hospital park

In the southeast of Sweden, the area Gertrudsvik is situated in the municipality of Västervik (population ca. 36655). A psychiatric hospital opened in 1906, and almost 80 years later a process of deinstitutionalisation began in the late 1980s (Västerviks kommun 2006). A large forensic care unit still remains in the area. During 2004, Gertrudsvik Fastighets AB bought the area from the county council in order to develop it into a residential area, which is now known as Gertrudsvik sjöstad (Landstinget Kalmar Län 2001; Västerviks kommun 2006). The streets at Gertrudsvik were named during the early 2000s. In Västerviks municipality, names are suggested by, and to, the committee preparing names (namnberedningskommitten), and decisions are then made in the environment and building committee’s name committee (miljö- och byggnadsnämndens namnberedningsutskott) (Västerviks kommun 2008). As will be discussed later, the developing companies did raise opinions about some names and influenced the name-giving (Table 4).

Table 4. The street names at the Gertrudsvik post-asylum landscape (Västerviks kommun 2007, 2008, 2009). The street names have been translated by the author. The English versions of the street names are literal translations.

Street name	English translation	Date	Association
Sjöbrisvägen	Sea Breeze Street	2008	The sea, the development project
Strandlinjen	The Shoreline	2008	The sea, the development project
Kustvägen	Coast Street	2008	The sea, the development project
Marinavägen	Marina Street	2008	The sea, the development project
Snipvägen	Alpine Bulrush Street	2008	Nature, flora
Parkvägen (Norra vägen is used for street signs [2022])	Park Street (North Street)	2008	The hospital park
Östra Parkvägen	East Park Street	2008	The hospital park
Västra Parkvägen	West Park Street	2008	The hospital park
Östra Lindallén	East Linden Avenue	2008	The hospital park
Västra Lindallén	West Linden Avenue	2008	The hospital park
Sjöstadsvägen	Sea City Street	2009	The sea, the development project
Solhemsvägen	Sun Home Street	2009	The sun
Marenvägen (not in existence in 2022)	Maren Street	2009	The local lake
Sjöuddvägen (not in existence in 2022)	Promontory Street	2009	The sea, the development project

Using these four post-asylum landscapes, I will now turn to discussing how the hospitals were commemorated, how other histories than the hospitals’ pasts were remembered, and, lastly, how the natural environment was recalled.

Commemorating the hospital

In academic and popular discourses psychiatric hospitals have come to represent places of stigmatised people and services, and this has resulted in the locations being stigmatised, serving as reminders of problematic pasts (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 18–20). For this reason, ‘efforts to escape the long shadow of the past are noted in initiatives to re-name’ hospital areas (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 10). Renaming has become a tool in urban development to sever links to the past, and it is suggested that this creates a limited remembrance of past practices and people (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 20, 166). Although this may be true in some countries, the situation is not quite as simple in Sweden, where the past’s people and psychiatric care are, in fact, commemorated during urban development.

For instance, a memorialisation of the hospital was carried out at Långbro, where two streets were named Stora Manns väg and Stora Kvinns väg after two hospital buildings (see Table 3). These buildings were opened to patients in 1910. The minutes explain that the buildings formed prominent features in the landscape, which was the reason for this choice for street names (Stockholms stad 1998). I suggest that these street names are examples of what Joseph, Kearns and Moon call selective remembrance of psychiatric hospitals – a process where ‘intrinsic components of the former use’ are adopted in order to remember the past, something they argue has becomes central to the urban development processes of post-asylum landscapes (Joseph, Kearns, and Moon 2013, 140). In these processes, a selective retention of generic architectural features is often carried out (Joseph, Kearns, and Moon 2013, 139). This results in that hospital buildings from the nineteenth and early twentieth century are more often subject to conservation in post-asylum landscapes (Joseph, Kearns and Moon 2013, 148). In Sweden, such buildings are also often articulated as being of high architectural quality and often saved for the future (Åman 1970), whereas modernist buildings are often seen as being of lower quality and subject to demolition during urban development (Rodéhn 2018, 38). Older buildings are in these processes transformed into heritage, which is suggested to alter the stigma associated with them (Kearns, Joseph, and Moon 2010, 734; Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 19). Newer buildings are often considered as insufficient as heritage and, therefore, continue to carry negative associations (Rodéhn 2018, 38). Seeing that the above-mentioned street names commemorate two historical buildings from the early twentieth century, I suggest that street naming is connected to, and constructed in, this normative heritage discourse.

The discourse privileging the history of the late-nineteenth and early twentieth century can also be seen in terms of the kinds of people commemorated in street names. At Långbro, Gustaf Wickman was commemorated with the street Gustaf Wickmans väg because ‘Gustaf Wickman was the architect for Långbro Hospital’ (Stockholms stad 1998). Furthermore, during the 1990s it was suggested that some of the street names at Ulleråker should commemorate ‘people that have been working at Ulleråker’ (Uppsala kommun 1991). As a result, Gustaf Kjellberg (1827–1893), Frey Svenson (1866–1927) and Emmy Rappe (1835–1896) were honoured with street names (see Table 2). Svenson and Kjellberg were commemorated because they were professors at Uppsala University and because Kjellberg was the ‘country’s first medical doctor in psychiatry’ (Namnberedningen 1990a; 1990b). Rappe was memorialised with a street because she was the director of the hospital at Ulleråker (Uppsala kommun 1993). These street names are memorial names, a kind of street name commemorating people who have distinguished themselves; they point to a history that society wants to remember and monumentalise (Azaryahu 1996, 2012; Light and Young 2014). I suggest that these names point to the history of the late-nineteenth and early twentieth century and, as such, come to activate certain kinds of stories about psychiatric care. This history centres around a time when psychiatric hospitals were secluded places existing outside of so-called normal society, where mental illness was confined and controlled. The history revolves around the regulation of incurable patients and stories of treatments such as confinement, hydrotherapy, and bedding (Rodéhn 2020, 205). This heritage discourse works to contain the history and heritage in a distant past, locating mental illness in bygone times, which strategically works to remove any association with psychiatry and mental illness from the present post-asylum landscape. As such, street naming processes function as a way to conceal that patients were just recently relocated from the area, or, in some cases, still lived in the post-asylum landscape.

Yet, at the same time some of the street names commemorated the more recent past, such as Ulleråkersvägen and Kronåsvägen (see Table 2), which allowed for a remembrance of the recently deinstitutionalised Ulleråker hospital. Kronåsvägen took its name after the ridge, but it was also the name of an institution caring for children with disabilities. Ulleråkersvägen took its name after the hospital – Ulleråkers sjukhus – which in turn was named after the area, Ulleråker, where the hospital was located (Namnberedningen 1988; Rodéhn 2021, 55–56). Locally, Ulleråker is a strong marker of the identity of the area as a hospital. On this note, Kearns, Joseph and Moon write that hospital names are strong bearers of the past and important historical markers in the landscape (Kearns, Joseph, and Moon 2012, 180). They further write that hospitals’ names may ‘loom larger in the collective memory’ than the materiality of the hospital itself (Joseph, Kearns, and Moon 2009, 81). Indeed, at Ulleråker the name did loom large in collective memory, and for some urban developers the name Ulleråker was considered as stigmatised and problematic because of its association with psychiatric care. In fact, urban developers suggested to the municipality that the name of the area should be altered (Namnberedningen 1991b). However, such renaming was never acted on by the municipality since Ulleråker is a ‘place name’ and, as such, protected as cultural heritage. According to regulations, neither the name nor spelling should be altered without good cause (Lantmäteriet 2016, 15, 29; Rodéhn 2021, 55–56). This also led to that Ulleråkersvägen was installed as a street name.

Also commemorating the more recent past was Personalvägen (see Table 1) at Umedalen, which commemorated the collective body of staff members at the hospital across time and space (Umeå kommun 1991). In addition, at Ulleråker several staff members working at the hospital in the more recent past were honoured with street names (see Table 2). For instance, attending physician Bernhard Jacobowsky (1893–1984) was memorialised because ‘He was a pioneer in the new and more humane health care that emerged in the 40s and 50s’ (Uppsala kommun 1993). Attending physician Henry Sälde (1916–1983) was honoured because ‘Sälde had the ability to recruit interested, highly competent employees, who transformed the old, fundamentally worn-out hospital into a place where people began to come of their own free will in order to receive help and cures’ (Uppsala kommun 1993). Forensic psychiatrist Eva Lagerwall (1899–1960) who headed the forensic psychiatrist department at Ulleråker hospital was memorialised because ‘Eva Lagerwall had a great ability to empathise and understand her patients’ (Uppsala kommun 1993).

Commemorations of the recent past reveal another aspect of selective remembrance, namely the focus on positive aspects of the hospital, seen particularly in terms of the street names at Ulleråker. As seen above, the minutes explain that the memorialised people were considered as pioneering, inspiring, empathetic and appreciated, and they were chosen because they developed and improved psychiatric care. Therefore, the street names materialise success stories of psychiatric care, something that is common when the heritages of psychiatric hospitals are created. Åman writes that in historical narratives of hospitals the focus is put on solutions, advances and positive changes in hospitals and mental health care. He continues to write that failures are seldom or never the focus in these narratives (Åman 1970, 10). Rodéhn makes a similar observation in terms of how a museum of medicine in the Ulleråker post-asylum landscape mediates this history and further suggests that the success stories work to endow a selected group of attending physicians with prestige so as to glorify their achievements (Rodéhn 2020).

Thus, contrary to previous research suggesting that the naming activities are often carried out to sever the links to the past (Joseph, Kearns, and Moon 2009; Kearns, Joseph, and Moon 2012; Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015), I have exemplified that at Umedalen, Långbro and Ulleråker the past is indeed remembered. Yet, I agree with Kearns, Joseph and Moon that it is a form of selective remembrance where positive aspects of the psychiatric hospitals’ pasts are recalled (Joseph, Kearns, and Moon 2013, 136–140; Kearns, Joseph, and Moon 2010, 734; 2012, 180). Wanjiru and Matsubara (2017, 2) show that street names are effective in reducing unwanted pasts, histories and memories. However, it is not only important to point out how certain practices contribute to remembering/forgetting; it is also necessary to place this in relation to dominant discourses. Above I exemplify how street naming was created in relation to normative heritage discourses, and I will now continue to discuss how this intersects with ableist discourses. In doing so, I also expand Kearns, Joseph and Moons concepts strategic forgetting and selective remembrance.

Ableism is a process where an able body/mind is projected as a ‘species typical and therefore essential and fully human’ (Campbell 2001, 44). I propose that when staff members and architects are memorialised as pioneers, inventor, and/or modernisers, they are also connected to ideas such as progress and successes. I suggest that this is further connected to what Goodley writes, that in the Western world: achievements and success are closely tied to ability and able bodies (Goodley 2014, 31). In terms of heritage, this results in that commemorations not only privilege already dominant groups in society but that heritage is organised around the privileging of ability. Continuing to draw on Goodley, who writes that mental illness is often associated to failure and casted out or made invisible (Goodley 2014, 31–33), I moreover suggest that the focus on the nineteenth- and twentieth-century history works to further cast contemporary memories of psychiatric care and mental illness out of the heritage. Street names can therefore be said to ‘concretize hegemonic structures of power and authority’ in the urban landscape (Azaryahu 1996, 312) since this privileging makes patients invisible in several different ways. Therefore, street names are not only historical references; they are in the words of Azaryahu a situation where history and geography are woven together (Azaryahu 1996, 312). Consequently, I propose that street naming is not only about what is, or is not, remembered in the urban landscape but also about how discourses materialise in naming practices. Building further on Duminy, who writes that street names are performative and that they create the space that they name (2014, 314, 325), as well as Azaryahu, who suggests that street names ‘not only celebrate extraordinary moments of history, but are also instrumental in their reification’ (Azaryahu 1996, 312), I propose that these street names are not only constituted in and materialise ableist discourses, but that they participate in creating an ableist cultural heritage in the post-asylum landscape. Through memorialising selective parts of the history, the post-asylum landscape becomes a place where ableism is celebrated.

Memorialising the histories before and after the hospital

In Swedish post-asylum landscapes, it is common that street names also commemorate other histories than the hospitals’ past. This can, for instance, be seen in the Gertrudsvik, Långbro and Umedalen post-asylum landscapes where street names commemorate histories from the mediaeval times until present time. This phenomenon is not uncommon, and Moon, Kearns and Joseph suggest that this can be considered as a way to rid the post-asylum landscape of any stigma associated with psychiatric care and people diagnosed with mental illness. In their view, the commemoration of other pasts works so as to silence the history of the hospital (Kearns, Joseph, and Moon 2012, 180; Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 11–24, 84–87, 122–126, 162). Using the name giving processes at the Umedalen, Långbro and Gertrudsvik post-asylum landscape as examples, it is clear that the question is not quite as simple as Moon, Kearns and Joseph describe.

Histories predating the hospital were suggested to be commemorated in the name-giving process at Långbro post-asylum landscape. The reason for this was explained in the minutes, which state that ‘a couple of streets have previously been given names that connect to the hospital’s activities’. The minutes continue to state, ‘If the area’s history does not inspire any ideas, names should be suggested from this category’ (Stockholms stad 2000). The city, on the one hand, opened up for a continued commemoration of the hospital, and, on the other hand, they suggested that other histories should first be commemorated. During the process that followed, it is clear that the hospital did not inspire any new names, which was why, for instance, Kavelbrovägen (Corduroy Bridge Street) was decided on as a street name. The minutes state that name ‘had a local connection to the area because a corduroy road had passed over the former Brännkyrkasjön’ – a neighbouring lake that was drained in the 1870s. This bridge also gave the name to the area Långbro, which subsequently gave its name to the hospital (Stockholms stad 2001). Another example is the street Långbrokungens väg (see Table 3). The minutes explain that Långbrokungen (Långbro’s king) was a nickname for Alfred Söderlund who owned Långbro between the years 1866 and 1918 (Stockholms stad 2001). Söderlund was central in creating the district Långbrodal where the hospital was later situated. He, in fact, set aside the area in 1902 for it to become a hospital. These two examples show that the apparent refusal to remember the hospital was not a form of strategic forgetting but a situation where different pasts are interconnected with that of the hospital. Therefore, it could be argued that the street names commemorate the area’s process in becoming the hospital.

Suggestions to commemorate the local history are also noticeable in the street naming process at the Gertrudsvik post-asylum landscape. During this process it was first suggested that a maritime theme should form a category for the street names; thus, names alluding to different kinds of boats such as Fregattvägen and Pråmvägen were suggested by the municipality (Västerviks kommun 2007). These names allude to Västervik’s history of shipping, shipbuilding and seafaring that has been central to Västervik’s economy as far back as the Middle Ages. This history forms part of a dominant local heritage discourse in the town. For instance, Västervik’s museum predominantly displays the history of seafaring, and in the town plaques and information boards mainly narrate the history of seafaring and ship building. This means that Västervik’s dominant heritage narrative would be materialised in the post-asylum landscape. However, the development company Gertrudsvik AB was unsatisfied with the street names and sent a missive to the municipality declaring their disappointment with the names. This resulted in the names being revoked (Västerviks kommun 2008), and new names were suggested alluding to the Baltic Sea, such as Sjöbrisvägen and Sjöstadsvägen (see Table 4) (Västerviks kommun 2008, 2009).

The street name Sjöstadsvägen commemorates the more recent history of the area, namely that of urban development. In my view, the name Sjöstadsvägen is closely connected to the urban development project that was named Gertrudsvik Sjöstad and the development company named Gertrudsvik Sjöstad AB. Commemorating the urban developers and their project is not unique to Gertrudsvik but can also be seen at the Umedalen post-asylum landscape. When Umedalen was subject to urban development in the 1990s, Umeå municipality decided that streets should be named using one category (Umeå kommun 1991). The minutes explain that ‘since names with a direct connection to the place were not available in sufficient quantity’ other names were needed (Umeå kommun 1991). Inspiration for new names was therefore taken from the hospital’s architecture. The hospital layout formed a half circle, and according to the municipality this looked like a ‘theater stage’ (Umeå kommun 1991). As a result, the new category for the street names was to be performing arts (Umeå kommun 1991). In this process, existing names commemorating the hospital were revoked and Personalvägen was renamed Rampljusallén (see Table 1) (Umeå kommun 1991). At Umedalen, street naming was conducted in consultation with the developing company The Baltic Group (see Umeå kommun 1991), and I suggest that the company greatly influenced the names suggested for the streets. This must be seen in the context of the CEO of The Baltic Group’s great love for the arts, which is also central to The Baltic Group’s brand. The company not only supported local artists in different ways, but they also later created a sculpture park at Umedalen. The sculpture park hosts artwork by internationally renowned artists such as Louise Bourgeois and Tony Gragg (see Amcoff 2018).

Consequently, these street names commemorate the interests of influential companies in the post-asylum landscapes. This connects to what Moon, Kearns, and Joseph (2015, 20) suggest: that changes of names offer an opportunity to ‘apply new norms’ in the landscape, and to what Azaryahu (1996, 238) proposes: that renaming streets creates a new social reality for the place. For instance, at Umedalen performing arts as a theme for street names, in combination with the installation of the artwork, assisted in defining the place’s new identity as a residential area. Kearns, Joseph and Moon suggest that such processes are deliberate strategies to cleanse the area of stigma (2010, 734). However, considering that Umeå municipality back in 1986 stated that the area was not associated with any stigma (Umeå kommun 1986), the street naming should not be viewed as a refusal to remember the past. On the contrary, it should be seen as a process of memorialising an aspect of the areas recent past, that of the history of urban development as well as commemorating development companies.

In these examples, the street names in different ways commemorate the history of the local area (Gertrudsvik and Långbro) and the historical period when the area became a hospital (Långbro), as well as the time of urban development (Umedalen and Gertrudsvik). Therefore, I suggest that naming streets after other histories than the hospital can be about more than ridding the place of any stigma, but it can be a recognition of the interconnectedness of historical events. Examining street naming practices can thus challenge the idea of what the heritage of psychiatric hospital areas are assumed to be in research. I have noted that in research, this heritage is often explained or determined to be the periods of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and its accompanied material heritage. This is the time of the large institutions, which is often explained as evoking notions of stigma (see, for example, Joseph, Kearns, and Moon 2009, 81; Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 25). In such discussions, the post-asylum landscape and its history have already been recognised as being about certain aspects, people, activities and time periods. This means that any heritage that emerges in the post-asylum landscape is already always determined to represent the late-nineteenth and early twentieth century. Furthermore, this suggests that any representation of the past, street names or otherwise, is measured against this preconceived notion. For instance, Moon, Kearns and Joseph write that the stigma associated with mental illness and care thereof shapes the heritage of the site and the willingness to preserve its history (2015, 24). In such statements, heritage is about the hospitals’ problematic pasts, and underpinning this discussion is that this past is considered so complicated that it cannot, or should not, be forgotten. In this sense the late-nineteenth and early twentieth century hospital history serves as a moral lesson for the future. Arguing this, I am not suggesting that the problematic past should be forgotten but that the history of the post-asylum landscape should not only be isolated merely in this time. The examples from Långbro, Gertrudsvik and Umedalen show that street naming assists in materialising endless and intertwined historical landscapes. Moreover, I suggest that the street names allow for the post-asylum landscapes to be interconnected with the history and heritage outside the imagined confines of the psychiatric hospital.

Commemorating the natural environment

References to the natural environment have a complex history in terms of post-asylum heritage landscapes. Hospital areas were often named after the place’s naturalistic features (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 20), and this can be seen in Sweden, where hospital names often reference the environment of the place where they were located (Rodéhn 2021). Over time, these names have often (but not always) gained negative associations and come to signify stigmatised places; thus they were subject to renaming. Yet, when hospital areas have been subject to renaming, references to naturalistic features are often used in an effort to re-brand the place (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 11, 20). In terms of streets in the Swedish post-asylum landscapes, the natural environment has increasingly come to inspire street names, and the decision-making process is more complex than what Moon, Kearns and Joseph describe.

Flora and fauna came to inspire names at, for instance, Umedalen. As mentioned above, the hospital was conceived as a ‘theatre stage’, and it was suggested in the minutes that this stage opened up to the ‘beautiful nature’ where ‘nature’s own inhabitants – plants, animals and bugs’ sat ‘in the spectator’s seat’ looking at the theatre stage (Umeå kommun 1991). This explanation gave rise to names making references to fauna, such as Fjärilsvägen, and to flora, such as Skogsrundan and Videvägen (see Table 1). These names specifically reference the environment of the area where the vegetation around the institution consisted of a ‘beautiful coniferous forest’ (Umeå kommun 1995), and around the built environment a ‘beautiful pine forest’ existed (Umeå kommun 1993). I propose that these street names connect to the important role of fields and forests in the hospital infrastructure. They created natural boundaries between the hospital and the outside world (see Philo 2004) since hospitals were often secluded spaces placed in rural environments (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 41). The surrounding natural environment was also part of the therapeutic idea; it was supposed to have a calming effect on the patients (Philo 2004). In this case, I propose that the street names contribute to mediate aspects of treating those with mental illness, and they commemorate the seclusion and social marginalisation of patients in the past. This suggests that streets named after the natural environment are not about selectively remembering positive aspects of the past as Moon, Kearns, and Joseph (2015, 41) propose; they can be an acknowledgement of other histories.

The historical presence of farming also played a role in street-naming at Umedalen. The south part of the area had previously been an agricultural landscape, which during urban development was turned into a meadow-like park area (Umeå kommun 1992, 11). The fact that the area had been used for farming during the time of the institution was also commemorated through the name Pärkällarvägen (Table 1). The street was named after a potato cellar that existed in the hospital area for many years (Umeå kommun 1991). I suggest that this assists in commemorating the fact that Swedish psychiatric hospitals and asylums consisted of large agricultural landscapes where crops were grown. This was not only part of making the institution self-supporting in terms of food but also allowed employment for patients at the hospital. Patients’ labour greatly contributed to the finances of the institution.

Yet, naming streets after flora, fauna, and crops is not unique for post-asylum landscapes. On the contrary it is connected to a long Swedish tradition of naming streets and places after naturalistic features. In Swedish street- and place-naming practices, flora and fauna are, on the one hand, considered neutral as they do not immediately connect to a group or a historical event, and, on the other hand, they have come to signify something positive and are associated with a good life (Lantmäteriet 2016, 13, 42). Nature is, of course, not neutral, but in Sweden it is closely connected to cultural ideas of Swedishness. Sundin suggests that nature has for a long time been connected with the spirit of the people, evoking a sense of patriotism, and parts of nature have been used as national symbols in Sweden (Sundin 2005). Andersson further suggests that in the cultural imaginary Swedish natural landscapes are considered to be beautiful, and they often come to represent openness and cleanliness. Currently, these aspects are especially celebrated by Swedish urban citizens who use nature as a way to connect to, and express yearning for, a past that has been lost in urban areas (Andersson 2019, 585–588). In Sweden, this longing has also been used by urban developers in order to brand or market a place as an attractive residential area (Lantmäteriet 2016, 42). Thus, I suggest that naming streets after naturalistic elements is not necessarily a situation where the past is strategically forgotten and positive features are selectively remembered as Moon, Kearns, and Joseph (2015, 11, 20) suggest; it is part of a more general normative Swedish street naming discourse that comes to shape the heritage of the post-asylum landscapes.

This can further be seen in streets named after features in hospital parks. For example, at the Gertrudsvik post-asylum landscape, the park inspired names such as Östra Lindallén or Östra Parkvägen (see Table 4) (Västerviks kommun 2008). The names derive from the hospital park area, and a report explains that the ‘main street is surrounded by a very beautiful path of trees, consisting of deciduous trees’ such as lindens, leading from central Västervik to the hospital (Västerviks kommun 2006, 12). At Långbro, street names were also inspired by the park environment. Initially, the city suggested that streets should be named after bridges so as to echo the name of the area, Långbro (long bridge) (Stockholms stad 2001). However, the urban development company, JM AB, sent a missive to the city and suggested that the names should be reconsidered. They proposed that names should come from an inventory that the city had conducted of the natural environment at Långbro (Stockholms stad 2001). This suggestion should be seen in relation to JM AB’s usage of trees in the park as names for their development projects, and perhaps this influenced the name giving. In the end, it was decided that street names ‘were inspired by the trees that existed in the hospital park’ (Stockholms stad 2001), resulting in names such as Blågransvägen and Bergtallsvägen (see Table 3). Tandem to this process were the conservation efforts carried out in Långbro hospital park. The city made efforts to restore the park’s original features. They also placed information boards all over the park mediating its history. The urban development company, JM AB, actively participated in this effort and published a book about Långbro park’s history (see JM AB 2001).

It has been noted that hospital park-landscapes are increasingly used by developers in order to create attractive residential areas during urban development (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2006, 137–138). This is argued to be a form of selective remembrance of the hospitals (Moon, Kearns, and Joseph 2015, 11) and something that reveals an ‘important dimension of the agency exercised by stakeholders in the re-development process’ (Joseph, Kearns, and Moon 2013, 140). Indeed, in Umedalen and Långbro post-asylum landscapes urban developers intervened and influenced the street names. Yet, to suggest that this is selective remembrance acted out by these stakeholders is a simplified argument that does not give justice to the complex heritage process, where urban development discourses, conservation discourses and cultural ideas of Swedishness intersect. The heritage of post-asylum landscapes must not be isolated to only the development process but understood as created in relation to other processes and discourses.

Conclusion

This paper shows that street naming commemorates different and sometimes unexpected facets of the history of post-asylum landscapes. The examples reveal that the street names not only commemorate the history of the hospital and its people but also the natural environment, parks and farm landscapes. Street names also commemorate the history leading up to areas becoming institutions. Moreover, street names memorialise urban development companies and the time of urban development. Therefore, this paper argues that name-giving creates endless heritage landscapes where time and space are interconnected, placing the history of the hospital in a wider historical continuum. In doing so, the paper has sought to open up the imaginary confines of the heritage of psychiatric hospital in order to widen the understanding of what the heritage of post-asylum landscapes is and can become. Many discourses are at play in name-giving practices, and I have shown how several normative discourses intersect. The remembrance of the hospitals is often stressed as important among scholars, materialising ableist discourses in the landscape. Furthermore, naming streets after naturalistic features, commonly conceived as strategic remembrance by scholars and discussed as the agency of stakeholders strategically concealing problematic pasts, in fact materialises normative Swedish name giving discourse and natural heritage discourses in the post-asylum landscape. Thus, the heritage of post-asylum landscapes should be understood as a complex materialisation of many intersecting discourses and processes.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Klara Goedecke, Johanna Larsson and my colleagues at the Centre for Gender Research for valuable comments on previous versions of this paper.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Funding

This work was supported by FORMAS under grant 2019-00589, project name: From psychiatric hospital to condominium – urban development and cultural heritage.

Notes on contributors

Cecilia Rodéhn

Cecilia Rodéhn is an Associate Professor of Conservation (Uppsala University, Sweden), and holds a PhD in Museum Studies (The University of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa). She works as a senior lecturer at the Centre for Gender Research (Uppsala University). Rodéhn is the project manager of the FORMAS-funded project: From psychiatric hospital to condominium – urban development and cultural heritage.