Letteratura scientifica selezionata sul tema "Massachusetts. Office of Cultural and Historic Landscapes"

Monitoring cultural resources in parks and protected areas is greatly enhanced using Light Detection and Ranging (LiDAR). For this example, a pilot inventory of cultural resources is illustrated for the United States National Park Service lands that protect the Appalachian Trail in Massachusetts. In Massachusetts, the trail stretches 145.2 kilometers (90.2 miles) and is protected by nearly 2052 hectares (5070 acres) of land. To aid in the resource monitoring, these remote sensing data are corroborated with historic records to identify the historical archaeological resources in the corridor. The inventory are then added to existing management plans to help protect the national park with a more complete understanding of the historical human impacts in the backcountry of New England.

The Massachusetts Historical Commission (MHC) is the State Historic Preservation Office for Massachusetts. Established in 1963, MHC has been inventorying historic properties for over half a century. Since 1987, it has maintained a heritage database, the Massachusetts Cultural Resource Information System, or MACRIS. Today MACRIS holds over 206,000 records from the 351 towns and cities across the Commonwealth. Since 2004, a selection of the more than 150 MACRIS fields has been available online at mhcmacris. net.<br><br> MACRIS is widely used by independent consultants preparing project review files, by MHC staff in its regulatory responsibilities, by local historical commissions monitoring threats to their communities, as well as by scholars, historical organizations, genealogists, property owners, reporters, and the general public interested in the history of the built environment.<br><br> In 2016 MACRIS began migration off of its three-decade old Pick multivalue database to SQL Server, and in 2017, the first redesign of its thirteen-year old web interface should start to improve usability. Longer-term improvements have the goal of standardizing terminology and ultimately bringing interoperability with other heritage databases closer to reality.

<p>Open spaces in the urban landscapes suffer from deterioration caused by man that leads to two major outcomes: on one side they are abandoned because of newer contemporary needs, on the other hand they tend to be “cannibalized” in the attempt to satisfy our society. This has caused a progressive retraction of urban open spaces that have become residual spaces with no shape and no name.<br />This course of crisis has damaged the identity of places and this is more acute in historic urban landscapes that are recognised as cultural heritage and world heritage. The historic urban landscape approach suggested by UNESCO recognises public spaces’ importance for society and promotes the acknowledgement of public spaces and their dynamism aiming to the integration of preservation, social development and economic targets.<br />To understand how “historic urban landscapes” are taking care of their public spaces, a few Management Plans of UNESCO’s World Heritage cities have been compared. Only Italian UNESCO sites with an “urban complex” characterisation have been considered, this means a limited part of a city with homogenous characteristics from a spatial, historic and cultural point of view. We have focused our attention on the specific interventions for the management of open spaces, in order to identify the major targets and their executive tools, projects and actions.<br />In the light of the above-mentioned analyses, we propose some strategies to fight the decline of public spaces (streets, squares, gardens, etc.) and to enhance these spaces with great attention, trying to improve their fruition and comfort according to their historic and cultural values.<br />The need to identify design strategies to enhance public spaces within the historic urban landscape is included in the research and test activities carried out in the UNESCO site of Mantova and Sabbioneta. This site is an excellent area of applicability because of its urban shape, molded in years by the Gonzaga family. Together with the UNESCO Mantova e Sabbioneta office, we have involved citizens in the requalification design to activate regaining process and test the applicability of our analyses in the city of Mantova, a very articulated and complex reality, starting from the fruition of its places and according to its morphological, environmental, cultural and perceptive aspects.</p>

Um programa de pesquisa e educação atualmente desenvolvido pelos próprios autores e outros membros do Tribal Historic Preservation Office of the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians contribui diretamente para o desenvolvimento econômico, para a educação, e para a criação de identidades e comunidades. De fato, a arqueologia da paisagem revela como os Cherokees atravessaram o fundamental e tumultuado período entre o século dezesseis e o inicio do século dezoito, um passado silenciado nos programas de educação atuais e nos livros de história. Do ponto de vista Cherokee, as nossas origens são ligadas aos princípios de gadugi, traduzido por ‘cidade’ ou ‘comunidade,’ e tohi, ‘equilibro.’ Gadugi e tohi juntos são os pilares da identidade Cherokee. Estes princípios aparentemente abstratos são arqueologicamente perceptíveis: gadugi se entende claramente pelo estudo das relações espaciais da organização interna da comunidade, a rede de relações entre cidades e recursos regionais, artefatos e ecofatos ligados às atividades, e elementos de grande escala “não sítios”, como os caminhos e os campos agrícolas. Nossa pesquisa está concentrada sobre um tempo histórico essencial ainda que pouco estudado: os encontros coloniais do século dezesseis até o inicio do século dezoito. A arqueologia tem um papel capital em termos de justiça social e ética da gestão da paisagem cultural, fornecendo às Primeiras Nações um acesso equipável aos benefícios potenciais de paisagens culturais assim como à uma participação significativa nos planos e ações a respeito deles.

Energy Transfer Company (ETC) is proposing to construct the Orbit Pipeline Project (Project) located in Jefferson, Liberty, and Chambers counties, Texas. The Project consists of approximately 68.7 miles (mi) (110.6 kilometer [km]) of new 20.0-inch (in) (50.8-centimeter [cm]) diameter pipeline that will be used to transmit ethane and propane. The Project is located within the jurisdictional boundary of the United States Army Corps of Engineers (USACE) - Galveston District. At the request of ETC, Perennial Environmental Services, LLC (Perennial) conducted an intensive Phase I cultural resources investigation for the proposed Project to comply with anticipated USACE permitting requirements. Archaeological investigations for the Project were conducted in accordance with Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA) and Texas State Historical Preservation Office (SHPO) standards. Additionally, the Project traverses several discontinuous publicly-owned tracts that fall under the jurisdiction of the Antiquities Code of Texas (Code). The results of survey investigations conducted under Texas Antiquities Permit (TAP) #8690 (issued December 17, 2018, and amended on August 30, 2019) across six discontinuous publicly -owned tracts are also presented herein. Consistent with USACE application requirements, and in accordance with Section 106 of the NHPA of 1966, as amended (36 CFR 800) and the Code, the proposed Project must make a reasonable and good faith effort to identify historic properties within the Project Area of Potential Effect (APE) and to take into account any potential effects, direct or indirect, the proposed undertaking could have on properties listed or considered eligible for listing in the National Register of Historic Places (NRHP) or for designation as a State Antiquities Landmark (SAL), as warranted. As the Project footprint was not finalized at the time of field investigations, survey efforts were concentrated within the vicinity of delineated wetland and waterbody features along the length of the route within a 300.0-foot- (ft-) (91.4-meter- [m-]) wide Environmental Survey Area (ESA). The anticipated depths of impact for the Project will range from 4.0 to 7.0 ft. (1.2 to 2.1 m) along the pipeline centerline, with limited deeper impacts at horizontal directional drill (HDD) and bore locations, including Cow Island Bayou, Hillebrandt Bayou, Lower Neches Valley River Authority canals, Nolte Canal, the Trinity River, Turtle Bayou, Whites Bayou, Willow Marsh Bayou, and public road crossings. The anticipated depths of impact for temporary workspace areas within the Project APE corridor would not exceed 0.6 to 1.0 ft. (0.1 to 0.3 m). The overall APE for direct effects for the Project measured 2307.19 acres (ac) (933.68 ha), while APE for Code-permitted tracts totaled 210.0 ac (85.06 ha). As presented herein, the Project ESA is coterminous with the Project APE, which is also referred to as the USACE permit areas. Only the areas adjacent to the USACE permit areas and the entirety of Code-permitted areas were surveyed for cultural resources. Jennifer Cochran served as the Principal Investigator, and field efforts were conducted by Sarah Boudreaux, Rafael Cortez, Wyatt Ellison, Rachel Kelley, William Kinkner, Colene Knaub, Jonathan Laird, Alejandro Martinez, and Thomas Ross across multiple field mobilizations between October 1, 2018, and November 12, 2019. Investigations included an archival background review and intensive pedestrian surveys augmented by shovel testing in the vicinity of delineated wetland and waterbody features. Archival research determined that there are no previously recorded sites within, or directly adjacent to the Project APE, and approximately 32.7% of the Project APE has been previously surveyed for cultural resources. However, many of these surveys are outdated and do not meet modern survey standards. Additionally, many of these previously surveys were conducted for USACE-permitted projects, and the entire Project was not surveyed for the presence of cultural resources. As such, all areas surrounding identified wetland and waterbody for this Project were surveyed. Perennial biologists delineated a total of 490 wetland areas. Of the 490 wetlands identified within the Project APE, 290 were characterized as palustrine emergent (PEM) wetlands, 106 were characterized as palustrine forested (PFO) wetlands, 4 were classified as PFO-Cypress wetlands, and 90 were characterized as palustrine scrub-shrub (PSS) wetlands. Perennial biologists also identified 270 waterbodies that ranged from perennial streams to ephemeral streams. Of the 270 waterbodies delineated, 36 were classified as having perennial flow, 66 were classified as having intermittent flow, and 148 were classified as ephemeral flow. Additionally, 20 open water features were delineated and classified as manmade ponds. Survey efforts were concentrated in the vicinity of these features where land access was voluntarily granted in accordance with a scope of work for the Project approved by the USACE on August 28, 2018, and the Texas Historical Commission (THC) on October 1, 2018. Following the approval of the scope of work, ETC extended the eastern terminus of the Project to the western bank of the Neches River, and other minor reroutes were also implemented. Perennial applied the approved survey methodology to all new Project components. For Code-permitted tracts, surveys were conducted across the entire length of the Project APE corridor in accordance with a stand-alone scope submitted to the THC on December 14, 2018, and amended August 30, 2019. Additionally, following the receipt of TAP#8690, the proposed Project was routed onto two additional publicly-owned tracts belonging to the Texas Department of Corrections (DOC) – Stiles Unit and Jefferson County. The TAP #8690 was revised and amended on August 30, 2019. Following this August 30, 2019 amendment, ETC added additional route options across the DOC – Stiles Unit tract. This additional mileage was surveyed using the same methods as stated in the previously presented revised TAP scope of work for this property. In all, the survey investigations included the excavation of a total of 1,250 shovel tests of which 1,171 shovel tests were excavated within the Project APE. The remaining 79 shovel tests were excavated outside of USACE permit areas but within the Project workspace. For the purposes of this report, only investigations within the Project APE will be discussed. Survey investigations within the Project APE resulted in entirely negative findings. No archeological sites were encountered within the survey areas reported herein. Additionally, no historic standing structures or landscape features such as historic-age canals were observed with any USACE permit areas. Overall, the surveys documented predominately inundated landscapes with a low probability for intact cultural resources. Numerous existing pipeline corridors and modern canal features are traversed by the Project. While some of the modern canals could be historic in nature or connected to a greater network of irrigation features used historically to supply agricultural crops with water, it is important to note that the majority of the waterways associated with these features will be bypassed via bore/HDD. As such, any impacts to these waterbodies as well as the associated canal structure will be entirely avoided. Additionally, all visual impacts from the proposed pipeline corridor will be temporary in nature. To date, field surveys have been completed for all accessible wetland and waterbody features along the pipeline route, as well as the total length of the Project survey corridor across all Codepermitted tracts. Prior to the beginning of November 2019, field surveys had not been conducted along the eastern banks and associated bottomlands of the Trinity River due to multiple flooding events that resulted in heavy inundation beginning in September 2018 which prevented access or survey investigations of any kind. Additionally, field surveys did not occur along portions of the Project containing denied landowner permissions. On November 6, 2019, a survey crew was able to access previously inaccessible areas associated with the Trinity River due to several months of normalized weather conditions throughout portions of Eastern Texas. Even under normal conditions, large portions of this area remain constantly inundated due to strong hydrological influences and the geomorphic position of the landscape. However, crews were able to traverse inundated areas by foot to access portions of the Project located immediately adjacent to the Trinity River. While the area located immediately adjacent to the Trinity River was not inundated at the time of survey, wetlands with strong hydrological indicators still dominate the landscape. Of the 760 delineated wetland and waterbody features, 74 features were originally not surveyed for cultural resources due to restricted land access including denied landowner permissions and significant inundation. Of these 74 features, 38 feature locations (27 streams and 42 wetlands) will be bypassed via horizontal directional drill (HDD) or bore trenchless construction methods resulting in no impacts to these features. The remaining five features (including multiple crossing locations of the same feature) are located along the eastern banks of the Trinity River. While these features were surveyed for cultural resources with negative findings, the presence of buried deposits exists within the vicinity of these features. However, access to these features with heavy machinery is not feasible due to the remote location and constant hydrological influences (e.g. inundation and saturation) associated with the floodplain setting of the Trinity River. As such, these five features are proposed to be monitored by a qualified Archeological Monitor during construction efforts. Appendix C provides each wetland and waterbody feature crossed by the Project with management recommendations and associated comments, while Appendix F provides a Cultural Monitoring Plan to evaluate the five features that will not be avoided during construction efforts. Appendix F also includes a table in response to a letter issued by the USACE Staff Archeologist, Mr. Jerry Androy, on May 17, 2019, indicating that the 74 aforementioned permit areas associated with the Project would require cultural resources investigations. The table lists each permit area, the reason surveys were not originally conducted, and justification for/against the need for monitoring. Based on the results of the survey effort reported here, no cultural resources will be affected by any construction activities within the Project APE. Aside from Cultural Monitoring at five features (including multiple crossing locations of the same feature) within the Trinity River floodplain, it is Perennial’s opinion that no further cultural resources investigations are warranted for the Project. Should archaeological remains be encountered during construction, work in the immediate area will cease, and a qualified archaeologist will be called upon to evaluate the remains and provide recommendations for how to manage the resources under the State’s Historic Preservation Plan.

Introduction: Cities as Open-Ended Place-Making Events The shaping and development of cities can be understood as a “place-making” process. Through the assemblage of diverse human and non-human elements—including various social and natural elements—abstract space gains meaning and is transformed into the more concrete form of place (Jaffe and Koning). Indeed, people, nature, arts, and architecture can all contribute to constituting a city, and depending on how these elements engage with each other, each city can be shaped differently, which makes cities “inherently dynamic and heterogeneous” (Jaffe and Koning 24). Furthermore, as these various elements and their meanings can accumulate, be changed, or even diminish over time, place boundaries can also be constantly renegotiated or rebuilt. In other words, place can be characterised as its “throwntogetherness” (Massey 283), which represents temporal and spatial shifts accumulated and woven together in a place, and place-making can be understood as an open-ended event that involves various acts of “territorial meaning-making” (Jaffe and Koning 23). In line with this understanding of place-making as a dynamic, ongoing process, by investigating changes in the ways that local communities engage with cultural heritage, the study reported here explores how cultural heritage can contribute to the development of a city. Among many other meaning-making elements that may constitute a city, a cultural heritage itself may represent or enfold the dynamics and heterogeneity of a place. The United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) defines heritage as “our legacy from the past, what we live with today, and what we pass on to future generations. Our cultural and natural heritage are both irreplaceable sources of life and inspiration” (UNESCO). This definition suggests that heritage embodies history imbued with value and meaning for today and for the future. Cultural heritage may mobilise or recollect emotions, memories, and experiences, which may generate new cultures and values (Chung and Lee). Cultural heritage is not only a primary means of creating and nurturing a collective identity (Graham, Ashworth, and Tunbridge). It can also be refashioned and commodified as a marketable and consumable product. In other words, cultural heritage may contribute to the shaping of regional identities and the development of cultural products that may affect local communities socially and economically. Against this backdrop, this article examines how, as a constitutive element of a city, cultural heritage can add different kinds of values and meanings in accordance with the ways that the local communities perceive and engage with cultural heritage. To this end, this research presents a case study of the South Korean city of Andong, recognised as a cultural city with abundant tangible and intangible cultural heritages. Specifically, by adopting a qualitative approach that combines archival research, fieldwork, and observation, we trace Andong’s regional history and the changes in its cultural policies from the 1950s to the 2000s. We discuss Andong’s regional development with regard to using and refashioning cultural heritage. In so doing, we argue that conserving cultural heritage and facilitating heritage tourism—agendas seemingly in competition with each other—can complement sustainable regional development. We suggest that reconceptualising cities by drawing on the convergence of virtual and actual spaces, which involves the digitisation of cultural heritage, may open up new possibilities for extending the value and meaning of cultural heritage, as well as reconciling competing agendas and achieving sustainable regional development. Andong, the Capital of Korean Spirit Korea and other East Asian countries have accumulated heritages from regional folk culture, Buddhism, and Confucianism. Andong has abundance of both tangible and intangible heritages related to Korean folk culture, Buddhism, and Confucianism, some of which are listed as UNESCO World Heritage Sites (e.g. the Hahoe Folk Village, the Bongjeongsa Buddhist temple, and the Dosanseowon and Byeongsanseowon Confucian academies). Even though Andong is not in a metropolitan area and has a small population compared to many other Korean cities, its abundant and diverse heritage has made it a recognised cultural city. As of 2021, the number of cultural assets designated in Andong, according to the Korean Cultural Heritage Protection Act, is 333. This number is the second largest in the country, after Gyeongju, the capital of the Silla Kingdom (57 BC–935 AD). Andong is the origin of a traditional Korean folk religion called “Seongjusinang”. Practitioners of this religion worship household spirits who protect a house. Andong has also inherited various folk games and performances, such as Chajeonnori (fig. 1) and Notdaribalgi (fig. 2). In addition, Buseoksa, a Buddhist temple located in Yeongju in the greater Andong area, led the development of Buddhist culture during the Three Kingdoms period (57 BC–668 AD) and the Goryeo period (918–1392). During the Joseon Dynasty, Confucianism also flourished through the initiative of Toegye Yi Hwang and Seoae Ryu Seong-ryong, both of whom were well-recognised Korean Confucian scholars. In fact, Andong has a particularly solid Confucian tradition with its twenty-six private Confucian educational institutions, called “Seowon” (fig. 3), and other villages and buildings representing Confucian philosophy, rituals, and customs. Fig. 1: Chajeonnori: a folk game involving team battles. Fig. 2: Notdaribalgi: a female folk performance that involves making a human bridge. Fig. 3: Dosanseowon Confucian Academy (listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2019). Preserving these diverse cultural artefacts and traditions is one of the main reasons that Andong claims to be the capital of Korean moral and spiritual culture (Steinmetz; K.I. Lee). Andong has been using and spreading the slogan “The Capital of Korean Spirit” since 2003, when former mayor Kim Hwi Dong started using the slogan for the first time to shape and develop the city's identity to share Andong's spiritual culture. The slogan officially became a registered brand at the Korean Intellectual Property Office in 2006. Cultural Heritage and Authenticity As briefly outlined in the previous section, Andong has diverse tangible and intangible heritages, and they are at the heart of the city’s identity. In contrast to other elements that constitute a city, cultural heritage is often regarded as an object of protection and preservation. Indeed, a cultural heritage has a fundamental, inherent value, as it manifests history, which may significantly influence how people form individual and collective identities and consolidate a sense of community. Therefore, preservation and restoration have often served as the primary approaches to cultural heritage. Particularly in the Korean context—as discussed in detail in the next section—conservation used to be prioritised in heritage management. However, in more recent times, cultural heritage has been recognised as an asset or resource for urban development; accordingly, many cities, including Andong, have become increasingly interested in heritage tourism as a means of promoting their city’s brand and boosting the local economy. The emergence of the concept of “existential authenticity” may be relevant to the paradigm shift in approaches to cultural heritage. In fact, “authenticity” is an elusive concept that can be interpreted in different ways. In the field of tourism, it conventionally has been considered related to toured objects. For example, “objective authenticity”, which is characterised as identifiable and measurable, is gauged in terms of whether a toured object is genuine or fake (Wang). Another type of object-related authenticity is “constructive authenticity”, which denotes authenticity as a negotiable quality constructed by perspectives, beliefs, expectations, or ideologies, rather than an inherent property (Wang; see also Boonzaaier and Wels). From this perspective, origins or traditions can be understood as a projection of images, preferences, or expectations; thus, copies or reproductions may also be considered authentic. Even though these two approaches are significantly different, both notions are oriented to “experiences of the authentic” (Moore et al.). By contrast, “existential authenticity” involves tourists’ experiences, that is, “personal or intersubjective feelings activated by the liminal process of tourist activities”, whereby people feel “more authentic and more freely self-expressed than in everyday life” (Wang 351–352). In other words, conservation may not be the only method for protecting cultural heritage and preserving its authenticity. Rather, heritage tourism, which provides tourists with authentic experiences, can be a way of adding new meanings and values to cultural heritage. This also suggests that not only cultural heritage as authentic objects, but also experiences of cultural heritage, can contribute to the territorial meaning-making process and constitute a city. In line with this understanding of different types of authenticity, the next section examines how Andong’s approaches to cultural heritage have changed over time. The Evolution of Cultural Policies: The Conservation of Cultural Heritage vs. Regional Development The development of Korean cultural policies needs to be understood in relation to the idiosyncrasy of Korean historical and societal contexts. After the Japanese colonial rule (1910–1945) and the Korean War (1950–1953), one of the primary concerns of the Korean government was to reconstruct the country and restore national pride by building and developing a Korean cultural identity. Against this background, Korean cultural policies until the 1980s were mainly oriented towards repairing, restoring, and preserving traditional culture rather than fostering tourism and leisure to pursue a nationalistic agenda (H.S. Kim; Min). In this regard, it is worth noting that the first Korean Folk Art Festival, as part of the national policy, was hosted to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the establishment of the Korean government in 1958, when Korea was still going through the aftermath of the Korean War, which ended up with the destruction of cultural and natural heritage in Korea. The festival was a kind of competition where regions presented their representative intangible cultural heritages, particularly folk performances. The Gyeongsangbuk-do province, led by Andong, participated in this competition by restoring Hahoebyeolsinguttallori (mask dance play originating from Hahoe Village [fig. 4], hereafter Hahoe Mask Dance [fig. 5]) and Notdaribalgi (female folk play [fig. 2]) with the support of Andong City, and the province won the presidential prize. Fig. 4: Hahoe Village: the origin of the Hahoe Mask Dance. Fig. 5: Performers in the Hahoe Mask Dance. Initially, the Korean Folk Art Festival was planned as a one-off kind of event. However, it became a recurring annual event to propagate and promote the national culture with governmental support under the Park Jung Hee regime (1963–1979) that pursued a nationalistic agenda (H.S. Kim). Afterwards, this event was developed in complementary relations with the Cultural Properties Protection Law established in 1962 as part of the legislation of heritage management and other regional folk festivals, which provided regional governments and local communities with a motivation for the discovery and restoration of cultural heritage. Traditional cultural heritages dispersed in many regions started to be discovered and restored with the massive administrative support of regional governments to take part in the Korean Folk Art Festival. Once a cultural heritage presented at the festival was awarded, the heritage was customarily designated as a national cultural property by the Cultural Properties Protection Law. This designation helps cultural heritage gain social authority and receive public attention (H.-D. Yoo). Furthermore, a heritage designated as a national cultural property was required to be reintroduced to the public, often through local events such as regional folk festivals, which reinforced local communities’ pride in their regional culture. In this scenario, Andong actively participated in the Korean Folk Art Festival. Indeed, a number of cultural performances have been officially designated as national and regional intangible cultural properties, including the Hahoe Mask Dance mentioned above, which have become representative of Andong’s regional culture, offering a foundation for its development as a cultural city. Cultural policies, however, were still limited to preservation and restoration pursuing objective authenticity until the 1980s. It appeared to lack an awareness that cultural heritage could be used for the regeneration or development of cities in the 1980s (Kim and Kim). The conservation of cultural heritage and regional development have often been regarded as competing agendas, because cultural heritage is normally considered to be different from other tourism resources. Indeed, authenticity is a fundamental value sought in cultural heritage. Therefore, preservation and restoration often used to be primary approaches to cultural heritage. However, as discussed in the previous section, authenticity is not merely a binary concept that differentiates between the real and the fake in terms of the accurate representation of the past, but it can be a generative value that can be constituted or negotiated based on various perspectives, beliefs, and experiences (see Wang; K.-H. Kim; Waitt). Furthermore, the commodification of cultural heritage does not necessarily violate the intrinsic meaning and authenticity of heritage; rather, it may produce new meanings and values (Cohen). In this context, it is worth noting that the first Andong Mask Dance Festival hosted in 1997 paved the way for the development of tourism resources using cultural heritage in Andong and the globalisation of its regional culture. In fact, in the mid-1990s, Korea was going through interesting political events that significantly affected its culture and society. “Globalisation” was declared a national vision by former president Kim Young-sam in 1995, and the local self-governance of municipalities was reimplemented in the same year. In other words, Korean cultural policies were oriented towards “globalisation” and “localisation” during this period (see also Park). Against this background, Andong organised and hosted an international festival for the first time ever in 1997—the Andong Mask Dance Festival—by refashioning a traditional mask dance—the Hahoe Mask Dance. The Hahoe Mask Dance was a festive drama performance in Hahoe Village, but its inheritance was interrupted during the Japanese colonial period. Afterwards, as mentioned earlier, it was restored after the establishment of the Korean government and designated as a national cultural property. It then became the main theme of an annual festival, which attracts one million tourists to the city every year. In other words, the Hahoe Mask Dance is not only one of the most representative, well-known cultural heritages of Andong, but it also has an emblematic significance in the sense that it embodies the history of Andong’s cultural development. In particular, the Andong Mask Dance Festival immensely contributed to enhancing the awareness of cultural heritage as a tourism resource that may foster cultural economy in the local community and influenced the paradigm shift of approaches to cultural heritage from traditional artefacts or customs to be preserved to tourism resources. Most of the cultural events that took place in Andong after the first Andong Mask Dance Festival aimed to boost tourism. Indeed, the Andong Mask Dance Festival brought about important changes to Andong’s cultural development in the 2000s. Festivals that refashioned cultural heritage and tourists’ experiences began to be important elements of Andong’s character as a city. In accordance with the emergence of tourism as a means for cultural development, Andong experienced another remarkable change in its cultural development during the 2000s: increased interest in tangible cultural heritage as a local resource for tourism and place marketing. From the establishment of the Cultural Properties Protection Law until the 2000s, the preservation and utilisation of cultural heritage in Andong was primarily focussed on intangible cultural properties. This was mainly because the legal ownership of cultural heritage was clearly stated in the law, and thus Andong was able to manage architectural conservation without many challenges; thus, tangible cultural heritage tended to be relatively neglected in favour of the preservation and management of intangible cultural properties. However, in 2000, the Korean national government invested 470 billion KRW (approximately US$382 million) into the restoration and renovation of cultural heritage sites in eleven regions, including Andong. Even though this project did not produce immediate, significant touristic effects, many architectural heritage sites and traditional villages in Andong were renovated as part of the project. This provided the local community with an opportunity to see how tangible cultural heritage could act as an asset for place marketing and tourism. Furthermore, there was another event that motivated the use of architectural heritage to promote tourism in the early 2000s: the Tourism Promotion Act, which permits the use of architectural heritages for the purpose of accommodating commercial businesses, led to the addition of “Traditional Korean housing experiencing business” in the list of tourism business categories. This change also accelerated the utilisation of tangible cultural heritage as a tourism resource. In this context, place marketing combining tangible and intangible cultural assets has increased since the 2000s. In fact, before the 2000s, many cultural events lacked a coherent link between tangible and intangible cultural properties. For example, even though the Hahoe Mask Dance originated in Hahoe Village, the dance performance was often performed as an independent event outside Hahoe Village. However, since tangible cultural heritage—particularly architectural heritage—emerged as a local tourism resource, Andong has been developing cultural and artistic events relevant to heritage sites and the interesting narratives and storytelling that connect various heritages and make tourists develop emotional attachments to Andong and its cultural heritage (see D.Y. Lee). This shows that Andong’s approaches to cultural heritage began to seek the existential authenticity in tourism that may provide tourists with meaningful experiences. Future Directions: Redefining the City As has already been discussed, not only cultural heritage itself, but also national and regional policies, perspectives, experiences, meanings, and values have all contributed to making Andong a recognised cultural city. Notably, Andong’s development can be summarised as the adoption of diverse approaches to cultural heritage along with changes in social agendas and cultural policies. Even though the conservation of cultural heritage and regional development have at times been regarded as competing interests, for Andong—a city that has a large number of tangible heritages that come with enormous costs related to preservation and maintenance—the commodification of cultural heritage might be unavoidable. Indeed, the conservation of its heritage as well as regional development through the use of its heritage as a tourism resource are the two goals that Andong should achieve to ensure that it experiences sustainable future development. Doing so would allow it to fulfil the local community’s need and desire to take pride in its identity as a cultural city and boost its cultural economy. In this regard, we suggest that digitising cultural heritage and incorporating virtual spaces (e.g. the metaverse) into actual places may offer new possibilities for reconciling the conservation of cultural heritage with the need for regional development by allowing us to preserve and manage cultural heritage efficiently while enriching our cultural experience and enabling us to experience various kinds of authenticity. In the first place, digitisation represents an alternative way to preserve and maintain cultural heritage. Digital technologies can accurately scan and measure cultural heritages and readily reproduce a perfect replica of those cultural heritages, whether actual or virtual, which can serve to protect genuine cultural heritages from unwanted or inevitable damage. Once the data on a cultural artefact have been digitised, it is theoretically possible to preserve the digitised heritage forever without deterioration (Koshizuka and Sakamura; D. Hwan Yoo). Moreover, even though digitised artefacts are not objectively authentic, replicas and reproductions created from them may provide tourists with authentic, meaningful experiences in a constructive or existential sense. Furthermore, virtual space may offer a site in which past and present cultures can freely encounter and resonate with each other by facilitating the deterritorialisation and reterritorialisation of people and heritage, which may also lead us to an immersive and creative cultural experience. Indeed, various technologies—such as 3D animation, virtual reality, augmented reality, stereoscopic presentation, and 4K ultra high-definition immersive presentation—can create diverse kinds of virtual environment in which tourists can enjoy immersive interactivity and realistically experience heritage objects (Park, Muhammad, and Ahn). Indeed, as illustrated in a case study (D. Hwan Yoo), the digital restoration of Andong’s historical sites (i.e. using digital data collection and archiving as well as 2D and 3D modelling technologies, which reproduce landscapes and architecture in a virtual environment for museum content) may provide a novel cultural experience that fosters existential authenticity across actual and virtual spaces. To sum up, territorial meaning-making may involve the mobilisation of memories, experiences, and imaginations that are attached not only to actual heritage at actual heritage sites, but also to digitised heritage in virtual spaces, and the place that emerges from such a meaning-making process may be the contemporary city we live in. Acknowledgments This work was supported by the School of Languages and Cultures, University of Queensland, under the 2021 ECR Research Support Scheme, and the Ministry of Education of the Republic of Korea and the National Research Foundation of Korea (NRF-2021S1A6A3A01097826). Sources The figures used in this article are public works by the Cultural Heritage Administration of the Republic of Korea (https://www.heritage.go.kr), and the figures are used according to the Korea Open Government Licence. The data sources are as follows: 1: Chajeonnori — https://bit.ly/3Mn1Q9X 2: Notdaribalgi — https://bit.ly/3uVsn8k 3: Dosanseowon — https://bit.ly/3JUAplX 4: The Hahoe Village — https://bit.ly/3rzTlQz 5: The Hahoe Mask Dance — https://bit.ly/3uXg2jR References Boonzaaier, Chris, and Harry Wels. “Authenticity Lost? The Significance of Cultural Villages in the Conservation of Heritage in South Africa.” Journal of Heritage Tourism 13.2 (2018): 181–193. Chung, Hokyung, and Jongoh Lee. “A Study on Cultural Urban Regeneration Using Modern Industrial Resources: Focusing on the Site-Specific Cultural Places of Gunsan, South Korea.” Land 10.11 (2021): 1184. Cohen, Erik. “Authenticity and Commoditization in Tourism.” Annals of Tourism Research 15 (1988): 371–386. 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Lee, K.I. “10 Years since Proclaiming ‘The Capital of Korean Spirit’: Re-Evaluted Andong’s Value.” YNA 2016. Massey, Doreen. For Space. London: Sage, 2005. Min, Woong-ki. “An Exploratory Study on Tourism Plicies and Characteristics of Tourism Industry since Korea’s Liberation from Japan.” The Journal of History and Korean Practical Thought Studies 58 (2015): 267–290. Moore, Kevin, et al. “Authenticity in Tourism Theory and Experience. Practically Indispensable and Theoretically Mischievous?” Annals of Tourism Research 89 (2021): n.p. Park, Eun Sil. “The Study on Developments and Direction of Urban Regeneration and Cultural Policy.” The Journal of Cultural Policy (Korea Culture & Tourism Institute) 17 (2005): 11–39. Park, Jin-ho, Tufail Muhammad, and Jae-hong Ahn. “The 3D Reconstruction and Visualization of Seokguram Grotto World Heritage Site.” 2014 International Conference on Virtual Systems & Multimedia (VSMM) (2014): 180–183. Steinmetz, Juergen T. “Why Andong Is the Capital of the Korean Spirit and Cultural Tourism?” eTN: Global Travel Industry News 2020. Waitt, Gordon. “Consuming Heritage: Perceived Historical Authenticity.” Annals of Tourism Research 27.4 (2000): 835–862. Wang, Ning. “Rethinking Authenticity in Tourism Experience.” Annals of Tourism Research 26.2 (1999): 349–370. Yoo, Dong hwan. “The 4th Space and Exhibition Story-Telling.” Humanities Contents (Korea Humanities Content Society) 31 (2013): 193–210. Yoo, Hyoung-Dong. “The Process of Obtaining Regional Identity and Value as Content of Andong Hahoe Byulsingut Talnori.” Korean Language (Baedalmal Society) 67 (2020): 117–139.

IntroductionThe walking tour is an enduring feature of cities. Fuelled by a desire to learn more about the hidden and unknown spaces of the city, the walking tour has moved beyond its historical role as tourist attraction to play a key role in the transformation of urban space through gentrification. Conversely, the walking tour has a counter-history as part of a critical urban praxis. This article reflects on historical examples, as well as our own experience of conducting Field Trip, a critical geographical walking tour through an industrial precinct in Marrickville, a suburb of Sydney that is set to undergo rapid change as a result of high-rise residential apartment construction (Gibson et al.). This precinct, known as Carrington Road, is located on the unceded land of the Cadigal and Wangal people of the Eora nation who call the area Bulanaming.Drawing on a long history of philosophical walking, many contemporary writers (Solnit; Gros; Bendiner-Viani) have described walking as a practice that can open different ways of thinking, observing and being in the world. Some have focused on the value of walking to the study of place (Hall; Philips; Heddon), and have underscored its relationship to established research methods, such as sensory ethnography (Springgay and Truman). The work of Michel de Certeau pays particular attention to the relationship between walking and the city. In particular, the concepts of tactics and strategy have been applied in a variety of ways across cultural studies, cultural geography, and urban studies (Morris). In line with de Certeau’s thinking, we view walking as an example of a tactic – a routine and often unconscious practice that can become a form of creative resistance.In this sense, walking can be a way to engage in and design the city by opposing its structures, or strategies. For example, walking in a city such as Sydney that is designed for cars requires choosing alternative paths, redirecting flows of people and traffic, and creating custom shortcuts. Choosing pedestrianism in Sydney can certainly feel like a form of resistance, and we make the argument that Field Trip – and walking tours more generally – can be a way of doing this collectively, firstly by moving in opposite directions, and secondly, at incongruent speeds to those for whom the scale and style of strategic urban development is inevitable. How such tactical walking relates to the design of cities, however, is less clear. Walking is a generally described in the literature as an individual act, while the design of cities is, at its best participatory, and always involving multiple stakeholders. This reveals a tension between the practice of walking as a détournement or appropriation of urban space, and its relationship to existing built form. Field Trip, as an example of collective walking, is one such appropriation of urban space – one designed to lead to more democratic decision making around the planning and design of cities. Given the anti-democratic, “post-political” nature of contemporary “consultation” processes, this is a seemingly huge task (Legacy et al.; Ruming). We make the argument that Field Trip – and walking tours more generally – can be a form of collective resistance to top-down urban planning.By using an open-source wiki in combination with the Internet Archive, Field Trip also seeks to collectively document and make public the local knowledge generated by walking at the frontier of gentrification. We discuss these digital choices as oppositional practice, and consider the idea of tactical media (Lovink and Garcia; Raley) in order to connect knowledge sharing with the practice of walking.This article is structured in four parts. Firstly, we provide a historical introduction to the relationship between walking tours and gentrification of global cities. Secondly, we examine the significance of walking tours in Sydney and then specifically within Marrickville. Thirdly, we discuss the Field Trip project as a citizen-led walking tour and, finally, elaborate on its role as tactical media project and offer some conclusions.The Walking Tour and Gentrification From the outset, people have been walking the city in their own ways and creating their own systems of navigation, often in spite of the plans of officialdom. The rapid expansion of cities following the Industrial Revolution led to the emergence of “imaginative geographies”, where mediated representations of different urban conditions became a stand-in for lived experience (Steinbrink 219). The urban walking tour as mediated political tactic was utilised as far back as Victorian England, for reasons including the celebration of public works like the sewer system (Garrett), and the “othering” of the working class through upper- and middle-class “slum tourism” in London’s East End (Steinbrink 220). The influence of the Situationist theory of dérive has been immense upon those interested in walking the city, and we borrow from the dérive a desire to report on the under-reported spaces of the city, and to articulate alternative voices within the city in this project. It should be noted, however, that as Field Trip was developed for general public participation, and was organised with institutional support, some aspects of the dérive – particularly its disregard for formal structure – were unable to be incorporated into the project. Our responsibility to the participants of Field Trip, moreover, required the imposition of structure and timetable upon the walk. However, our individual and collective preparation for Field Trip, as well as our collective understanding of the area to be examined, has been heavily informed by psychogeographic methods that focus on quotidian and informal urban practices (Crosby and Searle; Iveson et al).In post-war American cities, walking tours were utilised in the service of gentrification. Many tours were organised by real estate agents with the express purpose of selling devalorised inner-city real estate to urban “pioneers” for renovation, including in Boston’s South End (Tissot) and Brooklyn’s Park Slope, among others (Lees et al 25). These tours focused on a symbolic revalorisation of “slum neighbourhoods” through a focus on “high culture”, with architectural and design heritage featuring prominently. At the same time, urban socio-economic and cultural issues – poverty, homelessness, income disparity, displacement – were downplayed or overlooked. These tours contributed to a climate in which property speculation and displacement through gentrification practices were normalised. To this day, “ghetto tours” operate in minority neighbourhoods in Brooklyn, serving as a beachhead for gentrification.Elsewhere in the world, walking tours are often voyeuristic, featuring “locals” guiding well-meaning tourists through the neighbourhoods of some of the world’s most impoverished communities. Examples include the long runningKlong Toei Private Tour, through “Bangkok’s oldest and largest slum”, or the now-ceased Jakarta Hidden Tours, which took tourists to the riverbanks of Jakarta to see the city’s poorest before they were displaced by gentrification.More recently, all over the world activists have engaged in walking tours to provide their own perspective on urban change, attempting to direct the gentrifier’s gaze inward. Whilst the most confrontational of these might be the Yuppie Gazing Tour of Vancouver’s historically marginalised Downtown Eastside, other tours have highlighted the deleterious effects of gentrification in Williamsburg, San Francisco, Oakland, and Surabaya, among others. In smaller towns, walking tours have been utilised to highlight the erasure of marginalised scenes and subcultures, including underground creative spaces, migrant enclaves, alternative and queer spaces. Walking Sydney, Walking Marrickville In many cities, there are now both walking tours that intend to scaffold urban renewal, and those that resist gentrification with alternative narratives. There are also some that unwittingly do both simultaneously. Marrickville is a historically working-class and migrant suburb with sizeable populations of Greek and Vietnamese migrants (Graham and Connell), as well as a strong history of manufacturing (Castles et al.), which has been undergoing gentrification for some time, with the arts playing an often contradictory role in its transformation (Gibson and Homan). More recently, as the suburb experiences rampant, financialised property development driven by global flows of capital, property developers have organised their own self-guided walking tours, deployed to facilitate the familiarisation of potential purchasers of dwellings with local amenities and ‘character’ in precincts where redevelopment is set to occur. Mirvac, Marrickville’s most active developer, has designed its own self-guided walking tour Hit the Marrickville Pavement to “explore what’s on offer” and “chat to locals”: just 7km from the CBD, Marrickville is fast becoming one of Sydney’s most iconic suburbs – a melting pot of cuisines, creative arts and characters founded on a rich multicultural heritage.The perfect introduction, this self-guided walking tour explores Marrickville’s historical architecture at a leisurely pace, finishing up at the pub.So, strap on your walking shoes; you're in for a treat.Other walking tours in the area seek to highlight political, ecological, and architectural dimension of Marrickville. For example, Marrickville Maps: Tropical Imaginaries of Abundance provides a series of plant-led walks in the suburb; The Warren Walk is a tour organised by local Australian Labor Party MP Anthony Albanese highlighting “the influence of early settlers such as the Schwebel family on the area’s history” whilst presenting a “political snapshot” of ALP history in the area. The Australian Ugliness, in contrast, was a walking tour organised by Thomas Lee in 2016 that offered an insight into the relationships between the visual amenity of the streetscape, aesthetic judgments of an ambiguous nature, and the discursive and archival potentialities afforded by camera-equipped smartphones and photo-sharing services like Instagram. Figure 1: Thomas Lee points out canals under the street of Marrickville during The Australian Ugliness, 2016.Sydney is a city adept at erasing its past through poorly designed mega-projects like freeways and office towers, and memorialisation of lost landscapes has tended towards the literary (Berry; Mudie). Resistance to redevelopment, however, has often taken the form of spectacular public intervention, in which public knowledge sharing was a key goal. The Green Bans of the 1970s were partially spurred by redevelopment plans for places like the Rocks and Woolloomooloo (Cook; Iveson), while the remaking of Sydney around the 2000 Olympics led to anti-gentrification actions such as SquatSpace and the Tour of Beauty, an “aesthetic activist” tour of sites in the suburbs of Redfern and Waterloo threatened with “revitalisation.” Figure 2: "Tour of Beauty", Redfern-Waterloo 2016. What marks the Tour of Beauty as significant in this context is the participatory nature of knowledge production: participants in the tours were addressed by representatives of the local community – the Aboriginal Housing Company, the local Indigenous Women’s Centre, REDWatch activist group, architects, designers and more. Each speaker presented their perspective on the rapidly gentrifying suburb, demonstrating how urban space is made an remade through processes of contestation. This differentiation is particularly relevant when considering the basis for Sydney-centric walking tours. Mirvac’s self-guided tour focuses on the easy-to-see historical “high culture” of Marrickville, and encourages participants to “chat to locals” at the pub. It is a highly filtered approach that does not consider broader relations of class, race and gender that constitute Marrickville. A more intense exploration of the social fabric of the city – providing a glimpse of the hidden or unknown spaces – uncovers the layers of social, cultural, and economic history that produce urban space, and fosters a deeper engagement with questions of urban socio-spatial justice.Solnit argues that walking can allow us to encounter “new thoughts and possibilities.” To walk, she writes, is to take a “subversive detour… the scenic route through a half-abandoned landscape of ideas and experiences” (13). In this way, tactical activist walking tours aim to make visible what cannot be seen, in a way that considers the polysemic nature of place, and in doing so, they make visible the hidden relations of power that produce the contemporary city. In contrast, developer-led walking tours are singularly focussed, seeking to attract inflows of capital to neighbourhoods undergoing “renewal.” These tours encourage participants to adopt the position of urban voyeur, whilst activist-led walking tours encourage collaboration and participation in urban struggles to protect and preserve the contested spaces of the city. It is in this context that we sought to devise our own walking tour – Field Trip – to encourage active participation in issues of urban renewal.In organising this walking tour, however, we acknowledge our own entanglements within processes of gentrification. As designers, musicians, writers, academics, researchers, venue managers, artists, and activists, in organising Field Trip, we could easily be identified as “creatives”, implicated in Marrickville’s ongoing transformation. All of us have ongoing and deep-rooted connections to various Sydney subcultures – the same subcultures so routinely splashed across developer advertising material. This project was borne out of Frontyard – a community not-just-art space, and has been supported by the local Inner West Council. As such, Field Trip cannot be divorced from the highly contentious processes of redevelopment and gentrification that are always simmering in the background of discussions about Marrickville. We hope, however, that in this project we have started to highlight alternative voices in those redevelopment processes – and that this may contribute towards a “method of equality” for an ongoing democratisation of those processes (Davidson and Iveson).Field Trip: Urban Geographical Enquiry as Activism Given this context, Field Trip was designed as a public knowledge project that would connect local residents, workers, researchers, and decision-makers to share their experiences living and working in various parts of Sydney that are undergoing rapid change. The site of our project – Carrington Road, Marrickville in Sydney’s inner-west – has been earmarked for major redevelopment in coming years and is quickly becoming a flashpoint for the debates that permeate throughout the whole of Sydney: housing affordability, employment accessibility, gentrification and displacement. To date, public engagement and consultation regarding proposed development at Carrington Road has been limited. A major landholder in the area has engaged a consultancy firm to establish a community reference group (CRG) the help guide the project. The CRG arose after public outcry at an original $1.3 billion proposal to build 2,616 units in twenty towers of up to 105m in height (up to thirty-five storeys) in a predominantly low-rise residential suburb. Save Marrickville, a community group created in response to the proposal, has representatives on this reference group, and has endeavoured to make this process public. Ruming (181) has described these forms of consultation as “post-political,” stating thatin a universe of consensual decision-making among diverse interests, spaces for democratic contest and antagonistic politics are downplayed and technocratic policy development is deployed to support market and development outcomes.Given the notable deficit of spaces for democratic contest, Field Trip was devised as a way to reframe the debate outside of State- and developer-led consultation regimes that guide participants towards accepting the supposed inevitability of redevelopment. We invited a number of people affected by the proposed plans to speak during the walking tour at a location of their choosing, to discuss the work they do, the effect that redevelopment would have on their work, and their hopes and plans for the future. The walking tour was advertised publicly and the talks were recorded, edited and released as freely available podcasts. The proposed redevelopment of Carrington Road provided us with a unique opportunity to develop and operate our own walking tour. The linear street created an obvious “circuit” to the tour – up one side of the road, and down the other. We selected speakers based on pre-existing relationships, some formed during prior rounds of research (Gibson et al.). Speakers included a local Aboriginal elder, a representative from the Marrickville Historical Society, two workers (who also gave tours of their workplaces), the Lead Heritage Adviser at Sydney Water, who gave us a tour of the Carrington Road pumping station, and a representative from the Save Marrickville residents’ group. Whilst this provided a number of perspectives on the day, regrettably some groups were unrepresented, most notably the perspective of migrant groups who have a long-standing association with industrial precincts in Marrickville. It is hoped that further community input and collaboration in future iterations of Field Trip will address these issues of representation in community-led walking tours.A number of new understandings became apparent during the walking tour. For instance, the heritage-listed Carrington Road sewage pumping station, which is of “historic and aesthetic significance”, is unable to cope with the proposed level of residential development. According to Philip Bennett, Lead Heritage Adviser at Sydney Water, the best way to maintain this piece of heritage infrastructure is to keep it running. While this issue had been discussed in private meetings between Sydney Water and the developer, there is no formal mechanism to make this expert knowledge public or accessible. Similarly, through the Acknowledgement of Country for Field Trip, undertaken by Donna Ingram, Cultural Representative and a member of the Metropolitan Local Aboriginal Land Council, it became clear that the local Indigenous community had not been consulted in the development proposals for Carrington Road. This information, while not necessary secret, had also not been made public. Finally, the inclusion of knowledgeable local workers whose businesses are located on Carrington Road provided an insight into the “everyday.” They talked of community and collaboration, of site-specificity, the importance of clustering within their niche industries, and their fears for of displacement should redevelopment proceed.Via a community-led, participatory walking tour like Field Trip, threads of knowledge and new information are uncovered. These help create new spatial stories and readings of the landscape, broadening the scope of possibility for democratic participation in cities. Figure 3: Donna Ingram at Field Trip 2018.Tactical Walking, Tactical Media Stories connected to walking provide an opportunity for people to read the landscape differently (Mitchell). One of the goals of Field Trip was to begin a public knowledge exchange about Carrington Road so that spatial stories could be shared, and new readings of urban development could spread beyond the confines of the self-contained tour. Once shared, this knowledge becomes a story, and once remixed into existing stories and integrated into the way we understand the neighbourhood, a collective spatial practice is generated. “Every story is a travel story – a spatial practice”, says de Certeau in “Spatial Stories”. “In reality, they organise walks” (72). As well as taking a tactical approach to walking, we took a tactical approach to the mediation of the knowledge, by recording and broadcasting the voices on the walk and feeding information to a publicly accessible wiki. The term “tactical media” is an extension of de Certeau’s concept of tactics. David Garcia and Geert Lovink applied de Certeau’s concept of tactics to the field of media activism in their manifesto of tactical media, identifying a class of producers who amplify temporary reversals in the flow of power by exploiting the spaces, channels and platforms necessary for their practices. Tactical media has been used since the late nineties to help explain a range of open-source practices that appropriate technological tools for political purposes. While pointing out the many material distinctions between different types of tactical media projects within the arts, Rita Raley describes them as “forms of critical intervention, dissent and resistance” (6). The term has also been adopted by media activists engaged in a range of practices all over the world, including the Tactical Technology Collective. For Field Trip, tactical media is a way of creating representations that help navigate neighbourhoods as well as alternative political processes that shape them. In this sense, tactical representations do not “offer the omniscient point of view we associate with Cartesian cartographic practice” (Raley 2). Rather these representations are politically subjective systems of navigation that make visible hidden information and connect people to the decisions affecting their lives. Conclusion We have shown that the walking tour can be a tourist attraction, a catalyst to the transformation of urban space through gentrification, and an activist intervention into processes of urban renewal that exclude people and alternative ways of being in the city. This article presents practice-led research through the design of Field Trip. By walking collectively, we have focused on tactical ways of opening up participation in the future of neighbourhoods, and more broadly in designing the city. 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The recent announcement that the Costanera Center building in Santiago will finally open in 2012 is the latest episode in the building’s troubled history, during which it has been both the emblem of Chile’s booming economy and the grand symbol of its downturn in the context of the global recession. The mixed-use development –which includes what will be South America’s tallest building, standing 300 meters high— will feature a shopping mall with a number of restaurants and a cinema, two hotels, two shopping markets and office space.The previous chapter in its history was much less optimistic: during most of 2009 the project in the financial district of Santiago (colloquially known as Sanhattan) sat half-finished, its exposed concrete and reinforcement bars contrasting with a banner at the site that read Icono del Desarrollo Latinoamericano (“Icon of Latin American development”). Once a symbol of Chile’s soaring copper driven economy, the Costanera Center became an emblem of its decline, an all too visible manifestation of the dramatic downturn of the construction sector that saw dozens of projects like this coming to a halt and caught in a temporary-but-possibly-permanent state of suspension. According to the Corporación de Bienes de Capital (CBC), an institute that monitors private investment in Chile, a total of 105 projects at different stages of planning or construction were delayed, suspended or scrapped last year. Even though works at the Costanera Center slowly started again during December 2009, the massive earthquake that affected Chile at the end of February 2010 created new doubts about the development. The engineers in charge finally announced that the construction would continue at a rhythm of two and a half floors per month. At every level, height appears to be the measure of achievement: Chile is on its way of having the continent’s highest building, and the workers involved in the construction will see their pay rise as they literally climb higher and higher in their daily job. The destructive nature of the earthquake can be compared to the explosive and unchecked character of Santiago’s frenetic development and, indeed, the relationship between both phenomena goes beyond the metaphorical (and not just because the recently elected president Sebastian Piñera named a number of high profile businessmen in the construction sector as the new local authorities for the five worst affected regions, arguing that their expertise would be key to the success of the reconstruction). The earthquake swept away not the very old, but the very new in Santiago and other major Chilean cities like Concepción, generating a temporal displacement in which rise and fall, birth and decline simultaneously appear at the construction site. Halted projects like the Costanera Center and the newly-finished-but-already-ruined buildings both express a frozen form of architecture that cannot be expended, enjoyed or consumed.Paradoxically, and in spite of their evident fragility, these buildings present themselves as having a solid, uni-dimensional meaning rather than a contingent quality; they stand still, maintained as they are, waiting either for an order of demolition or the reactivation of works. To this extent, these constructions represent a notion of waste that does not appear to be generative, but rather, seems to be suspended and vacant. Even though they might have radically different fates, in their present state both halted projects and half-ruined buildings refer to the same condition of waste. These examples of development and decline are inscribed within the larger processes of speculative construction and economic control that have shaped Chile’s urban landscape from the 1970s onwards. These processes echo the experiences of other countries but are also particular to Chile’s history, its rapid modernisation, its troubled recent political past, and its vulnerability to natural disasters. The suspended landscape created by these buildings appears to limit the potentialities that otherwise contingent spaces could have. The work of the British architect Cedric Price, for instance, addresses the endless capacity of buildings to maintain themselves in a condition of openness, without any reference to past or future functions. In his understanding, the interval—manifested, for example, in the period in which a structure is yet-to-be-built, or in the moment in which the construction is paralysed due to economic or regulation constraints (which is, indeed, the present state of these Chilean buildings)—is an opportunity to be free from any limitation from the past or any aspiration to future glory, a condition of potentiality that generates new processes of exchange. But Price’s projects—which vary from very simple design solutions to buildings in a more conventional sense—could only work if they are able to engage with the present of the construction without privileging any particular outcome. In contrast, the examples of architecture coming to a standstill in Chile (due to the fragility of the country’s economy and the foundations of its flashy construction) can be seen as static monuments that do not commemorate a past event but rather refer to a future that is already out of date. Rather than generating new uses while these projects are halted, they remain encircled, in arrested development; limiting the transformable aspects that might be derived from their current uncertain position. From the 1970s Chile abandoned its old state-centred policies in favour of a virtually unregulated free-market economy. Indeed, recent accounts of the earthquake metaphorically recall Milton Freedman’s doctrine of shock (the imposition of capitalism without any softening of its sharp edges) as a discursive figure: the American economist was advisor to General Pinochet during his dictatorship and a whole generation of highly influential Chilean professionals received a first-hand education from Friedman at the University of Chicago. ‘The Chicago Boys,’ as the group is commonly known in Chile, exerted a direct influence over the complete re-organisation of the country’s public health and education systems, alongside the transformation of its material infrastructure in a process not dissimilar to the changes wrought by earthquake and tsunami. Santiago, in particular, is a city that has transformed its old urban fabric like no other in Latin America. The city is an extreme example of the boom-and-bust development process: plans get approved, buildings get ready and constructions become dated within an incredibly short life-span. Development opportunities in the city centre are rapidly becoming scarce, and construction companies now look to demolish whole buildings to source their land. Other companies buy any property that remains in the wealthier neighborhoods without concrete plans to build anything; these properties are laid to waste, with their gardens unkempt, masses of weeds covering the walls. Consumer sites dedicated to urbanism and architecture such as www.plataformaurbana.cl suggest that the earthquake has provided new opportunities for land speculation and rapid demolition. In Talca (another city badly damaged by the earthquake), construction companies offer new, cheap houses on the city fringe in exchange for damaged properties near the historic centre.Among the endless images of destruction reproduced after the earthquake, the most notorious depict recently built constructions in complete ruins. In Santiago, at least 23 apartment buildings were abandoned and/or received demolition orders in the aftermath of the quake. The development known as Condominio Don Tristan (which, split in half and severely inclined towards one side, became the most emblematic image of the catastrophe) still has the signs reading Visite Departamento Piloto (“Come and Visit the Showroom Apartment”).Interestingly, this type of destruction generated significantly less international attention and media coverage than in the case of Haiti, since Chile presented an image of coping well with the disaster. TV and press images did not communicate a total collapse but rather a sensation of time frozen, or stillness. Analysing the media images, it is salient to note that there is not much rubble in these pictures or people excavating the debris; rather, most of them depict buildings with no one around, empty, standing still. Unlike the images of Haiti, where the devastation took the form of endless piles of rubbish and unsorted rubble, the visual face of the catastrophe in Chile is that of halted construction.In spite of the discrepancy between a building destroyed by disaster and one left unfinished, Chile’s architectural landscape betrays no substantial difference between those structures half-finished and those half-ruined in either the terms of their use (or rather their lack of function, since they cannot be inhabited, used, or enjoyed) or in the bareness of the limbo in which they find themselves. These structures are dumping grounds, not of traditional waste, but of useless forms of architecture. As dumping sites they are void spaces within the city, monitored places that people surround but do not pass through. Paradoxically, they are also the most expensive sites in the city, in terms of both the money spent on them and land prices. They are luxurious dumps. It is the apparent stillness and temporal displacement of Chile’s developments that distinguish these buildings laid to waste from other types of contemporary ruins. Without aiming for it some of these constructions have been ruined before even having been built. There is, however, no ‘ruin value’ here as there was, for instance, in Albert Speer’s ideal of building projects that would decay in an aesthetically pleasant way. In spite of the desire for novelty that animated their creators, the buildings have fallen into a condition of sameness.The artist Robert Smithson made a similar observation in relation to his native New Jersey when he remarked that the city, unlike its cosmopolitan sister New York, gave up any desire to become part of the “big events” of history. In two essays dedicated to his home state Smithson suggests that the unused bridges and dated water pipes dismantle time in their total lack of aspiration. However, in his appreciation of these obsolete artefacts he is not arguing for a romantic redemption of the industrial ruin, nor is his aim to give them an aesthetic quality as objects of venerable decay.That zero panorama seemed to contain ruins in reverse, that is, all the new construction that would eventually be built. This is the opposite of the “romantic ruin” because the buildings don’t fall into ruin after they are built but rather rise into ruin before they are built. This anti-romantic mise-en-scene suggests the discredited idea of time and many other “out of date” things (“A Tour” 72). According to Smithson, everything seems to be declining in a present, even time. New Jersey’s suburban monuments are cheap and flat and embrace a future already outdated, as do Chile’s suspended buildings. Smithson does not seek to redeem the abandoned or unnoticed industrial landscapes of New Jersey (which, unlike Chile’s wasted buildings, inhabit the periphery rather than the centre of the city) but rather to stress how they embrace, through their vacant character, a total immanence.Instead of causing us to remember the past like the old monuments, the new monuments seem to cause us to forget the future. … They are not built for the ages but rather against the ages. They are involved in a systematic reduction of time down to fractions of seconds, rather than representing the long spaces of centuries. Both past and future are placed into an objective present (“Entropy” 11).According to Smithson, the suburbs are privileged in comparison with big cities because they are uninterested in making history. The flaws and holes of their streets enact more clearly the immanence he is trying to argue for: “those holes are monumental vacancies that define, without trying, the memory-traces of an abandoned set of futures” (“A Tour” 72). It is interesting how the artist expresses similar concerns when writing about erosion, entropy and natural disasters, not least because they relate the wasted products of architecture with geological destruction, a connection that can also be observed in the case of Chile.Written in 1966 before the rise of the ecological movement, a text like “Entropy and the New Monuments” links conditions of disorder and decay with a new kind of monumentality embodied in the undistinguished landscape of suspension. Smithson presents entropy as an irreversible and evolutionary process, yet not an idealistic one; even though these spaces were animated by evolutionary and modernisation processes, they now offer nothing but suspension. It is here that Smithson’s writings seem most pertinent in relation to Chile’s voided spaces. Unlike organic dumps, where refuse products rot and transform, Chile’s developments these express their entropic character in their stillness, in their absence of generative energy.Recent critical theory has given significant attention to industrial ruins and has revaluated their cultural importance, arguing, from diverse perspectives, that processes of destruction could release new layers of meaning or generate different forms of knowledge. The writings of Dylan Trigg, for instance, make use of ruins to construct a philosophical critique of the notions of temporality and progress. Chilean born photographer Camilo José Vergara proposes to convert the failed modernity of Detroit’s buildings into a space of playful awareness. Tim Edensor vindicates ruins with particular enthusiasm, refuting the notion of an industrial wasteland and re-imagining ruins as spaces of leisure, shelter, creativity and alternative public life (21). This unpredictable unfolding of new meanings does not seem to be present in Chile’s suspended architecture. These buildings are yet to be consumed, and therefore they somehow pervert architecture’s cycle of novelty and obsolescence, while remaining in a state of suspension, waiting to be demolished.ReferencesEdensor, Tim. Industrial Ruins: Space, Aesthetics and Materiality. Oxford and New York: Berg, 2005.Smithson, Robert. “Entropy and the New Monuments”. Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings. Ed. Jack Flam. Berkeley and London: U of California P, 1996. 10–23.———. “A Tour of the Monuments of Passaic, New Jersey”. Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings. Ed. Jack Flam. Berkeley and London: U of California P, 1996. 68–74.Trigg, Dylan. The Aesthetics of Decay: Nothingness, Nostalgia and the Absence of Reason. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2006. Vergara, Camilo Jose. The New American Ghetto. New Jersey: Rutgers UP, 1997.

The inventory, evaluation and treatment of cultural resources represent a significant challenge for siting and permitting natural gas pipelines. Project sponsors assist the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission’s Office of Energy Projects with meeting its obligations under Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act. The increasing sophistication of compliance with Section 106 is reflected in the Office of Energy Project’s 2002 Guidelines for Reporting on Cultural Resources Investigations for Pipeline Projects. Recent pipeline projects in the United States have involved environmental study corridors that are both wide and extensive, a combination that results in the identification of large numbers of cultural properties. The process of cultural resources management begins in the project planning stage with the development of site location modeling, analysis of previous investigations within or near Areas of Potential Effect, and consideration of the likelihood for encountering potentially eligible National Register of Historic Places properties. Using this information, site detection survey strategies can be developed that intensively target only sensitive portions of the Area of Potential Effect. During the survey, identification of archaeological sites, historic structures, or cultural landscapes requires prompt evaluation of National Register eligibility status for the purposes of avoidance or development of treatment plans. This presentation considers the Section 106 compliance process and how project sponsors can effectively manage cultural resources to ensure cost effectiveness and maintenance of restricted project schedules, while meeting the objectives of the National Historic Preservation Act.