For our future, rewilding our cities means to conserve without capitalism.
What do you think of when you ponder the future? What images come to mind? Is it the dystopian post-apocalyptic wasteland of the last decade’s prominent sci-fi? Or is it a shining chrome-laden city of towering skyscrapers, flying cars, mid-air subways that launch trains at the speed of light—a place of technological wonder where everything gleams in the cyberpunk strobe lights of cerulean and fuschia? For most people of Western countries I would imagine so. At least those are the types of depictions Google Images show me.
It’s natural to link our set idea of what technological advancements look like to the future. An optimist would imagine that as time goes on, problems are alleviated in tandem, primarily because of these advances. Technology has played a vital role in allaying modern problems from allowing us to predict earthquakes to decoding the brain to treating dementia, to creating a universal flu vaccine. On the ecological side of progress, it has allowed for carbon appropriation, grid scale energy storage, and energy-efficient desalination. However, as inimical global threats are increasingly linked to climate change it’s become clear that if technology is to be centric in the business of future-fabrication, the advancements will be principally geared towards sustainability, renewable energy, and recently in the case of cities, ecological rewilding.
Rewilding is an amorphous and contemporary concept in conservation biology. When you hear the word rewilding, specifically the phrase urban rewilding, you might imagine nightmarish scenes of cougars roaming Chicago, or salamanders slithering down the crowded sidewalks of New York City. Aimed at ecological restoration and massive biodiversity loss, urban rewilding has taken shape differently in many key cities.
Barcelona for example has taken the route of establishing green zones. In 2016, the city introduced the concept of superblocks, as part of green, urban planning. Superblocks are neighborhoods of nine blocks. Walking the sidewalks of inner streets, a pedestrian won’t find cars or buses, but will instead pass cyclists and other walkers, as these areas are notably car-free to align with the plan’s intent to reduce pollution. In the central district of Eixample, the goal is that no resident is more than 200 meters from a green space. The district's 10-year plan will line 80% of roads with trees, as a step in reducing the city’s carbon footprint and prioritizing resident mental-health. Studies show engaging with nature has positive impacts on mental health and well-being, a benefit that can only increase if this engagement is integrated into resident daily lives
Singapore has also taken a biophilic approach to urban rewilding. The city lost much of its vegetation due to colonial industrialization after 1819. More than 95% of the island’s vegetation was cleared. The clearing resulted in an enormous biodiversity loss, including the depletion of 90% of forests, 67% native bird species, and 40% of mammals. Two years after becoming an independent republic in 1965, plans were enacted. The goal was to transform the nation into a garden city. Separately, Singapore’s Green Plan, originally launched in the 1990s to counteract pollution caused by rapid urbanization, has restored the city-states' degraded ecosystems and reduced both pollution and carbon emissions. This is in large part due to the biophilic design, which has furnished buildings with nature. An aerial view of the city reveals ubiquitous rooftop gardens, and a walk through it displays walls of vegetation. A network of trails connects urban areas with parks and green spaces. In high rise apartments one may find hanging gardens. Trees are one with archways. The island is like an urban Hanging Garden of Babylon. With all of the benefits biophilia has had for cities invested in rewilding, namely Singapore and Barcelona, it forces one to wonder if the ancient world Babylon lived in is the map of sustainable futurism we need.
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon are arguably the most captivating of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Artistic and writerly interpretations of the fabled utopia imagine exotic plants climbing the walls of classic-style columns, glorious springs of water dotting the land, and an array of trees lining ornate staircases. It is the only ancient wonder there is no archaeological or historical evidence for, yet I hope it existed. Somewhere. Somehow. The majority of scholars characterize the Gardens as an item of pleasure. It served no higher purpose like food production or agriculturally-focused vegetation. Yet, what if it did? What if it made its residents happy? What if it preserved the region’s biodiversity and allowed for healthy carbon sequestration? What if it provided for clean air? What if it established a flourishing relationship between the humans of its domain and the natural world? Is that not a higher purpose?
Biophilic design in cities is not possible everywhere, but it is possible in America. I don’t want biophilia in the form of Amazon building glass and steel domes of plants in their offices. I don’t want biophilia in the form of Microsoft treehouses, nor do I want it as Facebook’s rooftop park or Apple’s orchard and pond.
Biophilia rooted in capitalistic horticulture removes the main goals of rewilding efforts: biodiversity and urban sustainability, and replaces them with worker productivity. A modern, sleek white-walled office vibrant with houseplants, macrame, and rattan egg chairs in place of cubicles isn’t going to solve the problems of our time, but large-scale efforts on the part of cities, or rather on the part of our federation, might. While these designs are science-backed as beneficial for employee mental health and well-being, it must be asked why sustainability in America is never truly detached from our country’s reigning monopolies, worker productivity, and overall, from capitalism.
When we think of the future we think of innovation. Of an Americanized notion of progress. We think of flying cars and bullet trains that will commute us to work faster, and of futuristic skyscrapers with endless floors of office buildings. To cultivate a future that prioritizes our relationship with nature, rather than the parasitic relationship we’ve had thus far (one that has caused climate change and ad rem catastrophe) means separating the major aspects of conservation from profit and wealthy countries investing in our Earth solely for the sake of having a future to imagine. And perhaps true urban rewilding might be a way to do so.