Depending on who you ask, perceptions of Markthalle Neun in Berlin Kreuzberg oscillate between two opposing poles. Some people describe it as a fascinating urban renewal project with an exceptional atmosphere. Others discern one of the worst examples of the neighbourhood’s ongoing gentrification, which excludes large sections of the population. These antagonisms are negotiated in the assemblage of the market that takes shape in a critical discourse surrounding its daily operations.
Katharina Held studierte Kultur der Metropole an der HafenCity Universität in Hamburg und schloss ihren Master in Urban Studies am University College in London ab.
Depending on who you ask, perceptions of Markthalle Neun in Berlin Kreuzberg oscillate between two opposing poles. Some people describe it as a fascinating urban renewal project with an exceptional atmosphere. Others discern one of the worst examples of the neighbourhood’s ongoing gentrification, which excludes large sections of the population. These antagonisms are negotiated in the assemblage: of the market that takes shape in a critical discourse surrounding its daily operations.
This article examines the coalescence of food and urbanism in public spaces such as food markets, and is nourished by an interest in urban everyday life, practices and ways of living together. Food »emerges as something with phenomenal power to transform not just landscapes, but political structures, public spaces, social relationships, cities« (Steel 2009, p. 307). Etched into the surface of the city, recognizable in maps and plans, the influences of food become particularly clear when looking at the marketplaces that were formerly at the heart of the emerging city. My research focuses on Markthalle Neun in Berlin-Kreuzberg as an exemplary site in which to observe contemporary urban approaches to food provision, and to identify the actors, imaginaries and narratives that are making the market. A highly controversial space in the context of the wider neighbourhood, the site is currently at the centre of a social conflict, through which values and needs are negotiated as part of the market hall’s assemblage. Much of what we know and can learn about markets comes through doing (browsing, eating, buying, smelling, touching, etc.) and this doing »is also the making of the market [which takes place] through and with the market« (Seale 2016, p. 4). However, during my research it transpired that these lines of conflict greatly influence how and why people get involved with the market, if at all.: By analysing the discourse surrounding the hall and the approach towards food culture that it stands for, I trace everyday struggles that hinder the hall’s inclusive potential. I also identify starting points for making the hall more accessible.
Markets have played a key role in the emergence of cities. Historians, sociologists, anthropologists and other urban scholars all identify markets as important (public) spaces for social interaction, where »multiple forms of sociality are enacted« (Watson 2009, p. 1577). Representing »a significant public and social space for different groups in the locality […] for ›rubbing along‹ and for mediating differences« (ibid.), markets are of great interest to studies attempting to counter the narrative of the decline of public space. Moreover, markets offer local communities potential »not just for local economic growth but also for people to mingle with each other and become accustomed to each other’s differences« (Watson & Studdert 2006, p. vii). It is this »throwtogetherness« of market(place)s that »pose[s] in particular form the question of our living together« (Massey 2005, p. 151), a question that is of special interest when tracing conflicts relating to Markthalle Neun. Food and its capacity to encourage diverse sociable practices are central to such deliberations: »[I]t is the everyday interplay between people and food in and around food markets […] that is perhaps the most important way that food has been central to urban life, to ordinary city space and to urban social practices over time« (Parham 2015, p. 71).
However, marketplaces »are also domains of public discontent and dispute [where] conflicting interests, for example public benefit versus private entrepreneurship [are negotiated]« (Janssens & Sezer 2013, p. 169). In a passage that is reminiscent of the debates surrounding Markthalle Neun, Janssens and Sezer refer to city agendas that aspire »to profit from the strategic qualities of marketplaces» (ibid.), thus hinting at the second theoretical layer of interest in my research: the role of food and food places in urban regeneration and gentrification. As Sharon Zukin states, »during the past thirty years, food has emerged as the new ›art‹ in the urban cultural experience« (Zukin 2010, p. 29). The rise of community gardening, artisan production, the striving for authenticity and an emergent foodie culture all bear witness to this contemporary enthusiasm for food, which has in turn provoked concerns about the role of food in the marketing of urban space and cities.
A third, closely related strand of interest in the relation between food and urbanism derives in large part from sociological thought on taste and distinction. Drawing upon Bourdieu’s forms of capital, Naccarato and LeBesco (2012) have argued that food – as culinary capital – can be a marker of social status supporting a middle-class identity assembled through food practices. This »culinary elitism« (ibid., p. 12) is also discussed by Johnston and Baumann (2010), who examine the role of food in generating social status. Still, »while our taste in food continues to speak to our class position, this is not a simple correspondence between rarefied ›fancy‹ food for high-class people, but a more complex, omnivorous affair« (ibid., p. xx).
Markthalle Neun is one of three surviving historic market halls in Berlin. First opened in 1891, it was originally one of 14 halls supplying basic commodities and serving as the economic and social centres of their respective neighbourhoods. Facing serious decline after the 1980s as discounters moved into the hall and changed its character, the hall was to be privatized and converted into a supermarket centre in 2009. These plans were overturned by a local resident initiative pressuring the city council to open the hall for cultural and interim use. Eventually, in a competitive tendering process based on quality criteria (with a focus on conceptual thinking, inclusive potential and a small-scale approach), the hall was sold to Markthalle Neun GmbH in 2011 and has been gradually transformed so that it now hosts a weekly farmer’s market on Tuesday, Friday and Saturday (just as it did previously), the Street Food Thursday and other, less frequent, monothematic markets. Furthermore, one of the discount stores (Aldi) remains in the hall:. This eclectic mix of markets, facilities and events stems from the interplay of conceptual and economic deliberations.
On the one hand, in promoting an alternative food economy, the operators are steering a development process that emphasizes the significance of slowly-established structures, small-scale food production and local seasonal produce. On the other hand, the popular events – attracting numerous people and much media attention – are supposed to ensure the financial feasibility of this venture. Furthermore, with permanent fixtures such as a bakery, an in-house craft-brewery, a fish and meat smokehouse, a café and a canteen, the hall seeks to function as a site for the manufacture of food and to honour one of the aims stated in its concept – to bring food and its production back into an urban environment. As a case study, Markthalle Neun is particularly intriguing for researchers interested in urban space, food and everyday practices, since it serves as an example of a venue where constructed everyday life is situated between the ordinary (daily life, market) and the extraordinary (alternative ways of living, events). This scenario takes shape amid a variety of associations that are facilitated in, around and by the market, making for a highly controversial space.
A range of different actors and users project demands and desires onto the market, creating a high potential for conflict. Also, a certain language has crept into the general discourse making it hard to reflect on the nuances of stances taken: catchphrases such as Hall for All, the narrative of the green border that divides the hall in two:, but also repeated comparisons with other districts that partially disguise diversified opinions, making the conflict appear as if it had two unified parties opposing one other. Rooted in personal values and connections to the hall, individual opinions on the market range from completely rejecting the concept, through subliminal fears about further gentrification that might well change the neighbourhood beyond recognition, to concessions on the part of residents who appreciate attempts to keep the hall open and provide a view of the market based on its overall atmosphere. Given that discourse is one of the elements that constitute the social (Höhne 2012, p. 148), it is essential for an account of the market hall and its making to unravel the conflicting aspects of this assemblage.
Noise and security issues surrounding markets were one of the main reasons for the City of Berlin’s decision in the 19th century to relocate the busy markets inside halls (Knoll 1994). Today, with the revival of the hall, the market’s daily operations do not go unnoticed in its vicinity: the hall is located in the midst of a densely populated residential area. A second problem is the increase in rubbish on the streets around the hall, with broken glass bottles creating the most concern. Complaints focus on Thursday nights, when Street Food Thursday attracts thousands of people, substantially increasing the overall number of people out and about on the neighbourhood’s streets.
This has led to the market hall implementing new practices to reduce noise and waste. Upon leaving the venue on a Thursday night, people pass a shopping cart designated as the collection point for bottles – doormen ensure that bottles bought inside the hall are not carried outside. Vendors are considering options to reduce waste as well. While some of them – due to the size and permanence of their stall – are able to serve food on reusable plates that are collected on a tray next to the canteen in the hall, others try to operate more sustainably by using disposable tableware made of palm leaves. Further ideas were developed as part of a neighbourhood workshop introduced after the first Stadt Land Food Festival took place in the streets surrounding the market. While the first meetings attracted about 50 residents wishing to participate, it transpired that most of them were not interested in long-term processes but simply wanted to voice their complaints and frustration about the overall approach at the market. Today, the workshop consists of only a few members. Still, participants continue to work on solutions to the conflict and have produced two posters illustrating what they do not want to see in the streets of their neighbourhood. The posters are now used by a vast number of businesses and institutions in the vicinity. All this adds new entities to the assemblage of the market (shopping carts, palm leaves, doormen, posters). In connection with different practices, they become part of a solution-oriented discourse seeking to manage the conflicts that characterize its existence. However, opinions amongst residents are divided. Acknowledging the idea behind the posters and workshop as such, they criticize the general process of communication: »They [the operators] make an effort, but […] only if it is causing problems. I think this is the point being noticed from outside.« This illustrates another layer to the conflict: despite the action taken by the hall’s operators, many people living in its vicinity attest to a lack of engagement on the operators’ behalf. Reading this as indifference to the neighbour’s feedback and involvement, some residents dismiss the concept of the hall, which in some cases results in a complete boycott of the market.
Taken from a conversation with a resident of the neighbourhood surrounding the market hall, this fragment reveals the main reason for criticism: the prices of the food on offer are too high for many people living in Kreuzberg seeking affordable products.: Germany’s food industry is dominated by an intense price war, resulting in knockdown prices that are sometimes even lower than the production costs of foodstuffs and a fairly low proportion of average household income being spent on food each month. However, the average amount spent on food per head comes to a mere €155 per month in the neighbourhood (BSM 2012, p. 41):, proving cost-cutting practices to be part of everyday life for many residents of Kreuzberg. Their demand for affordable food is predominantly satisfied by discount stores. This contrast between a low income neighbourhood and a hall that – according to its operators – aims to offer »a serious alternative to about 90 per cent of the German food industry«, constantly produces controversy in the context of the assemblage, with a specific focus on an ongoing quarrel about pricing. Both sides use the variable of income in arguing their case, with residents looking to meet their own (and their families’) food needs and operators looking to promote a democratic and fair price. While some residents acknowledge that »non-industrial [food] production involve[s] higher costs«, and that maintaining a landmark building »comes at a high price«, the conflict is inextricably woven into the assemblage of the market:.
Discussions about pricing are also connected to narratives concerning the kind of people who enjoy the market’s food, which does not seems to suit the appetite of the area’s average resident. Typical visitors to the market are categorized into three groups that are the subject of recurring criticism: hipsters, foodies and tourists. These are not clear-cut categories, but they are still used to negotiate issues surrounding inclusion and boundaries in relation to the assemblage. The notion of the hipster, referred to by almost everyone I talked to, is not clearly defined and »seems to be used as if its meaning was universally fixed and transparent, while in reality its meaning is opaque and fluid« (Maly & Varis 2015, p. 1). Hipsters have become associated with gentrification processes that change the material infrastructure of a city into a »hipster infrastructure« (ibid., p. 15). In the context of the market, hostility towards alleged hipsters stems from an underlying fear of further gentrification and displacement, and a perception of the hall as one of those pieces of hipster infrastructure that has lost its function as a neighbourhood space. Combined with the notion of the foodie, this deepens the roots of suspicion towards the hall. Again, this speaks to processes of social exclusion through elitism. Being a foodie in this sense is seen as a privilege that cannot be enjoyed without adequate economic and cultural capital (Johnston & Baumann 2010, p. XVIII). It is certainly interesting to note that the notion of a foodie focuses on the type of consumer – not necessarily the type of food. The relation to food and food culture is overshadowed by this meta-narrative, which partially inhibits serious engagement with the food offered in the market on the side of residents, keeping them from entering a hall where they do not feel they belong. The third category, that of the tourist, is a more complicated one, as it does not relate to a theoretical construct. Tourists, thousands of whom visit the neighbourhood each year, are very much a reality. Still, strictly distinguishing between tourists and other categories (such as migrants, refugees, multilocals) remains problematic in the public debate about the touristification of Berlin (Kritische Geographie Berlin 2014). In the case of the market hall, this ambivalence finds expression in generalizations such as »they all fly in on Thursdays« and »no one even speaks German«. The (city-wide) discussion about tourism certainly influences perceptions of the hall and its operations, particularly as travel guides and blogs recommend a visit, thus further raising the site’s profile.
Most of the problems emerging from the market’s operations (noise, pollution, and conceptual strategies that clash with the surrounding neighbourhood’s socio-spatial needs) are inextricably interwoven into the market’s existence. The hall has to do everything it can as a private venture to remain financially feasible. At the same time, the concept of a space in which the aim is to engage with quality food clashes with the low socio-economic status of many of the residents in the area. This results in conflicting spatial needs and desires being projected onto the hall. But does the market fulfil its envisaged function as a (semi-)public space that facilitates exchange and participation in the social life of the neighbourhood? The hall offers pioneering approaches to the sustainable provision of quality food, but how inclusive/exclusive can such a contemporary market be? How are we to acknowledge the »plethora of fleeting forms of ‘rubbing along’, connecting, lingering, and taking pleasure in a shared space« (Watson 2009, p. 1589)? Although sometimes quite ephemeral, these are practices performed as part of the market’s assemblage that point to opportunities for inclusiveness and the capacity »to dissolve some of the predictable boundaries and divisions and open up new possibilities for sociality and engagement in everyday public space« (ibid.). In the case of Markthalle Neun, most of these activities take on rather subtle forms of sociality (dwelling, short exchanges of information/knowledge/words, sitting side-by-side). Still, with an active and engaged community of traders providing part of the social life of the assemblage, opportunities for sociality regularly arise. While this points to emerging possibilities for an »enhanced social inclusiveness« (Watson and Studdert 2006, p. 14) further analysis indicates that, in order to con-solidate upon these possibilities, discursive mediation is needed to soften conflicts and barriers. Clarifying the conceptual approach and unpacking the »black box« (Latour 1987) of the market could reduce uncertainty and create opportunities to invite more locals into the hall. It seems unclear who could initiate such a mediation: the operators of the hall, fed-up neighbours, market vendors, an external mediator, the neighbourhood workshop? What is clear, however, is that the mediation must take the form of a dialogue that acknowledges the needs, desires and fears projected on to the hall by neighbours operators and vendors alike. Given that an assemblage approach has a pronounced temporal perspective, only a longer-term ethnography of the market assemblage can reveal whether convivial possibilities could be consolidated upon, as the operators would hope, through »pursuing the concept consequently and honestly, bringing back the people and thus establishing authenticity and credibility«.
The notion of the assemblage was chosen as it takes into account images, imaginations, values and discourse. It conceives urban space as a relational, processual fabric (Farías 2011, p. 9) that is constantly in the mode of becoming and »provides an adequate conceptual tool [and] a concrete and graspable image of how the city is brought into being and made present in ensembles of heterogeneous actors, material and social aspects« (ibid., p. 14). ↩︎
The research was carried out in preparation for my dissertation, as part of the MSc Urban studies programme at UCL in London. The subject of this ethnographic research was an inner-city food market in Berlin and the aim was to identify relevant actors and narratives connected to it. ↩︎
When the hall was sold in 2011, three discount stores remained. In order to expand the market, it was envisaged that these stores would gradually leave the hall one after another, but long-term lease agreements slowed this process down. The exclusion of the discount stores from the hall has been at the centre of an ongoing debate about social exclusion in a gentrified neighbourhood. ↩︎
The expression »A Hall for All« was actually coined by the resident initiative mentioned previously. In the course of the competitive tendering process, the term became a dictum when talking about Markthalle Neun. The discussion around the »green border« stems from an article in Süddeutsche Zeitung (Liere 2013). The term is used to describe the discrepancy between the hall’s stalls and discounters. ↩︎
It also hints at a dilemma and a meta-discussion of social values about the quality of food and its sustainable production, to which this short article cannot do justice. ↩︎
According to the German Federal Bureau of Statistics, in 2015 only about 13.9 per cent of household expenditure on consumables was spent on food on average (Destatis 2015). This correlates with the average purchasing power in the district of Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg, which is significantly lower than the national average of €5452 per resident per year (BSM 2012, p. 38). Considering that the unemployment rate is fairly high in Kreuzberg and a lot of people depend on Hartz IV, there might be even less money available for food in individual cases. The government calculates that €137.66 is sufficient to cover the monthly needs of an adult person living alone (including food, beverages and tobacco products) (BGBl. 2016). ↩︎
Another accusation frequently voiced is that the vendors in the hall generate massive profits at the expense of the neighbourhood. This narrative proved to be compelling in conversations I had with residents who called the market a rip-off and tried to calculate the amount of money taken based on estimated numbers of people visiting on a Thursday. ↩︎
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