I haven't been to a lot of council planning meetings, but I guess there isn't usually a lot of whooping...still, a woman who owns a business in the area gets a few – along with hearty applause in agreement with her speech berating the applicants for having no clear plan on non-residential units.
The Applicants, a London property developer, manage to raise a few ironic laughs by claiming to have “consulted widely with” and got the backing of, the local community. (“Consulted” is a perfect PR term, because you can consult anyone on anything, and do the opposite of what they advised or wanted, but you’ve consulted, so it seems like their views count somehow, even if they definitely don’t.)
(One speaker later quotes John Betjeman: “Bristol must keep away from London. No ‘moving with the times’, which means nothing. Keep away from London. Keep away from London”. It’s about 125 miles, and as far as I know, isn’t getting any closer…)
The representative of a local disability group points out that there is nothing in the plans for disabled residents, and nothing for public transport. He also points out, as several others do later, that the disabled parking spaces are in the same spot as the Loading Bay. This oversight is one of several.
Three City Councillors from different parties agree that the level of affordable housing in the plans is unacceptable, citing the Council’s policy for 40% “affordable” housing for inner-city developments.
A woman who has arrived late wants to talk; the Chair will not let her, as the meeting will only hear from those who have submitted statements. She’s not happy about this, but eventually yields and walks around the room a few times as the meeting continues, later trying, unsuccessfully, to speak again.
A local building owner objects, with some points relating to specific planning regulations, which he quotes. He mentions several acronyms and abbreviations which are lost on me. He cites the officers report, which calls the impact on surrounding buildings “acceptable”.
“Acceptable to who?” He asks
This man is exactly the person you'd expect at these meetings and exactly the kind you need on your side if you want to win. His speech is dry, he doesn’t really know how to use a microphone, he seems pretty mild-mannered, but this might be him at his pumped-up best. And he’s right. Even within the very narrow parameters of this meeting of the Bristol City Council Development Control Committee. He gets a respectful, if restrained, round of applause.
A man from a local community group gets clapped on his way up to the microphone. He
says this is a case of “private greed versus public need”, and asks: “If we don’t have radical alternatives here, where can we?”, citing the importance of the will and imagination of the community
He gets a big cheer, and even a standing ovation from a few.
Many speakers refer to street art as an example of the character of the area. It occurs to me that this is the same street art and the same street artists that would have been considered illegal and anti-social in the recent past – and prosecuted by the council. Also, the word “graffiti” is clearly still a disputed term. (When does graffiti become street art?). Art is contentious, as it should be.
The policy on “affordable housing” also turns out to be quite pliable: the recommendation is for 40%, but “subject to scheme viability”, which, ironically, means “affordable” to the developers. Who need to make huge amounts of money and over-value the cost of the finished properties (“units”) so that they can “afford” to build it. So, sometimes, “affordable housing” makes up 0% of a development. So, presumably, we should all be grateful for the 7% on offer.
He gets a big cheer, and even a standing ovation from a few.
Many speakers refer to street art as an example of the character of the area. It occurs to me that this is the same street art and the same street artists that would have been considered illegal and anti-social in the recent past – and prosecuted by the council. Also, the word “graffiti” is clearly still a disputed term. (When does graffiti become street art?). Art is contentious, as it should be.
The last public speaker uses the word “balderdash”, which causes a frisson of excitable amusement (it probably would have been less striking if he’d said “bullshit”).
People are starting to enjoy this. The speaker asks: “What’s the point of keeping the street art if you can't keep the people who made it?” which generates a spontaneous applause. He gets a big cheer at the end.
So, after the public (or, at least, their representatives, the ones who got their shit together enough to submit statements ahead of time, as is the way with these things) have had their say, the committee gets down to work.
So, after the public (or, at least, their representatives, the ones who got their shit together enough to submit statements ahead of time, as is the way with these things) have had their say, the committee gets down to work.
And then the Chair performs his cover version of the classic “Shut up now, public, that’s your bit finished, we’ll take it from here” speech. The Chair is very clear that if people continue to interrupt, he will clear the room and the committee will meet in private. He doesn’t want to do it, of course, but he can.
The Chair is a committed Materialist, as appropriate for a person charged with running this particular committee. The committee will consider only the material aspects of the planning application. He seems to me to have the perfect attitude to this whole process: it’s a process not of his design, but one to which he has signed up. The committee aren’t here to decide who’s cool and who’s not, what freedom is, what social justice would look like…
Some people clearly disdain him for this, but he's right. Planning is not planned so that people at public meetings decide between them what should happen and then that is acted upon in a legally binding resolution....and with good cause. That would be democracy, wouldn’t it?
Just as a judge does not sit in judgment of a society as a whole, but of an individual defendant within the context of that society, so the committee decides on this proposal, on the very narrow remit it has been given in the hierarchy of committees that makes up formal democracy.
You don’t get to be the Chair of a committee if you think it’s all bullshit, and you wouldn’t want to, either.
The Case Officer acknowledges the level of public interest, the love people have for the area and its unique character, including a slightly patronising reference to the passion and articulacy of objectors. And then he declares all of this is utterly irrelevant. Because he’s not a politician, answerable to the electorate. But the councillors are politicians, answerable to the electorate, so it matters to them. And later, when they asked him questions, based on this premise, it becomes clear that it definitely does matter.
The Case Officer is also a committed Materialist.
He gives three reasons why the committee might reject the proposal, and dismisses each of them in turn, inviting the committee to approve planning permission.
The Case Officer mentions objectors’ general antipathy for gentrification, and states baldly that it has absolutely no bearing on this decision. This makes it seem like he is denying, or unaware, that gentrification is a process, involving everything the committee is deciding on. As if it’s just a thing, unrelated to any other things, floating in a context vacuum, that the committee cannot rule is a “good thing” or a “bad thing”.
He also mentions the concerns about a “gated community”, and says he is satisfied this will not be a “gated community”, even while pointing to a diagram of the “gates” at the entrance of the “community”. He stipulates, allowing himself a wry chuckle, that decisions cannot be made on the basis of what may happen in the future, and reminds those assembled that the power to predict the future is beyond the remit of planning committees. So, shut up about gates, everyone.
The other really interesting part of his contribution is the definition of “affordable housing”. It doesn’t mean “affordable” in the sense that someone could afford it.
It’s good to hear about these technical definitions, that words don’t mean what we think they mean and that the government defines words however it sees fit. And if you want to challenge that definition, see you in court.
That’s democracy.
The policy on “affordable housing” also turns out to be quite pliable: the recommendation is for 40%, but “subject to scheme viability”, which, ironically, means “affordable” to the developers. Who need to make huge amounts of money and over-value the cost of the finished properties (“units”) so that they can “afford” to build it. So, sometimes, “affordable housing” makes up 0% of a development. So, presumably, we should all be grateful for the 7% on offer.
It’s good to hear how policies actually work, because just reading the text of them, you might get the impression that they will form the basis of decisions, somehow. But this committee, so painfully aware of its place in the hierarchy of committees, is beholden to government policy, which is firmly in favour of “development”, and somewhat less concerned with “affordability”. That’s the government, so the committee, and the council in general, can’t do anything about that.
That’s democracy.
When the Case Officer, and the other officers, have done their bit, the councillors question them on the proposals. One of them describes it as “economic cleansing”, which is a Balkan War term for gentrification. (Which is irrelevant. Although the officers are too polite to remind them of this.)
Another councillor describes the proposal as one that “only its mother could love” and talks about “clarity on the permeability”. He’s got a gently provocative, poetic way of speaking, this councillor, which is enjoyable in this setting.
Next, the chair asks the officers questions. His last is:
Another councillor describes the proposal as one that “only its mother could love” and talks about “clarity on the permeability”. He’s got a gently provocative, poetic way of speaking, this councillor, which is enjoyable in this setting.
Next, the chair asks the officers questions. His last is:
“Can we insist the site never has locked gates?
And the Case Officer answers: “Yes, legally, we can.”
And the Case Officer answers: “Yes, legally, we can.”
So, it needn’t be a “gated community”, according to the Officer who accepted it wouldn’t be one, and implied that no one could do anything to stop it becoming one in the future. He is also now accepting that the committee could commit the developers to making it not a gated community, thereby, in a fashion, predicting the future; or, if you prefer, designing a suitable legal framework for building development. AKA: doing their job.
One councillor arrived late, so cannot vote or comment. Then he comments, but manages not to add anything at all, so it's allowed.
Another has absented himself and the Chair explains why....the Chair, again, does his Ed Milliband voice, so most people don't listen to him. The Chair is forever having to explain narrow technical points of order, and he probably quite likes it. He's good at it as well. It's a skill required of lawyers and politicians at any level. Again, I have some sympathy for his position. He is not Power. He has a tiny bit of narrow and very specifically-defined and truncated power vested in him. Which is quite different.
Eventually, there’s a vote on the recommendation, which goes 7-3 against. Damping down the cheers, the Chair is quick to point out this doesn't mean the application is rejected.
It's a classic score-draw, the mainstay of the sport of British politics: the fight goes on, no side is satisfied but no one is defeated, and we’ll do it all over again later. If this is a war, this will be the genteel part of it; mostly polite, with some anger restricted to head-shaking, quiet interruption, incredulous laughing and thoughtful frowning.
As they say in Afghanistan: You have the watches, but we have the time.
One councillor arrived late, so cannot vote or comment. Then he comments, but manages not to add anything at all, so it's allowed.
Another has absented himself and the Chair explains why....the Chair, again, does his Ed Milliband voice, so most people don't listen to him. The Chair is forever having to explain narrow technical points of order, and he probably quite likes it. He's good at it as well. It's a skill required of lawyers and politicians at any level. Again, I have some sympathy for his position. He is not Power. He has a tiny bit of narrow and very specifically-defined and truncated power vested in him. Which is quite different.
After some spirited discussion of how big the walls are, the committee declares that a window is a unit of measurement, which is enjoyably farcical for everyone. They’re just like us, really, with their daft pub chat and normal clothes (most of them aren’t even wearing suits).
Eventually, there’s a vote on the recommendation, which goes 7-3 against. Damping down the cheers, the Chair is quick to point out this doesn't mean the application is rejected.
As if it could be that simple…no, no, no, they were just voting on whether to accept the Officer’s recommendation that they support the plan, you see?
And, finally, after some more discussion, the Chair proposes a motion to defer the decision until the next meeting, which goes 8-1 in favour, with one abstention.
It's a classic score-draw, the mainstay of the sport of British politics: the fight goes on, no side is satisfied but no one is defeated, and we’ll do it all over again later. If this is a war, this will be the genteel part of it; mostly polite, with some anger restricted to head-shaking, quiet interruption, incredulous laughing and thoughtful frowning.
But most wars are wars of attrition: the winner isn’t the side that wins the most battles, it’s the side that endures, that out-lasts their opponents. George Washington lost more battles than he won in the US War of Independence. But he prevailed, becoming a giant pain in the ass of the British Empire, eventually enough for them to give up and go home.
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