Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Re-Imagining Creative
Cities in Twenty-First
Century Asia
Editors
Xin Gu Michael Kho Lim
School of Media, Film and Journalism School of Journalism, Media
Monash University and Culture
Caulfield East, VIC, Australia Cardiff University
Cardiff, UK
Justin O’Connor
School of Creative Industries
University of South Australia
Adelaide, SA, Australia
Department of Cultural Industry and
Management
Shanghai Jiaotong University
Shanghai, China
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
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Acknowledgements
We would like to thank Lucy Batrouney from Palgrave Macmillan for her
enthusiasm for this book project. We are grateful for Bryony Burns and
Mala Sanghera-Warren at Palgrave Macmillan for their support and guid-
ance for seeing the book through to publication. We also thank colleagues
at our respective institutions: School of Media, Film and Journalism at
Monash University, School of Journalism, Media and Culture at Cardiff
University, and the Faculty of Creative Industries at the University of
South Australia for providing intellectual support. The anonymous review-
ers helped ensure the quality of the publication.
v
Contents
vii
viii Contents
Index303
Notes on Contributors
xi
xii Notes on Contributors
Fig. 7.1 A Gallery turned into a sit-in site, September 5 and December
9, 2015. ‘Stop Psy” and “Stop Gentrification” in English
Roman scripts are clear. Photograph by Hyunjoon Shin 96
Fig. 7.2 A day in the life at an alley of Itaewon in 2016. Photograph by
Hyunjoon Shin 107
Fig. 8.1 The building compound of Hin Bus Depot (inside yellow line)
as seen in this aerial view during day and night, it is a home for
several creative collectives in George Town since 2014 117
Fig. 8.2 Culture on display in the city: the state-commissioned public
sign in Penang International Airport and the diorama in a
private-owned museum 118
Fig. 8.3 The façade in the back side of Hin Bus Depot compound 121
Fig. 8.4 Tourism boost: the state-commissioned street arts projects and
commercial initiatives by hotels and other service industries in
George Town 121
Fig. 8.5 The creative collectives make their own murals in a few hidden
corners of the city 122
Fig. 8.6 Hin’s family: the place, the people and the activities inside 125
Fig. 9.1 A blueprint artwork on Hai’an Road 133
Fig. 9.2 Artworks alongside Hai’an Road 135
Fig. 10.1 DMC © Junmin Song, 2014 152
Fig. 12.1 Keelery, Published by Sandhya, and Jul 7. “India - Box Office
Contribution by Language 2019.” Statista, July 7, 2020.
https://www.statista.com/statistics/948615/india-regional-
box-office-contribution-by-language/ Share of regional box
office contribution across India as of May 2018, by language
xix
xx List of Figures
The idea of the Creative City is a product of the 1990s. Of course, the
idea has long roots in a Euro-American narrative of the city as a primary
site for commercial and industrial development or ‘modernisation’, and as
a locus for a certain quality of experience we call ‘modern’. The Creative
City involved a reframing of this narrative at a moment when the
X. Gu (*)
School of Media, Film and Journalism, Monash University,
Caulfield East, VIC, Australia
e-mail: Xin.gu@monash.edu
M. K. Lim
School of Journalism, Media and Culture, Cardiff University,
Cardiff, UK
e-mail: LimM2@cardiff.ac.uk
J. O’Connor
School of Creative Industries, University of South Australia, Adelaide, SA, Australia
Department of Cultural Industry and Management, Shanghai Jiaotong University,
Shanghai, China
e-mail: justin.oconnor@unisa.edu.au
talent’ but with economic metrics and analytics, benchmarks and indexes
to back it up. Florida’s account focused on cultural infrastructure but more
in terms of up-market, trendy leisure amenities and the kinds of ‘lifestyle
districts’ that had proliferated in cities across the globe—celebrated in
newspaper travel sections and in-flight magazines. Florida embraced the
vibrancy of urban living—gays, bohemians, multi-ethnicity—but the urban
community it explicitly targeted was a professional-managerial class,
expanded to include artists, but in which ‘blue-collar’ workers (threats to
tolerance and creativity) were not so welcome. Finally, though Florida
eulogized the ‘soft infrastructure’ of creative urban landscapes, the creative
class would require housing, leisure and entertainment amenities, up-mar-
ket hospitality and retail, perhaps a gallery or two—and this required capi-
tal investment and development green-lights. These were enthusiastically
forthcoming, as witnessed by the tsunami of global capital-led urban trans-
formation over the last two decades, whose sheer scale and reach has now
outgrown the quaint term ‘gentrification’. In short, Florida’s ‘creative
class’—socially exclusive, consumption-oriented, capital- intensive, top-
down, and justified entirely by hard economic metrics—helped deliver
almost the exact opposite of that promised in the Creative City imaginary.
Developing new forms of cultural production able to take the place of
the old industries was a more difficult challenge; despite it being presented
as part of the Creative City package it tended to develop in a different
space. Of course, investing in a city’s cultural infrastructure, alongside the
lifestyle zones of the creative class, was essential for any creative industries
strategy; in practice such a strategy required more detailed research and
long-term investment than many cities were capable of providing. Cities
were privileged sites for the creative industries, as these worked within
agglomeration economies and complex ecosystems, where cultural con-
sumption and production would ideally form a virtuous circle. In practice,
however, the returns on consumption were quicker and bigger than those
gained from investing in a set of creative micro-businesses. Up-market
apartments and hospitality ventures drove out creative workspace and
affordable housing. In any event, in the age of neoliberal austerity, few
cities had the capacity for any forward-thinking long-term industrial strat-
egy. A de facto creative industry recipe emerged, which combined ele-
ments of Landry’s creative city and Florida’s creative class with the
‘start-up’ entrepreneurial ethos that now animated much of creative
industries thinking. This is what we call the ‘creativity bundle’.
The ‘creativity bundle’ has three aspects. First, the ‘creative entrepre-
neur’, based on long-standing images of the free creative artist, able to act
4 X. GU ET AL.
more one sought to approach, the more it receded into the distance. So
too the well-worn problems of identity—of what ‘creative’ could mean in
the context of an ‘Asia’ that represented a long-standing binary with ‘the
West’ but was also multiple, distributed and diverse. And for many cities
the familiar problem of resources—infrastructure, capital, knowledge,
technology. Were Asian cities to be pulled finally into orbit of Western
modernity, their cities replicated non-places of global consumption? Or
would we see another set of half-finished projects, the semi-ruins of
another failed modernity? Maybe some cities could take it and make it
their own, transform it in their image; or perfect it, run it higher and faster
than any western city had previously imaged?
Was the Creative City, then, about ‘elite dreaming’ (Ong 2011: 17),
local development coalitions seeking to tap into the global modern, or did
it speak to local communities about a new kind of involvement and valida-
tion, a new empowerment? Was ‘creative’ a further iteration of Euro-
American modernism or could it encompass the very different aesthetics
and cultures of Asia, embedded in cities with a very distinct historical tra-
jectory from that of the Western mythos? How were these fault-lines—
some old, some new—to be negotiated at a time when the Global North
itself is in some sort of disarray?
The chapters in this book cannot address all these questions, but will
mostly touch them obliquely through case studies. At the same time, their
Asian location necessarily introduces a new dimension to the Creative City
by locating them within the debates of globalization and cosmopolitan-
ism—both of these mediated by those ‘ubiquitous technologies’ increas-
ingly seen as a necessity in developing creative cities. However, the
tendency of the Creative City discourse to be dominated by economic
rationality and technology-led development cannot simply be equated to
the ‘neo-liberal’ approaches common in Western discourse. This book
suggests a ‘civic’ dimension be added. Many Asian cities are certainly
undergoing top-down planned culture-led urban regeneration, but this is
also developed in many cases via public and private partnerships, setting
new examples for developments in other cultural and creative sectors pre-
viously closed off from public participation. The creative city is an invita-
tion for citizens to renew their cosmopolitan imaginary, facilitated by the
emergence of embedded ubiquitous technologies: this need not always
break in favour of global corporations and authoritarian government, new
possibilies, new sites of contestation and imagination may also emerge.
As opposed to debates in the West on ‘third spaces’ or the ‘public
sphere’, the Asian creative city can be viewed as a new development phase,
6 X. GU ET AL.
breaking down. Michael Kho Lim looks at the relationship between the
Creative City and branding strategy, using an ‘imaginary’ global city in the
Philippines as a case study. He argues that the effective application of city
branding to Bonifacio Global City has transformed this space—an imag-
ined global city into something real. It has created an image and public
perception that it is indeed a city by projecting and acting as one when in
fact, this multi-hectare property does not hold a city status and is but a
financial and lifestyle district that forms a small part of a ‘real’ city. Xin Gu
looks at the shift from ‘creative cities’ to ‘media cities’, driven by city gov-
ernments and developers seeking high returns on investment. The shift
not only narrows the scope of the creative imaginary but results in highly
unequal, socially and economically unsustainable development. Gu
observes a tendency towards ‘technological utopianism’ or technology
solutionism in urban cultural policy. Exploring the evolution of new buzz-
words of media cities, smart cities and intelligent cities through the cre-
ative cities’ lens, this chapter is concerned with the acceleration of
neo-liberal governmentality in Asia. Finally, Deborah Stevenson’s chapter
considers the recent statements and initiatives of the UCCN and asks us to
rethink the creative city models in Asia. She suggests that the decision to
affiliate the UCCN directly with the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals
is posing a number of challenges for the Network and its member cities,
including those of Asia, not least of which is determining what sustain-
ability might mean for a scheme that implicitly encourages inter-city com-
petition and was formed primarily to support and showcase creativity and
the creative economy.
In Part II, Resisting Creative Cities, we look at one of the key fault-lines
of the Creative City, where the aspiration of the local development coali-
tion encounters the aspirations and anxieties of local communities. Janine
Santos questions the legitimacy of Creative City discourse as a ‘rhetorical
architecture’, as members of the Philippines’ formal and informal cultural
sectors negotiate the discourse given the urban landscapes’ material and
socio-economic conditions. Using the case of Baguio City, Santos explores
how urban poverty and the ‘crisis of values’ have to be considered in the
country’s creative cities re-imagination. Hyunjoon Shin’s chapter enriches
this discussion by challenging another key concept within the creative cit-
ies discourse, that of ‘creative class’. This chapter asks us to pay attention
to the different economic and social status of the creative class rather than
falling into a romanticisation trap of creative place making. Several papers
speak to this point. Zaki Habibi’s chapter offers an interesting case study
of a community-run creative collectives in George Town, Malaysia. The
8 X. GU ET AL.
References
Florida, Richard. 2002. The Rise of the Creative Class. New York: Basic Books.
———. 2005. Cities and the Creative Class. New York: Routledge.
Jacob, Jane. 1985. Cities and the Wealth of Nations. New York: Vintage.
Jessop, Bob, and Stijin Oosterlynck. 2008. Cultural Political Economy: On
Making the Cultural Turn without Falling into Soft Economic Sociology.
Geoforum 39 (3): 1155–1169.
Kong, Lily. 2014. Transnational Mobilities and the Making of Creative Cities.
Theory, Culture and Society 31 (7/8): 273–289.
Landry, Charles, and Franco Bianchini. 1995. The Creative City. London: Demos.
Lefebvre, Henri. 1992. The Production of Space. Trans. D. Nicholson-Smith.
Oxford: Blackwell.
Ong, Aihwa. 2011. Introduction. In Worlding Cities: Asian Experiments and the
Art of Being Global, ed. Roy Ananya and Aihwa Ong, 1–26. London: Blackwell.
Peck, Jamie. 2005. Struggling with the Creative Class. International Journal of
Urban and Regional Research 29 (4): 740–770.
PART I
Justin O’Connor
Though the Creative City has long roots in both the history of the
European city, and in the post-Sixties transformations of culture, economy
and society, its widespread formulation in the 1990s, and rapid prolifera-
tion owutside of its Euro-American heartlands after 2000, suggest a deep
entanglement with the process of US-led globalization that took off after
1989–91. Already in 1990 Arjun Appadurai had sketched a new global
‘ideoscape’—post-imperial, post-colonial—across which non-isomorphic
flows of ideas, images and texts gave rise to a diverse and hybrid range of
local configurations, not reducible to the straight centre-periphery model
of Western-centric developmentalism (Appadurai 1990). The dissolution
of the Cold War binary seemed to open up a more multiple global space,
one in which the US would have to work hard, using new ‘soft power’
tools, if it were to remain hegemonic in this more complex landscape (Nye
J. O’Connor (*)
School of Creative Industries, University of South Australia,
Adelaide, SA, Australia
Department of Cultural Industry and Management, Shanghai Jiaotong
University, Shanghai, China
e-mail: justin.oconnor@unisa.edu.au
1990). This was the era of what Bruno Latour calls ‘globalisation-
plus’, where,
moderns’ shares the view ‘that all nations are heading toward ever-
changing modernisation, and that “leading” countries have better knowl-
edge of where modernisation is leading us, which is why they follow their
lead or, if they think they know the way, aspire to become the leading
nation in that area’ (2016: xxi). It is precisely this network of global policy
elites that re-aligned around ‘creative economy’ as a coherent modernis-
ing discourse, as ‘art and culture’ was transformed from ‘being valuable in
its own right’ to being ‘useful for business and economics’ (2016: 156; De
Beukelaer and Vlassis 2020).
The ‘tribe of moderns’ is an ‘epistemic community’, which, as Peter
Haas describes it, is ‘a network of professionals with recognised expertise
and competence in a particular domain and an authoritative claim to pol-
icy relevant knowledge within that domain or issue-area’ (Haas 1992: 3).
This epistemic community has a shared set of principled beliefs and values,
which inform the way they link specific policy actions to desired outcomes,
whose success or otherwise is validated by criteria drawn from shared
forms of knowledge, and resulting in a common policy enterprise to which
their expertise is applied ‘presumably out of the conviction that human
welfare will be enhanced as a consequence’ (1992: 3). There are problems
with Alasuutari’s account, mainly around a lack of any (global) political
economy or anything resembling a ‘postcolonial’ analysis of the ‘modern’.
Alasuutari’s singular notion of ‘modernity’, ignores the role the West has
played in enforcing (through economic and military power) a particular
form of modernity over others. However, his account of a global confor-
mity built around a modernising economic discourse has a clear resonance
with the rapid spread of creative economy and creative city policy scripts,
as they held out a promise of new economic benefits from culture. Indeed,
this promise went beyond the direct economic benefits of ‘arts and cul-
ture’ per se; it was a modernising imaginary that also sought the wider
innovation and productivity effects that would flow from newly creative
subjects.
Alasuutari is rather too sanguine about the ‘synchronisation’ of the
‘tribe of moderns’, across which policy ‘fads’ can spread like a virus or
meme. He underplays the deep divides within and between different pol-
icy elites, along with the paradigmatic conflicts within this epistemic com-
munity, and the wider socio-political turbulence to which these global
policy paradigm shifts testify. Russel Prince, in his analysis of creative
16 J. O’CONNOR
industry policy in the UK, has a much looser conception of policy exper-
tise as an ‘assemblage’, one in which a new policy paradigm might change
configurations of power and influence within it (Prince 2010). For Prince,
the rise of the creative industries heralded a paradigm shift, opening up a
knowledge gap, as it moved the debates beyond the established arts and
cultural policy settings. This new uncertainty created a strategic opportu-
nity for a previously peripheral group to come forward, claiming the req-
uisite expertise, seizing the chance to advance themselves. Tracing the rise
of this loose group of experts in the UK, Prince suggests that these same
players have now gone on to become increasingly influential internation-
ally, as we see ‘a global governmental assemblage emerging for the creative
industries’ (2010: 882). The ‘creative industries’ then was not a fad
spreading through an established policy community but the turbulent
reconfiguration of an assemblage, new players and new forms of discourse
jostling for position.
Alasuutari’s ‘tribe of moderns’ embraced the creative economy as a
global epistemic community with a strong, normative modernising vision
of ‘enhancing human welfare’. Prince, adopting a Latourian actor-network
perspective, seems only concerned with describing how experts jostle for
advantage, and the values animating them are not considered at all.1 The
idea of a global epistemic community around ‘modernisation’ does give a
degree of isomorphism to global policyscapes, but this has its limits because
‘the modern’ is inevitably a contested term—not just in terms of a post-
colonial multiple modernities but in the way the West itself conceives of
that modern. The turbulent policy dynamics around the emergence of the
creative econonomy, the sense of a transformation shift from one para-
digm to another, is not to be reduced to the manoeuvrings of ‘outs’
against ‘ins’ (though it is that, too), but testifies to a shift in the normative
idea of ‘the modern’.
We are not dealing here with global policy shifts conceived only as
‘technology transfer’ or ‘fads’, but with something ideational and norma-
tive. And whilst there is, I would argue, an isomorphism around creative
cities and creative economy policies, this is not a singular nor straightfor-
ward process, either in terms of its formulation amongst (competing)
policy elites or amongst those that try to put it into effect at the local city
level. What I want to introduce into this scenario is the Gramscian notion
of ‘hegemony’. This originally referred to the ways in which the ruling
classes of a particular nation-state gained the consent of the governed
(even if ‘objectively’ against its own interests). This involved a range of
2 CREATIVE CITIES, CREATIVE CLASSES AND THE GLOBAL MODERN 17
describe well the resultant mobile policies, which flowed across the trans-
national global policyscape,
cynical adage can be applied to soft power: grab them by the hardware,
hearts and minds would follow. The US does not have to promote its
‘creative industries’ sector per se, just ensure that ‘free trade’ extends as far
as possible to ‘cultural goods’. UNESCO’s 2005 Convention, which
sought to promote global cultural diversity through enshrining the right
of member states to treat culture as a non-commodity—the ‘exception cul-
turelle’—can be seen as a late attempt to seize the utopian moment that
floated in the space between one hegemonic order and the new. The 2005
Convention has been turned de facto into a vehicle to promote the cul-
tural economy as a modern path to development (Garner and
O’Connor 2019).
Though UNESCO, as the leading forum for global cultural policy, pro-
motes the cultural economy as a development opportunity for all, it also
provides the local context in which governments can promote a creative
milieu—that ‘creativity bundle’ outlined in the Introduction—through
which, if feasible, cities can connect with global and regional media and
entertainment corporations, as well as the various companies controlled
through the digital platforms of ‘FAANG’. From this perspective we
might see creative cities, especially in their highly capitalised media and
digital versions (Xin Gu, this volume), as akin to how Timothy Mitchell
describes the ‘technological zones’ in the oil industry: ‘a set of coordi-
nated but widely dispersed regulations, calculative arrangements, infra-
structures and technical procedures that render certain objects or flows
governable’ (Mitchell 2011: 40). Or in less capitalised creative cities, akin
to Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing’s (2015) account of how capitalist value (in
the Matsutake mushroom industry) is extracted from a dispersed, non-
capitalist periphery, from actors whose main motivations are not about
profit. Insertion into a global cultural economy does require state legisla-
tion and assent—in terms of intellectual property regulation, deregulation
of state broadcasting, opening up of the communications infrastructure to
competitive international bidding, tax breaks for media companies and so
on. At the same time, it requires the coordination of actors who share a
certain transnational professional understanding, which in this highly tac-
tile and iterative sector, is in fact a shared transnational habitus. This is
produced not within or between global firms but within and between local
milieu, as we suggested above. This articulation of production and extrac-
tion at the global level also requires an affective buy-in, via the imaginary
of a creative city, and the new modern subjects it validates.
2 CREATIVE CITIES, CREATIVE CLASSES AND THE GLOBAL MODERN 23
Yet such a loose, transnational ‘block’, should it exist (and we are spec-
ulating), would be much more complex and unstable than a state-to-state
international block—especially in such a fissiparous and fiercely contested
field as culture. The scenes and zones of the creative city could also be seen
as a version of what Saskia Sassen calls ‘micro-sites in a global civil society’
(2002). In these zones, unorthodox lifestyles, marginalized and some-
times suppressed, received a certain degree of acceptance. New gender
roles, expressions of sexuality, or counter-cultural views associated with
the residents of these areas could acquire the validity of ‘resource’.4 These
sites could claim to speak for a younger, aspirant ‘new middle class’,
invested in educational and cultural capital, as opposed to the incumbent
powers of property and capital. These youthful groups would assemble
around ‘creative industries’ and ‘creative cities’ in ways that could resonate
with the kinds of more radical political interventions that followed the
various ‘Twitter’ and ‘colour’ ‘revolutions’ over the last decade (Therborn
2014). Here we might imagine, with Akbar Abbas, a modern cosmopoli-
tanism, which ‘involves not so much imagining a transnational state as
reimagining the city’, involving ‘less privileged men and women placed or
displaced in the transnational space of the city and who are trying to make
sense of its spatial and temporal contradictions’, the cosmopolitan as ‘arbi-
trageur/arbitrageuse’, capable of ‘creating a global culture worthy of the
name’ (Abbas 2000: 786).
Conceived in this way, these cosmopolitans are not the global elite but
exemplars of the local-plus, who reject the singularity of the global-minus,
wanting ‘to preserve, maintain, ensure one’s belonging to a land, a place,
a soil, a community, a space, a milieu, a way of life, a trade, a skill?… to
remain capable of registering more differences, more viewpoints’ (Latour
2018: 15). Yet why do these transnational exemplars of local-plus
cosmopolitan-plus, seem in retreat everywhere?
First, neo-liberal financialization, which provided the material and ide-
ational basis of the new global middle class, has begun to create severe
problems of inequality and social unrest (Saull 2012; Piketty 2020). The
idea that a new ‘rising’ middle classes would spend countries like Brazil,
Russian, China and India into the modern has become increasingly unten-
able, at least outside of China. Since at least 2016, as the more coercive
and extractive globalisation-minus has been pursued by the US, many
parts of the global have seen a re-assertion of the local-minus of blood,
soil, culture, religion in authoritarian form. This has adversely impacted
many of those zones of creative tolerance, with many ‘populist’ blocks
24 J. O’CONNOR
linking the older property and capital-invested middle classes with the dis-
possessed urban working and peasant classes—these days a fluid set of
boundaries (Luttwak 1994; Babic 2020). The flows of global finance that
did so much to facilitate the new ideoscapes have increasingly shifted the
terrain away from educational and cultural capital—the embodied promise
of creative labour—towards those with assets in property and finance.
These same flows have undermined public services—free education, pub-
lic health, affordable housing—in such a way as to increasingly exclude
younger middle-class people from the modern future on which their aspi-
rations so relied (Davies 2020). This is exacerbated by the routinisation of
creative labour, the increase in work disciple, the commodification of the
creative commons, and the other travails of the younger global ‘creative
class’ (O’Connor and Gu 2020).
All these would suggest an on-going ‘buy-out’ from the promise of the
creative city—at least amongst the young who are very aware of its failed
promises. Where this goes politically is beyond the capacity of this chapter
to speculate, other than to say that as the transnational hegemony block
around the creative class breaks down, new possibilities will emerge that
may not bear the name ‘creative’.
Notes
1. Though in the very last lines Prince calls for research into policy forms ‘not
interested in reproducing the status quo, providing a rejoinder to represen-
tations of the tyranny of expertise and pointing to the possibility of its
redemption in alternative governmental visions’ (2010: 883). We can only
guess what these might be.
2. This was exemplified in the new global visibility of contemporary art, whose
galleries rapidly shouldered out concert halls and opera houses from their
emblematic position in the global cultural city. The example of Bilbao and
the Guggenheim played a part, its success in attracting tourists and global
media attention representing the old industrial city’s re-invention of itself.
But it is easy to miss the ways in which contemporary art had become articu-
lated to forms of popular culture and lifestyle, becoming an important
marker of a contemporary global subject. The ability to interpellate such
subject positions became increasingly important for global cultural cities,
the latest example being the spate of contemporary art museums in Dubai
and Abu Dhabi, not to mention Shanghai and Singapore. The art gallery,
increasingly associated with urban gentrification, was also a portal into a
cosmopolitan modernity (for practicing artists and visitors alike), as well as
providing its local flagship presence.
2 CREATIVE CITIES, CREATIVE CLASSES AND THE GLOBAL MODERN 25
3. This was part of a wider global defeat of the ‘Third World’. Cf. Quinn
Slobodian (2018) Globalists. The End of Empire and the Birth of Neoliberalism,
Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.
4. Similar things happened with ‘gay villages’ throughout the Global North, or
indeed with the China Towns of previous eras, parlayed into tourism sites.
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CHAPTER 3
Introduction
The concepts of creative cities, smart cities, and global cities have largely
been adopted in the Global North, but these buzzwords have yet to be
widely and effectively applied in the Global South. There was initially a
slow uptake of these ideas in Southeast Asia, but it has gradually picked up
in the last five years due to its growing popularity. In fact, the initiative to
establish the Southeast Asian Creative Cities Network (SEACCN) only
came into fruition in 2014—a decade after the UNESCO Creative Cities
Network (UCCN) was organised. SEACCN members are working
towards having more cities join the UCCN.
As of 2019, 11 out of 246 cities (or five out of 84 countries)—roughly
five per cent of the UCCN members are from ASEAN (Association of
Southeast Asian Nations). Thailand has the most number of UCCN
M. K. Lim (*)
School of Journalism, Media and Culture, Cardiff University, Cardiff, UK
e-mail: LimM2@cardiff.ac.uk
Charles Baudelaire.
Erik Lindorm.
Miten kauan saanen pitää sinun pientä kättäs näin, tuki olla
sulle ja turva, opas matkallas eteenpäin? Miten kauan lienee
mulla sija lämmin sielussas? Sinä kasvat ja rinnaltani menet
yhä kauemmas.
Sinun tahtosi uhmaan paatuu, pojan-ujona piileilet. Ja
katseemme eroo. Ja sieluus idut kasvavat salaiset. Käyt
synkin, polttavin tuntein salateitäs kulkemaan. Minun täytyy
syrjässä seistä, vain ääneti katsoa saan.
Ragnar Jändel.
Ragnar Jändel.
Dan Andersson.
Majass' yksin jos valvot, kun ilta saa, älä salpaa oveasi
Ovat yllämme tähdet, ja hanki kimaltaa, kun tulemme,
tuttavas.
Dan Andersson.
Mut Herra näin: "Ota impes sun, joka rakas sulle on,
mut jota et saada ansainnut, sinä säädyltä arvoton.
Suven taivaan alla uudestaan koetellaan teitä nyt,
ja pyydän, te kaikki lähtekää, olen teihin väsynyt."
Dan Andersson.
W. B. Yeats.
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