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TheSecondCitysSecondCity

DenisLinehan

DownonDocklandsthisweekeventheleavesonthe

trees are smiling. Long eveningsareon theirway to

midsummer and the tree-green canopy over Centre

ParkRoad framesstrollers, joggers, cyclists,mothers

with little daughters, sleeping babies in three-wheel

all-terrain buggies, intertwined lovers and rushing

power- walkers all moving through the ruins of a

past economy. Leading to theMarina andthe small

harbour at Blackrock, this boulevard of tall verdant

hedgeshidestheoldfactories,warehousesandyards

that once heavedwith industry, turningouttractors

and cars, tyres, fertilizer and other products whose

preciseformislost,butwhosepresencelingersinthe

design of the workshops. Glimpses into vacant lots

through wire fences reveal a population of dusty

lorries andvansthat look like theymight have been

parked for years, together with machines in various

shades of steel blue, yellow and mustard, whose

obscureuses conjureup imagesof manufacture and

daysspentlabouring.

Yet,lifecontinues.Amongtheruins,thecityblooms.The inheritors of the submerged factories seem

irrepressible.Intheshellsoftheoldbuildingsdozens

ofnewbusinessestrade.Theysellsecondhand cars,

coal and timber. Mechanics, printers, dealers in

champagneandfinewines,air-conditioningengineers

crowd together in the Marina Commercial Park.

LocatedatFords,sometimesthishaphazardindustrial

estate whose centre piece is Albert Kahns

dilapidated FordsonTractor Assembly Hall hasthe

feel of a crumbling Hollywood movie studio. Thepeopleflowby,to catch hurlingmatches atPircU

Chaoimh, to-ward theriverbankbeyond andor the

comforts ofthemunicipal park atthe Atlantic Pond.

People toss bread at discerning ducks and skirt the

water, to gossip, to discuss familymatters and love

affairs.Onbenchesor sitting onfoldedjumpers and

rugs,booksinSpanish,PolishandCzech,Chineseand

Englisharerelished.Onverysunnydays,childrenroll

downtheslopinggrass.Youcanhearthemgiggle.Old

men stand transfixed by the spectacle of the bright

containers being lifted from ships on the northern

riverbank.Smallcraft,tugboatsandskiffsglidebyon

the Lee. Unleashed dogs skip along the riverbank,

taking themselves for a walk. On Sundays, AfricanPentecostalworshippers- from theMountainof Fire

Ministry - spill outontothe street,childrenin arms,

eyes on Heaven, hearts in Lagos. Nearby, American

FootballplayersoverlookedbyVictoriangothicvillas

hunkeringroups,andatthesoundofawhistle,slam

intooneanotherinKennedyPark,namedinhonourof

JKF.Meanwhile,thesummerconcertseasoniscoming

upfast.Theeventtakesplacesunderagiantoldcircus

tent set up on land once used by the Ford Motor

Companytoparkanddistributenewcars. LadyGaga

has come and gone. Posters for concerts by Deep

Purple and Tony Bennett decorate city-centre bars.

Thetwo-nightshowbyteensensationJLSissoldout.

TheDocklandsisthesecondcityoftheSecondCity.At

166hectares,thisriversidedistrictisextensiveenough

toswallowCorkscity-centreinonegulp.AfterWW2

the Docklands thrived as a manufacturing and

distribution centre of the type that used to be

commoninmanyport-citiesonthecoastsofEurope.

Thenduringthe1980s,inadecadeofurbantraumas,

thefactoriesclosed,shiftingeast,leavingintheirwake

adistrictthatshape-shiftedintodereliction.Zonedfor

industry,therearenohouses,nochurchsteeples,no

shops, no services and almost no-one lives here

exceptthehomeless,sleepingroughinthewoodlands

notfarfromwhereswans hide andmaketheir giant

nests.

Since 2000, the Docklands became a place where

certainvisionsofaNewCorkcongregated.Despiteits

vibrantsocialspace,anditshugepotentialasparkland

likePratainVienna,orMeaParkinRigainstead

planners andspeculatorswere inspired toimagine a

cosmopolitan post-industrial future: a Docklands of

Desire.Anaddictivecocktailofurbanboosterismand

commercial speculation reconfigured the land for

waterfrontliving,newgenerationofficespace,luxury

appartments, spa hotels, concert venues and

exhibition halls. These visions were bound to the

passions of the Celtic Tiger a period built on the

casino capital- ism of an entrenched oligarchy,who

pliedthe state fortaxbreaks,gorged themselvesonlandandproperty,draggeddownthebankingsystem

andlikepirates,leftthedamagetobemoppedupby

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anangrybutshackledcitizenry. Butthisweek, down

on the Docklands, its a vision that lies in bits. On

YouTubeyou canfind a low-resolutionfilmof the1

billion euro Atlantic Quarter project. This computer

animation begins with a journey into outer space,

where the viewer orbits the Earth for five years,

returning through the atmosphere to Europe, then

Ireland, andfinally toCork, towitness thearrival oftwotowersdesignedbyNormanFostersurroundedby

a newquarterof hotels and exhibition centres, and

even more apartments. A close look at the towers

showsawaterfallplungingfromtherooftops.Likethe

apparitionsoftheVirginMarythatperiodicallyspring

up in the Irish countryside, this phantasmagorical

visionofacosmopolitanfutureisalsoasymptomof

our transient grip on reality as we adapt to the

turbulentmarchofprogress.Likethemoneyandthe

developer,whohavedisappearedintothinair,itsall

veryghostlynow.

In thesummerof2008, the Japanese artistHironari

KubotaspentafewdaysspinningawhiteMark4FordTransitvanintheDocklands.WhenIfirstsawKubotas

performance,IunderstoodtheironyoftheFordbeing

convertedintoArt.Butashepushedthevan,andthen

ranunderneathitasitspun,Ithoughthewasaraving

lunatic. Butnow, I think itwas thesanest thing Ive

witnessedandthemost articulatephilosophyfor an

urbanplanproducedinCorkthiscentury.Kubotawas

undoubtedlyhavingfunpartcircusact,partdrama,

part history, part sociology, part event the

performanceusedwhatwasthere,ifonlyinmemory

andputitjoyfullyintomotion.Insomeparttoo,the

conditions that permit and encourage the use of

Docklandspacesforperformanceandtheatreiskeyto

this cultural rather than commercial regeneration.Instead of becoming another amalgam of identikit

corporatearchitecturetheDocklandsisinstead,inthe

imagination of the populace at least, a place apart.

Andif once positionedasa kind ofPR sop, cobbled

togethertosoftenuptheareafordevelopment,arton

thedocklands nowhasproventobethe zonesonly

tangiblesuccess.Music,sculpture,danceitallspeaks

to the art of right l iving, the art of walking and

dreaming, the art ofreading and cycling, the art of

roaring support for hurlers, runners and swimmers,

andtheartofrest,theartofslownotfast,theartof

freeforthecity,tobreathe,toidle,torest,toroam,

togaze,tochat,tothink,tolaugh,toescape,justto

be.

Denis Linehan is a social and cultural geographer

currentlyworkingatUniversityCollegeCork.

Text copyright: Denis Linehan. First published in

Enclave Review, Issue 1, Summer 2010, p.2.

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