Whose Right to JerusalemGILLAD ROSEN and ANNE B. SHLAY.docx

Whose Right to Jerusalem?
GILLAD ROSEN and ANNE B. SHLAY
Abstract
Jerusalem is a city mired in spatial conflict. Its contested spaces
represent deep conflicts
among groups that vary by national identity, religion, religiosity
and gender. The
omnipresent nature of these conflicts provides an opportunity to
look at Henri Lefebvre’s
concept of the right to the city (RTC). The RTC has been
adopted and celebrated as a
political tool for positive change, enabling communities to take
control of space. Based
on extensive fieldwork and in-depth interviews, this article
explores the complexity of the
RTC principles and examines three urban battlefields in
Jerusalem — Bar-Ilan Street,
the Kotel and the Orient House. The RTC is a powerful idea,
providing the opportunity
to examine people’s everyday activities within the context of
how space can be used to
support their lives. Yet Jerusalem’s myriad divisions produce
claims by different groups
to different parts of the city. In Jerusalem, the RTC is not a
clear vision but a
kaleidoscope of rights that produces a fragmented landscape
within a religious and
ethno-national context governed by the nation state — Israel.
The growth of cultural and
ethnic diversity in urban areas may limit the possibility for a

unified RTC to emerge in
an urban sea of demands framed by difference. Space-based
cultural conflict exemplifies
urban divisions and exacerbates claims to ‘my Jerusalem’, not
‘our Jerusalem’.
Identity-based claims to the RTC appear to work against, not
for, a universalistic RTC.
Introduction
The role of community participation is a central focus in urban
scholarship (Martin,
2003; Shlay and Whitman, 2006; Ron and Cohen-Blankshtain,
2011). Concerned with
the all-encompassing nature of neoliberal politics, many are
now asking how popular
participation and more vocal community activities can be used
to mitigate some of the
negative effects of austerity policies and government cutbacks
(Brenner and Theodore,
2002; Harvey 2003; Kohl, 2003; Fernandes, 2007). State
protection of the free market
has pitted the rights of the many against the rights of the few, as
evidenced by the myriad
protests that have taken place across the globe (Mayer, 2006;
2009; Marcuse, 2009,).
Given the backdrop of the rising wave of neoliberalism, it is no
wonder that those
concerned with escalating inequality have embraced Henri
Lefebvre’s right to the city
(RTC), a relatively new political concept on the urban scene
(McCann, 2002; Purcell,
2002; Staeheli and Dowler, 2002; Harvey, 2003; Mitchell, 2003;
Marcuse, 2009; Nagle,
2009; Weinstein and Xuefei, 2009; Parnell and Pieterse, 2010;
Carpio et al., 2011; Kipfer
et al., 2012).

The RTC is a direct challenge to conventional property rights
(Purcell, 2002; 2003;
Mitchell, 2003). It argues for democratizing development
decisions, by having citizens
This research was supported by a Temple University Summer
Fellowship. We are grateful to the
numerous respondents for their willingness to speak with us, to
Emma Giloth for assistance with our
interviews and to several anonymous IJURR reviewers.
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Volume 38.3 May 2014 935–50 International Journal of Urban
and Regional Research
DOI:10.1111/1468-2427.12093
© 2014 Urban Research Publications Limited. Published by
John Wiley & Sons Ltd. 9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4
2DQ, UK and 350 Main St, Malden, MA 02148, USA
take power over the production of space. Within this
framework, urban citizenry is not
rooted in political nationality but in local residency. Originating
in Lefebvre’s (1976;
1991; 1996) concern with class segregation and the
displacement of poor immigrants and
the working class to the Parisian suburbs during the 1960s, the
RTC redefines local
political membership, challenges capitalistic logic and alters
residents’ vision on control
over spatial production. Decisions regarding land use must not
be made by landowners

or elites, but rather by the people most directly affected by them
(Purcell, 2002).
The RTC is not a call for local protest to be removed from
broader national and
international struggles for democracy, economic change and
redistribution. Following
Marxist theory, control over space is akin to control over the
workplace. Like labor
organizing, movements for democratic control over land-use
activities and the right to
appropriate space are connected to broader political strategies
because land-use control (in
common with control over the labor process) is intrinsic to the
human condition (Harvey,
1982; Lefebvre, 1991; Purcell, 2003). Class struggle and
revolution are the ultimate
solution to the inherent conflict between those who control land
use and land users, and
those who control the labor process and laborers. In the case of
space where land users are
largely urban, the right to control space becomes the RTC. It is
not a slogan, but part of a
political movement for social, political and economic
transformation.
But what is this RTC when needs are not rooted in economic
and social inequality?
What happens when articulated needs are not germane to
households’ social and physical
reproduction but are relevant to social and cultural
reproduction? Can the RTC include
concepts of culture and identity as features of democratic place-
making? In particular, how
are rights negotiated in situations where there exist competing
claims to citizenry by

groups united by diverse cultural elements and identities?
Cultural diversity adds
complexity to the RTC with globalization and its attendant
intensification of immigration.
Whose rights are more ‘right’ in global cities such as London,
Paris or Los Angeles, where
difference rather than similarity is the standard of urban
residency? Cultural and ethnic
differentiation adds a dilemma to implementing a right to the
(global) city (Harvey, 2003;
Purcell, 2003; Fenster, 2005). Equally challenging is applying
the RTC to divided cities —
where socio-spatial divisions are starkest. Broader geopolitical
conflicts are largely
characterized by hostile struggles to control space (Bollens,
1998; 2012; Kliot and
Mansfeld, 1999; Silver, 2010). Despite differences in their
histories and the nature of their
conflicts, these divided cities have important similarities such
as multi-layered divisions
between social groups (e.g. national, ethnic, economic) and
sovereignty disputes in which
equally valid yet diametrically opposed positions are voiced
(Kotek, 1999). Recently the
idea that the RTC concept could be applied to the context of
divided cites has been
postulated (Khamaisi, 2007; Nagle, 2009), but has not been
sufficiently explored.
Jerusalem is mired in spatially manifested conflict (Friedland
and Hecht, 2000; Klein,
2004; Gazit, 2010; Shlay and Rosen, 2010). It is dually claimed
as the capital of the state
of Israel and as the future capital of a would-be Palestinian
state. Jerusalem is a
battleground for those who live within it and for many others

around the world who
contest its boundaries (Hasson, 2010; Shlay and Rosen, 2010).
It is consumed by spatial
conflicts over landownership, resource distribution and
neighborhood identity. These
seemingly irresolvable conflicts are between different groups
that vary by national
identity, religion, religiosity, gender and sexual identity. Power
to control the use of
space, and thus to control the everyday experiences of
Jerusalem’s residents, represents
the power to permit or deny expression of identity. These
conflicts — that thwart social
expression and coerce behavior — are in part what led Lefebvre
to call for the RTC.
Conflicts exist in every city although they may not overtly
manifest themselves. Racial
and class segregation, neighborhoods suffering from
disinvestment, rich and poor
suburbs existing side by side, newly rebuilt downtowns
glittering above undeveloped
areas — all wreak conflict between social groups. However, few
cities trump Jerusalem
as a site for overt conflict over space. Jerusalem reveals a series
of conflicts — among
many rival groups (national, ethnic and religious) at multiple
sites across the city, but also
at differing levels and intensity of state intervention. Another
issue concerns the potential
936 Gillad Rosen and Anne B. Shlay
International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 38.3
© 2014 Urban Research Publications Limited

gap between the appeal of the RTC as an idea promoting greater
participation and
equality, and its implementation (that might advance anti-
democratic values and spatial
practices, e.g. increased authoritarianism, inequality and
exclusion). In other words, the
translation of a right (or a perceived right) to political change
into spatial form is not
always straightforward and might be perverted from its original
objective.
To assess and analyze the various expressions of the RTC, we
focus on three
Jerusalem-based case studies. The first examines the struggle
over Bar-Ilan Street, a site
of cultural and ideological conflict between secular and ultra-
Orthodox Jews over its use
during Shabbat. This location has come to represent a profound
division between the
groups, reflecting each side’s passions, visions and needs over
the image and identity of
the road and the city as a whole. The second case is the clash
over the Kotel (the
remaining portion of the Western Wall of the Second Temple,
returned to Jewish control
after the 1967 Arab–Israeli war). A major source of ethno-
national and religious conflict
between Israelis and Palestinians, it is also a site of conflict
framed by gender and
Judaism (i.e. between Orthodox and non-Orthodox Jews, and
between men and women).
The third case relates to the Orient House, longtime home of the
eminent Husseini
family, former headquarters for the Palestinian Liberation

Organization in Jerusalem,
symbol of demands for a Palestinian state, and closed by the
Israeli government during
the second intifada. Located in East Jerusalem (around the
corner from the famous
American Colony Hotel), this case study represents the classic
political fault line of the
city — the ethno-national divide. The Orient House is a site of
tremendous symbolic
significance for a future Palestinian state. This research is based
on extensive fieldwork
and interviews undertaken by the authors with 70 Palestinians,
Israelis and others
(advocates, planners, politicians, non-profit directors, finance
personnel, international
aid organizations and academics). These interviews took place
between 2006 and 2010;
fieldwork undertaken during the summer of 2010 focused on the
three case studies.
Bar-Ilan Street: A cultural–religious battlefield
Running for approximately 1.2 kilometers, Bar-Ilan Street
provides vehicular access
from the entrance of the city out to its northern neighborhoods.
Yet Bar-Ilan Street is
unlike other Jerusalem thoroughfares. It has become an
important social concept
reflecting a deep cultural divide within Israeli society and
between different social groups
in Jerusalem. In particular, it has become a paradigmatic term
for a collection of far
broader issues, ranging from a cultural clash, a struggle for civil
rights, participation in
and production of public space, and ultimately the very future
of Jerusalem.

Two major rival groups are engaged in this battle. The first
group represents the
ultra-Orthodox Jewish communities (Haredim). Considered
fundamentalist in their
religious views and practices, the Haredim seek to protect their
traditional religious way
of life through a range of spatial and social mechanisms of
segregation, dictating place
of residence, education, marriage, dress, employment and modes
of transport (Shilhav,
1991; Gonen, 1995; Hasson, 2001; Rosen and Razin, 2008; Flint
et al., 2012). The
second group represents secular Jews leading a modern way of
life.
Until 1967, Bar-Ilan Street was one of Jerusalem’s peripheral
roads. It was a dead-
end, leading to predominantly Orthodox (traditional) and ultra-
Orthodox (religious-
fundamentalist) neighborhoods located at the city’s frontier
(where Israel ended and
Jordan began).1 After the annexation of West Bank land to
Jerusalem and its extensive
1 Ultra-Orthodox is the term usually employed to describe the
Haredim, who adhere to literal
interpretations of the Bible and Jewish law. They are
distinguished by eighteenth-century modes of
dress, conservative lifestyles, closed communities and insular
forms of living, as well as their refusal
to recognize any other forms of Judaism as legitimate.
Traditional or modern Orthodox also follow
stricter interpretations of the Bible, but are far less conservative
and move freely (in terms of modes
of attire and behavior) within mainstream contemporary society.

Whose right to Jerusalem? 937
suburban development in the 1970s and 1980s, it experienced
population growth (Shlay
and Rosen, 2010). Neighborhoods around it became
overwhelmingly ultra-Orthodox.
Meanwhile, the Bar-Ilan Street–Shemuel HaNavi junction
became an important urban
node, connecting western parts of the city to rapidly expanding
areas to the north. These
areas, however, primarily housed secular residents. As a result
of these developments,
Bar-Ilan Street became a key artery for secular people traveling
through a largely
ultra-Orthodox neighborhood.
By the end of the 1970s, the first signs of a cultural–religious
struggle became evident.
Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath (commencing on Friday at sundown
and ending on
Saturday night), is considered by Jewish religious groups to be
an eternal covenant
between God and the Jewish people. For Orthodox Jews,
Shabbat is a day of rest during
which work (broadly defined to include automobile use) is
forbidden.
To honor (or protect) Shabbat, neighborhood ultra-Orthodox
groups sought to prevent
drivers from using Bar-Ilan Street, as well as other nearby roads
including Golda Meir

Boulevard (also known as the Ramot road), between sundown
on Friday and Saturday
night. The year 1988 saw the first signs of protest on Bar-Ilan
Street. At first, these were
mostly non-violent demonstrations by ultra-Orthodox Jews
seeking to close the road.
Their main motivation was a desire to prevent a violation of
Shabbat and protect their
religious way of life in the area from ‘external contamination’
(i.e. exposure to traffic)
while residents walked to the synagogues. Demonstrations
further escalated in 1991 after
the street was temporarily closed.
The battle over Bar-Ilan Street
Changes in municipal and national politics set the scene for an
escalating confrontation.
The 1993 city council elections and 1996 national elections, and
the power shift that
accompanied them, catalyzed the clash. A new minister of
Transport, Rabbi Itzahak Levi
(head of the national religious party HaMafdal), changed rules
accepted prior to his term.
A member of one public committee explained that ‘his actions
put into motion a process
that would eventually partly close the street for traffic on
Saturdays and Jewish holy
days’ (interview, August 2010).
The deep disagreement soon became a real battle. From a
secular Zionist point of
view, ultra-Orthodox actions lead Jerusalem towards becoming
a fundamentalist society
more akin to places like Iran and Saudi Arabia. According to
this perspective, closing

roads endangers human rights and freedom of travel. As a local
councilor explained,
‘closing the road dangerously blurs the boundaries of “state and
church”, ultimately
putting at risk the democratic nature of the state’ (interview,
August 2010). Conversely,
ultra-Orthodox Jews view secular actions as harassment of local
communities’ unique
way of life, denying them freedom of faith, and inflicting
sacrileges on Jerusalem as a
‘holy city’ and Israel as a Jewish state.
Against a backdrop of sometimes violent clashes, both sides
pursued a range of
strategies. A Meretz (Zionist left-wing party) councilor
described their protest tactics:
‘We organized car caravans that drove back and forth [along
Bar-Ilan Street]’ (interview,
July 2010). Another Meretz councilor added: ‘There were about
20 people involved
[driving the convoys]. It was like a demonstration. But then the
ultra-Orthodox got
stronger and started throwing stones. They became violent and
hurt people’ (interview,
July 2010).
A Meretz national leader saw the conflict as an opportunity, an
instrument for
bargaining with the ultra-Orthodox over rights:
The minority was the ultra-Orthodox. Their way of life was
such that it meant that others
cannot live with them in their neighborhoods. Jerusalem would
lose its liberal decision-making
context and culture . . . the idea [was] to have people trade off
one desire for another . . . it

[would] be used to open up other parts of Jerusalem, for
example [to introduce] public
transportation and entertainment [on Shabbat]’ (interview, July
2010).
From an ultra-Orthodox perspective, however, as a councilor for
Agudat Yisrael (an
ultra-Orthodox party) explains, until the late 1970s it was
Orthodoxy (including the
ultra-Orthodox) that was on the defensive, fighting to survive
after nearly being wiped
out by the Nazis in the second world war. However, ‘since the
late 1970s we are not
fighting to survive but fighting for our rights! It is the non-
religious who feel threatened
. . . they feel a threat that the seculars will disappear . . . [they]
fear they will lose their
neighborhoods . . . their fear is connected to hatred’ (interview,
August 2010).
A former non-profit director explained how the conflict
escalated: ‘On both sides two
extreme groups were setting the agenda — 100–200 people in
each camp. The
[ultra-]Orthodox relied in their action on rabbinical agreement
that did not stop the riots
and violent clashes . . . and on the secular side Meretz brought
in people from Tel Aviv
and from other parts of the city to demonstrate. In the name of

liberalism and democracy
they forced their way in and wanted to “free” the area from
ultra-Orthodox hold with no
compromise . . . The situation escalated out of all proportion to
reality’ (interview,
August 2010).
Reality and hidden agendas: What is this battle really about?
The battle reached a climax in the years 1996 and 1997,
resulting in a series of appeals
to the High Court of Justice. Two public committees were
established to examine the
situation and propose schemes that would put an end to the
deadlock. Following
the Zameret Committee’s recommendations, local authorities
made a decision to close
the street to traffic on Friday evenings and Jewish holy day eves
(from 18:30 to 21:00),
and on Saturdays and Jewish holy days (from 07:30 to 11:30
and from 17:00 to 20:30).
These prayer times were seen as flashpoints, when separation
would benefit all sides and
uphold public order. Although neither side felt satisfied with
this decision, it proved
effective in restoring order to the area.
The meaning of this battle varied considerably for the different
communities. For
some, the Bar-Ilan conflict was about appropriate uses of public
space in a city and
country where various alternative belief structures exist. As a
public space, a street
should not be the domain of one social group. For others, it was
about the role of space
in solidifying community identity and in essence creating

community. At another level,
the Bar-Ilan battle was a fight over neighborhoods, over whose
space was dominant. The
conflict thus represents a fight for neighborhood control
between the religious and the
secular. At a broader level, the battle was part of an ongoing
cultural war within
government and civil society over the definition of the Jewish
state.
An Orthodox national councilor drew attention to the use of
public space: ‘The issue
is who controls the street . . . who controls the public domain . .
. The public should be
able to drive through the street, it does not belong to the
neighborhood’ (interview,
August 2010). According to this view, the road is first and
foremost a battleground for
rival social groups advocating different values and ideas
regarding the use of public
space.
Yet for some the boundaries relate to more than physical spaces.
For some the battle
over the road marked a struggle to create psychological
boundaries, reinforce identity
and cohesion, and control the flow of people across socio-
cultural borders. The actual
battle was over territory broader than the road itself, as an
Agudat Yisrael (ultra-
Orthodox) councilor explained:
Bar-Ilan is a symbol of south Jerusalem becoming Orthodox
[ultra-Orthodox]. Roads in the
area were the first issue. Bar-Ilan was an old issue . . . the
borders are the real issue and problem

that needs to be solved. Bar-Ilan was a symbol for the battle
over Ramat Eshkol neighborhood
. . . a Bar-Ilan issue could be raised in other parts of the city
(interview, August 2010).
According to one prominent national-level planning official,
Haredi dominance was
bad for Jerusalem.
The Haredim are increasing. They are largely low income. This
hurts the tax base, continues a
cycle of decline in neighborhoods, precipitates neighborhood
change largely based on invasion
and success, [they] are always looking to [take over] other sites
(interview, November 2006).
A Jerusalem scholar echoed boldly that ‘people don’t want to
live in a city strangled
by the ultra-Orthodox’ (interview, July 2007).
Yet neighborhood control was a central issue. A Meretz
councilor suggested that the
issue of road control was part of a wider ultra-Orthodox
neighborhood strategy. ‘The
problem with the ultra-Orthodox is territory. Bar-Ilan is less
important . . . when
the religious [ultra-Orthodox] move in, they take over the
neighborhood’ (interview, July
2010). Much like deterministic models of urban ecology,

Jerusalem politics uses the
ideas of invasion and succession to describe the fundamental
incompatibility preventing
secular residents (plus religious Jews adhering to more
moderate interpretations of their
faith) and ultra-Orthodox fundamentalists from coexisting.
But the fight over Bar-Ilan Street can be situated in a culture
war that has broader
implications. As a land-use dispute over the use of public
property, the Bar-Ilan
disagreement over road access on Shabbat is a conflict over the
State of Israel’s
representation of that public. Note that the Zameret Committee,
whose decision was
driven by the aim that ‘no side should be able to declare
victory’, as reiterated to us by
its chairman Zvi Zameret (interview, July 2010), wanted the
supposed compromise to be
viewed as a concession to everyone (i.e. the public). From a
governance perspective, the
street signs erected later telling the public not to drive on the
road during Shabbat were
viewed by the authorities as a request rather than a demand,
although the threat of
violence remained for those refusing to comply (ibid.). Today,
the street is closed during
prayer times, and is avoided by most secular Jerusalemites on
Saturdays and holy days.
Now highways in the city bypass Bar-Ilan Street and other
closed roads and
neighborhoods. Ultra-Orthodox dominance in the area has
reached a critical point;
nobody challenges the notion that Bar-Ilan Street and its
surroundings are a part of an
‘ultra-Orthodox city’ within Jerusalem.

Secular Jerusalem’s right to this part of the city has been
effectively denied. The
ambivalence of the public decree that no side is victorious
reflects the national political
dynamics over the definition of Israel as a Jewish state,
something that is monitored
carefully by Jews around the globe. Conflict over this particular
location in Jerusalem has
local, national and potentially even international ramifications.
This battle over the right
for religious sanctity of place on Shabbat versus the right for
others to use their public
space whenever they want is a generic fight over Jerusalem.
This RTC is both
symbolically and materially reflective of the wider political
struggle over space and
society.
Whose Kotel?
The most enduring symbol for Jews worldwide is the Western
Wall (the HaKotel), a
retaining wall of the temple built by Herod, located within the
Old City. With the
partition following the 1948 war, the Old City became part of
Jordan. Israel’s lack of
access to the Kotel heightened Jewish emotionality over what
was known around the
world as the ‘Wailing Wall’, a term discredited when Israel
conquered the Old City
during the 1967 war.
Immediately after the Old City was captured, Israel destroyed
135 Arab homes
adjacent to the Kotel, making way for a plaza for Jews to visit
and to pray (Abowd,

2001). The Western Wall Heritage Foundation (henceforth HF)
was created in 1988 to
excavate tunnels to explore the archeology underneath the
Kotel; these tunnels are
considered the holiest aspect of the Kotel enterprise. In
response to popular demand for
non-Orthodox prayer spaces, Robinson’s Arch, an area adjacent
to the Kotel, has been
designated for non-Orthodox worship by Reform and
Conservative Jews. More recently,
renovation has occurred at another Kotel site deep in the
Muslim quarter, the Little Kotel.
Each spatial expansion has been viewed as an incursion upon
Palestinian territory, a
form of Israeli imperialism akin to occupation of the West
Bank. Israeli claims over
the continued redefinition of the Kotel have escalated tensions,
manifested as
demonstrations, violence, one intifada and threats of others. The
Kotel is the epicenter of
the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, and questions over ownership
and control have generated
a litany of chronic grievances.
For Israeli Jews the major problem between 1949 and 1967 was
access to the Western
Wall. The most urgent and important post-1967 task was
therefore securing access to the

Old City by rebuilding Israeli Jewish neighborhoods near the
Western Wall. As an Israeli
non-profit director explains, ‘All that matters is the Kotel; we
need unhindered access to
Jerusalem, not blocked and threatened. The importance of
Jerusalem is tied to being part
of the Kotel’ (interview, July 2008).
The Israeli government left control of the Temple Mount/Haram
al-Sharif (where
Islamic holy places are located, e.g. the Al-Aqsa Mosque and
Dome of the Rock) in the
hands of the Wakf.2 This produced a divided sovereignty
arrangement, although formally
Israel controls the entire area. In practice the Wakf controls the
Temple Mount while
Israel controls the Western Wall and access to the Temple
Mount. This arrangement
solidified the Temple Mount as a major contested ethno-national
political space.
According to the Kotel’s education director, 8 million people of
all faiths currently
visit the Kotel annually (interview, August 2010). Open 24
hours a day (in addition to an
online webcam facility), the Kotel is accessible at all times. Yet
this apparent
accessibility masks a deep conflict over how this site is used
and to whom it belongs. The
Kotel is a source of conflict between Orthodox and non-
Orthodox Jews, and between
men and women, a struggle which raises questions over the
constituency of the Kotel.
The Kotel has for 25 years been the focus of the efforts of a
non-profit organization

called Women of the Wall (WoW). WoW works to eliminate
differences between the
ways men and women are permitted to pray, and seeks to open
up the Kotel as an arena
for prayer and celebrations for non-Orthodox Jews. The primary
rules of the Kotel
prescribe what WoW leader Anat Hoffman calls ‘the three Ts’
of the wall: Torah (a part
of the Bible), Teffilah (prayer) and Tallit (Jewish prayer
shawls). Kotel rules follows
those of Orthodox Judaism, whereby women play a limited
(some would say a different)
role in the rites of Jewish prayer. Following these rules, women
and men at prayer (either
in an Orthodox synagogue or at the Kotel) are separated by a
wall called a Mechitza,
dividing the prayer space into two sections along gender lines.
Following Orthodox law, Kotel rules forbid women to hold or
read the Torah, the holy
scrolls comprising the Old Testament (handwritten in biblical
Hebrew on parchment).
Praying by women is intended to be largely silent or quiet;
women at prayer are usually
seen to be moving their lips only without being heard (Chesler
and Haut, 2003).
WoW has challenged these rules in several ways. First, it has
filed an appeal with the
Israeli Supreme Court, arguing that these rules are
unconstitutional. Although rulings
were initially in favor of WoW, later appeals by the state
reversed these decisions.
Second, WoW promotes civil disobedience. With each new
month, WoW comes to the
Kotel as a group to pray using methods which are in direct

violation of Orthodox rules
for women.3
A concession made by Kotel officials was to designate a prayer
space outside official
Kotel space, but adjacent to the Temple Mount; Robinson’s
Arch provides a beautiful
rocky backdrop and ample room to hold several ceremonies
simultaneously. Yet this
2 The Wakf is the Islamic trust responsible for administering
the Temple Mount/Haram al-Sharif.
3 In direct violation of Kotel regulations, WoW women come to
the Kotel with a Torah and Shofars (a
Shofar is a ram’s horn, blown to announce the beginning of the
new month and at New Year). They
wear Tallit, the prayer shawls. They pray out loud and sing. In
addition, several women wear Tefillin,
leather boxes containing written prayers strapped to the head
and other parts of the body,
challenging the convention that Tefillin are worn only by men.
concession is not viewed as a victory by WoW. They view this
as a form of segregation,
discriminating against both women and the Reform and
Conservative movements. They
want to be equals at the Kotel, not to be relegated out of sight.
WoW activities constitute

a form of open rebellion, one considered to be a violation of
Orthodox Jewish law and
the law of the State of Israel.4
WoW protest has also been the subject of violence (e.g. men
throwing chairs at the
women). One WoW gathering at the Kotel (at the beginning of a
new month, a time of
religious significance for Jews) took place against the backdrop
of a heavy police
presence (deployed on both the men’s and women’s sides of the
separation wall).
Orthodox men stood on chairs, hurling abuse as WoW members
prayed out loud (some
women in the group responded in kind). Non-participating
women attending prayers also
yelled at the WoW group. At the same time, male WoW
supporters sang loudly in
solidarity, trying to drown out the shouting of the ultra-
Orthodox men. Most of the WoW
group confined themselves to praying and singing as the
disruption went on around
them.5
This conflict raises two issues over rights to the Kotel. The first
issue is Kotel
governance. The second issue is whether the Kotel is a
religious, historical or cultural
site.
Kotel governance
For Israel, the Kotel is part of the nation state. Its operation is
funded by the government.
The HF, a non-profit government foundation, funds the digging
and maintenance of the

Kotel tunnels, a massive project involving archeological
excavations beneath the
structure and establishing the site as a national heritage site.
The Kotel is under the control of a board headed by the rabbi of
the Kotel
(Rav-HaKotel), nominated by a board of the Knesset (Israel’s
parliament) but ultimately
selected by a board of rabbis. According to the Kotel’s
education director: ‘The board
belongs to everyone [the public] and the board represents
everyone. Each board member
belongs to a different part of the government office it runs’
The Kotel board structure suggests that the government is
essentially running the
place. But government decision-making appears to be largely
pro-forma. According to
the Kotel’s education director: ‘Decisions are brought to the
board to vote on only when
there is consensus. If the majority votes and there is no
consensus, they wait until there
is consensus’ (ibid.). Since Rav-HaKotel is in charge of the
board and leads the process
of securing consensus, the site is effectively under rabbinical
control.
Rabbinical control of the Kotel is debated. One city councilor
viewed the site as
rabbinically dominated by the Orthodox: ‘The Kotel should not
be under rabbinical
jurisdiction; It should also involve the Diaspora [i.e. Jews not
living in Israel] as a
sophisticated way to bring in the Conservative and Reform
movements’ (interview,

August 2010). Another councilor saw control as the primary
issue: ‘With the Kotel, the
big issue is who is in charge. Should the Kotel be under
rabbinical authority or under the
City of Jerusalem?’ (interview, August 2010). According to
WoW leader Anat Hoffman:
‘The state has in effect privatized control over the Kotel to the
HF, that does as it wishes
with public funding’ (interview, August 2010).
4 WoW executive director Anat Hoffman was arrested in June
2010 for openly carrying a Torah at the
Kotel, and banned from the site for 30 days pending criminal
charges.
5 WoW protestors have taken to donning the prayer shawls
known as Tallit; Orthodox Judiaism forbids
women to wear (what are considered exclusively male) prayer
shawls. To enforce this, Kotel rules
forbid women from wearing a generic type of Tallit customarily
worn by men. To protest against this
restriction, WoW members have begun wearing this explicitly
forbidden type of Tallit. Arrests have
been made. Kotel management has begun screening women,
refusing access to those wearing these
garments.
Others thought rabbinical control was appropriate. According to
an Israeli policy

advisor, ‘The Kotel is a religious place and should be run by the
rabbis. [It] is not a
historical place but a Jewish place. So we have to obey the laws
of the rabbis’ (interview,
August 2010). Another city councilor regarded rabbinical
control as democratic because
the Orthodox are religious, while others are not: ‘In Israel, Jews
don’t have to be involved
in a Jewish community. The Kotel is a battle between the
religious and non-religious’
(interview, August 2010). Thus, justification for rabbinical
control can depend on
whether a person views the Kotel as a religious, national or
historical place.
Other opinions also suggest that the conflict is viewed as a
struggle between religious
and non-religious people. According to a former high-ranking
planning official: ‘In the
Kotel, to see women wearing Tallit (prayer shawl) is a
sacrilege. The battle of the Kotel
is seen in a normative framework. It is seen as an illicit
expression against religion, like
burning a flag or wearing swastika’ (interview, July 2010). A
city councilor dismissed any
Diaspora right to Kotel control. He asked: ‘Would the Diaspora
movement come to Israel
and die over it? Americans have no right to complain about the
Kotel . . . [It] is my
synagogue. It is an Orthodox place’ (interview, August 2010).
One left-wing Knesset
leader, however, declared that the Kotel belonged to the public:
The Kotel is both a national monument and a public space. It is
not a private space over which
certain people have control. For example, a man may find it

offensive that a woman is wearing
a Tallit or carrying a Torah. But it is not his Kotel per se. It is
shared public space. It belongs
to more than him. It is not a private synagogue or a room . . .
The Kotel may not necessarily be
religious. But it is an important part of self-identity of a Jew
(interview, July 2010).
Although WoW is leading the battle, the Kotel struggle is
perceived in non-gender
terms. According to leader Anat Hoffman: ‘Men do not want to
be separate but equal.
The rules for women are not about religion. They are about
territory and power’
(interview, August 2010). The rabbi of a Reform synagogue
claimed that the battle for
the Kotel is a national issue: ‘The Kotel is not a gender issue. It
went from a secular issue
to one of the Haredim . . . Orthodox control of the Kotel is
absolute . . . They are turning
the Kotel into an Orthodox synagogue. There is an erosion of
the Kotel as a national
institution’ (interview, August 2010).
Ultimately the issue of gender remains paramount because
gender differences are
built into Orthodox Judaism. At prayer, women and men have
very circumscribed roles.
The Kotel’s reproduction of the Orthodox synagogue reproduces
these gender
differences. This was the underlying meaning of one city
councilor who argued that
Orthodoxy at the Kotel embraced all Jews because ‘[o]nly
Orthodoxy is acceptable to
everyone’ (interview, August 2010).

The stakes of this battle also operate at a larger spiritual scale.
Some link the Kotel to
the prospects for the coming of the Messiah (the Jewish savior)
and the eventual building
of a third temple. According to one city councilor: ‘The Kotel is
the most important place
in the Jewish nation. It is the heart and soul . . . it is where the
Temple will be built after
the Messiah comes (interview, August 2010). In this sense,
WoW women’s ‘sacrilege’
threatens the coming of the Messiah (naturally the most
important event in many
Orthodox circles).
Women of the Wall: symbol or movement?
Although WoW is about women, it is not a generic feminist
movement. It is focused on
one issue: women’s ability to pray on a par with men. As a
women’s organization it
challenges a power arrangement that privileges men. It
challenges Orthodoxy’s
interpretation of what the Kotel is and how it should be used,
and fights for women’s
right to pray according to their belief. WoW represents a
challenge to Orthodoxy by
embracing the rights of Jewish women of many denominations
(Orthodox, Conservative,

Reform and indeed secular), encouraging women to participate
as equals in prayer. Thus
WoW sets a broader challenge to the State of Israel than simply
issues of gender and
religion alone.
Yet the Kotel battle is framed in non-gender terms as affirmed
by one Knesset leader:
‘The Kotel is not a historical site. It is connected to what it
means to be a Jew. The
questions are this. How is the Kotel part of one’s identity of
being a Jew? How is the
Kotel important to the nation of Jews and Israel? What is the
significance of the Kotel to
the past, present and future of the Jewish people?’ (interview,
August 2010). As put by
WoW’s leader, ‘we need to understand that the Kotel is not the
thing. The question is
what is Judaism . . . The goal is to dismantle the partition [the
Mechitza]. This is the
reproduction of sexism for the entire Jewish world’ (interview,
August 2010).
The Kotel is considered one of the most holy and significant
places for Jews, both
historically and spiritually. Israel’s control of the Kotel
represents victory in recent
conflicts with Palestinians and Arabs, conflicts that continue
within the Old City over the
Temple Mount, the tunnels, residential mobility of Jews into the
Muslim Quarter and the
destruction of Palestinian housing to facilitate access to the
Kotel in the first place.6
With the recognition of the significance of the Kotel to world
Jewry and its symbolic

value to Israel, WoW’s latest strategy is to mobilize Jewish
sentiment internationally.
Although it is a local struggle over the right to Jerusalem, the
Kotel conflict is being
advocated as a struggle that transcends place. Recognizing the
need for a broader
constituency, WoW’s leader affirmed that it has ‘gone
international’ with a website and
petition campaign (interview, August 2010). WoW use this
exposure to fight the
‘degradation of women in the public sphere’, manifested as
gender segregation in
Jerusalem’s health clinics, waiting rooms and public transport
(Women of the Wall,
2011). The battle over the Kotel is ‘ground zero’ in the fight for
women (Orthodox and
secular) to be able to live, work, travel, pray and play in their
city and their country.
Like the Bar-Ilan conflict, the Kotel struggle has been
adjudicated in a way that
rabbinical decision-makers view as a compromise, with the
provision of an alternative
gender-neutral prayer location (Robinson’s Arch). Aided by a
negative ruling from the
Israeli Supreme Court, WoW’s challenge to Orthodoxy has been
decided by a board that
is an arm of the government, one that is politically in thrall to
Orthodoxy. In this way, the
Kotel is similar to a private shopping mall or other development
incorporating open
space. A mall (comprising open space within a private
development) or the Kotel may
have the appearance of a public space. Land use, however, is
controlled by private
interests that rule in the name of the state. The state

(Orthodoxy) is sovereign over the
Kotel since private property rights rule over other spaces. While
the fight for the right to
the Kotel is a local struggle, its resolution is neither treated nor
recognized as a local
issue.
The Orient House: an ethno-political fight
The Orient House (OH) is a beautiful building in East
Jerusalem, not far from the
well-known American Colony Hotel. It was built in the early
twentieth century by
the Husseini family as their place of residence. A long-
established Jerusalemite family,
the Husseinis have become the Palestinian equivalent of the
Kennedy family in the USA.
Their continued civic and political commitment to the cause of
Palestinian national
identity has assured them an iconic leadership position down the
years.
The family’s position stems from a bloodline which is believed
to trace back to the
Prophet’s first followers, thus granting them a political and
religious powerbase. In the
6 Some would express this differently, as the deepening of
colonization and occupation of Palestinian
territories.

1930s Muhammad Haj Amin al-Husseini, Palestine’s most
senior Islamic cleric (the
Mufti), led the struggle for a separate Palestinian nation state.
The Palestinians
challenged their British rulers (then the region’s superpower),
the emerging Jewish
Zionist regime and the British-backed Hashemite leadership —
descendants of a family
which once ruled Mecca (Friedland and Hecht, 2000).7 Despite
their efforts, the 1948
Arab–Israeli war ended with the establishment of Israel,
occupation of the West Bank
(including East Jerusalem) and annexation by Jordan, and
ultimately the failure to
establish a Palestinian nation state. Between the years 1948 and
1950 the OH was used
as the headquarters of the United Nations Relief and Works
Agency (UNRWA), and was
later turned into a luxury hotel. Following the 1967 war and the
dramatic geopolitical
shifts that followed (most notably Israeli annexation of East
Jerusalem), the OH ceased
to operate as a hotel.
The rise of the Orient House as a political center
The rise of the Orient House as a national Palestinian institution
is thanks to the activities
of Faisal Husseini, an active Palestine Liberation Organization
(PLO) leader who
became the Palestinian spokesperson representing the East
Jerusalem community. In the
1980s, he created the Arab Studies Center/Society, a non-
governmental organization
affiliated with the PLO and located at the OH. The Arab Studies

Center was established
as a research institution and archive to record Palestinian
historical and cultural data
(Orient House, 2010). Books, newspaper articles and documents
were catalogued and
saved, creating the foundations of a national archive and
strengthening Palestinian
national identity in East Jerusalem. The Arab Studies Center
was located at his ancestral
home, the Orient House.
The reopening of the OH as a political institution followed the
1991 Madrid peace
talks, and resulted from US pressure. Since then, it has emerged
as an imperative
Palestinian institution — the headquarters of the Palestinian
negotiating team (Nasrallah,
2005). According to Abed Husseini (son of the late Faisal
Husseini): ‘It became the PLO
headquarters in Jerusalem . . . The Palestinian flag was placed
there in 1993 . . . [Faisal]
Husseini was made the Palestinian representative to negotiate
over Jerusalem’ (interview,
July 2008). The OH became the place where Jerusalem’s
Palestinian leadership,
officially representing the Palestinian people, received heads of
state. Abed Husseini
further explains its importance: ‘It used to be the house of state
for the Palestinian people
in the event that there would be Palestinian statehood’
(interview, August 2010). The OH
is considered the bridgehead for Palestinian nationalism in
Jerusalem. According to the
1993 Oslo Accords, a resolution on Jerusalem was postponed
for 5 years in anticipation
that negotiations would proceed during this period. In the

interim, Oslo decreed that the
PLO could not operate out of East Jerusalem. By intent, East
Jerusalem was to be
temporarily outside of Palestinian political influence (i.e. the
PLO) and was left to be
ruled according to Israeli law and interests. Nonetheless, civic
and political activity
continued at the OH, under a degree of European Union
protection. In effect, the OH
remained the Palestinian political center of East Jerusalem.
During the second intifada (underway from the year 2000), the
Israeli government
headed by Ariel Sharon closed the OH. The closure of the OH
followed a Palestinian
suicide bombing, amidst claims that its financing was connected
to the OH. Israel
claimed evidence of money transfers from the Palestinian
Authority to the OH, in
violation of the Oslo Accords. The closure of the OH, in effect
a move against political
activity in East Jerusalem, dealt an unexpected blow to
Palestinian sovereignty in the
city. A Palestinian leader explains: ‘When the OH closed, it
came as a surprise. The OH
was one of the free places . . . a place for talking . . . one of the
few places still receiving
Israelis and having discussions’ (interview, August 2010).
7 The Hashemite power center later evolved, taking the form of
a separate independent state — the
Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan (east of the River Jordan).

The closure of the OH in 2001 was the opening shot of an
Israeli policy directed at
limiting Palestinian political activities in East Jerusalem and
securing greater control
over the area. As described by a Palestinian activist:
They also closed at approximately the same time several other
institutions [in East Jerusalem]
including the Chamber of Commerce, the Club Union, the Youth
Club Union, the Palestinian
Union for Micro-economic Development, the Prisoners’ Club
and the High Council for
Tourism. The rationale was that the institutions were part of the
Palestinian political instruction
At first Palestinians tried to resist the closure and organized
demonstrations. However,
in this power game Israel had the upper hand. According to
another Palestinian leader:
The OH was closed. The Israeli government took down the
Palestinian flag and put up an Israeli
flag. The entire area was closed down and they put up huge
cement blocks. The local
Palestinian leadership decided at that point that the important
thing is to let the urban quarter
live and not put it constantly under siege and so decided to stop
the demonstrations against the
closure (interview, July 2008).
Another option for challenging the forced closure was to use

legal procedures
available to Palestinians within the Israeli judicial system. Use
of the courts has been a
measure often employed by Palestinians in recent years to
pursue civic justice over issues
such as land-use controls, checkpoints and the location of the
wall/fence/security
barrier.8 In the case of the Orient House, Palestinians were
reluctant to use the courts.
One explanation for this was Palestinians’ unwillingness to
recognize Israeli courts’
legitimacy. By appealing to the Israeli system, Palestinians
would be giving implicit
recognition to the right of that system to rule (the same logic
explains why most
Jerusalemite Palestinians do not take part in municipal
elections).
East Jerusalemite Palestinians were also worried that legal
defeat in respect of the
Orient House would jeopardize the status of other neighborhood
institutions in the same
vicinity (a local school, an orphanage and a theater).
Ultimately, Palestinian leaders in
East Jerusalem decided not to mount a legal challenge to the OH
closure and called off
all demonstrations against the Israeli action.
A Palestinian national symbol
Currently the Husseini Foundation continues to work from
Ramallah, outside of East
Jerusalem. The OH building remained closed until August 2010.
At that point, the UN
reopened its offices in the building, operating from behind
locked gates.

What is the OH today? Is it on the agenda? Does it retain any
power or influence?
According to a Palestinian who worked at the OH, it was first
and foremost a bridge,
representing a dialogue between Israelis and Palestinians. For
Palestinians it is a
powerful symbol, part of the national identity and an instrument
to mobilize people
around the dream of an independent Palestinian state whose
capital would be East
Jerusalem. A former Israeli politician argues that ‘[t]he OH
played out its role, but did
help to place at central stage the real issue — East Jerusalem
for Palestinians and the Old
City for Israel’ (interview, August 2010).
Is the OH today a relic of the past? For many the OH retains
symbolic power. A
Meretz city councilor claims that: ‘The OH is also a symbol of
the state-to-be. The fear
of what it represented was greater than the fear of what it was in
reality . . . The [Israeli]
8 In 2003, the Israeli government initiated the construction of a
physical obstacle along the perimeter
of Israel adjacent to the West Bank. Israel refers to this as a
fence or security barrier. Palestinians
call it a wall. The goals and effects of the wall/fence/security
barrier constitute a topic of
considerable controversy and debate.

government wants to make the point that there is nothing to talk
about, so there is no OH’
(interview, July 2010). Following this view, the OH as a
Palestinian institution embodies
the struggle for political rights and for recognition. A local
councilor of the National
Religious Party explains that the OH represents a challenge to
Israel’s rule in the city.
I am against the OH. National rights should only be given to
Israel, not to Palestine. They are
using [OH] to undermine Israeli sovereignty . . . If there is an
OH and it exists politically, it is
almost equal to saying that East Jerusalem is the capital of the
Palestinian state. The OH is very
important to the political future of Israel. The OH is a symbol
for Palestinian sovereignty
From the perspective of Israeli governance over East Jerusalem,
the OH could not be
reopened because it represents a threat to Israeli interests in a
‘united Jerusalem’
(Amirav, 2007). Palestinians retained their hold on the OH as a
unifier of Palestinian
interests. In a speech at the Popular National Conference for
Jerusalem, one Palestinian
leader reported how he called for Ehud Olmert (then Israeli
prime minister) to reopen the
OH as the Jerusalem base for ‘getting people to talk to each
other’ (interview, August
2010):

Four hundred people were in the room and began stamping their
fists and their feet to reopen
the OH. There was something important about the OH. After
seven years of closure, there is
still power to this place. It has retained the power of unifying
the Palestinian identity (ibid.).
Ultimately, however, reopening the OH was considered to be a
secondary issue to the
Palestinian demand for Israel to halt its continuing development
of settlements in the
West Bank. The fear was that, politically, Israel could use
opening the OH as a bargaining
chip in lieu of halting settlement development.
The right to the OH as an East Jerusalem political hub is
seemingly dormant for now.
But adamant positions to either open it or keep it closed
indicate the extent of the residual
power of the OH as a tool for political expression and
unification around East Jerusalem.
The value of the OH, albeit not in physical use, remains potent.
This professed right to
the OH and its explicit denial represent two connected
struggles; Palestinians’ right to
claim Jerusalem as their capital, and their right to national
sovereignty. This battle is
overtly rooted in this claimed right to this space and place as
part of the historical legacy
of Palestinians. Israeli denial of these rights partially serves to
reinforce the legitimacy
of this claim. The absence of overt conflict over the OH is not a
resolution of this conflict;
it reflects the current Israeli–Palestinian political dynamics
which remain fluid and
subject to change.

Conclusion
This article introduces the role of culture and identity to the
growing debate on the RTC.
With the growth of urban diversity, the role of identity and
belief structures is becoming
increasingly central to urban conflict. And it is in divided cities,
already defined by
conflict, that they become more spatially manifested. Examining
three case studies
of conflict in Jerusalem, this article looks at the role of religion,
gender and
ethno-nationalism in spatial conflict.
The long-running and sometimes violent struggle over
automobile use at weekends on
Bar-Ilan Street was between religious residents believing that
car use constituted
sacrilegious desecration and non-residents believing that
religion should not prohibit
their access to public space. After a series of clashes between
the parties, the state
mediated and imposed what it believed to be a balanced
compromise. On the one hand,
local religious communities reinforced psychological
boundaries, identity and cohesion
over their neighborhood. On the other hand, democratic values
such as freedom of
movement and the right to public space were symbolically
upheld.

The continuing and sometimes violent struggle over rules of
worship at the Kotel —
between the ‘Women of the Wall’ who want religious freedom
and see the site as public
space, and the ultra-Orthodox who treat the Kotel as their
private synagogue —
constitutes our second case study. Religious men in charge of
the Kotel (with the backing
of the state) characterize these women and their supporters as
extremists whose demands
should not be taken seriously. At the same time, gender
skirmishes have popped up in
Jerusalem and elsewhere in the country. Women have begun to
challenge rules in
ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods over how they may dress (laws of
modesty) and where
they may walk (on the opposite side of the street from men).
They are also challenging
established conventions over where women may sit on public
buses used primarily by
religious people by refusing to sit in their place — at the back.
While these incidents are
not widespread, they receive a great deal of public attention.
The seemingly dormant yet still incendiary struggle over the
closure of the Orient
House is our third case study. The state of Israel is the
prominent actor in attempting to
dissolve and remove this Palestinian national symbol from East
Jerusalem. Palestinian
business and political leaders have increasingly left East
Jerusalem for Ramallah which
has become the de facto capital of the West Bank. Closing the
OH appears to have been

a preliminary step in claiming this part of East Jerusalem (that
appeared to clearly belong
to its Palestinian residents). On a house-by-house basis,
Palestinians’ expressed right to
Jerusalem has been challenged, denigrated and denied, as their
everyday life, their very
footprints in the Jerusalem municipality, are being effectively
erased.
In the case of all three struggles, culture and identity politics
are a major source of
conflict. The RTC is not expressed as a broad-based political
claim, but as a fragmented
right to places over which different stakeholders feel they can
exercise control. In the
form of organized self-interest, some groups claim their rights
over others to different
parts of the city. However, power wielding as in the case of the
Orient House, women’s
prayer activity at the Kotel or apparent compromises regarding
car usage on Bar-Ilan
Street have not eliminated or even dampened enthusiasm for
continued battles in
Jerusalem. In an urban context of growing divisions, distrust
and competition, political
claims operate as starting points for further dividing and slicing
up the city. This is
especially true for divided cities where the nation state has an
important role in shaping
space and manipulating political power (Brenner and Elden,
2009). In all three case
studies, the Israeli nation state has been actively involved as a
major agent, providing the
political criteria or content on which spatial decisions are
adjudicated.

Placed in the context of the increasingly diverse social structure
of cities, the three
case studies may also be used to highlight some drawbacks to
the RTC concept. As cities
become more socially and spatially diverse, it is no wonder that
the RTC idea has so
much appeal. The RTC concept gives succor to the aspirational
urban maxim that the city
belongs to everyone and should be a tool for authentic
community expression. The RTC
has been taken up and celebrated as a vehicle for expressing
community identity. This is
a positive assessment of the appeal of the RTC concept as an
abstract idea. But the RTC
was constructed as a political tool for radical and positive
change. The RTC was intended
to be used to empower communities to take control of space as a
tool for community
liberation. Communities would have clarity over the role of
space in repressing
community life, and could use their right to space as a tool for
upending repressive
elements of urban life. But the RTC can be a tool for almost
anything when communities
organize for control and challenge the existing order.
In the struggle over the use of Bar Ilan Street on Shabbat, ultra-
Orthodox religious
precepts prevailed over secularism. In WoW’s fight for equality
of religious expression
for women at the Kotel, ultra-Orthodox gender rules continued
to be upheld, backed by
the Israeli government and upheld by the law. The Orient
House, a powerful symbol of
Palestinian Jerusalem, remains closed. Should these victories be
celebrated as the RTC?

The answer is not so clear.
In the name of community identity and self-determination, the
idea of community
control is seductive. The RTC has a ‘feel-good factor’ when
applied to community
movements that seems right and justified. But what about the
possible RTC when it is in
contrast to democratic values? In a divided city, more than in
any other city, conflicts over
space and its everyday usage pose a challenge for the
simultaneous use of space by
multiple users within a democratic society. The RTC is an
approach which advocates the
use of space by all, active participation in defining the meaning
of space and challenging
the status quo. In this capacity the RTC will generate struggles
and conflict. These
conflicts will escalate as communities continue to clash over
cultural values and social
identity, especially in the highly contested context of a divided
city. Whether these
struggles will have positive or negative outcomes will depend
on how claims to space are
politically adjudicated. Nevertheless, even in cases of
suppression by an authoritarian
regime, the RTC is not an end in itself, but a ‘wakeup call’ for
democratic forces to

endorse participation, challenge existing inequalities and
injustice, and seek to repair the
city.
Gillad Rosen ([email protected]), Department of Geography,
The Hebrew
University of Jerusalem, Mount Scopus, Jerusalem 91905, Israel
and Anne B. Shlay
([email protected]), Department of Sociology, Gladfelter Hall
7th floor, Temple
University, 1005 West Berks St., Philadelphia, PA 19122, USA.
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