UNESCO's recognition, the city government of Xi'an has started incorporating Silk Road-based cultural narratives and symbols in local urban planning. From the campaign of "building a reputable historical and cultural city" (jianshe lishi wenhua mingcheng) to the BRI development plan (2017-2050), Xi'an has been showcased as the posterchild of both historical and contemporary versions of the Silk Road. For example, the legacy of the Tang capital Chang'an—the vibrant hubs of trade and cultural changes on the historic Silk Road—has been referenced to prove that Xi'an is capable of developing into an economically and culturally competitive global city (National Development and Reform Commission, 2021).

Among different sites associated with the historic Silk Road, the Muslim Quarter and its history of culture-based urban development have been especially crucial for understanding different types of city makers within the minority community and their involvement in creating the multicultural discourse of the Silk Road in Xi'an. Located in the historic downtown, the Muslim Quarter is not only the home of roughly 30,000 Hui residents, the densely populated area of approximately one square mile is also frequented by an increasing number of non-local and local visitors that peak at 100,000 during holidays. Due to its popularity with tourists and prime location, the Muslim Quarter has long been the target of the Xi'an city government's urban renewal plans. Since the early 1990s, urban renewal plans in the historic downtown have been aimed at featuring a consistent architectural style, including representative elements such as maroon façades and golden roof tiles that invoke visual characteristics suggesting the landscape of the Tang capital Chang'an. The city government, especially the urban planning and tourism development bureaus, has long seen the Muslim Quarter as an "eyesore" for its "unhygienic, disorderly, and less developed" environment (zang, luan, cha) (Gillette, 2000). Notably, government authorities find the Muslim Quarter incompatible with the vision of beautifying the historic downtown in the Tang style, especially the mix of low-rise residential buildings and shops built in various architectural styles. The Muslim Quarter's 'disorderly' look, along with the lack of infrastructure, including running water and electricity, has made it a constant target for demolition. The city government in Xi'an has already demolished and replaced some of the streets in the Muslim Quarter regardless of its popularity with tourists and locals due to the affordable and flavorful halal food and the unique Chinese-Islamic architectural style. For instance, in 2005, the original food street, Barley Market Street (damaishi jie), was replaced by an officially designated food street in another part of the Muslim Quarter. Residential and commercial networks surrounding the original food street were disrupted due to the demolition and relocating of residents in the renewed areas. The new food street was created by demolishing older houses and shops, with new design features such as light grey tiled roofing and walls as well as crimson wood-like pillars. This redevelopment aligned well with the city government's vision of the Tang capital's architectural landscape. Despite echoing the historic downtown's overall theming, the Muslim Quarter has not been included by the city government as part of the city's official narratives of the Silk Road. This was partially due to the lack of official recognition by UNESCO in the Chang'an-Tianshan project. Given the ongoing tensions between the Hui community and the
local government over urban renewal issues, local government authorities have been
wary of their delicate relationship between the Hui community and hence intention-
ally shying away from featuring Islam and the Muslim community as a primary
component of the Silk Road-based heritage. However, the Hui community does not
avoid the Silk Road discourse but actively engages it to promote the Hui's crucial
significance to the Silk Road's heritage making.

11.3 The Silk Road as a Multi-Scalar Heritage on the Ground

Silk Road-based heritage, especially the visualization of the historic Silk Road, is
crucial for city makers, including both local government authorities and members of
the Hui Muslim community, in articulating their own definitions of diversity. For
instance, a commonly used image in the discourses of the Silk Road is that of a
group of traveling Arab and Persian merchants. It is widely used in not only promo-
tional materials of governmentally sponsored cultural and tourism programs, but
also in commercials where the Silk Road is packaged as a consumable version of
the past. In both governmental and non-governmental narratives, Arab and Persian
visitors aspire to learn more about the Chinese civilization that they admire from
afar. Hence, they travel all the way from far and deserted lands to China, which
highlights the imperial China's crucial role in facilitating cultural exchanges in the
local narratives of the Silk Road-based heritage. In this context, diversity is largely
framed through the influence of non-Han Chinese groups along the Silk Road
routes. This is exemplified in the governmentally commissioned group sculpture of
the Silk Road in Xi'an. The group sculpture features a caravan of three Persian and
three Tang merchants in Xi'an, China (see Fig. 11.1). Compared to their Tang-era
Chinese counterparts, Persian merchants are depicted with distinct physical fea-
tures. Their exotic physical features—including their facial hair and deep-set eyes,
accompanied by their different sartorial styles like turbans and skullcaps—are
visual cues that indicate that the Silk Road is an ensemble of diverse peoples and
cultures coexisting and learning from each other. As part of the Silk Road ensemble,
these Arab and Persian merchants signify the inclusiveness and open-mindedness
along these historic trade routes within the geographies of the Silk Road, especially
cultural and economic exchanges at crucial anchors such as the Tang capital of
Chang'an. These merchants' differences from Han Chinese are crucial contribu-
tions to the discourse of diversity in visual representations of the Silk Road. Rather
than being potential threats to the Chinese empire, the Persian travelers and the
camels—both being non-native to China—are necessary to setting the scene of
adventuring in unknown and exotic lands along the Silk Road. The wide range of
natural landscapes such as deserts and the incorporating of foreign men and non-
native animals represent a form of tamable unfamiliarity that helps to champion
China's victory in conquering the harsh terrains that constitute the Silk Road. For
the Chinese artists, these figures' unfamiliarity and distance from the Han
<figure><img src="image_34.png" /><figcaption>**Fig. 11.1** One of the Persian merchants featured in the group sculpture of the Silk Road in Xi'an, China</figcaption></figure>

Chinese-dominant society do not imply unknown threats and dangers unless they are situated in a China-centered narrative of the historic Silk Road.

Similarly, for narratives at the national level, the Silk Road's multicultural heritage draws on the traveling Muslim merchants to specifically promote food-based heritage. Halal food, especially halal versions of regional Chinese cuisines, has become instrumental for the Chinese state to promote the diversity of regional cuisines in China. For instance, spices including cumin, cloves, and cardamon are often seen as products brought by Arab and Persian merchants to China over the Silk Road's territorial route. This imagination of the historic Silk Road, especially the romanticization of the Silk Road as peaceful routes filled with precious goods such as spices and silk, has also been translated into the contemporary context. Hui Muslim cuisine, as a part of China's halal food culture, has never been portrayed as separate from Chinese cuisine in official Silk Road discourse. In contrast, their food's differences in ingredients and flavor profiles are part and parcel of the multicultural constituents of the Silk Road that takes on cultural influences from elsewhere while being deeply rooted in the Chinese culture. The Hui Muslims, who practice these culinary traditions as part of their daily lives, have thus been included as part of China's multicultural history of the Silk Road. For the Hui Muslims, to be included as part of China's multicultural heritage of the Silk Road is to confine their differences from the Han Chinese, especially their faith in Islam, within the context of food, as an example of many forms of non-Chinese cultural influences brought by other parts of the Silk Road. Thus, among other Muslim minorities in China, the Hui can only remain "unfamiliar" and "different" from the Han majority if their
differences are expedient for the Chinese state. For many Han majorities in Xi'an,
the Hui Muslims are familiar and not dangerous primarily in settings that involve
preparing and consuming food. Hui Muslims thus gain visibility in curated spaces,
where they are portrayed as descendants of Arab and Persian merchants, preserving
cultural traditions shaped by ancient Chinese, Arabian, and Persian influences. For
example, Hui Muslims in Xi'an have been featured by the Chinese Central Television
in the well-received food heritage documentary *A Bite of China* (She jian shang de
zhong guo). Hui Muslim men, in particular, have been predominantly featured as
both chefs, service crew members, and patrons in some Hui-owned restaurants in
the Muslim Quarter. The Hui chefs are often cast alone in the kitchen (Fig. 11.2),
quietly preparing the ingredients and focusing on the craft of achieving the balanced
flavors and textures in dishes such as the mutton soup with flatbread. Much like their
historic counterparts from the group sculpture, the Hui Muslims as chefs are
assigned with specific visual cues for their characters. Rather than being portrayed
like the other urbanites such as tourists and local visitors, the Muslim Quarter's Hui
Muslims tend to be less fashionable in their styles but mostly dressing in plain and
practical outfits mostly for manual labor and house chores. A typical male Hui chef
often appears slightly chubby, with white skullcaps and plain colored outfits cov-
ered with heavily washed aprons. Even when the Hui chefs are featured in the docu-
mentary as key protagonists, they are often part of the overarching narratives on the
Halal food in the Muslim Quarter as China and the Silk Road's evidence of diversity
and inclusivity. Their personal narratives predominantly surround how they find
their passion for perfecting the traditional recipes of the Hui cuisine as part of their
responsibilities to pass on their family traditions and preserve their Hui heritage.
While the Hui Muslims do not seem to be very distant from the Han Chinese as they
are Chinese speaking and well versed in the local society's protocols, they remain
cast by the official narrative as being different and exotic due to their compatibility

<figure><img src="image_35.png" /><figcaption>Fig. 11.2 A Hui chef from the Muslim Quarter in Xi'an in "A Bite of China"</figcaption></figure>
with presenting a multicultural heritage of the Silk Road. In addition to Hui chefs,
other Hui residents in the Muslim Quarter featured in the documentary as primarily
customers who enjoy their comfort food with friends and family. This portrayal
overlaps with a Han-centered ethnic hierarchy, where non-Han minorities such as
the Hui are often compared to the Han as being less sophisticated. It also overlaps
with the local non-Muslims' gendered stereotypes of the Hui in Xi'an. In particular,
Hui men are often perceived as less educated and not willing to engage in jobs
beyond their "traditional" occupations in the food industry. Their expertise in cook-
ing and running food-related business is interpreted as "backwardness" that pre-
vents them from being more integrated into the Han-dominant society. The Hui's
unfamiliarity, while being presented as assets of the Silk Road's diversity in official
discourses of the Silk Road at the national and international levels, remains being
predominantly shaped by the Han majority. This can thus be captured by a common
derogatory saying that goes, "Their food is palatable. Their words are not quite
there yet." ("Fan haochi, hua nanting.") The second part of the expression touches
on not only the Hui words and phrases that are not easily understood by non-Hui
people, but also the gap between the Hui community's interest and the Han-dominant
society. Such narratives have also been prevalent in cases associated with the local
city government's plan to implement urban renewal projects in the historic down-
town district. Hui community's members have been resisting the city government's
plan to demolish their residential area for being "dilapidated and lacking in suffi-
cient infrastructure." These so-called "average looking" Hui Muslims and their
gatherings have thus become a threat to the local government's authority in this
context. In this light, in spite of the Hui community's contribution to the city's tour-
ism development, they remain excluded from the city government's process of
designing specific ways of presenting cultural diversity in a Silk Road city like Xi'an.

Lastly, the Hui community’s various members participate in the city making pro-
cess differently. Their varied ways of city making can be seen in their approaches to
promoting cultural diversity in the Silk Road discourse. The differences lie in how
much the Hui community’s members engage the national and local governments’
official discourses according to their own interests. For the elite members of the Hui
community, they actively participate in endorsing the city government’s agenda on
branding diversity as part of the Silk Road city plan. Ranging from merchants to
ethnically Hui civil servants in various governmental bureaus at provincial and
municipal levels, the Hui community’s elite members are well-versed in the official
narratives of the Silk Road, especially the city government’s vision of using the Silk
Road as a cultural resource to stand out in its inter-urban competition with other
cities. They thus approach diversity along the official lines without compromising
their own interests in showcasing the Hui heritage differently from the more Han-
centric perspective on the Silk Road. Rather than solely highlighting the non-
Chinese origins of the Silk Road-based heritage, Hui elites anchor their own
heritage, especially their distinctions from the Han-based cultural practices, in the
place making of Xi’an. Notably, the Hui heritage’s unique characteristics, specifi-
cally the integration of cultural influences from Muslim communities in Central and
West Asia with the local Chinese cultural practices, are presented as the outcome of
“planting the seeds in the compatible soil and climate (Tianshi dili)” (Interview 2016). Seeing the Tang imperial capital as representing the ideal conditions where the Hui heritage started aligns well with the city government’s interests of branding Xi’an as an indispensable place along the Silk Road. This approach is especially prevalent among Hui businesspeople, who engage the Silk Road’s diversity discourse on cultural exchanges in the context of food and beverages industry. Emerging halal gelato-style ice cream parlors and traditional Hui pastry shops in the Muslim Quarter have heavily appropriated the notions of fusing Chinese traditions and non-Chinese influences. They not only refer to the Tang dynasty as a temporal framing of their food’s diverse cultural origins, they also see the importance of highlighting the Tang capital’s crucial role in shaping the unique flavors and culinary approaches. As Sulayman Ma, owner of the most popular halal ice cream shops, indicates, they were initially inspired by the history of consuming shaved ice-based desserts during summer days in the Tang dynasty. Rather than only linking ice cream, especially gelato, to Western countries such as Italy, Mr. Ma and his team decided to showcase the deep cultural roots in Xi’an, especially the culinary influences from cultures and communities outside China as the result of the Silk Road. Mr. Ma sees Hui’s ancestries from Arabia and Persia as their Silk Road-based heritage, recognizing their capacity for bridging cultural differences by turning them into inspirations for culinary creativities (Interview 2016). “If our ancestors can make a classic Persian soup suitable for the local appetites back then, we can definitely see us Hui people making ice cream more suitable for those who are more comfortable with conventional Chinese desserts,” Ma claimed when explaining why the Hui heritage allows for more creativity and potentially more business opportunities. His vision overlaps with the local government’s portrayal of Muslims as foreign and exotic travelers. In this light, Halal ice cream owned by the Hui represents the results of cultural exchanges, specifically in the origins of the food and its exotic ingredients and techniques brought by Arab and Persian traders to Chang’an. The marketing of the Halal gelato-style ice cream also draws on the Silk Road-based framing by connecting it to the historically recorded Tang dessert called “Bing Lao.” Ma’s example of branding a halal ice cream as casting light on the past reflects a common approach of city making engaged by the Hui elites. Specifically, the Hui elites justify the Hui’s non-Chinese ancestry as fitting in a multicultural Silk Road city like Xi’an. Diversity in their approach is primarily located in the past version of Xi’an, namely the Tang capital of Chang’an. The Hui’s differences from the Han majority, in this context, have been turned into a major advantage in recreating the diverse food heritage from the historic Silk Road.

Religious leaders in the Hui community, especially those who have received state recognized credentials in conducting religious events, also actively participate in showcasing Xi’an as the essence of the Silk Road’s diversity and inclusivity. Similar to the Hui businesspeople, state-recognized religious leaders see the central and regional governments’ enthusiasm in sustaining hype over the Silk Road as opportunities to make more space for the Hui community’s interests in Xi’an without directly confronting the Chinese state’s position on managing Muslim populations and their faith in Islam. However, they are wary that the insufficient
representation of Islam in state narratives of the Silk Road cannot be changed completely. Thus, to tap into the state discourse, they need to use the government's official narratives to justify why the Hui and their faith matter to the Silk Road narratives on diversity and inclusivity. In Xi'an, religious leaders juggle securing the existing space for expressing their faith and keeping up with the local government's policies on using the Silk Road as a form of urban branding for potential financial resources. Religious leaders hence participate in the official itineraries for visitors from Muslim majority countries, especially offering guided tours for foreign officials, entrepreneurs, and scholars in mosques in the Muslim Quarter. Imams with foreign language skills in Arabic, Persian, and English often play the role of translators to partially facilitate communications across different languages. The Hui religious leaders are also used by regional governments as gestures to show their hospitality to these Muslim visitors, especially to show their capacity for understanding how to make the Muslim visitors feel at home by making local Muslims as the point of contacts. For local religious leaders like Imam Wang, the nature of hosting foreign visitors from Muslim majority countries is part of a highly curated image of the Chinese state's diversity. Yet, they choose to "play along" (peihe) so that they can maintain their daily religious activities. This is implicitly compared to the Uyghur's situation as hinted on the fact that "we would not want to end up like 'them'" (Interview, Imam Wang 2017).

In contrast to these more elite members of the Hui community, average Hui residents in the Muslim Quarter are less able to capitalize on the exclusionary diversity discourse of the Silk Road city. While the city government promotes the multicultural image of the Silk Road, everyday discriminations targeting the Hui remain prevalent, in spite of the Muslim Quarter's popularity among both locals and tourists for its food and architectural heritage. Since the 2000s, the city government has considered the residential buildings in the Muslim Quarter incompatible with the overall architectural style in the old downtown of Xi'an. Ongoing tensions between Muslim residents and the city government are centered on the government's agenda of renewing the Muslim Quarter's residential area to keep up with the overall theming style in the rest of the historic downtown. Due to the Hui residents' ongoing resistance to demolition, the city government has shifted the focus to lifting the look of these old buildings. As a result, the façades of these old buildings must conform to standardized city government designs, particularly regarding shop sign colors and fonts. Given these façade improvement projects have mostly been for promoting Silk Road heritage, Hui residents whose houses face the streets have no choice but to allow the local government to send renovation teams to work on their units. As their memories of the potential demolition in the 1990s remain, the constant concerns over potential displacement are relevant to many Hui residents in the Muslim Quarter. Their ways of city making are closely related to their everyday negotiations with local state authorities in defending their residential space. The Hui community's different approaches of making Xi'an a crucial city on the Silk Road vary significantly based on these individuals' relationships with the local state authorities and their capacity to reimagine the state narratives of the Silk Road alongside the Hui community's economic and political interests. While ordinary
Hui residents in the Muslim Quarter are excluded by the local state authorities in more explicit ways, the Hui elites do not get more included in the Han-dominant Silk Road discourses because they have to perform in line with the Chinese state's expectations for ethno-religious minorities.

## 11.4 City Making under Conditions of Inclusive Exclusions

From the city government's perspective, differences are necessary for creating the narratives of cultural inclusivity, especially ones that can enhance the city's multicultural image. Differences, notably in non-Han Chinese cultures, are crucial for contextualizing local urban policies' emphases on diversity and inclusivity, especially in displaying the past of the Tang capital as a projection of the city's future as a cosmopolitan global city. Diversity and inclusivity, phrased as *Duoyuanbaorong*, are specifically framed as part of the Silk Road-based heritage closely linked to the Tang Dynasty. Notably, the city government of Xi'an has extensively capitalized on historical narratives of Chang'an, specifically as the Tang Dynasty's imperial capital, to develop cultural zones (*wenhua qu*). For instance, in the planning document of the historically famous cultural city (*lishi wenhua mingcheng guihua*), the preservation of the historic sites and landscape in the Muslim Quarter primarily emphasizes the surrounding area of mosques (The Xi'an Municipal Government, 2010). Preserving the 10 mosques in the Muslim Quarter as cultural heritage, according to the urban planning document, is consistent with the government's vision of preserving Hui ethnic traditions. The document specifically highlights the role of residential units surrounding the mosques as part of the Hui residential tradition of living within the proximity of mosques. In renewing and preserving the Muslim Quarter, the city government aims to provide the residents with more technical support in preserving the traditional architecture of Hui houses. To achieve the preservation of the historical city's “multicultural characteristics” (*gucheng duoyuanhua de wenhua*), the plan envisions a uniformly designed and planned renewal process to be overseen and executed by the city government while coordinating with the residents to address their needs in the process of preserving heritage (The Xi'an Municipal Government, 2010). While the city government aims to emphasize multicultural heritage in promoting a historical cultural city based on the Tang capital Chang'an, their emphasis on uniformity in urban designs imposes an exclusionary view of the diversity within the Hui community's urban landscape. In the residential spaces of the Hui, buildings constructed in different times present different architectural styles, especially modern reflecting the changing needs of the Hui in these residential compounds. A uniformly designed historical look thus reflects the city government's selective vision of how multicultural heritage should be presented. Rather than seeing the everyday lives of the Hui as being part of the historical city's multicultural assets, the city government sees the mundane everyday landscapes of the Muslim Quarter as chaotic and inconsistent with the city's overall theme. The city government's vision on diversity and inclusivity in city making echoes the central
government's approach to other cities with a significant number of Muslim populations. For instance, the central government has appointed Yinchuan, the capital city of the Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region, to host the annual China-Arab State Forum from 2018. Since 2016, large scale urban development projects have been implemented by the city government of Yinchuan to feature a uniformly designed architecture style that took references from Taj Mahal and the Blue Mosque in Turkey (Haddad-Fonda, 2016). Most of these architectural symbols are employed in sites such as the Hui Cultural Park to attract visitors as a site of its multicultural history.

In addition to the city and central governments, other actors such as academics and artists are involved in defining diversity and inclusivity in urban policies. Specifically, academics in fields such as history and architecture are heavily involved in materializing the imagination of the imperial capital Chang'an using their expertise. Some of them are invited by the local government as consultants to come up with both cultural narratives and symbols that contribute to making a convincing image for Xi'an as a Silk Road city. As some historians from local research institutes and universities claim, they are invited to be consultants on the expert committees for the city government to offer critical perspectives on potential plans of urban development in Xi'an. Rather than just simply endorsing the city government's plans, the historians and other scholars should engage their expertise related to the Silk Road in fields including History and Cultural Studies to scrutinize whether the city government's narratives on the Silk Road are factually sound. Heated debates over issues, including symbols of the Silk Road and the portrayals of the cosmopolitan Tang capital in urban renewal projects, happen during meetings with city government officials. According to Dr. Zhang, an archaeologist who has served as the city government's consultant, recalls that the city government does indeed take constructive feedback from the academics on choices concerning visual representations of the Tang capital Chang'an, especially tourism promotional materials on social media (Interview 2016). Yet, critical voices are not received well if they touch on the fundamental narratives in the official discourse formulated by the central government. Recalling a discussion on the geography of the Silk Road at a consultation meeting, Dr. Zhang suggests that the historians and archaeologists all brought up the problematic mapping of the Silk Road with clearly defined routes, namely the maritime and territorial ones. "We all know that the Silk Road was formulated over time as the result of many different trade routes, not something clearly defined like today's highways. But it does not align with the government's vision, especially because a more diffused route undermines the role of Xi'an" (Interview 2016). Zhang's comment reflects the city government's conditional open-mindedness towards a less China-centric perspective of the Silk Road. In city making in Xi'an, while scholars are given opportunities to push for more historically nuanced representations of the Silk Road in the local urban policies, the city government's agenda to center the crucial role of Xi'an on the Silk Road remains unchallenged. Similarly, scholars involved in the discussions on the potential branding of the Muslim Quarter mention the limitation of not being able to center the role of religion in the formulation of the Hui community. This is consistent with the central government's attitude towards minority communities in promoting the Silk Road. Minority communities
are only cast in the light that favors the Chinese state's interest in imposing authority over ethnic and religious affairs. The Muslim Quarter is thus more promoted as a historical cultural district for tourists to experience the hustle and bustle of the everyday multicultural experiences since the Tang Dynasty. The Hui community's history in the Qing dynasty, especially the Hui Revolt during the Tongzhi Era (1862–1877 CE), has intentionally been left out as it directly points out the tensions between the Hui and Han residents during that time (Interview 2015).

## 11.5 Framing Diversity as Urban Policies in a Multiscalar Silk Road City

In summary, city making is a form of inclusive exclusion in the branding of Xi'an as a Silk Road city. Specifically, looking at how the Hui Muslim community have become cultural symbols of diversity in the discourse of the Silk Road reveals the specific forms of accepted diversity presented and endorsed by the governments at the national and regional levels. State-curated diversity is instrumental for the city government in pushing forward their agenda on promoting the multicultural aspects of the Silk Road and how Xi'an embodies the same approach after its predecessor Chang'an in the Tang Dynasty. Inclusivity in the city making presents minority communities like the Hui as evidence of the government's approach to diversity in developing a cultural city. Hence, Hui elites find opportunities to appropriate state discourses on the Silk Road as a multicultural space, in line with their interests in attracting more opportunities for their businesses and maintaining their existing space of religious expressions. Compared to other city makers involved in producing a Silk Road city in Xi'an, the Hui community's interactions with the regional government highlight the central role of diversity at the intersection between the state and society in city making, especially when marginalized communities are targeted for urban development.

In the process of making Xi'an a legitimate Silk Road city, a wide range of city makers, ranging from the city government to experts who offer consulting services for policy makers, engage a multi-scalar approach in defining diversity and inclusivity of the Silk Road in the city of Xi'an. Specifically, the central government's vision of diversity in the Muslim minorities' context largely reflects the Chinese government's strategy of fostering diplomatic relations with Muslim majority countries. This vision, alongside the national initiative on the Silk Road, was soon picked up by city makers at the regional level, specifically the city government in Xi'an. Hence, the framing the Silk Road's diversity on the city scale reflects not only the exercise of the state power but also the local state authorities' agenda of capitalizing on the Muslim Quarter as its multicultural heritage. Similarly, even local city makers, such as Hui businesspeople, incorporate the Chinese state's curation of a China-centered Silk Road into their marketing strategy to make their businesses appealing not only to tourists but also to the local government. The transnational image of a
multicultural Silk Road is thus translated into tangible aspects of locally embedded cultural heritage. Local Muslim food is a case in point. This echoes the processes of multi-scalar city making in which different scales, ranging from the local to the supranational, are mutually constitutive and interconnected through the circulation of power and expression of different city makers’ agency (Çaglar & Schiller, 2018). Rather than positioning different city makers hierarchically, this multi-scalar approach of city making allows for the unpacking of the complex power dynamics within the process of city branding in Xi’an. As the Silk Road can be imagined by different city makers on a wide range of scales, a Silk Road city is thus more than just the reimagining of a city. Rather, a Silk Road city is an assemblage of different city makers’ imaginations of the Silk Road’s diversity in urban spaces for heritage preservation.

Furthermore, diversity, especially cultural diversity in the Silk Road context, was largely associated with the distance between the Hui Muslims and the Han Chinese. However, this has proven to be exclusionary, as the Hui Muslims have already experienced having less room for negotiations with the local government for their community’s interests. While diversity has largely been visualized in not only popular culture but also the urban built environment, urban policies aimed at the Hui have not improved in spite of the national government’s interest in boosting diversity as part of the Silk Road diplomacy. The exclusionary nature of the Silk Road’s diversity discourse is translated into the local government’s vision of unifying the architectural designs in districts such as the Muslim Quarter to convey a consistent narrative of the Silk Road. The emphasis on a top-down vision does not align with the image of the Tang capital of Chang’an as a place where different cultures interacted and integrated into new formations. The exclusionary diversity in the city making in Xi’an addresses the impact of authoritarianism in urban policy making, specifically when “fragmented authoritarianism” opens up more space for actors that used to be excluded from participating in policymaking to be involved (Mertha, 2009). In particular, the central government’s policies have become much more flexible for regional-level governmental organizations and actors that have recently entered the circuit of policymaking to interpret within specific local contexts. Specifically, these new actors, ranging from non-governmental organizations to journalists and editors in state-approved media, strategically work within the Chinese government’s framing without directly confronting the state authorities (Ibid). The fragmentation of authoritarian policy making, as illustrated in the case of Xi’an, offers some space for changes to be made, particularly in the experiences of the Hui elites. Yet, their attempts to shape Xi’an as a diverse and inclusive multicultural city remain predominantly confined to the central government’s narratives of the Silk Road. Similarly, actors such as experts of Silk Road-related studies take a similar stand in participating in local urban policymaking. They carefully offer critical voices while refraining from challenging the overall framing of the Silk Road narratives envisioned by the central government. Hence, in spite of the penetrable characteristic of the local urban policy in branding the Silk Road city, the authority of the central and local governments remains significantly unchallenged. Diversity, as either the concept of multicultural heritage or the inclusion of members
from minority communities in heritage preservation, only opens a limited space for non-state city makers that are granted access to the policymaking process.

As the Hui community is simultaneously partially included and excluded from the city making process, their immediate future moving forwards remains a crucial question. As their growing economic opportunities are closely tied to the local government's interest in using the Muslim Quarter to boost the tourism economy, their participation in shaping the direction of development in the Muslim Quarter is limited to the context of cultural heritage and tourism. While the city government has promoted the Muslim Quarter and the city of Xi'an on social media, the portrayal of the Muslim Quarter and other heritage sites has been increasingly shaped by social media preferences (Zhang et al., 2022; Cao, 2024). These emerging opportunities, including live streaming and vlogging, also allow members from the Hui community to tap into the process of city making from the grassroots. Yet, the overall state surveillance over China's cyberspace remains, creating limitations in the content of live streaming and other online activities. Therefore, while the Hui community remains active in pushing boundaries by articulating their own multicultural heritage in the context of the Silk Road, the extent to which they can express a Hui ethno-religious identity distinct from the state's discourse on multiculturalism still depends on the Chinese government's national-level agenda for managing ethnic minorities.

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# Chapter 12
## Organising the Reception of Exiles in the Centre of Paris: Between Visible Solidarity, Temporary Arrangements, and Discretionary Policies

Léa Réville

### 12.1 Introduction

#### 12.1.1 Rethinking Diversity Policies at the Local Level: The Case of the Halte Humanitaire of Paris Centre

The Halte humanitaire of Paris Centre is a temporary reception structure for exiled people - asylum seekers and refugees in precarious situations. Managed by the Salvation Army Foundation (FADS), it offers medical, social, and administrative assistance and welcomes around 100 people weekly. The facility emerged from joint efforts by associations: since 2015, they have faced the reality of living conditions and the reception of exiles in Paris, who are either forced to live in camps or take refuge in the city's interstices (Agier et al., 2011), trying to avoid police controls. The main demands from the associations' network consisted of making exiled people visible in the urban space for adequate care, not only from the municipal authorities but also on the part of state institutions. When the associations declared a strike in April 2019, the city hall of Paris awarded the management of the new Halte humanitaire to the FADS in a warehouse at Porte de la Chapelle. A year later, the agreement to occupy the Halte's premises ended, and the associations continued campaigning for greater visibility and integration of exiled people in the urban space. Paris' city hall thus proposed moving the Halte humanitaire to the premises of the former town hall of the first arrondissement, which had just become vacant. On 9 November 2020, the Halte humanitaire of La Chapelle, born out of local political tensions and militant actions, was thrust into the spotlight of Paris Centre. While the project at Paris Centre was scheduled to last 1 year, it has since been extended by the Paris City Council and is still ongoing in 2024.

<footnote>L. Réville (✉)
UMR 8504 Géographie-cités – Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales, Paris, France</footnote>
Following Anne Hidalgo’s announcement on October 4, 2020, about the opening of the Halte Humanitaire in the former town hall of the first arrondissement, the project has evolved through media announcements from the responsible political bodies: Paris City Hall; the political cabinet in charge of housing, emergency accommodation, and refugee protection; and the Paris Centre borough council and its communication teams. Instead of simply acting as press releases regarding the relocation, these media displays have turned the Halte humanitaire in Paris Centre into a tool for political demonstration at local, regional, and national levels. Relocating the Halte humanitaire from Porte de la Chapelle to Paris-Centre aligned the project with broader urban policies, as political actors advocated for a new urban approach to accommodating exiled populations in Paris. The regional guidelines of the Greater Paris metropolis and the Local Urban Plan (PLU) of Paris, approved in 2018, emphasise the importance of territorial rebalancing. As this urban planning principle aims to “reduce inequalities and foster a more equitable Paris”, the Halte in Paris Centre was, therefore, built as an emblem of Paris’ social policies integrated into the Louvre-Rivoli district, right in the heart of the Paris Centre. It supports the concept of a well-distributed urban area accessible to everyone. The establishment of the Halte humanitaire in a public and historic building contributes to the enduring legacy of the concept of solidarity, extending beyond the temporal limits of the project. Indeed, although the future of the Halte humanitaire in these premises is not certain, the project initiated a series of solidarity initiatives within the former town hall of the first arrondissement, and the democratic function of the building merged with this new model of solidarity urbanism. The Halte has become a key element of a political program that aligns with a long-term vision for the city. This vision aims to redefine the city not merely as an administrative unit within the French territorial framework but as an inherently welcoming space. It prioritises diversity, solidarity, and hospitality as its guiding principles.

When the mayor of Paris announced the Halte opening, she declared: “In the first arrondissement’s former town hall, we will relocate the Halte Humanitaire, which has been open for a few years at Porte de la Chapelle. Paris will continue to play its role as a city of refuge”. Initially, the concept of the city of refuge was formulated by the International Parliament of Writers in 1993 to put reception and hospitality at the heart of urban concerns for exiled writers (Derrida, 1997). It was then institutionalised in 1995 at the European level with a Charter of Refuge Cities by the Congress of Local and Regional Authorities of Europe and mobilised in the 1990s by the city of Venice during the Balkan crisis. The concept re-emerged during a consultation between the mayors of Barcelona, Paris, Lesbos and Lampedusa in September 2015, calling for the creation of a refuge cities’ network to guarantee the decent reception of exiled populations and asylum seekers in Europe. According to Filippo Furri (2017a, 2017b), “The notion of a city of refuge is resurfacing at a time when the notions of solidarity and hospitality are being questioned.” From this perspective, the centrality of the Halte and the symbolism associated with the chosen building (a former town hall, a place of democracy) tend to promote the ideal of hospitality throughout the “refuge-city” concept. However, they have also given rise to reticence within the neighbourhood. In reaction to the opening of the Halte, the
inhabitants set up a collective to oppose the project (Collectif de riverains de Paris-centre: Coripac), associating the presence of migrants in their neighbourhood with possible disturbances and a threat to their daily lives. They also expressed dissatisfaction over the lack of consultation regarding changes to their local town hall and concerns that the new use would alter the building. How does the Halte humanitaire integrate into this popular neighbourhood, where the sense of belonging to the city of Paris is profoundly anchored in its urban heritage? Furthermore, how can external demands be reconciled with the city of Paris's political objectives and the FADS's commitments concerning solidarity and hospitality while simultaneously addressing the authentic needs of exiled populations?

This case study was conducted for a master’s thesis in political studies that analysed the methods used by the association and political actors to facilitate the reception of exiles in the city. Exploratory interviews were organised with its leaders and operators (political, administrative, and associative actors) to understand the genesis of the project and its current organisation. A field study in partnership with the FADS was conducted from 26 January 2021 to 5 March 2021 within the Halte humanitaire and its neighbourhood. Interviews were conducted with all the people involved in the implementation of the project, i.e., the coordinators of the Halte, the volunteers, the mediation and logistics teams, the security guards and the maintenance staff. A participatory approach was used to engage with the people staying at the Halte without imposing on them the stressful and restrictive context of a formal interview during their downtime. Interviews were also conducted in the neighbourhood with presidents of residents’ associations and a local volunteer, and media monitoring was implemented.

This work not only examines the tensions within the social representations of solidarity, hospitality, and diversity on an urban scale but also gives an account of the relational and conflictual spaces built around the figure of the exile (Nouss, 2015), propelled into the heart of the urban space. The Halte and its reception methods navigate the balance between public visibility and discretion, centrality and marginality, and integration and exclusion. Due to the diversity of actors, their practices, and their expectations of the Halte humanitaire, this reception system seems to be caught in competing priorities and influenced by conflicting interests among the political managers, the association operator, its social workers, the local population, and the public. Confronting their political ideologies of the refuge city and local practices in common property (Krikorian, 2017), the people involved in the Halte establish themselves as city makers at the institutional and street levels. The implementation of solidarity, hospitality, and diversity policies relies on compromises made by the elected politicians and the coordinators of the Halte, as well as on the management of space in the building, which varies according to the people who occupy it. To provide a synthesis of the survey conducted and the results obtained, this chapter will draw up observations and analyses about the spatial governance of diversity at the local level. It aims to show how diversity can be promoted and controlled through the organisation of space in exiles’ everyday lives, locally and in the heart of the urban space. Through temporary arrangements, discreet displays, new social representations, and appropriations of the former municipal
building and its highly symbolic architecture in terms of heritage, how do the actors involved in the Halte and their socio-spatial practices enable a rethinking of urban diversity governance policies?<fnref n="1" />

## 12.2 Welcoming Exiles in the City: Adapting to the First Arrondissement and Its Town Hall

The Halte humanitaire initially had to adapt to its district: the former first arrondissement. This area is now part of the Paris Centre Arrondissement, which was formed in 2020 by merging the first four arrondissements of Paris.<fnref n="2" /> The former first arrondissement brings together districts that are not only touristy, with the Louvre at its centre, but also have strong cultural and historical identities, such as Les Halles, which dates to the early Middle Ages and is now a major commercial attraction. As a town hall in the first arrondissement, the building fits this cultural, historical, and economical architectural environment. The Halte, as a humanitarian facility, now must find its place there. The opponents of the project argue it would be more appropriate in “less historical” neighbourhoods. This supposed historical discrepancy reflects the processes of exclusion and relegation of exiled populations in the city (Pincon-charlot et al., 2017). Indeed, while the political actors of the Paris Centre mayor’s office emphasise solidarity as a tradition in the district, the Halte humanitaire is the first reception centre for exiles, asylum seekers, and refugees to be set up in the former first arrondissement. There are facilities in the area for homeless individuals. Still, the reception for exiled people and the humanitarian aspect of the project, beyond its incorporation into social action efforts, are new developments in the district. Thus, incorporating the Halte humanitaire into the urban landscape was not universally accepted by those involved, particularly the inhabitants who see the Louvre-Rivoli district as an affluent area that the Halte could devalue. Additionally, some residents expressed concern about the Halte project, perceiving it as an intrusion into their living environment where social and humanitarian efforts were unwelcome. During an informal conversation, a shopkeeper located a few steps away from the Halte explained that social or humanitarian activities were incompatible with the district’s history and the local inhabitants’ financial model and economic structure. He added that he did not want to live in the first arrondissement as in the nineteenth arrondissement, a more popular neighbourhood.

Thus, the managers, as well as the beneficiaries of the project, had to face a socially hostile environment. Nevertheless, rather than mobilising the very European notion of integration or even assimilation (Zapata-Barrero, 2015) highlighted by

<footnote n="1">¹It should be noted that the data and analyses presented here correspond to a given time (the first months of the opening of the Halte in Paris-Centre in 2021) and do not reflect the current reality of the site.</footnote>

<footnote n="2">²Regrouping that was voted with the law on the status of Paris and metropolitan planning promulgated on 28 February 2017.</footnote>
political speeches from Paris City Hall, the FADS stakeholders approached the adaptation of the Halte to its environment through a vision of solidarity and diversity. They understood it as a way of crossing and living in the city rather than inhabiting it, as a movement and an encounter between the workers of the Halte, the exiled people and the local population. On the one hand, those who were reluctant within the neighbourhood expressed their rejection during interviews or via social networks passively, without any desire to interfere physically with the project. On the other hand, people initially opposed to the Halte who came to the site seemed progressively more tolerant and sometimes offered their help. For instance, during an observation, an inhabitant went to the entrance of the Halte to express his dissatisfaction. However, he gradually changed his mind when one of the coordination team members invited him to visit the Halte, and he left asking if there was a need for volunteers for the French classes. From that point forward, the paths that intersected at the entrance of the former town hall building helped establish a solidarity network in support of the Halte. This initiative transcended the basic concepts of hospitality and inhospitality within the district. The network was further strengthened by initiatives similar to the Halte project in the area. For example, the FADS organised a food distribution in partnership with La Chorba,<fnref n="3" /> which took place in the Gaîté Lyrique<fnref n="4" /> building from January to March 2021. While this arrangement was more temporary than the Halte, it facilitated the Halte humanitaire installation in the neighbourhood by establishing daily routes for the exiles. As the Halte does not offer meals to exiles, the food distribution at La Gaîté Lyrique has enabled exiles to live in the neighbourhood in new ways and take ownership by making Paris Centre and its public buildings a place of daily life.

In addition, the building itself had to be adapted. The former city hall is part of the city's heritage, and its architecture was designed to embody the balance between the district's cultural and religious life and its inhabitants' civil responsibilities. The building is situated on the Place du Louvre, adjacent to the church of Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois. Designed by architect Jacques Hittorff, it was constructed between 1858 and 1863 to serve as a local town hall following the creation of the arrondissements in Paris. The residents consider the town hall in the first arrondissement to be their historical and political heritage, a communal space for local groups and a key venue for discussions with elected officials and councillors.<fnref n="5" /> Some district residents perceive the first arrondissement's town hall as a shared property. However, they interpret this notion not in legal terms, but as a space inherently belonging to their community. This approach suggests that living in a place confers forms of privilege over the city that are taken for granted by the local population. Joan Stavo-Debauge's

<footnote n="3">³La Chorba is a humanitarian association that was created in 1998 and specialises in distributing food to the deprived.</footnote>

<footnote n="4">⁴The Gaîté Lyrique is a cultural establishment of the city of Paris, which agreed to host this food distribution for three months due to its closure to the public during COVID-19.</footnote>

<footnote n="5">⁵As we can see from the comments of the residents collected online (mainly on https://vivrelema-rais.typepad.fr/blog/2020/11/halte-migrants-chasse-croise-de-plaidoiries.html) and during interviews.</footnote>
comparison (2003) between the “passers-by” who pass through the city and the “residents” who are anchored in it is very useful to understand the motivations of the residents who are opposed to the project of the Halte. According to the author, living in the city entails assigning meaning to spaces and cultivating a ‘sense of the neighbourhood’ beyond the “fleeting and sensory experiences” of mere passers-by. Nonetheless, this appreciation serves as a justification for the fears expressed about unusual occupations of this space made by foreigners. For the association, it was, therefore, a matter of overcoming this feeling of belonging and limiting the social and racial exclusion mechanisms it could generate. It resulted in establishing a diversity policy by granting a place to the Halte actors and the district inhabitants, and diversity imposed itself as a challenge in the face of segregation and discrimination issues. In this way, the appropriation of the premises by the actors of the Halte humanitaire remained necessarily incomplete, as the space of this municipal building had to be shared to reconcile disparate social perceptions of the Halte humanitaire in Paris Centre.

To this end, the association designed the layout to define circulation zones based on the status of individuals moving around the Halte. The rooms are thus dedicated either to the exiled populations welcomed in the place, to the FADS staff, or the inhabitants of the district and the municipal services kept within the building. These distinct functions, which have evolved as the Halte has been fitted out, make it possible to distinguish two types of space: first, a space of free circulation for exiles, and second, a space with restricted circulation, accessible to asylum seekers and refugees only by reservation. The free circulation space can be accessed through the Halte entrance on the side of the building. It includes the reception area, courtyard, doctor’s office, sanitary facilities, exhibition space, and resting room. A prefabricated door and wooden panels separate the restricted area, which serves as a more private space for FADS members. This area includes a library where most cultural activities and French classes take place, as well as a break room, which is also enclosed by a prefabricated door. The space extends to the first floor, where offices for the coordination team, consultation rooms for psychologists, and storage for equipment are located. These spaces coexist with the area dedicated to the municipal structure, as an identity card service remains in the building upstairs. The FADS adapted the building arrangements to the needs of each individual and to the constraints imposed by the Paris City Council by determining social and physical boundaries within the Halte. Thus, the Halte functions as an “arena” (Glick-Schiller & Çağlar, 2016) where various perspectives on diversity held by community organisations and elected officials intersect and sometimes clash. This confrontation occurs between negotiated social time and spatial hierarchy.

The existence of the identity card service for residents and its accessibility highlights the paradox in managing social interactions and the hierarchical differentiation between the practices of exiled individuals and those of residents. The “identity cards” service is located on the first floor of the building. It can be accessed via two staircases: one used by employees and managers of the Halte and another to the left of the main entrance, known as the “staircase of honour.” This staircase is designated as significant for its architectural value and is reserved for certain ceremonial
occasions. At its base stands a statue inscribed “to the dead of France.” The staircase is a historical element that the Commission du Vieux Paris<fnref n="6" /> requested to be preserved during the redevelopment of the building.<fnref n="7" /> Political administrators and managers of the Halte humanitaire state that they have respected this heritage commitment, allowing access only to the local population. Those visiting the “identity cards” department exclusively use this staircase, which maintains its “honour” significance, as it is inaccessible to individuals at the Halte humanitaire. Moreover, this exclusivity seems to justify the implementation of restricted access for individuals admitted to the Halte humanitaire. For example, exiles must first exit through the Halte’s front door on the side to attend the library where activities and French courses are organised. Then, they must re-enter the building through the main entrance rather than using the prefabricated door inside, connecting unrestricted and restricted areas. When exiles use the main entrance, they are supervised by volunteers or mediators and are only permitted to pass through the space in a regulated and quick manner. Taking this route symbolises the passage from a private space that belongs to them to a public space that belongs to the general public. These circulation conditions signify their exceptional access to the community. However, they also contribute to their invisibility in the eyes of the neighbourhood. In contrast, the identity card service is an emblematic device for exercising citizenship and represents a democratic issue that is a source of privilege for the local population. The exiles only become visible when their presence is acknowledged only during scheduled meetings and planned activities, such as visits to the Halte and planned activities. This ensures that encounters are not spontaneous but rather anticipated and regulated, reinforcing dynamics of stigma and control in social interactions. Social and associative workers are responsible for implementing political decisions at a higher level, which leads them to establish boundaries for exiled individuals, effectively redefining the concept of the refuge city. In this context, it appears that diversity is often managed through mechanisms of socio-racial differentiation. This creates paradoxes at the local level, where social interactions can contrast sharply with spatial segregation.

Additionally, the appropriation of the former town hall was carried out through
temporary arrangements and prefabricated, removable structures, transforming the
Halte into a mobile and evolving space. The temporary and uncertain aspects of the
project significantly influence the development of the site and its precarious nature
(De Lamberterie, 2018; Madanipour, 2018), but also the acceptance on the part of
residents. It also emphasises the uncertainties and limitations surrounding the con-
cept of a city of refuge, revealing its inherent ambiguities. The temporary aspects of
the Halte serve as a reminder that the concept of a refuge city is built around manag-
ing migration in urgent situations. This urgency takes priority and shapes both the

<footnote n="6">⁶The mission of the Commission du Vieux Paris is to study the heritage and urban planning policies of the city of Paris. It was created in 1897 and meets every month to examine applications for building permits, demolition, or urban heritage requalification in an advisory capacity.</footnote>

<footnote n="7">⁷Commission du Vieux Paris, plenary session of 17/10/2019, report of the session, https://cdn.paris.fr/paris/2020/02/13/06c75cdbb0cad48611059634287eaeb8.pdf.</footnote>
physical and ongoing boundaries of reception. The experience of Venice, which has
been positioning itself as a refuge city since the 1990s, exemplifies this situation.
According to Filippo Furri (2017a, 2017b), the term “emergenza refugees” has been
a significant concept there since 2011. In Italian, the word emergenza encompasses
both urgency and emergence (or resurfacing), indicating a spatial and material
dimension.

Although the meeting times between the exiles and the local inhabitants are
organised spatially, they ultimately raise questions about the possibility of integrat-
ing the Halte humanitaire into the urban fabric. This idea echoes the work of Camillo
Boano and Giovanna Astolfo (2020) about the reception of refugees in the Italian
context: "To subvert the forms of violence inevitably produced by the conditional
hospitality that is at the basis of the current hosting policy, LDA<fnref n="8" /> engages in a
Derridean "ethics of hospitality," which materialises in constructing spatial oppor-
tunities for encounter and mutual recognition between refugees and host communi-
ties. Despite the limited and temporary success of such small ethical acts, LDA's
practice disrupts within the exclusionary regime of control and provides a progres-
sive template for urbanism of inhabiting". Indeed, the researchers developed the
theory of urbanism as the very sign of urban hospitality when the space is organised
to facilitate mutual recognition among individuals. The Halte humanitaire may also
be integrated into this type of urban planning due to its various socio-spatial con-
figurations, which cater to everyone's needs. The architectural design and layout of
the building create a unique opportunity to house both the various social functions
of the first arrondissement town hall and the Halte humanitaire under one roof. At
the same time, this setup allows for separating different socio-professional groups
and the public they serve. This arrangement aims to alleviate tensions between
political authorities, community organisations, and the local population. For this
reason, the association adapted the project of the Halte humanitaire to the building
and the demands from all sides by concentrating initially on the intersecting itiner-
aries of individuals rather than on the creation of shared spaces, favouring encoun-
ters and socialisation on a more occasional basis.

As the Halte installation progressed, certain rooms' functions shifted to enhance
socialisation and exchanges among the various actors. The reception area, originally
a counter in the room to the left of the entrance, has been relocated to the largest
room overlooking the courtyard. This change has allowed more people to be accom-
modated than in the previous reception space and created a more inviting atmo-
sphere. The new room's opening onto the courtyard, along with the option for
people to gather around tables and sofas, serves a dual purpose as both a reception
area and an exhibition room. This transformation has encouraged diverse partici-
pants to engage with the space. Furthermore, these changes have altered the purpose
of the courtyard, which has transitioned from a mere passageway to a space used by
various individuals and groups beyond just those being hosted. Here, cigarette

<footnote n="8">⁸LDA is “the Local Democracy Agency in Zavidovici, which, among other initiatives, manages the Sistema di Protezione Richiedenti Asilo e Rifugiati (System for the Protection of Asylum Seekers and Refugees, or SPRAR) in Brescia, Italy”.</footnote>
breaks have become significant for informal conversations and establishing social connections. Besides, the members of the Halte humanitaire have transformed the former town hall of the first arrondissement with a new visual identity. The wall displays act as tools for communication and networking for the individuals welcomed while enhancing the building's decor. On their part, the political actors aimed for the historical monument to enhance the value of the Halte Humanitaire project. The columns at the front of the building and its library became symbols of a dignified welcome and the integration of exiled populations in France. The individuals received at the Halte seem to share this perspective; one person remarked that they had never attended a French course in such a "clean, beautiful" environment. Throughout this project, both political and FADS actors are reshaping their roles as "refuge city-makers" (Mescoli & Roblain, 2021) by adapting urban spaces locally and constructing a "city of refuge" through its aesthetic and spatial arrangements. They aim to create both public and private environments, ensuring diversity through various uses of buildings and modes of representation. This initiative also illustrates the associations' reliance on municipal directives. As long as the city of Paris owns the building, and since the city provides subsidies to the associations, the management of these spaces is structured as a partnership between the two entities. Associations find autonomy in their reception expertise and capacity to adapt within spatial and temporal constraints. However, this model is quite specific to Paris. For instance, in Bristol, officially recognized as a welcoming city, associations receive private funding, granting them greater flexibility in their operations (Salomon, 2021). This funding compensates for the local authority's limited actions concerning migration management due to territorial powers.

## 12.3 From Establishing a Refuge to Addressing Security and Control Concerns

In another way, the Halte also serves as a safe place for the people it accommodates. At the Halte humanitaire, the shelter's design primarily emphasises a calming atmosphere and creates symbolic boundaries that delineate the interior from the outside. The aim is to protect its residents from violence and precarious living conditions on the street. Their sense of safety comes from an environment intended to be peaceful and free from political or social pressure. To this end, the first choice of the FADS was to locate the resting room in the most significant space of the building. Nonetheless, according to statements made by both the associations operating on-site and the individuals staying there, rest and sociability are closely connected. Achieving a sense of calm comes not only from physical well-being but also from listening to others. Feeling heard provides relief for exiled populations, who often experience isolation, precarious living conditions, psychological trauma, and various difficulties. This dynamic can be found at the very heart of the activities offered: Although the cultural or language workshops are naturally oriented towards
dialogue, social links and encounters, they are also often a reassuring and comforting interlude. During an observation of the comic strip workshop, a volunteer explained that she used to work at the Halte of Porte de la Chapelle. She noted that the current setting made her feel more at ease with the people she was working with. According to her, this moment should be “calm and soothing,” considering their backgrounds. However, it is essential “not to get too involved in their lives.” Some individuals need to talk, but it is primarily about “listening and allowing them to express themselves,” for instance, through drawing.

However, the principle of ambient tranquillity paradoxically limits the ability of asylum seekers and refugees to express themselves within the centre. The focus on social connections can lead the workers from the association to prioritise the overall calm atmosphere of the Halte rather than focusing on the individual well-being of those staying at the Halte. In practice, the staff at the Halte often dominates the conversation, particularly in terms of tone. When individuals raise their voices, they are frequently called out, further stifling their expression. Recognising that the individuals received are “calm” reflects a normative judgment connected to the wish for improved working conditions compared to those at Porte de la Chapelle. According to the Halte workers, the atmosphere was significantly more “chaotic” there due to the critical circumstances within the camps. The town hall of the first arrondissement, along with its symbolism and surrounding area, has encouraged the FADS, its employees, and its partners to promote the concept of a discreet refuge emphasizing tranquillity and minimizing disturbances to the surrounding community.

Thus, the peaceful atmosphere at the Halte humanitaire appears partly due to the discriminatory treatment of exiled populations. One of the mediators and logistics staff member explained that the site has been quieter since January 2021 because “we only receive individuals in difficult situations, so there are fewer people here, making it calmer.” The Halte does not accept women or families, as it lacks essential personal care products for women and children. Moreover, the acceptance of exiles depends on their legal status and housing situation. This classification process, which determines whether they are in a more or less precarious circumstance, significantly impacts their integration into the city. For instance, one of the coordination team members printed out information about the other places a man could visit outside the city centre as he was not in an irregular situation. She explained that he would be able to see the doctor in the afternoon but would not be able to come back the next day or the days after. After this interaction, the man explained in an interview that it was important to be listened to because “no one has time” for him, especially in the structure where he is housed, which has only three social workers for 400 residents. Paralysed in his left arm, he also insisted that if they migrate, “it is for good reasons.” According to urban studies researchers Fatiha Belmessous and Elise Roche (2018), “The legal category, presented as an objective reality, constitutes a normative framework and, as an instrument for shaping migratory reality, has a dual effect on the situation experienced by migrants. On the one hand, it assigns them a reconstituted identity. On the other hand, it allows the actors in charge of these populations to sort and classify them in all legitimacy and legality. Consequently, this categorisation in no way reflects the reality experienced by
migrants but, on the contrary, largely serves the public authority, which prioritises its action - reception, protection of persons; control of migratory movements, from selection to rejection." Moreover, this categorisation significantly limits the understanding of individuals' personal issues, as it is interwoven with considerations of race, age, and gender relations.

At the same time, it goes hand in hand with security procedures aimed at restricting access to “undesirable” individuals. Indeed, the Halte humanitaire has a security service established at the Paris City Council’s request to monitor movement within the facility and screen individuals who wish to enter the building. Security is a significant topic of discussion among the various stakeholders at the Halte and serves multiple functions. It provides protection for the individuals seeking assistance while also implementing measures that can limit the autonomy of exiles who wish to access the medical and socio-legal services of the Halte. Firstly, safety is connected to the calm and reassuring approach embraced at the Halte humanitaire. FADS workers associate security with protection and inclusion. They understand safety as comforting for the people they serve, as individuals find refuge from harm once they enter the building. The role of the security guard at the entrance of the building is envisioned as that of a guardian. This position is responsible for maintaining the Halte’s boundaries concerning its external environment, which is viewed as potentially threatening for the exiles. This perception arises from the heavy police presence in the neighbourhood and the potential hostility from residents opposed to the project. Consequently, if the Halte is concealed by its entrance on the side of the town hall and minimal display, security measures enhance discretion within the neighbourhood, separating the routes of exiles from locals and reinforcing social boundaries.

At the core of inclusion and exclusion mechanisms, security differentiates between ordinary people and exiled individuals, for whom access to the Halte in Paris Centre is a privilege. From this perspective, solidarity and diversity assume contradictory forms. This approach differs significantly from the hospitality extended to the neighbourhood, as it is confined to the walls of the Halte humanitaire. The individuals involved in the Halte form a cohesive group bound by solidarity, which they feel must be strengthened and safeguarded by drawing inward and establishing barriers around those they welcome, with security personnel acting as gatekeepers. The principle of security redefines solidarity within the Halte. It connects this idea to the forms of “entre-soi” (between oneself) that are especially prominent in the familial language often used by the workers. While the security guards are engaged in the solidarity enterprise, their role resembles that of mediators who ensure the space’s social connection and intimacy. One of the coordinators at the Halte remarked that these security guards are the best mediators they have encountered, emphasising that the Halte is a safe place because of their presence. The coordinator appeared intent on justifying the presence of security guards by countering common societal perceptions of them, which tend to depict them as imposing or threatening figures. Simultaneously, her discourse emphasised the family and intimate model promoted at the Halte humanitaire by referring to the security guards as “big brothers” or “big teddy bears.”
Nevertheless, security is not limited to a mission of protection towards the people received. The defensive and intimate logic suggests practices of infantilisation and control, leading to the pacification of FADS' relations with political managers and the local population. The same coordinator acknowledged that security agents serve, to some degree, as a way to appease residents who oppose the project and view the exiled populations as a threat. Actually, the Paris City Council mandated the security service out of concern that the presence of exiled individuals might provoke unrest and draw local criticism of the municipal social policies associated with the Halte humanitaire. The security guards have a dual role: they provide security inside and outside the Halte while ensuring that exiled populations remain within its confines. This adjustment, made in response to the requests of the Paris City Council, shifts the principle of security for the individuals in the Halte to a framework that prioritises security against the exiles. As a result, the exiles are subjected to a regulatory environment that is more controlling than reassuring. Carolina Kobelinsky's work (2015) on the management of the Centres d'Accueil pour Demandeurs d'Asile (CADA, reception centres for asylum seekers) is particularly enlightening in this respect: The anthropologist shows that reception can have negative implications when it is part of the ongoing migration policies at both European and national levels. She writes that "although the CADAs offer shelter and support - material, social, legal - which is not negligible compared to wandering from hotel to hotel, the assistance provided within these structures is accompanied by a set of measures and practices of surveillance and control that limit the autonomy of the people accommodated. [...] The reception of asylum seekers is increasingly similar to the administration of immigrants as it is currently implemented in general. This administration involves deploying control and confinement structures for foreigners, who are sorted, managed, expelled." At the Halte, exiles must justify their presence by presenting an access card issued during their first visit. This requirement creates unequal power dynamics and establishes a differentiation system between the individuals being received and other actors at the Halte. This policy of control reveals the management of exiles' bodies (Fassin & Memmi, 2004) as the regulation of their movement and expression within the social space of the Halte humanitaire. Reflecting the European heritage of the refuge city concept embraced by Paris, the Halte highlights the paradoxes of this concept and acts as a mirror to European migration policies regarding security and border control.

During an interview, the security guard at the entrance outlined his responsibilities, which primarily involved controlling access to the Halte, managing entry and exit, and conducting security checks. He explained that security is maintained through automated control techniques, such as checking bags, detecting metal objects, counting the number of people, and alerting coordinators when someone does not possess an entry card. In this way, the workers at the Halte act as authorities, checking the "papers" of individuals arriving at the entrance. These processes tend to infantilise the exiles, as they find themselves placed in a so-called family environment that has a paternalistic tone. One management team member called them "kids," stating, "It's good that this doesn't get around. I'm not sure if having a security guard discourages anything, but the truth is that without a security guard,
we would never be able to know if the kids were coming or going, you know? So, it's peaceful now." The relationships between those receiving support and the staff at the Halte humanitaire—security guards, mediators, coordinators, and volunteers—seem to impose educational directives restricting the exiles' autonomy. The spatial division and avoidance strategies implemented by the managers of Halte Humanitaire aim to ensure that the exiles are “forgotten” by the neighbourhood, reinforcing the invisibility of exiled individuals in public spaces. Living in the area without drawing attention does not eliminate the stigmatisation processes at play. Instead, it strengthens the symbolic boundaries between exiles and ordinary residents. The statements made by the president of a residents' defence association clearly illustrate the symbolic boundaries and social distance between these different social groups: “I live in the Marais, where we have a building with arcades that protect people from the rain—if it ever rains. There are often individuals, some of whom are homeless and come from who knows where who have been here during the week and throughout the initial phase of Covid. Although I noticed them, I did not report anything to the police! They might have criticised me, saying, ‘Why are these locals mistreating poor people who are unfortunately homeless and don't know where to go?’ “ In this depiction, exiles appear as wanderers, confined to the streets, in contrast to residents who are sheltered within their homes. In contrast, at the Halte humanitaire, the exiled populations are confined to an enclosed area and limited to a set route, which similarly protects them from the residents. Thus, it appears that the construction of exiled individuals as “the other” occurs not only in interpersonal interactions but also spatially within the public sphere, especially in the context of racialized social dynamics.

## 12.4 Conclusion

### 12.4.1 Diversity Paradoxes, Between Visibility and Invisibility in the Public Space

Over the past 10 years, scientific and activist works have increasingly focused on exiled populations pushed to the edges of multinational, national, or urban territories.<fnref n="9" /> These works examine, criticise, and contest the forms of institutional violence inflicted on exiled individuals who are forced to seek refuge in informal spaces like camps. In response to the harsh realities faced in these camps—characterised by extreme precariousness—architectural and urban frameworks aimed at better reception have emerged since the 2000s. These frameworks include securing precarious neighbourhoods, constructing prefabricated reception areas, repurposing abandoned commercial and private buildings, and investing in adaptable and

<footnote n="9">⁹Huysmans (2000), Valluy (2008), Ritaine (2009), Agier et al. (2011), Basilien-gainche (2011), Andersson (2014), Roland (2015), Amar (2018), Babels (2018).</footnote>
transformable structures (Hanappe, 2018). However, the temporary and precarious nature of these facilities, often built as emergency solutions, along with their locations on the outskirts of urban centres, contribute to the ongoing socio-spatial segregation of exiles at a local level (Hall, 2004). Considering this, the Halte humanitaire in Paris Centre offers a fresh perspective on the situation of exiles and the methods used to receive them. It prompts us to consider how such a “third place” can either contribute to or hinder efforts to create a contemporary and welcoming city (Besson, 2017). An analysis of the Halte highlights the complexities and ambiguities of the concept of the city of refuge. This is particularly evident in the actions of associative workers and political actors who engage with exiles. Their commitment to solidarity is contrasted with their involvement in security policies and the governance of spatial diversity.

The reconfigured public spaces, which is shared with exiled populations, often becomes a site of tension as conflicts over belonging and socio-racial discrimination emerge. Antonin Margier (2013) emphasises that understanding these conflicts “requires examining city dwellers’ relationships with their living spaces, which play a crucial role in shaping public areas. Indeed, city dwellers influence this structuring through their practices and how they envision themselves within the urban environment (De Certeau, 1990; Lefebvre, 2000). However, these appropriations can also lead to exclusion. This is particularly relevant at a time when public spaces are perceived as extensions of the home. When constructed in close proximity, these spaces can inadvertently foster processes of marginalisation (Fleury, 2007)”. It is, therefore, essential to explore how this “extension of the home,” represented by public spaces that accommodate diverse uses and feature various symbolic architectural forms, can be socially utilised. In her study of the Goutte d’Or neighbourhood, which is a vibrant multi-ethnic area, Virginie Milliot (2013) highlights its unique characteristics. She contrasts this environment with the “normalised ideal” of a public space that is clean, safe, and carefully regulated, often found in gentrified districts of the capital. The researcher observes that public spaces in bourgeois and tourist districts, like the Louvre-Rivoli area, are frequented by an anonymous crowd, characterised by behaviours of “rubbing eyes,” passing through, and employing avoidance strategies. In these environments, exiled populations and homeless individuals navigate through the area as long as they can remain invisible among the more affluent social groups. However, a sense of familiarity and culture can also develop in more enclosed public spaces within sociocultural and civic spaces, fostering more intimate social interactions. The former town hall of the first arrondissement acted as an intermediary space where the FADS and political leaders aimed to enhance diversity in the neighbourhood by transforming it into a semi-public area and a hub of movement and intersection.

In the end, the urban diversity within and around the Halte humanitaire project is regulated and facilitated yet constrained by a hierarchical structure and the specific roles assigned to each actor. In this chapter, the term “refuge” related to the Halte humanitaire carries a dual meaning. It refers to a refuge as a closed space, shielded from external threats, and also signifies a refuge open to the city’s heart, engaging with its cultural and political life. In this way, the insertion of the Halte humanitaire
in this neighbourhood depends on how the place managers coordinate and bring together these two meanings, notably through their exchanges and discourse. These observations suggest that diversity is not automatic; it is constructed, defined, and promoted by those in power to implement collective practices, specific spatial arrangements and collective actions shaping and harmonising social perceptions of the space. Nonetheless, the varied demands of different actors, the temporary setting, and the broader social and health context hinder this harmonisation, resulting in numerous paradoxes.

On a larger scale, for the political leaders involved, the political appropriation of the Halte helps to legitimise Paris’s role as a “city of refuge”. In her speech, the Mayor of Paris made little reference to the project’s temporary nature, placing the Halte in a broader political context and making it a symbolic example of the city’s stance in relation to the State. In this way, the Halte humanitaire became a theatre for the political interests that the associations were trying to work around, a “laboratory” in the image of German cities (Hinger, 2017) where new ways of governing diversity with several forces were being tested. The refuge-city concept is also similar to sanctuary cities in the United States (Bagelman, 2016; Paquet, 2017) or solidarity cities in several cultural areas of Asia, the Middle East and sub-Saharan Africa (Bauder, 2017), where resistance to or critique of federal and national migration and integration policies still coexists with local exclusionary practices (Houston & Morse, 2017). Nonetheless, compared with other European and international initiatives, the specificity of the Halte lies in its integration into the French socio-political context, where the recognition of ethno-racial inequalities in a policy of diversity remains limited (Hadj Abdou, 2019; Flamant, 2020). Analysing this reception project in relation to other contexts offers a clearer understanding of key socio-administrative categories within French and European systems. In contrast, different countries, such as China, approach the issue of migration through the lenses of citizenship and housing policies (Lynn-Ee Ho, 2019; Losavio, 2022). Ultimately, the Halte humanitaire case invites broader discussion on the impact of similar initiatives in other refuge, solidarity, and sanctuary cities. At the same time, it highlights the political constraints that shape the role of civil society actors in governing diversity.

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Chapter 13

Culture in the Global Urban Margins:
Cultural Policymaking with Migrant
Workers in Doha and Singapore

Jeremie Molho

**13.1 Introduction**

On a Sunday in early May 2022, I had the honor of participating in a storytelling festival organized by the Migrant Writers of Singapore at the Bishan Public Library. There, a highly diverse group of people took to the stage, each recounting tales of migration, identity, and human experiences: Singaporean authors followed by Bangladeshi construction worker-poets, and European scholars by Indonesian domestic workers/storytellers. The architect of this gathering, Zakir Hossain Khokan, a Bangladeshi writer and laborer who had long championed cultural activism in Singapore, had created a convivial space where individuals from disparate backgrounds converged to exchange and resonate with each other's stories. This vignette points to an emergent cultural policy directed at marginalized migrants. It is not the product of a centralized strategy but rather grassroots initiatives propelled by civic actors and cultural city-makers.

Doha and Singapore have seen the rise of an array of cultural initiatives tailored for the ‘low-skilled’ or ‘transient’ migrant workers. From photography festivals to poetry competitions and the construction of community-centric amenities like cinemas showing Bollywood movies and cricket stadiums, these endeavors have been put forward as aiming to address the specific cultural needs of these communities. Yet, these efforts juxtapose with the entrenched processes of exclusion that define their migration experience, and with the dominant narratives that confine these individuals to mere roles of physical toil. This contrast begs an inquiry into the objectives and consequences of such cultural initiatives. Do they perpetuate exclusion by reinforcing urban segmentation and otherness, or do they constitute spaces of hope,

<footnote>J. Molho (✉)
Canada Excellence Chair in Migration and Integration Program, Toronto Metropolitan
University, Toronto, ON, Canada
e-mail: jeremie.molho@torontomu.ca</footnote>
empowering individuals and challenging the dominant narratives imposed upon them?

A large corpus of literature has discussed the role of the arts and culture in fostering the integration of migrants (Bennett, 2001; Saukkonen & Pyykkönen, 2008; Innocenti, 2016). This scholarship posits that the active participation of migrants and their descendants in the city's culture reflects their integration, and highlights hybridization processes that enrich local cultural landscapes (Brandellero, 2009; Salzbrunn, 2014). Traditional views of cultural policy as a conduit for nation-building and societal integration are, however, increasingly scrutinized in light of the emergent patterns of urban diversity (Aksoy, 2006; Robins, 2006; Zapata-Barrero, 2016). The increasingly complex nature of global migration flows, the diversification of origins, and the ascent of transnational identities have culminated in what Steven Vertovec (2007) describes as “superdiversity”. While super-diverse cities often celebrate diversity and intercultural mixing, they are also marked by urban fragmentations that delineate communities along socio-economic, ethnic, and cultural demarcations (Wessendorf, 2014). Thus, they emerge as both arenas and agents in the reconfiguration of diversity governance (Nicholls & Uitermark, 2016; Çağlar & Glick Schiller, 2018).

Superdiversity presents a challenge for cultural policy, primarily manifested in the cultural wars between those critiquing monolithic, exclusive cultural canons and conservative bastions resisting the cultural assertions of globally connected communities claiming long-denied rights (Triandafyllidou, 2017). Furthermore, another conundrum challenges the very bedrock of cultural policy: the growing contingent of transients who float on the margins of urban belonging (Pagès-El Karoui & Yeoh, 2020). These transient migrants, ever-mindful of a potential need to return or relocate, are not encapsulated within the national narrative nor the city's promotional agenda.

Set within the broader agenda to rethink urban cultural policy in this era of superdiversity, this chapter examines how cultural policies in Doha and Singapore engages with marginalized migrants who slip through the mainstream narrative's cracks. In particular, I aim to spotlight the role of precarious yet privileged migrants as cultural city-makers who shift local cultural policies by engaging with migrants on the margins of the global city imaginary.

My analysis draws from extensive fieldwork in both cities. This study encompasses interviews with key cultural policy stakeholders to analyze their influence on diversity governance. It also includes observations of cultural initiatives, integrating both on-site visits and digital platform analyses—particularly salient since the pandemic's advent in 2020. The fieldwork for this chapter, based predominantly in Doha and Singapore from 2018 onwards, featured two-week fieldtrips to Singapore in February 2015, December 2018, and May 2022, with an extended stay from November 2019 to August 2021. During this time, I conducted 55 semi-structured interviews with a diverse array of policymakers and stakeholders across multiple urban policy sectors. In Doha, my fieldwork in January 2018 and October 2022 included 53 interviews with cultural institution managers, migrant community organization representatives, and policymakers across various domains.
The ensuing discussion first addresses the ramifications of superdiversity on urban cultural policy, advocating for a comparative and transnational lens to embrace the complexities of cultural policymaking in our connected world. Subsequently, I scrutinize the cultural policies of Singapore and Doha that pertain to marginalized migrants. This analysis delineates three distinct cultural policy approaches. The first engenders socio-cultural segregation of marginalized migrants; the second seeks to integrate them into the national narrative while preserving their 'otherness'; the third aspires to reframe their place in the city, celebrating their creativity and multifaceted selves.

## 13.2 Cultural Policy in the Super-Diverse City

While scholarship has abundantly commented on the use of culture in city branding aiming to attract elite migrants, as well as on the exclusionary processes affecting migrant workers within aspiring global cities, the way in which cultural policies engage with marginalized migrants is seldom explored in depth. To advance this discussion, it is imperative to articulate an approach of cultural policy that transcends the conventional understanding of centralized cultural strategies. Scholars of cultural policy have long underscored that even within centralized frameworks, cultural policy is a construct of myriad actors (Bennett, 2001; Grodach & Silver, 2012). It does not follow a monolithic rationale but is rather a confluence of various interests, ideas, and the networks that bind these disparate agents. As Dubois (1998) articulates, culture represents a nebulous category within public action, stemming from the intricate practical and symbolic relationships that unfold among a multitude of institutions, groups, and social strata – from artists to civil servants, intellectuals to laborers, cultural authorities to political figures, and media to bureaucrats.

In this context, the dichotomy of ‘explicit’ and ‘implicit’ cultural policy is insightful (Aheame 2009). ‘Explicit’ cultural policy, or cultural policy in the narrow sense, encompasses the dedicated support for artistic creation, heritage conservation, and the expansion of cultural access. However, cultural policy also extends to a broader spectrum of policy actions. The concept of ‘implicit’ cultural policy is introduced to acknowledge that various policies not traditionally labeled as ‘cultural’—like those concerning housing or economic development—can substantially influence culture. Consequently, an analytical approach to cultural policy must encompass actors who, though not confined to the cultural sector, play a key role in shaping culture. Vestheim (2007) posits that cultural policy is inherently instrumental: “public support of culture can only be argued for in terms of different effects it may have on or values it may have for groups of citizens and the society at large”. This interdependency invariably entwines cultural policy with other sectors such as education, social welfare, or urban planning (Gray, 2007).

Since the latter half of the twentieth century, urban cultural policies have evolved through two predominant paradigms. Rather than succeeding one another, they have coalesced to form the dual foundations of contemporary urban cultural policy: the
nation-building-driven cultural democratization paradigm and the urban
development-driven creative city paradigm (Evans, 2009; Molho, 2019). These par-
adigms have encountered profound disruptions in the face of superdiversity, which
has ushered in two defining tendencies: the burgeoning of plural, transnationally
connected identities that challenge the previously monolithic national narratives
aimed at fostering cohesive cultural discourses, and the emergence of a substantial
class of marginalized migrants, perceived neither as ‘creatives’ nor deemed worthy
of efforts towards cultural access and representation.

The paradigm of cultural democratization, with its roots in universalist ideology, aspires to disseminate a shared national culture. Urfalino (2004) traces the genesis of cultural policy to the concept of cultural democratization, epitomized by André Malraux’s policies in late 1950s France. This nexus of nationalism and universalism is a hallmark of this paradigm, championing the state’s mandate to forge social cohesion and guarantee egalitarian access to a universally conceived culture. This approach has been interrogated through years of empirical analysis. Vestheim (2007) critiques the efficacy of such policies, pointing out that despite decades of state intervention, cultural participation remains largely the domain of the affluent and educated classes, leaving the democratic issue of cultural access and engagement unresolved.

Conversely, the Creative City paradigm has been forged by academics and
experts and spread widely among urban policymakers eager to reimagine their cities
through culture in a context of enhanced inter-city competition. Richard Florida
(2002) has been instrumental in popularizing the creative city discourse, amalgam-
ating diverse theories into compelling propositions. He posited that to foster a cre-
ative economy, cities must attract creative individuals by cultivating amenities and
an environment of tolerance.

These paradigms have encountered significant challenges with the advent of
superdiversity (Vertovec, 2015). The cultural democratization paradigm, lauded for
its universalistic ethos, has been criticized for predominantly benefiting and accom-
modating the dominant elites. This nation-centric model faces scrutiny from an
emergent city-centric model, which espouses a broader and more inclusive concep-
tion of culture. Superdiversity, characterized by burgeoning transnational communi-
ties and cultural rights advocacy, contests the traditional universalist cultural policies
designed to enforce a homogenizing framework that often denies the existence of
diverse identities.

Conversely, the creative city paradigm is frequently challenged for prioritizing
economic development over aesthetic and social objectives. It has been co-opted by
urban elites to recalibrate cultural policy towards attracting global ‘talent’ and fos-
tering urban regeneration (Peck, 2005). This results in a selective approach to diver-
sity, focusing on a narrow version of diversity that is advantageous for global
economic competition but neglects the majority of migrants and minority groups
(Bayliss, 2007; Krätke, 2010). Furthermore, culture-led urban regeneration often
precipitates gentrification, displacing migrants and minorities from their communi-
ties (Ley, 2003; Pratt, 2011).
In sum, superdiversity introduces two principal disruptions. Firstly, it fosters an array of pluralistic identity claims that undercut monolithic, nation-centric cultural policy narratives. These narratives are finding new platforms for expression through transnational networks in urban spaces. Secondly, a global class of marginalized migrants have emerged, who are overlooked by traditional cultural policy narratives. They are omitted from cultural democratization efforts, not being perceived as part of the national community, nor are they acknowledged as a ‘creative class’ capable of driving economic innovation and growth. Consequently, these communities are often excluded from the cultural infrastructure of the city, leading to their marginalization within the city’s cultural narrative.

This chapter contributes to the expanding corpus of research that interrogates the role of cultural policy in engaging with marginalized migrant populations (Çağlar, 2016; Kasinitz & Martiniello, 2019; Martiniello, 2022). Existing studies have shed light on the multifaceted roles that culture can assume, particularly in aiding newcomers to acquire skills, process the experiences of trauma and exile, and navigate their new environments (Zapata-Barrero et al., 2017; Basu, 2022). These works underscore the therapeutic and integrative potential of cultural engagement, offering pathways for healing and adaptation through creative expression and cultural participation.

Moreover, a growing body of scholarship advances the conversation by exploring how culture serves as a transformative medium for reframing the identities of migrants. It allows for the articulation and sharing of their diverse narratives, fostering a dialogical space that not only mediates between migrant communities and host societies but also endeavors to shift perceptions dominated by mainstream media (Marchevska & Defrin, 2023). These perceptions are often laden with negative stereotypes and unidimensional portrayals that fail to capture the complexity of migrant experiences (Leurs et al., 2020). By highlighting migrant voices, cultural initiatives challenge and disrupt prevailing discourses, offering more nuanced and multifaceted representations (Sievers, 2021). This chapter seeks to illuminate a dimension that has received less attention in the literature: the role of cultural city-makers (Yamamura, 2022).

## 13.3 Comparing Urban Diversity and Cultural Policy in Doha and Singapore

The chapter contributes to the broader endeavor of this volume of examining comparison as a mechanism for generating urban knowledge. Comparative urbanism has gained traction as scholars seek to understand the “traveling urban processes” (McFarlane & Robinson, 2012), and the global exchange of professional expertise and ideas. McFarlane (2010) suggests comparing is more than a research method, a protocol, confronting explicitly two separate case studies, but rather, a way of thinking. McFarlane proposes a conscious effort to reveal the often-subliminal points of
reference that shape our understanding of cities. This shift from methodological to
theoretical comparison invites a reimagining of comparison as a central instrument
for knowledge production and learning.

The intricacy of urban comparison necessitates the development of comparative
tactics. Robinson (2011) underscores the pitfalls of concentrating comparisons on
globally prominent cities, which can obscure a broader spectrum of urban realities.
Such comparisons often align with implicit or explicit hierarchical categoriza-
tions—developed/developing, North/South—that can lead to a perception of incom-
mensurability among cities (Robinson, 2016). The challenge is to transcend
comparisons of the familiar and the similar, which tend to perpetuate existing theo-
retical frameworks. Hence, Robinson advocates for comparative tactics as a dynamic
process, enabling a gradual illumination of the subject under study. This contrasts
with the static or linear comparisons typical of analyses that juxtapose highly simi-
lar cases to highlight variations. In this more fluid approach, the research design,
focus, and theoretical framing emerge organically through the process of compari-
son, reflecting a multisituated fieldwork. This comparative approach that is inher-
ently dynamic and non-linear, echoes the interconnected nature of urban processes.

Hence the subject of inquiry of the present chapter is born from a dialogic
engagement with the two cities. The lens through which I scrutinize cultural poli-
cies directed at marginalized migrants in this chapter has crystallized from a broader,
multisited examination of diversity management in Doha and Singapore. This scru-
tiny has unearthed a compartmentalization within diversity governance in both cit-
ies, where labor migrants remain on the periphery of the prevailing narratives that
celebrate diversity—narratives that are often championed in the quest to position
these cities as emerging centers of the global knowledge economy (Molho, 2024).
Such observations have steered my attention to those cultural practitioners who
endeavor to cast light upon populations rendered invisible in this context.

Several aspects initially drove my intent to compare these two particular cities,
as I set out to explore shifting global patterns of global urban diversity management.
Both cities promoted strong state-led cultural development strategy to construct the
city as regional and global cultural hub and establish attractive showcase for tourists
and high skill migrants. They were both super diverse cities, with diversity inherited
from their long standing positions as crossroads of trading network and strategies to
attract global workforce in both low and high skill. Doha and Singapore boast
impressive GDP per capita (ranking respectively 5th and 2nd globally), testament to
their rapid ascent as global economic powerhouses. In Doha, the population has
grown sevenfold since the 1980s, with expatriates constituting 91% of residents and
95% of the workforce, anchored in a system prioritizing temporary migration
(Babar, 2015). Meanwhile, Since the early 2000s, Singapore has experienced a
steady increase in its foreign-born population, which has significantly shaped its
demographic landscape, with the non-resident population peaking at around 29% in
the early 2020s, reflecting the city-state's reliance on a diverse, substantial low-
skilled labor force as a cornerstone of its economic framework (Yeoh, 2013, Ho &
Kathiravelu, 2022).
As I went back and forth in the two cities, the common points and contrasts appeared more clearly: both shared a compartmentalized diversity management approach that allow them to address different forms of diversity with different dis-courses and created distinct urban spaces accordingly, on the basis of both social status and degree of integration of various forms of diversity in the national narra-tive. Singapore's CMIO (Chinese, Malay, Indian, Other) model has spurred the cre-ation of ethnic heritage districts, curating a multicultural facade. Conversely, Doha promulgates a singular national narrative, diluting ethnic nuances (Chua, 2007; Exell & Rico, 2013,). Both, however, face criticism for oversimplifying their inher-ent diversity. Cultural spaces in both cities have begun to challenge these monolithic narratives (Molho, 2020). In Singapore, institutions within ethnic districts are revealing the intricate intercultural dynamics previously obscured, whereas in Doha, urban redevelopment is unearthing a more pluralistic heritage. These narratives, enshrined in policy and national visions, balance a welcoming stance towards migration and innovation with the preservation of an idealized traditional culture. Both cities have leveraged cultural institutions to solidify their global status. Doha's Museum of Islamic Art and Singapore's Asian Civilizations Museum serve as cul-tural beacons, showcasing their regions' diverse cultural legacies (Levitt, 2015). These institutions illuminate a narrative of diversity, celebrating the convergence of cultures and the interplay of different belief systems.

Yet, beneath this celebration lies a shadow—the marginalization of low-wage migrant workers. This chapter, therefore, delves into the comparative governance of cultural policies toward these often-overlooked populations, revealing how each city’s narrative of diversity aligns or contrasts with the lived realities of its most vulnerable residents.

## 13.4 Marginalized Labor Migrant Workers in Doha and Singapore

Despite their substantial contribution to the construction and maintenance of these cities, the low-wage migrants of Doha and Singapore remain largely obscured in dominant narratives that celebrate cultural diversity. Over recent decades, these groups have been incrementally displaced from urban centers to peripheries, reflect-ing a strategic sanitization of urban spaces.

In Singapore, the landscape of migrant accommodation has transformed signifi-cantly (Goh, 2019). Initially integrated within the urban fabric, foreign workers were accommodated in proximity to their places of work or in public housing. However, growing discontent among local residents precipitated a shift, leading to the establishment of dedicated dormitories. By 2008, plans were laid for 11 dormi-tories to house 65,000 workers, and existing government structures were repurposed for migrant housing. In 2013, the Urban Redevelopment Authority's guidelines advocated for the siting of dormitories in locations distanced from residential zones
to mitigate potential communal frictions. This spatial segregation accentuated the growth to what Ostertag (2016) terms “transient community hubs”—nodes like Little India, which swelled on Sundays with up to 100,000 migrant workers seeking leisure and essential services (Goh, 2014).

Doha's historical center once provided a haven for migrants, offering housing within the vacated edifices of a city undergoing a rapid process modernization and new district developments (Boussaa, 2014). Yet, the turn of the millennium marked a strategic overhaul, channeling urban regeneration efforts concurrently with the displacement of migrants to the margins (Bruslé, 2010; Gardner, 2021). The consequent social exclusion leverages a nomenclature designating migrant workers as “bachelors” (Mohammad & Sidaway, 2016). The enforcement of a 2000-dollar minimum wage prerequisite for family reunification effectively casts low-skilled migrant workers into a state of enforced bachelorhood. The 2010 family zone law further entrenched this exclusion, preventing housing these “bachelors” from the historical heart of the city. At the same time, these “bachelors” were increasingly barred from frequenting mainstream spaces such as malls on the ground of reserving them for families.

The spotlight turned to Doha with the 2022 World Cup preparations, which intensified both the exploitation of migrant workers and the global scrutiny of their conditions, leading to scathing reports by prominent international media outlets like The Guardian and The New York Times (Pattisson, 2013; Aziz & Hussain, 2014). Similarly, the December 2013 riots in Singapore's Little India, involving migrant workers, brought the city-state's treatment of its transient workforce to the international stage, with The New York Times and The Guardian calling for reforms to address the systemic marginalization and abuse (Malay, 2014).

Subsequent reactions in both cities were ambivalent. On one hand, efforts were made to ameliorate the situation: Qatar welcomed a UN Special Rapporteur for human rights who provided recommendations for migrant welfare, and the Qatar Foundation conducted its own examination of the issue (Jureidini, 2014). Singapore instituted an inquiry committee post-riots, leading to actionable recommendations to improve living conditions for migrant workers. Yet, alongside these reforms, policies to further exclude migrant workers were implemented. Doha and Singapore sought to construct modern, albeit isolated, accommodations, seemingly to improve living standards while simultaneously curtailing migrants' visibility in central urban spaces.

In Singapore, authorities imposed stringent security measures in Little India and advanced plans for vast dormitories with leisure amenities, aiming to house up to 25,000 workers. Doha's approach was more severe, with plans unveiled in 2015 for new cities designated to house a quarter of a million laborers engaged in World Cup infrastructure projects. These measures, ostensibly framed as enhancing living conditions, also served the dual purpose of controlling and concealing the migrant presence from the city's core and residential areas.

The strategy of confining migrant workers within separate urban enclosures (Yeoh & Lam, 2022) set the stage for a public health debacle during the early stages of the COVID-19 pandemic (Babar, 2020; Ye, 2021). These housing complexes
became focal points of the virus’s proliferation, undermining efforts by both nations to curb a pathogen for which no vaccination was yet available. Given the cramped living conditions endured by migrant workers, containing the outbreak within these quarters was virtually impossible, and the sealing off of these housing spaces further intensified their sense of confinement.

Despite the ensuing crisis, the underlying policy of segregation remained unquested and unchanged. Leaders in both cities concluded that the architectural model was fundamentally sound but required enhanced health protocols, such as reducing occupancy rates and improving disease prevention measures. The response was not to dismantle these segregated spaces but to expand them, ostensibly to better safeguard public health (Bernhard & Ellemunt, 2022; Ewers et al., 2023).

This ongoing development in the urban management of migrant labor in Doha and Singapore underscores a broader pattern of exclusion, one that extends beyond mere spatial segregation to diminish the visibility and integration of these workers in metropolitan life. This brings us to the present inquiry regarding cultural policy: In a backdrop where migrant workers are predominantly viewed as mere instruments of labor, essential cogs in a developmental machine, does culture reinforce the prevailing perception of migrants as the ‘other,’ as ephemeral entities separate from the social fabric? Or does it offer a transformative lens, a means to recognize and celebrate the multifaceted identities and inherent creativity of these individuals? Is there a potential for cultural policies to carve out spaces not just of artistic expression but of awakening and liberation, enabling migrants to contest and redefine the restrictive narratives imposed upon them?

## 13.5 Cultural Policy Toward Marginalized Migrants in Doha and Singapore

In Doha and Singapore, cultural policies aimed at marginalized migrants manifest in three distinct forms: first, as mechanisms that inadvertently perpetuate exclusion; second, as instruments seeking to uphold and validate the established order of diversity governance; and third, as agents of change that challenge the status quo, advocating for a reimagined inclusion of migrant identities in the city's cultural and social conscience.

### 13.5.1 *Cultural and Recreation Services Catering to Migrant Workers*

As urban leaders in Doha and Singapore undertook to house migrant workers in the city peripheries, they started to create cultural amenities within the confines of these segregated enclosures. These are spaces like the purpose-built migrant dormitories
in Singapore or Doha's 'Asian city,' have been equipped with cultural centers, specialized retail outlets, and recreational activities. Such initiatives are dual-purposed: they serve as a counter-narrative to international critiques of substandard living conditions for migrants, showcasing the authorities' and developers' attention to migrant welfare, while simultaneously addressing local xenophobic discomforts triggered by migrants' presence in central urban areas.

Post-2013's Little India Riots, the Singaporean authorities embarked on the construction of vast dormitory complexes designed to house upwards of 25,000 workers. These dormitories, such as the one in Tuas South inaugurated in the summer of 2014, are not merely sleeping quarters but come equipped with a supermarket, food courts, a cinema, and even a cricket pitch. The intention behind these developments was to alleviate the crowding in Little India by providing migrants with their own recreational spaces (Goh & Lee, 2022). Furthermore, in 2016, the Ministry of Manpower in Singapore initiated commendations for dormitory designs and orchestrated a photography contest, inviting migrant workers to document and share vignettes of their day-to-day experiences (Figs. 13.1 and 13.2).

The narrative curated by the Tuas South Dormitory's online portal paints a picture of migrant workers' lives steeped in comprehensive care and recreational abundance, implying that the numerous facilities within obviates any necessity to venture into the city's heart. The communication is laden with descriptions of a self-contained world—multi-purpose halls, gyms, and communal gathering spaces—all elements that beckon the reader to see this as a microcosm of urban life in its own right. The portrayal of the National Day celebrations at Tuas South Dormitory in August 2018, showcases photographs shining a positive light on the migrant experience. One depicts a scene of festivity where a performer entertains an audience amidst a sea of colorful flags. Another one showcases workers on a festooned stage

<figure><img src="image_40.png" /><figcaption>Fig. 13.1 Tuas South Dormitory</figcaption></figure>
<figure><img src="image_41.png" /><figcaption>**Fig. 13.2** A recreation center near Tuas South</figcaption></figure>

under a banner of corporate affiliation. The informal dress and use of a microphone for speeches or performances aim to foster a sense of community and recognition. Yet, the prominent display of corporate branding and the very necessity of hosting such events within the dormitory's confines are emblematic of a curated facade.

In 2015, as Doha anticipated the infrastructural demands of the forthcoming 2022 World Cup and faced scrutiny over the living standards of its migrant workforce, the authorities unveiled plans for seven new residential cities. These cities, intended to accommodate 250,000 laborers engaged in World Cup projects, were touted as a significant improvement to workers' living conditions. The project known as “Labor City,” later rebranded as “Asian City,” encapsulates this effort. The developer's website articulates a vision of “Asian City” as a harmonious enclave designed to ensure superior living standards for workers, in alignment with Qatar's vision for the 2022 World Cup. The website heralds the inclusion of verdant spaces, recreational facilities, and a congenial atmosphere as catalysts for a contented and industrious workforce.

This urban intervention also witnessed the conception of an entertainment hub, initially called ‘West End Park’ and subsequently renamed “Asian Town.” Tailored to the cultural preferences of South Asian workers, it boasts a sprawling hypermarket, a shopping mall, an amphitheater capable of seating 16,000, a cricket stadium for 13,000 spectators, and cinemas dedicated to Bollywood films. While ostensibly these developments are aimed at enriching the lives of migrant workers, critics argue they serve a parallel function of facilitating a spatial and social segregation. By situating entertainment and lifestyle amenities within the confines of these labor cities, there is an implicit yet potent redirection of migrant social life away from the city’s core, embedding a subtle architecture of exclusion within the urban fabric of Doha (Figs. 13.3 and 13.4).
<figure><img src="image_42.png" /><figcaption>Fig. 13.3 Asian City Gate, Doha</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_43.png" /><figcaption>Fig. 13.4 Asian Town on a Friday</figcaption></figure>
Within Doha's urban landscape, spaces like Asian City have been crafted not just as residential zones for migrant labor but as stages for the portrayal of exemplary treatment. A telling example comes from the Peninsula Qatar's coverage of the 2018 National Day celebrations titled "Parade by expatriate communities in Asian Town." This account highlights a parade featuring teams from India, Bangladesh, Nepal, and Sri Lanka, assembled in a choreographed homage to Qatar National Day, facilitated by the Ministry of Interior and the overseers of Asian Town. The event is described as a vivid display of allegiance and cultural pageantry.

Photographic depictions of the celebration reveal a tableau of migrant workers donning white attire with red accents, a procession infused with the symbolism of national and cultural pride. The imagery is dense with connotations—a flag emblazoned with India's tricolor alongside banners announcing the National Day, all set against a backdrop of corporate insignia, suggesting a narrative carefully curated for public consumption. Another image captures a parade endorsing the FIFA World Cup Qatar 2022, with individuals holding signs of support. A man holds a placard proclaiming "WE SUPPORT QATAR 2022," while another brandishes a large football trophy replica. This visual narrative, while meant to evoke a sense of festivity and collective anticipation for the upcoming World Cup, underscores the peripheral existence of the workers within the urban and social fabric of the city.

The conception of Asian Town with its Bollywood cinemas, and the Tuas Dormitory complete with a cricket stadium, epitomizes a deliberate architectural segregation—a separation reinforced by stringent policies limiting migrant workers' access to the civic heart of cities. In Doha, the exclusion manifests in the banning of 'bachelors' from malls, while in Singapore, migrant workers find themselves fined on the streets of Little India.

This cultural provisioning operates within a framework that perceives migrant workers predominantly as economic units, orchestrating a balance among divergent forces. We see xenophobic sentiments and Not-In-My-Backyard (NIMBY) attitudes demanding a reduction in migrant labor, business interests advocating for the unfettered recruitment of an economical workforce, and civil society voices urging for the preservation of migrants' dignity—a call that gains resonance amid crises, such as the pandemic, when international attention spotlights migrant living and working conditions. The relocation to peripheral enclosed housing, paired with amenities and cultural service offerings, emerges as a tripartite compromise, appeasing xenophobic tensions, catering to commercial imperatives for inexpensive labor, and showcasing goodwill to address migrant welfare.

Civil society groups, often engaged in humanitarian and social endeavors, find their involvement in cultural initiatives within these new peripheral migrant concentrations to be a double-edged sword. Although these projects facilitate interaction and community contact, they are also co-opted by governmental authorities to propagate communications on public health, urban etiquette, and national celebrations—effectively channeling the communal life of migrant workers away from city centers to designated peripheries.

For instance, the Indian Cultural Center in Doha, offering activities like dance and yoga, becomes a conduit for municipal messaging on civic responsibilities.
Similarly, associations like NIDO Qatar collaborate with official committees to promote cultural engagement and volunteerism, reflecting a systematic redirection of community dynamics. “They had a campaign that was called Keep Your City. The easiest way to approach those community organizations to deliver the messages is to approach the Indian Cultural Center” (Interview with a community leader operating under the aegis of the Indian Cultural Center). In Singapore, the Migrant Worker Center, initiated by the national trade union, opens recreational spaces explicitly designed to intersect with migrants’ social habitats: “to meet them in their comfort zone,” as one employee describes.

Yet, for organizations like Transient Workers Count Too (TWC2), this engagement is fraught with complexity. Their participation in government-organized Carnivals within migrant dormitories is a concession, particularly under movement restrictions imposed by the pandemic. Such involvement is met with ambivalence, as the intensive labor required for event organization diverts resources from pressing welfare issues: “Organising events is a lot of work. We deal with life-threatening situations,” states the president of TWC2. There’s a pervasive sentiment that these events can often be paternalistic and self-congratulatory.

### 13.5.2 Migrants in the National Heritage Narrative

While the migrant workers who help build the cities of Doha and Singapore and sustain their economies are notably absent from the core of their grand narratives of national development and urban growth, in recent years, cultural institutions have attempted to dot their displays with stories of migrant workers, advancing a timid recognition of their contributions to city.

For instance, Doha's Msheireb Museums, an institution under the aegis of the Qatar Foundation, have taken a step towards confronting historical and contemporary issues of labor exploitation with the opening of the Bin Jelmood house. This space is dedicated to the history of slavery and includes a segment on its modern manifestations. One of the exhibits shows the pictures of workers captured during a moment of respite on a construction site, with the nascent skyline of Doha looming in the background. The juxtaposition of the laborers against a milieu of architectural ambition and wealth, coupled with an explanatory note on the kafala system's abuses, strikes a chord about the stark realities of migrant life in a region synonymous with rapid growth and prosperity.

Further, the exhibition positions the Gulf's experience in a global context by drawing parallels with the exploitation of migrant agricultural workers in Western nations, as depicted in another panel. Here, the solitary figure of a worker, resting with a gaze that meets the viewer's, serves as a somber testament to the universal challenges migrant laborers face across continents. The narrative is carefully constructed to prompt reflection on the ubiquity of exploitation, subtly suggesting a shared global complicity.
The Msheireb museum’s exhibition indeed breaks ground by broaching a topic often shrouded in silence, bringing the typically unseen migrant community into visibility. However, it stops short of a full-throated celebration of the migrant’s integral role in the making of modern Doha, nor does it directly confront the contemporary conditions of exploitation. In effect, while the exhibit opens a dialogue on the struggles of migrant workers, it also subtly relativizes these issues within a global frame—perhaps as a means to temper critique, casting the local as one part of a worldwide phenomenon of migrant labor challenges.

Singapore’s National Museum hosted an exhibition titled “Open Doors,” with a narrative of the city-state’s historical embrace of migration and the diversity that has become the cornerstone of its national identity. The exhibit includes stories from those who sought and built a life on its shores, portraying Singapore as not just a confluence of cultures but as a crucible where the very essence of ‘home’ is continually forged and redefined. Through the exhibition, visitors are encouraged to traverse the corridors of Singapore’s multicultural heritage, engaging with audio installations that offer a spectrum of personal reflections.

Among the highlighted accounts is that Raj, originally from India, oversees the welfare of his compatriots at Homestay Lodge, a dormitory located in Kaki Bukit. His narrative is one of sacrifice and purpose, finding solace and satisfaction in ensuring the well-being of others despite the personal cost of familial separation. Raj’s account is portrayed as emblematic of the migrant experience in Singapore—a narrative carefully curated to highlight themes of happiness and security within the context of migration. However, the exhibition’s selective storytelling and its emphasis on positive individual experiences may be viewed as an attempt to sculpt a particular public image. By celebrating these specific narratives, the exhibit seeks to integrate migrant stories into Singapore’s broader national identity, while subtly deflecting from the systemic challenges faced by the migrant community.

The place of migrant workers’ lives is carefully situated at the periphery of national narratives within the halls of cultural institutions like the Singapore National Museum and the National Museum of Qatar. Absent from the main thrust of the national story, they are displayed in specialized segments, relegated to the basement exhibitions or the concluding sections of a museum display. This spatial and narrative positioning reflects a deliberate choice, one that serves to acknowledge their existence without fully integrating their stories into the dominant account of nationhood.

The underlying rationale is twofold, encompassing both public diplomacy and internal dynamics. Amid global scrutiny and a heightened concern for international image, particularly in cities like Singapore and Doha that rely heavily on migrant labor for their developmental ambitions, there is a palpable need to craft a positive discourse. This narrative strategy acknowledges migrants’ contributions, enhancing the nation’s reputation in the eyes of the global community and the migrants’ countries of origin, sustaining the influx of labor critical for ongoing growth.

Simultaneously, these cultural displays are directed toward the national population, aiming to temper xenophobic attitudes and cultivate a sense of acceptance and
appreciation for the migrant community. By showcasing the indispensable yet often overlooked contributions of migrants, such exhibits tacitly promote a recognition of their value. Yet, the dialogue stops short of addressing the more profound questions of status and belonging. These policies reinforce the notion of the migrant worker as transient, an interim contributor rather than a permanent fixture, irrespective of the depth of their ties to the city.

### 13.5.3 Conviviality and Empowerment

Grassroots cultural movements, propelled by the migrants themselves together with local civil society organizations, have striven to create civic spaces designed to redefine the place of migrant workers in the representations of the city.

The Kerala Women's Initiative of Qatar (KWIQ) embodies a model of civic engagement, fostering convivial spaces where personal narratives and cultural expressions can flourish. KWIQ's event, 'Onnichoronam,' is a vivid illustration of such a space—a festival celebrating the cultural heritage of Kerala and providing a platform for the voices and talents of female domestic workers in Qatar. During 'Onnichoronam,' held in October 2022, KWIQ transformed an Indian School into a microcosm of Kerala, replete with the traditional Ona Sadhya feast served on banana leaves, cultural performances by KWIQ members, and spontaneous acts of song and dance by the domestic workers themselves (The Peninsula, 2022). By centering these women as special guests, KWIQ disrupted the typical narrative of domestic workers' invisibility, instead highlighting their contributions and resilience.

The distribution of gifts and the opportunity to perform and be heard transformed the event into an acknowledgment of the women's sacrifices. As one worker remarked, it was the first time in nearly two decades that she felt seen and heard in such a public and affirming manner. This moment of recognition encapsulates the transformative potential of creating civic spaces where migrant workers can emerge from the shadows of their daily toil. In an interview, KWIQ President Zareena Ahad elaborated on the initiative's objectives. The event was not just about providing a day of happiness but about recognizing and celebrating the often-overlooked segment of the community. By identifying and showcasing the diverse talents of these women, KWIQ endeavors to elevate their status within the community, potentially opening pathways to further develop and share their abilities. By providing a stage to showcase their talents, KWIQ aims to challenge the reduction of the identities of migrant workers to their assigned economic function. Instead, they are portrayed as individuals brimming with talent and aspirations, capable of enriching the cultural landscape of their host country.

The Migrant Writers of Singapore's Storytelling Festival at Bishan library in May 2022 epitomizes the transformative potential of civic spaces where the voices of migrant workers and local citizens resonate in unison. Through the art of storytelling, the festival aimed to illuminate a path towards mutual understanding and empathy, celebrating the universality of the human condition. Rahul Shah, opening
the event, emphasized the unity found in shared narratives, highlighting that despite
the perceived divides of our fragmented world, there is common ground to be found
in our basic human experiences of pain and love. His message set the tone for a day
of connection and reflection, challenging the audience to envision a world of peace-
ful coexistence fostered by the shared practice of storytelling.

As diverse individuals took the stage, the multiple functions of such a space of conviviality materialized. Mary Joyce, a domestic worker and newcomer to the Migrant Writers of Singapore, shared her personal journey toward finding a sense of belonging. For her, the festival represented the realization of a dream—to publicly author and share her story, a tale of unattainable love, before a live audience. Theo Kwek, a Singaporean writer instrumental in amplifying migrant workers’ voices through translation, contributed to the event, weaving a historical tale that spans both time and cultural landscapes. Ellen Laville, another domestic worker, approached the stage with humor and vulnerability. By sharing an intimate glimpse into her life and work environment, she transformed her personal space—a sleeping area that doubles as a bomb shelter—into a sanctuary of her own making, challenging the audience to confront the stark realities of domestic work. The festival culminated with a powerful account from a mother who narrated her sacrifices to secure an education for her son, culminating in his achievement as a certified teacher in the United States. Her story, laden with emotion, highlighted the often-invisible struggles and triumphs of migrant workers, providing a poignant reminder of the aspirations that transcend the labor they perform.

The grassroots activists who organized this storytelling festival, including migrant workers, local writers, and advocates, constructed a civic space where diverse backgrounds and experiences converged. Such spaces allow migrant workers to emerge as multifaceted individuals: writers, artists, activists, brimming with emotions and dreams. By presenting themselves in these capacities, they challenge the monolithic narratives often perpetuated by mainstream media and contribute to dismantling the constrictive categories imposed upon them. These spaces foster a reimagining of migrant workers’ roles, allowing them to be seen as architects of a vibrant, alternative cultural landscape within the city.

These initiatives provide a platform to highlight critical issues affecting migrant
workers—safety hazards on job sites, inadequate housing, and exploitative condi-
tions tethered to employer whims. By articulating their experiences and perspec-
tives, these workers offer a window into their realities, fostering empathy and
solidarity from the broader population, and galvanizing community support.

Yet the transformative potential of these initiatives is often tempered by their
material fragility. Unlike the more established, well-resourced cultural policies,
these grassroots efforts are fueled by the passion and personal investment of their
organizers, who operate with limited funds and scarce time. Their capacity to cap-
ture the attention of a wider audience and to effect substantial change is restricted
by these constraints.

The institutional landscape plays a crucial role in shaping the visibility and sus-
tainability of migrant cultural initiatives. In Singapore, formal NGOs actively
develop and promote cultural projects with and for migrant workers, providing them
with platforms for public engagement and recognition. In contrast, Doha lacks comparable NGO structures, meaning that cultural initiatives rely on informal, community-based networks, often constrained by the absence of legal NGO status, which limits access to funding, permanent staffing, and public spaces.

## 13.6 Privileged Precarious Migrants as Cultural City-Makers

Cultural city-makers are at the forefront of cultural policies towards migrant workers in Doha and Singapore. These individuals are dynamic agents, inventing new cultural narratives that can have a transformative impact on the city and particularly influence how it is experienced by the most marginalized migrants. Often migrants themselves, cultural city-makers have a status that oscillates between various forms of precarity and privilege. In contrast to the migrant workers at the bottom of the social ladder, who endure demanding work schedules and the shackles of debt, cultural city-makers possess key economic and social resources that enable them to engage in civic and collective initiatives. They usually come from middle-class backgrounds and have higher education. In addition, their professional and community engagement, has enabled them to rise socially and accumulate cultural and social capital, distinguishing them from more precarious labor migrants who have limited opportunities to advance socioeconomically.

In Doha, personalities such as Victor Ikoli, a Nigerian journalist and community leader, and Zareena Ahad, head of the Kerala Woman Initiative, exemplify this role. Ikoli, leveraging his media experience and community ties, mediates between the Nigerian community and Qatari authorities, fostering a positive communal image. Ahad, alongside her association, addresses educational and welfare needs, fostering community solidarity. In Singapore, figures like Shivaji Das, a consultant and distinguished writer, and Zakir Hossain Khokan, a construction worker-turned-cultural activist, stand out. Das, through initiatives like the migrant poetry contest and the Global Migrant Festival, amplifies migrant voices in creative spheres. Khokan, utilizing his literary talents and public speaking skills, advances worker rights and cultural expression, evidenced by his contributions to Singapore's Migrant Workers Poetry Competition and his varied creative publications.

These individuals, through their respective platforms, not only bridge gaps between migrants and host societies but also reconstruct migrant identities, enabling cultural contributions that reshape urban narratives. Cultural citymakers possess a wealth of social resources, connections across institutions, and a profound ability to foster relationships with activists and migrants alike. They spearhead NGOs that leverage culture as a means to engage with migrant workers and address their plights. As orchestrators of cultural policy, they draw upon diverse sectors, drawing cultural institutions into the conversation. Their foremost goal is to redefine migrants—not merely as cogs in an economic machine but as individuals with rich identities, histories, and aspirations.
Cultural city-makers mobilize creativity as powerful means to navigate political restrictions. Through metaphor, allegory, and symbolism, creative works can convey messages that might otherwise be censored if expressed in direct political discourse. In societies where open criticism is stifled, collective creative spaces become a sanctuary for free thought, allowing for the assertion of individual and collective agency.

Nonetheless, the latitude for creativity that cultural city-makers enjoy is not without its bounds. Despite their relatively advantageous positions, cultural city-makers are often precarious. The demarcation between permissible cultural expression and that which transgresses accepted norms is often indistinct. To overstep these boundaries is to risk severe repercussions. Their efforts to weave the narratives of the marginalized into the urban culture are not immunized against sanction. This precariousness is illustrated by the case of Zakir Hossain Khokan, whose substantial cultural contributions to Singapore could not shield him from being eventually expelled from the city that he had called his home for nearly two decades.

## 13.7 Conclusion

Cultural policies aimed at marginalized migrants in Doha and Singapore follow two instrumental goals. Firstly, there is a concerted effort to mitigate criticism—both local and international—regarding the living and working conditions of migrant workers. Cultural amenities are strategically deployed as a counter-narrative to deflect from allegations of exploitation, presenting an image of concern for migrant dignity and welfare. Secondly, the provision of these cultural services within designated enclaves operates to minimize migrants’ interactions with the broader urban community, effectively sidelining them from the city’s communal life.

In this context, cultural city-makers endeavor to carve out spaces of solidarity and shared experience, countering the exclusionary currents. Their navigation through the prevailing forces of segregation can sometimes lead to compromises, where the legitimization of the status quo becomes an unintended byproduct of their efforts. The precarity of their own status often precludes these cultural actors from pushing the boundaries further.

When considering the comparative dynamics of collective cultural organization in Doha and Singapore, a notable contrast ought to be highlighted. Doha's more authoritarian leanings impose stringent restrictions on collective associations, rendering the city's cultural scene highly centralized. In contrast, Singapore's relatively more liberal political context allows for a cultural civil society with a certain degree of autonomy. This gives rise to an active network of NGOs that work towards migrant empowerment and cultivate connections that transcend their initiatives, fostering a more integrated community consciousness.
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<figure><img src="image_44.png" /></figure>
<figure><img src="image_45.png" /></figure>

## 14.1 Introduction

A late Friday morning in La Chapelle, Paris, 2022. “Tambi,<fnref n="1" /> come here!”, “Tangacci,<fnref n="2" /> it’s over here!”, “Tambi, put your shoes here!” (my translation from Tamil). Deepa<fnref n="3" /> is busy calling out to people who walk on the pavement in direction of where the Ganesh temple was until yesterday. Most do not know that a temporary place of worship was set up in a tiny room two buildings away yesterday that will remain for 5 weeks. During this period, the temple is being renovated before the renewal of the consecration, which usually takes place every 12 years (Tamil: *Makākumpāpiśēkam*). The temple was consecrated on the ground floor of a three-story residential building in 2010 (Fig. 14.2b). While it does not have a distinctive appearance from outside, the shrines inside the temple were installed by South Asian specialists following Hindu architectural principles. The interim temple, located in a small room within a six-story residential building two doors down, contains a few selected small statues and painted images of divinities instead of the larger statues from the temple under renovation. Deepa is not only concerned about people not finding their way to this interim temple, but also about a neighboring shop owner who had previously complained about shoes placed in front of her shop. Deepa is also aware of residents

<footnote n="1">¹Tamil: younger brother. Address for men younger than the speaker. I write *tambi* instead of the correct transliteration (*tampi*) to facilitate pronunciation for the reader.</footnote>

<footnote n="2">²Tamil: younger sister. Address for women younger than the speaker.</footnote>

<footnote n="3">³All names are pseudonyms which correspond to the names' origins (Tamil/French/English).</footnote>
from the upper floors who might complain about too much noise. Furthermore, she keeps reminding devotees who stand on the pavement to leave a corridor for pedestrians to be able to pass through while they watch the ceremonies being performed in the temporary temple, which only has room for about 10 people at a time. Over the course of three weekend days, I only heard one pedestrian complain, saying “this is after all a very narrow pavement for such a crowd” (my translation from French). The “crowd” consisted of around 20 people.

A late Friday morning in Chinatown, Singapore, 2022. About 20 pairs of shoes are placed on the pavement and in the shoe rack next to the entry of the Sri Mariamman temple. It is a temple in Dravidian architecture with a high entrance tower (Tamil: kōpuram). The kōpuram is surrounded by a scaffold and green and blue sheets, which hide elaborate relief art. The temple is being renovated for the *Makākumpāpiśēkam*, which was postponed because of the COVID-19 pandemic. The temple was first built in the 1820s and is the oldest Hindu temple in Singapore. It was classified as a National Monument in 1973 and it is an important (touristic) landmark in Singapore’s Chinatown (Fig. 14.4a). A large sign informs visitors to remove their foot wear, to wear clothes that cover knees and shoulders, to be quiet, and that smoking, meat and alcohol are not allowed in the temple. Inside the temple walls, a large open space surrounds the inner sacred, allowing people to sit on the stone floor or on artificial grass. Some people pray, others chat, some women buy saris, some children chase pigeons.

The ways these two Hindu places of worship are installed and built in the global cities of Paris and Singapore respectively raise questions about how religious actors contribute to the cities and what roles they play in the governance of religious diversity. What are the possibilities and challenges they face in terms of diversity governance? What strategies do they develop to co-create the diverse city? How are they city makers? Spatial strategies of religious groups often depend on their histories and their complex social positions in the specific cities. Scholars have suggested differentiating “place keeping” strategies of more established religious institutions from “place making” strategies, such as building places of worship or repurposing existing buildings, and less permanent “place seeking” strategies, such as meditation in open spaces (Burchardt et al., 2018). Elements of all three strategies become apparent in this chapter. I focus on how Hindus in Singapore and Paris contribute to the fabric of the cities in material ways through the installation or construction of temples and through their bodies, especially during festivals and processions.

Relations between religious practices and cities are multilayered. Julia Martínez-Ariño's (2018, 2021) analysis of the governance of religious diversity in medium-sized French cities reveals governance as processes initiated not only by the state but by multiple actors as they intersect on multiple levels, notably on the level of the city. Building on the idea of multiple actors being involved in the governance of religious diversity, I consider religious practitioners themselves as city makers (Hunter, 2013). Marcus Anthony Hunter (2013) employs the term “citymakers” to address the political agency of Black city makers in Philadelphia through their practices of framing discourses, voting, mobilizing and migrating. Considering religious practitioners as city makers, I emphasize their contributions to the city rather than
presenting them as somehow fitting into the existing urban fabric. I examine how they create urban space materially and socially (Lefebvre, 1991). They actively contribute to the urban fabric through their installations of temples, the conduct of festivals, and the creation of sacred atmospheres through their bodies. Viewing religious city makers as actors of diversity governance emphasizes the mutual interactions and formations of religion and urbanity (Lanz, 2014; Rüpke & Rau, 2020) rather than one-dimensional top-down processes. Examining how religious city makers contribute to the urban fabric requires an embodied approach, which recognizes bodies as central to the construction and experience of the city.

In the following sections, I first outline the selective and purposeful comparative approach of this chapter while sketching the heterogenous cases of Hindus to Singapore and Paris. I then embed questions about city makers in the multiculturalist and laicist frameworks with regards to religion-state relations in both cities. The subsequent parts of the chapter focus on how religious actors contribute to the cities through the creation and moving of places of worship, through the conduct of festivals, and through their devotional bodies. Examples of “sidewalk religion”, indoor sacred atmospheres, and meticulous crowd management illustrate subtle ways of Hindus’ self-governance. These examples emphasize the importance of considering the governance of religious diversity as processes and negotiations on multiple levels by multiple actors. Bodies turn out as central in the experience and the governance of religious diversity. The chapter is based on moments of anthropological fieldwork conducted in Singapore and Paris and remotely online between 2019 and 2023, with participant observation and biographical narrative interviews as the main methods.

## 14.2 Tamil Hindus in Singapore and Paris: Selective Comparison

Urban comparison as a strategic way of thinking requires continuous reflection on both the process and the objects of comparison (McFarlane, 2010). Colin McFarlane encourages us to reflect on strategic comparison in terms of epistemic power relations. Katherine V. Gough (2012) emphasizes the question of *whose* city is compared. Comparing Hindus as city makers in Singapore and Paris challenges the assumption that they form directly comparable groups, given their differing migration histories and diverse regional and social backgrounds. It also challenges perspectives about principles of governing religious diversity, like multiculturalism or *laïcité*, as being solely decisive in the governance of religious diversity. Rather than systematically comparing religious actors and cities, I attempt to compare contexts and processes that shape experiences (Gough, 2012:869). My strategy of comparison involves an actor-centered approach of following actors’ practices and experiences of the relation between the religious and the urban (cf. Lanz, 2014:30–34).
Small-scale ethnographic instances exemplify how the making of a diverse city can look like.

The comparative perspective in this chapter takes into account the intersection of divergences and commonalities when focusing on Tamil Hindus in both cities, with their different compositions in terms of regional backgrounds and migration circumstances. Singaporean Hindus constitute about five percent of the population,<fnref n="4" /> with an estimated 80 percent of Tamil origin (Sinha, 2013:117). Unlike Singapore, where racial and religious categories play a key role in bureaucracy, French secularism does not permit the collection of religious or ethnic census data. In the absence of official numbers, the *Observatoire de la laïcité* estimates the number of Hindus in France at about 0,4 percent.<fnref n="5" /> Even though the percentage might be higher in the capital than the French average, I assume it to be lower than in Singapore. Like in Singapore, the majority of Hindus in Paris have Tamil origins, though with different proportions in terms of regional background.

The Hindu presence in both nations stems from complex migration histories from India, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, and Mauritius, spanning different periods and continuing with ongoing migration today. Hinduism was already significant in precolonial Singapore, and migration continued with convict labor, indentured labor, and free labor, primarily from South India for colonial infrastructure projects. More recently, migration flows have included both low- and high-skilled workers from South and North India (Rai, 2014; Somaiah, 2018). In Paris, the majority of Hindus are Sri Lankan Tamils who fled from the Sri Lankan civil war in the 1980s and 1990s and their descendants, who contributed much to the visibility of Hinduism in the city and its suburbs. The visibility of Hinduism is thus much more recent in Paris than in Singapore. The diverse backgrounds of Hindus in Paris also include considerable numbers of Indo-Mauritians since the 1970s; French of Indian origins from the French overseas departments La Réunion, Guadeloupe, Martinique, and Guyana; Pondicherrians who chose French citizenship when the French Indian territory became part of India in 1962; Bengali and Gujarati Hindus who arrived in the 1970s and 1980s respectively (Dequirez, 2007; Goreau-Ponceaud, 2008; Trouillet & Voix, 2020).

In addition to the continuously changing social composition of the 'Hindu' community in both cities, it is important to consider that a number of Hindus in Paris and Singapore simultaneously conduct diverse religious practices. These include Taoist, Muslim and Roman Catholic elements in Singapore (Sinha, 2009) and Catholic (Bruland, 2013) and Evangelical practices in Paris.

The spatial distribution of Hindus in both cities shows both similarities and differences. Their places of worship do not always align with their residential areas. In

<footnote n="4">⁴Singapore Department of Statistics. 2015. *General Household Survey* 2015: 22. https://www.singstat.gov.sg/-/media/files/publications/ghs/ghs2015/ghs2015.pdf.</footnote>

<footnote n="5">⁵*Observatoire de la laïcité*. 2019. *Étude sur l'expression et la visibilité religieuses dans l'espace public aujourd'hui en France*. 2019: 13. https://www.info.gouv.fr/upload/media/organisation/0001/01/sites_default_files_contenu_piece-jointe_2019_10_etudesurlavisibilitereligieuse.pdf.</footnote>
Paris, Sri Lankan Tamil Hindus installed temples in the neighborhood La Chapelle, where they first arrived, and importantly in the suburbs, where most now live. La Chapelle, situated between the railway lines of the two important train stations Gare du Nord and Gare de l'Est, continues to be the symbolic and commercial Tamil neighborhood with South Asian shops, restaurants, and currently two Hindu temples. At the same time, new concentrations of Tamil shops and more than 10 registered Hindu temples have emerged in other parts of the city and mostly in its suburbs. In Singapore, where public housing policies attempt to prevent the creation of ethnic residential neighborhoods, Hindu temples are also spread around the city. Several are located in areas where many Hindus used to live, rather than being only concentrated in the heritage neighborhood Little India. Furthermore, Hindu lives in both Paris and Singapore often stretch beyond the city borders. Many Hindus commute between La Chapelle and the outskirts of Paris or between Singapore and the Malaysian town Johor Bahru and have transnational family networks.

While focusing on Tamil Hindus in Singapore and Paris entails diverse migration backgrounds and religious practices, I take the aspect of being Hindu religious minorities in secular states as a commonality to compare how religious practitioners act as city makers and contribute to the governance of urban diversity. Comparison in the sense of a thinking exercise allows us to see how a Hindu minority can develop in different cities, in different periods, under different conditions. Examining how Hindus are city makers in the two cities reveals differences and similarities in the minorities' felt recognition and in how they contribute to the governance of religious diversity. In both cases, bodies are key actors of contributing to urban space and to urban diversity through experiences, practices and negotiations.

## 14.3 Multiculturalist and Laicist Approaches to Religious Diversity

Singapore and France both define themselves as secular states. Yet, their multiculturalist and laicist approaches to dealing with religious diversity create different frameworks for the making of religious minorities. In France, the state does not officially recognize any religion, in line with the principle of *laïcité*. Important steps in the laicization in France include the secularization of primary education in the 1880s, the introduction of the 1901 law of freedom of association, and the 1905 law on the separation of church and state. From the assimilationist policies of colonial France until today emerged a republican idea of French national citizenship that outranks religious identification (Trouillet & Voix, 2020). Some Hindus in Paris complained to me about Hinduism not being recognized. Their narrations included difficulties some associations faced when installing or having to move their temples or to receive authorization to hold a procession. At the same time, they felt that Hinduism was largely considered as unproblematic in Paris, especially in contrast to Islam. This resonates contemporary debates about *laïcité*, which are often directly
related to the position of Islam in the French society, which is constructed as the threatening other (Roy, 2007; Wieviorka, 2014). Several Tamil Hindus told me that the visibility of Hinduism started with ISKCON in the 1970s, which in turn enabled other Hindu associations to become more visible. ISKCON itself was listed as a cult with threat to society in 1995, which reduced its growth (Trouillet & Voix, 2020).

In Singapore, Hinduism is a recognized religion with representative members in the Presidential Council for Religious Harmony. Two secular state bodies, the Hindu Endowments Board and the Hindu Advisory Board, impact how official religion plays out in the city. The non-governmental Inter-Religious Organisation (IRO) with key politicians as patrons counts council members of 10 religions. Hinduism is among them. The IRO's Harmony in Diversity Gallery exhibits these 10 religions, attributing them a particular degree of recognition (see Fig. 14.1). The IRO worked with the government to create the Harmony in Diversity Gallery in 2016, which shows how state and community levels intersect in the governance of diversity. Andy Tan (2020) perceives the governance of religious diversity in Singapore as consisting of both top-down and bottom-up approaches. The Maintenance of Religious Harmony Act exemplifies a top-down approach. It allows the Minister of Home Affairs, who is reported on religious harmony issues by the Presidential Council for Religious Harmony, to issue restraining orders against leaders or members of religious groups who raise conflict with the government or other religious

<figure><img src="image_46.png" /><figcaption>**Fig. 14.1** Hinduism among the 10 exhibited religions at the Harmony in Diversity Gallery, Singapore, 2022</figcaption></figure>
groups. Bottom-up initiatives include Inter-Racial and Religious Confidence Circles (IRCCs) and the Community Engagement Programme (CEP), which foster collective community organization across racial and religious differences (Tan, 2020:55–72). Religious Harmony is a key official notion of Singapore’s approach of dealing with diversity, with a 2003 Declaration of Religious Harmony recited in schools on the annual Racial Harmony Day. The measures to secure religious harmony are numerous, also including the government’s Broadening Religious/Racial Interaction through Dialogue and General Education (BRIDGE) initiative launched by the Ministry of Culture, Community and Youth, which initiates inter-faith dialogues.

While such Singaporean initiatives certainly raise awareness about Hinduism and thereby recognition, I also observed insecurities about whether festivals would be permitted annually. Public Hinduism requires much negotiation with the state bureaucracy. Members of the HEB serve as intermediaries between religious practitioners and the city-state, and are sometimes regarded as standing too much on the side of the latter. Vineeta Sinha (2011, 2014) has observed multiple examples of how Singaporean Hindus successfully deal with bureaucratic frameworks and obstacles. Attempts by elites and official institutions to define ‘official Hinduism’ do not necessarily follow Sanskritization or Brahminization processes. They often primarily follow administrative logics and reflect the desire to create a respectable image of Hinduism since at least the mid-twentieth century (Sinha, 2008). During the COVID-19 pandemic, I observed Hindus fearing that the shortening and minimalizing of festivals and their rituals could be taken as a precedent by the state to argue that these rituals could be shrunk in general in the following years.

Furthermore, in both Paris and Singapore, religious groups need to adapt or react to categories the state prefers or prescribes. Singaporean multiculturalism works much through racial categories (Lian, 2016). Multiracialism in Singapore prioritizes racial diversity over religion, while identification as Singaporean remains key (Chua, 2017:123–56). The racial categories determined from colonial pluralism into Singapore’s postcolonial multiculturalist framework (Goh, 2008) challenge Singaporean communities which do not necessarily wish to be associated under the racial categories of Chinese, Malay, Indian, and Other. For instance, Ceylon-Tamils largely ceased asserting their elevated social status through public identity politics due to the risk of being subsumed under the category of “Indian” (SelvaRaj, 2016). Tamil Muslims neither fit the category “Malay” nor “Indian”, as “Indian” is closely associated with Hinduism (Singh, 2016). A stand-up comedy competition about the “best Indian” is a humorous yet serious take on the category Indian not reflecting the diversity of Singaporeans of South Asian origins and different religious orientations. In the competition between two men of Indian origin, both know all the answers to questions about Hindu religious festivals, only to clarify in the end that one is a Sikh and one a Muslim.<fnref n="6" />

<footnote n="6">⁶“Best Indian in SGAG Is…” https://www.facebook.com/sgag.sg/videos/389074095329426/?t=204, 2019.</footnote>
Although Hinduism is not officially recognized as a religion in France, the establishment of religious associations to create temples, organize festivals, and indirectly secure financial support demonstrates a degree of adaptation to the state's prescribed religious framework (Bowen, 2008:39–43, Lang, 2021:57–86, Liogier, 2009). Creating religious associations (*associations cultuelles*) following the 1905 law demand more bureaucratic efforts than associations following the 1901 law. Furthermore, access to association status under the 1901 and 1905 laws can vary locally (Bowen, 2008:39–43). While the status of a religious association following the 1905 law has advantages for the communities, such as tax exemptions, it also comes along with more possibilities of surveillance by the state, for example of financial transactions. French laicism thus does not mean that there are no interactions between Hindus and the state. While Paris is the center of the very centralized French state administration, religious governance plays out on multiple levels, including the level of the city (eg. Berger, 2019:100–52, Bowen, 2008:39–43). For instance, the installation of temples and the conduct of religious festivals requires permission from the town hall and the prefecture. In the secular cities of Paris and Singapore with their respective approaches to pluralism, the ways Hindus create temples and hold festivals provide important insights into the making of Hindu minorities.

## 14.4 Temples on the Move

The creation of diasporic Hindu sacred spaces in the urban contexts of Paris and Singapore reveals aspirations to establish places where divinities reside and where they can be worshiped collectively. Singapore has more visible Hindu temples than Paris. Singapore features temples built in the Dravidian architectural style, whereas most temples in Paris are located within existing buildings. Some have a visible entrance, while others are less visible from the street, for example in a building behind a courtyard. In both cities, Hindu temples sometimes move. In Paris, the Ganesh temple in La Chapelle relocated to a new building in 2010 (Fig. 14.2a, b). The Sri Muthumariamman temple (Fig. 14.3a) disappeared from La Chapelle and a different Muthumariamman temple emerged a few years later in a suburb in 2021. The Sri Ayyappan temple moved from a suburb to La Chapelle in 2018, where it is installed in a building next to a launderette (Fig. 14.3b). In Singapore, the Sri Mariamman temple (Fig. 14.4a) and the Murugan Hill temple (Fig. 14.4b) are both built in South Indian architecture and quite impressive.

At first sight, this placative juxtaposition conveys a contrast between the precarious nature of temples in Paris and the large, long-established temples in Singapore. It reflects the historical difference between a long-established presence of Hinduism since colonial Singapore, and a rather recent place-seeking in the dense urban field of Paris. Comparing the situation of Hindu temples in both cities thus needs to consider the historical formations of the urban settings, and their respective Tamil Hindu immigrations. Since the establishment of the first Hindu temple in Paris in
<figure><img src="image_47.png" /><figcaption>Fig. 14.2 (a, b) The previous (left) and actual (right) Ganesh temple in La Chapelle, Paris, 2010</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_48.png" /><figcaption>Fig. 14.3 (a, b) Sri Muthumariamman temple before its disappearance in La Chapelle, Paris, 2010 (left) and Sri Ayyappan temple in La Chapelle, Paris, 2019 (right)</figcaption></figure>

<figure><img src="image_49.png" /><figcaption>Fig. 14.4 (a, b) Sri Mariamman temple in Chinatown, Singapore 2018 (left) and Murugan Hill Temple in Singapore, 2019 (right)</figcaption></figure>
1985, there are now approximately 14 registered temples in Île-de-France (Goreau-Ponceaud, 2018). The temples I visited in Paris' Tamil neighborhood, La Chapelle, and in the suburbs were installed in already existing buildings rather than being constructed in South Asian architecture. Most of them already needed to change their location due to high rents, seizure of land property, or other conflicts. However, there are also more precarious or removed temples in Singapore. Four temples are under the administration of the HEB. They are sometimes called government temples, which is in turn disputed by Board members (Sinha, 2011:202). There are more than 20 other registered temples (27 registered in 2013), also including a “North Indian” temple (Lee, 2013), and numerous unofficial places of worship. At the same time, urban planning and state policy make the purchase of ground for religious purposes difficult. Especially small temples, which are not classified national monuments, face the challenge of renewing their 30-year lease, a policy to deal with limited space in Singapore. This sometimes leads to merging different temples into combined temples and pushes public religion to more private realms. The juxtaposition of installed or built temples in Paris and Singapore also neglects the importance of Hindu practices in less visible places of worship, such as in commercial spaces, parking lots, HDB open spaces, or moving jungle shrines in Singapore (Sinha, 2016, 2018:268–72), or in family temples in private courtyards in suburban Paris, and in the domestic sphere in both cities.

## 14.5 Creating Urban Space Through Hindu Festivals and Bodies

If the temples in Singapore and Paris could hardly look more different from outside, Hindus employ similar means to physically be present in the cities through the conduct of festivals and processions. While urban planning authorities tend to neglect the affective dimensions of urban religion, rituals, for instance during temple festivals and processions, actively contribute to the shaping of the city life (Dean, 2015). In Singapore, especially the public festivals *Taippūcam* and fire walking become moments of display of both religious identities and successful citizenship. Both festivals were largely organized by the respective temples' communities, until the HEB became involved in more detail in the organization of the festivals in the 1970s, even though only two of the three *Taippūcam* organizing temples are administered by the HEB (Sinha, 2011:222, 29). A half-blocked street, with a lane for devotees carrying *kāvaṭi* (decorated wooden structures) next to a lane for cars and buses leads from the Sri Srinivasa Perumal Temple in Little India about 4 km to the Sri Thendayuthapani Temple. The route includes some entirely blocked roads and
food and music stops. Compared to the focus on the procession in the *Taippūcam* festival, the culminating ritual of the fire walking takes places inside the Sri Mariamman Temple in Chinatown. In the last days of the fire walking festival, the area around the Sri Mariamman Temple is immersed into a festival atmosphere with devotees queuing in front of the temple, sitting, eating, and chatting. The fire walking festival also includes several chariot processions. These are less known than the *Taippūcam* procession and mostly conducted at night, but they present very important annual moments for the devotees. Through their embodied experiences during these moments of touring through the city with the goddess or sitting in a temporarily transformed neighborhood, religious actors create urban memory (Lang, 2024).

In Paris, the Ganesh temple has organized an annual festival since 1995, with a procession which attracts over 20,000 people (Goreau-Ponceaud & Lang, 2022). This is equally a moment when the entire neighborhood is immersed into a festival atmosphere, with the procession lasting several hours, the roads blocked, and loud music at several singing stages. La Chapelle also features the ISKCON Rath Yatra organized by a suburban ISKCON temple in Sarcelles, producing overlapping and conflicting claims about Tamil and Hindu visibility (Berger, 2019:125–32). In addition, several temples in the suburbs conduct annual processions in their respective neighborhoods. For instance, the Ganesh temple in the suburb of La Courneuve in the North of Paris, which has a significant Tamil population, has conducted a procession during its annual Ganesh festival since 2017, if not interrupted by the pandemic or for other reasons.

In all festivals, devotees' bodies visibly contribute to the fabric of the city. The processions create urban (sacred) space through human bodies and deities moving through the streets, as well as through decorations, sounds, and smells, attracting high numbers of spectators. At the same time, the conduct of Hindu processions in the streets is highly regulated and reduced in both Singapore and Paris. The *Taippūcam kāvaṭi* procession in Singapore exemplifies ongoing negotiations over religious diversity, including its removal from the list of public holidays and restrictions on playing music during the festival (Radics & Sinha, 2018). For the Ganesh procession in Paris, traffic is blocked and the festive atmosphere is amplified by voluminous sounds of Tamil live music from at least three corners of the neighborhood, which cause some non-Tamil passersby to cover their ears with their hands. However, this only lasts for a few hours. Traffic continues and the music stops even before the divinities are ritually brought back into the temple. The procession starts from the temple in the 18th arrondissement and moves through the tenth arrondissement, where many Tamil shops are located. When the Mayor did not allow it to pass through the tenth arrondissement in 1999 and 2000, this decision was condemned by the local Green party, a pastor and newspapers (Dequirez, 2002:87). Since this incident, the procession has passed through the 18th and tenth arrondissement and seems to have been integrated into the city's annual cycle of events (Berger, 2019:120).

In addition to the multilayered dimensions of the organization of these festivals, more subtle ways of diversity governance deserve equal attention. In the following sections, I describe what I call sidewalk religion and indoor sacred atmospheres in