Inner City Sanctums
Green Futures, 13 July 2003:
Faith, it is said, can move mountains – so it
should be up to shifting a few tons of concrete
to create gardens and oases amongst the urban
blight. Victoria Finlay lifts the veil on an
unlikely marriage of religion - and
regeneration.
In one of the poorest parts of South London, there
is a garden. Police officers regularly eat
vegetarian meals there, sitting alongside homeless
people and social workers; headmistresses share
tables with the unemployed; crimson-robed Buddhist
monks sit companionably next to vicars and
atheists.
Meanwhile in the former high security courthouse
next door, the barbed wire has been torn down, and
people come to meditation sessions, Local
authority members hold what in their words are
“more effective committee meetings than ever
before,” and people in trouble come to find
someone to listen.
It seems like an impossibly Utopian fantasy. But
at the Jamyang Buddhist Centre in south London’s
rundown Elephant and Castle, these things are
happening every day. It’s a living example of how
spirituality can bring fresh energy to sustainable
development. And it is part of a rising
international movement which aims to work with
people’s beliefs to improve the way in which we
treat both the earth – and each other.
Each major faith has clear teachings about caring
for creation. It can be expressed as stewardship
(Islam and Judaism), as defending (Sikhism), as
celebration (Hinduism) or as taking joint
responsibility with God (Christianity). Although
over the centuries ‘religion’ has frequently been
cited as a cause of, rather than a curb on,
environmental destruction, this is often simply a
cover for all too worldly motives of profit and
greed.
Recent years have seen organised religion slipping
away into the fringes of society – particularly in
‘Christian’ Europe. But that same period has also
seen the rise of the environmental movement – with
its own converts, preachers and impassioned
believers.
For some, environmentalism has almost become a
creed in itself, and indeed there’s no shortage of
parallels between the reverence for the Earth held
by its followers, and the animist beliefs that
have held sway over most of human history.
(Depending where you stand, this can be seen as
either a strength or a weakness for the green
movement as a whole.)
But if the world’s major faiths might envy the
surging appeal of environmentalism, the latter
lacks their accumulated experience and commitment.
Hence the interest in initiatives which combine
the two: sustainability projects that fulfil the
requirements of people’s faith.
Jamyang, for example, began when Alison Murdoch, a
converted Buddhist, saw a derelict courthouse, and
learned it had been empty for five years. It took
three more years to buy it – under heavy pressure
from developers who also had it in their sights.
“It took everyone to make this centre happen,” she
says, “Buddhists, yes, but also local people who
just wanted a tranquil place to go to. For the
former, the project fitted the teaching that their
religion “is kindness: everyone wants to be happy
and you do what you can to help”.
As with so many regeneration projects, finding the
funds was a struggle – they had to borrow £300,000
on “faith”, and then the roof cost £450,000 to
repair (“I cried down the phone when I found that
the Heritage Lottery Fund had come through”), and
cash is still an issue. But the Jamyang founders
were fortunate. At a public consultation there was
only one heckler, and local residents were
generally supportive.
It’s not always been the case elsewhere. Take the
Balaji Temple project in the East Midlands, which
began with a simple idea. There was some reclaimed
industrial land near Tipton, which some Hindus
planned to buy and beautify - partly because they
needed a centre, and partly because Hinduism has a
tenet of seva, or “service” to the community, and
the project embodied this.
With support running high for the British National
Party in the area, though, not all the locals were
overjoyed at the prospect. The opposition came
close to being violent. “You know how rumours
are,” says Tony Thapar, a second generation Briton
who joined the board because it filled his desire
to do seva. “People were scared we’d convert them
to some strange Eastern religion and take over
their park.”
When they started, the site was scrubby landfill,
with enough soil contamination to make the
development corporation wary. Now, in early 2003,
it still looks like a building site: finances have
been slow to arrive, but “we remind ourselves that
the cathedrals in this country took several
lifetimes to build,” Thapar says. So far there is
a temple, and the community has planted trees and
flowers and started to combat the contamination.
But even more striking has been the turnaround in
the views of the local white community.
As part of the project, the Balaji organisers
determined to build new relationships with
schools, churches and health authorities. “We
wanted to show that we also believe in one god –
and that our deities are aspects of one underlying
power,” Thapar says. Now, he goes up to talk to
the people walking their dogs in the park, and
they seem less angry. “Most realise it’s going to
be more attractive than when we started, and that
we’re not so bad and not so strange.”
It is an example of how the best regeneration
projects involve more than a physical change: of
how the ‘sacredness’ of a place is not just about
trees, but perceptions; of how collaborating on
shared resources can overcome social barriers
perhaps more effectively than any other method.
It also shows how religions have the advantage of
being able to embark on projects that might take
generations to complete. Here they are unlike
secular environmental groups which have to invent
and reinvent themselves, and necessarily have to
consider the short term because they cannot know
what following they will have in the longer one.
But Balaji also shows how no faith-based
environment initiative can hope to succeed unless
it puts the needs of people at its core. “Many
people criticise the environmental movement for
marginalizing poorer communities, and for its lack
of concern for social justice,” says Martin
Palmer, secretary-general of the Alliance of
Religions and Conservation, a Manchester-based
charity which supports environmental projects run
by the world’s 11 major faiths, and helps local
communities to restore, revive or create sacred
space.
“Indeed, some deep ecologists seem to view human
beings as expendable in order to protect nature.
But for all the religious traditions a true
ecology not only includes people, but has a
special focus on those who are most in need… The
only effective long-term ecological projects are
those that take people’s needs and beliefs
seriously: because whichever God or Gods you
believe in, it is men and women who are going to
maintain the projects in the everyday world.”
“One of the major problems in the past for
religions involved in the environment has been a
tendency to preach, not to practice”, says Palmer.
“And a problem common to both religious
organisations and the environmental movement is
what might be described as a ‘go-it-alone’
mentality, which has meant that the faiths have
ignored the environmentalists and the
environmentalists have scorned the religions.”
That is why ARC is an “alliance” - and why it
focuses on practical projects rather than
theologies, philosophies and sermons. But faith
groups do have two distinct advantages when it
comes to local sustainability. Their networks run
deep and wide - both formal in terms of their
congregation, and informal in terms of community
support – and their leaders tend to have moral
authority within that community.
And yet in the largely secular hands of Britain’s
local authorities, religious groups face
particular difficulties. One of the most critical
is the way that many non-Judaeo-Christian
religious groups can often only find public
support when they are defined as ‘ethnic’. Define
your group as ‘Pakistani’ or ‘Indian’, and you
have a much better chance of receiving funding
than if you admit to a truer definition of
yourselves as ‘Muslim’ or ‘Hindu’. ARC has now
worked with hundreds of such groups, and often
finds that statutory bodies – including local
councils – are at the least cautious and at worst
actively hostile to any notion of the religious or
sacred.
A Muslim group in Altrincham, just outside
Manchester, came across precisely this problem
when they decided they needed a focus for their
community. They wanted somewhere local that they
could hold tarawik prayers, said during the
fasting month of Ramadan, rather than having to
commute to mosques half an hour away. A local
businessman donated a two-and-a-half acre plot of
land, and the idea of creating a place based on
the Islamic approach to ecology began to take
seed.
They had ideas of greenhouses and public spaces
using water management along Islamic principles,
in which gardens are planned in relation to the
water table. Two years later, they are still
struggling through planning permission
applications, which seem increasingly unlikely to
succeed. “If they had presented themselves as an
Asian, or an ethnic group, they would probably
have been accepted,” comments Palmer. “But because
they were doing it as ‘Muslims’, the local
authority became worried.” It is, Palmer says,
“just one of many examples where public bodies –
and indeed people in the environmental movement,
come to that – have ignored or dismissed the work
of religions.”
If some Asian faiths are perceived in the wider
secular community of Britain as “worrying” or
“threatening”, Christian movements have sometimes
been viewed as plain embarrassing. Yet
Christianity – in its several incarnations – makes
up the largest social network in Britain – not
only with people who know each other through their
churches, but also via its involvement in youth
centres, care for the elderly, a third of primary
schools and a huge local publishing network.
The Anglican church itself is a huge employer,
with around 180,000 staff. It also holds 10% of
the nation’s land and controls many historical
buildings: some 60% of pre-Reformation structures
are churches and cathedrals, and churchyards are
now, under the well-named “Living Churchyards”
project, some of the best-protected wildlife and
wildflower areas in British cities.
The stakes are high: these sacred environmental
spaces have the real potential to change lives. In
the 1970s, Canon David Wyatt was appointed to one
of the poorest parishes in the country – St Paul’s
in Salford – a place with vertical concrete
buildings and no trees. Plenty of children were
running into trouble, and Canon Wyatt remembers
one boy in particular, who was about to be
expelled from his primary school for violent
behaviour. “I asked him why, and he said, ‘because
I hate all this bloody concrete’.”
The priest asked the child if he wanted to do
something about it. Nobody had ever suggested to
the boy that he had any power to change anything,
and he and his friends soon found themselves
smashing up an abandoned tarmac playground next to
the church, and planning a garden. They were given
fruit trees, roses and rich soil, and over the
next few months more and more people became
involved.
When it was finished, the garden was the first
lovely place in the area. People in the notorious
Appletree estate were inspired – if they lived in
a place called “Appletree”, the least they
deserved was apple trees. So more concrete was
destroyed, and another garden was made…
Now the area around St Paul’s is a living example
of the belief at the heart of the Christian
gospels that there is a duty to care about the
beauty of God’s creation (“I have never met anyone
who treats architecture and nature with contempt,
who doesn’t treat humans in the same way,”
commented Wyatt). But it has also benefited
hundreds of non-churchgoers, and has inspired
communities throughout the country.
Celebrity environmentalist David Bellamy went so
far as to term Canon Wyatt’s realised vision as
“the best example of urban regeneration I have
ever seen in a developed country: a shining
example of the Grace of God.”
And the boy from the primary school? “That’s a
good story,” says Wyatt. “He became a landscape
gardener.”
THIS STORY FIRST APPEARED IN GREEN FUTURES
MAGAZINE. www.greenfutures.org.uk
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