Cardiff and the contentious landscapes of postindustrial, urban, and transnational memory work URN:NBN:fi:tsv-oa113124 DOI: 10.11143/fennia.113124 Cardiff and the contentious landscapes of postindustrial, urban, and transnational memory work MARK RHODES Rhodes, M. (2021) Cardiff and the contentious landscapes of postindustrial, urban, and transnational memory work. Fennia 199(2) 203–225. https://doi.org/10.11143/fennia.113124 Since Cardiff became the Welsh capital in 1955 and the subsequent referendum placed the new Welsh Assembly Government in Cardiff Bay, the city’s grasp on a Welsh national narrative has only intensified. This paper approaches the various agents of memory work around the city through a landscape analysis to better understand the processes of Welsh memory at work in Cardiff. Furthermore, it focuses on Butetown, the historically multicultural docklands community of Cardiff, and its relationship with the old urban and civic core of the city and the new developments of Cardiff Bay. Butetown fuelled the coal industry which propelled Cardiff towards the wealthy capital and colonial enclave it is today yet continues to be excluded from Welsh national narratives. Redevelopment and gentrification further squeeze Butetown into an ever-smaller core of what it once was. This research indicates that while this resilient cosmopolitan culture continues in many forms, the context of (the) capital continues to complicate Cardiff and its shifting relationship with the history and culture of Welsh identity. By employing a flexible landscape analysis towards historical and ongoing urban development, the memory at work in cultural and political urban landscapes emerges amongst broader considerations of national identity. Keywords: Wales, memory, national identity, memory work, capital, landscape Mark Rhodes (https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1537-3515), Department of Social Sciences, Michigan Technological University, 1400 Townsend Dr., Houghton, Michigan 49931, USA. E-mail: marhodes@mtu.edu © 2021 by the author. This open access article is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. Introduction Cardiff remains one of the newest capital cities in Europe and houses the youngest semi-autonomous government. When viewed as the core of the newly designated Cardiff Capital Region, the primate city holds half of Wales’s population and economic output (HM Government 2016). As the capital of Wales, in addition to its social and economic significance as a city, Cardiff’s cultural, historical, and political landscapes provide an excellent opportunity to study the relationship between the Welsh pseudo- state, individuals, and the memories embedded within these urban landscapes. https://doi.org/10.11143/fennia.113124 https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1537-3515 mailto:marhodes@mtu.edu 204 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper Since the 1980s, attention has slowly shifted (or expanded) from Cardiff’s City Centre and Cathays Park – one of the UK’s original civic centers – towards Cardiff Bay. While originally a port neighborhood, Butetown has struggled since deindustrialization stripped away the economic livelihood of Cardiff’s docks. By the mid-1900s Cardiff Council began redeveloping the empty warehouses and largely impoverished and minority-based housing. Coupled with their proposals for a new County Hall, the Council began filling in the docks, tearing down warehouses, and building new flats. The gentrified area now known as Atlantic Wharf resulted from these first developments. This paper focuses on the landscapes of the civic-centered Cathays Park and redeveloped Cardiff Bay and the historically multicultural Butetown neighborhoods of Cardiff. Butetown’s role, in particular, as both center to and excluded from these national landscapes serves as a key case study, reflective of urban development schemes throughout Cardiff and broader Euro-American planning processes. What has long been taken as given as Welsh folk identity (choral singing, poetry, sheep, dragons, etc.) has always been contested in Butetown (see below quote from Welsh First Minister, Rhodri Morgan). This multiethnic polyglot working-class community helped to build the coal industry which propelled Cardiff towards the wealthy city and later capital it is today.1 However, redevelopment and gentrification continue to squeeze Butetown into an ever-smaller core of what was (and technically still is) the entire southern district of the city, including both Atlantic Wharf and the constantly changing Cardiff Bay (Fig. 1). Given the complex urban systems at work in the city, this research questions the power of memory work across Cardiff, differences between neighborhoods and how individuals engage with specific landscapes in the context of the city and broader nation. With a particular focus on public art, memorials, and everyday landscapes in a comparison of the historic Civic Centre, Butetown, and the redeveloped Cardiff Bay (Fig. 1), this research compliments broader research at various heritage institutions in Wales, including National Museum Cardiff in Cathays Park and the 2018 National Eisteddfod in Cardiff Bay. Fig. 1. Map of sites discussed. Source: Author 2019. FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 205Mark Rhodes The following sections include discussions on memory work in political urban environments, an assessment of memorial landscape methods, and a series of four sections framed by those methods providing the historical, narrative, performative, and discursive contexts of Cardiff’s memorial landscapes. Collectively these diverse elements of landscape illustrate the “development” of urban memorial geographies as a method of understanding memory work as both a means of resistance and abstraction in differing spatial contexts. The work of memory and landscape National capitals, through urban planning, memorials, and institutions, often tell the story of a nation (Taylor et al. 1993; Osborne 2001). Culturally and spatially, capitals indicate the power of institutions and the hierarchy of those institutions, as well as individuals, performances, and memories. Osborne’s redirection and framing of a “capital/capitol” complex, whereby cultural and political institutions intertwine upon a memorial landscape, serves as a divergence from previous attention upon Washington D.C., London, Paris, Berlin, or Moscow by investigating similar deployment of monumental tactics upon the Canadian capital of Ottawa. This manuscript builds upon Osborne’s investigation of urban “theatres of power” by adding (in theory) a third capital to their politically-based “capital/capitol” complex in consideration of the wider political economies of Cardiff. Wales’s capital, Cardiff, not only reveals insights into the history of the nation, but is a stage and materialized expression for some of the political, economic, and cultural contention in Wales, particularly along the lines of identity. Following devolution, national narratives in Cardiff shifted away from Cathays Park, in essence Wales’ National Mall, and towards the Cardiff Bay development area (Fig. 1). This process of urban regeneration – transforming the deindustrialized Cardiff Docks into the post-industrial Cardiff Bay was and continues to be rife with civic (and national) boosterism (Hooper & Punter 2007). Despite (or because of) these developments, Cardiff is increasingly an ethnically and economically divided city with greater economic inequity, increased homelessness, and greater homogenization of certain neighborhoods and increased ethnic tension in others (Bristow & Morgan 2007, 62). These shifts towards inequity not only have an impact on the narratives of Wales as a nation, but the landscape and people of Cardiff itself, and can be traced from a global pattern of “the divided city” (Bollens 2012). The memorial landscape, where the layers of cultural, political, economic, and historical meaning are embedded, reveal how contested ideas of Wales and Welshness embed into representations, contestations, and performances in Cardiff. These memorial landscapes include the impacts on communities “in the way” of that development, such as the minority and immigrant communities of Butetown and Tiger Bay, whose narratives are often excluded. Below, I explore examples of these ‘othered’ communities in Cardiff and the role the memorial landscape has played both against and within these communities. Research on Cardiff generally and Butetown specifically has often explored the significance of Black Wales to the community (Manning et al. 2003; Llwyd 2005), the systemic racism faced by the community and built into the urban landscape of the city (Jordan 2005; Gale & Thomas 2018), and even Butetown’s relationship with urban development in the face of heritage and public art (Thomas 2004; Gonçalves & Thomas 2012; Jordan & Weedon 2015). I build upon these important works, and the host of work exploring the exclusion and exploitation within Cardiff’s urban planning (Rowley 1994; Gonçalves 2016; Raco 2000; Jones 2001), to demonstrate not only the continued existence of built trauma in the memorial landscape, but how geographical methods can uncover further examples of transcalar heritage as resistance. Weedon and Jordan (2011, 846) write that, in the face of gentrification, Butetown and similar communities utilize the same forces of collective memory which erase Butetown from national and city narratives and landscapes to “challenge hegemonic versions of the past.” Public art, heritage institutions, performative events, and banal landscapes all have reifying yet resistant properties given their spatial contexts (c.f. Tyner 2018). This paper demonstrates how all of these processes are part of one interconnected yet disparate and changing urban memorial landscape. Further connecting urban and memorial processes within geography, this paper demonstrates the memory work – or “process of working through the losses and trauma resulting from past national violence and imagining a better future through 206 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper place” (Till 2005, 18) – of a nation’s capital. Both Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer (2020) and Rhodes (2020) also offer definitions of memory work, and while semantically different, the practice of using place to shape memory for the interest of instilling alternative understandings of the past, directly applies to the memory work in Cardiff presented here. Examining this process – whereby the past is influenced by places and spaces of memory and the people and institutions who shape and experience those landscapes – situates the relationship between memory, identity, institution, landscape, and colonialism in an urban setting. Significant focus within urban memory work engages with the fractures, absences, and hegemony of the depiction of urban histories. Diversity, cosmopolitanism, activism, riots, slavery, colonialism, and other representations of cultural and political conflict, struggle, and change rarely overcome hegemonic depictions of the past. In the United States and United Kingdom, this has led to an urban memorial landscape overwhelmingly white, male, and imperial, erasing the complicated narratives of a city’s past while perpetuating a white supremacist society. Transnational understandings of national narratives have however begun to shift these landscapes. Protesters throwing the statue of slave trader Edward Colston into Bristol Harbour in the wake of the Black Lives Matter movement, the renaming of streets associated with slavery in Glasgow, and a renewed push to remove memorials to the Confederacy throughout the United States indicate a possible turning point in our understanding of the urban memorial landscape. Karugia (2018, 336) identifies similar power in transnational connective memory practice in select Afrasian cities to overcome “former omissions, conscious amnesia, and deliberate elision.” None-the-less, municipal, regional, and national institutions also engage with these grassroot reformative forms of memory work disparately. The city of Baltimore, Maryland, for example removed its statue of Columbus, but more so out of fear of damage than anti-colonialization. Elsewhere, active resistance in the face of protests persists. As universities, such as Sweden’s Karolinska Institutet or Scotland’s University of Edinburgh rename buildings memorializing those who promoted eugenics or practiced slavery, others, such as the University of Richmond in the U.S. or England’s University of Southampton actively resist growing protests to follow suit. While we can trace a favourable trend in equitable memorialization, those trends are neither consistent across space or time and often fuel growing far-right movements, such as in the United States, France, and United Kingdom. This paper develops a unique approach to urban landscapes of memory and heritage in Cardiff. Drozdzewski’s (2016, 20) ‘memory-methods’ for understanding the memorial landscapes of built infrastructure in Berlin and Warsaw offers a strong foundation. Her combination of landscape analysis, participant observation, and interviewing enabled her to better understand the memory “readily imprinted in material form in the fabric of a city” (ibid.). Likewise, Schein’s (2009) landscape framework, which understands landscape as history, meaning, mediation, and discourse materialized, utilizes a similar set of mixed methods. Finally, Rose’s (2016) discourse analysis (II), or Inwood and Martin’s (2008) work on racialized landscapes in Athens, GA, further practice landscape as discourse. Thus, understanding the memorial landscape as the site of memory work, as a way of seeing memory work in its layered processes of becoming, its production, and its consumption…its discourse… I turn to the mixed methods of landscape analysis to engage this work. This includes archival, interview, and ethnographic data collection, which help to frame the remainder of this paper through the historical, narrative, performative, and discursive data able to be acquired through this layering of landscape analysis. Archival work within the National Museum Wales Library, the Glamorgan Archives, and the National Library of Wales provide insight into development and spatial shifts over time. A combination of 77 vox-pop, short on-the-spot, semi-structured interviews with people in different neighborhoods in Cardiff and in-depth semi-structured interviews with planners and community leaders provide personal and institutional context. And field notes, photographs, videos, and other spatial data further reinforce broader performative and discursive patterns in the memory work of Cardiff. “A Welsh Valhalla:” urban memory work in the archives One of the important aspects to keep in mind is the relative youth of Cardiff as a city (1905), a cultural capital (1955), and a capital with substantial regional administrative power (1997). All of these FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 207Mark Rhodes decisions have also been accompanied by contentious cultural, political, and economic contexts (Johnes 2012). These national contentions emerge within the memorial landscapes of the city. Gaffney (1998, 153) reinforces these contentions through a discussion of a dichotomy in Welsh memorial landscapes which pits imperial pride of the British state against an independent Welsh identity. She argues that this has led to the proliferation of local memorialization given the absence of an independent Welsh state. In Cardiff, most of the largest memorials, those for the First and Second World War, were constructed prior to Cardiff being named the capital, and the founding of the National Library of Wales in 1907 in Aberystwyth instead of Cardiff reinforces this ambiguity of Welsh memorialization at the national scale. Again, this process is supported by Gaffney’s writing: The stories behind the building of such memorials peel away the façade of national unity and reveal a society determined to place commemoration of the individual within local communities above the creation and consolidation of broader civic and national images. (Gaffney 1998, 67–68) The role of Cathays Park in the center of Cardiff as the center of Welsh memorialization was decided well before WWI and, while decisive, is an important window into the processes of Welsh identity and British nation-building. In 1897 the County Borough of Cardiff purchased sixty acres of land north of Cardiff from the Marquess of Bute called Cathays Park. This purchase intentionally shaped the park into a civic center for both Cardiff and Wales and was possible only because of the economic success of the coal, tin, and shipping industries (Mason 2007, 111). As cited in the South Wales Daily News in 1910 (as cited in Wilson 1996, 11), “Cathays Park should be made the site for important monuments.” More broadly, it should reflect a civic center which could “punch above its respective weight” (Morley 2009, 66) as a national space first and municipal space second. The earliest developments of the park, including the City Hall and National Museum of Wales, borrowed design innovation from Vienna’s grand ring road and the United States’ City Beautiful Movement to create a spatially connected and ordered Classically-designed civic center (Morley 2009, 70). More specifically, a Welsh national Walhalla was being proposed, linked with the monumental boulevard to King Edward VII, which would hinge the symmetrical axes of Cathays Park. The King’s monument would synonymously be a memorial to distinct Welsh nationalism and to “loyalty to the Crown as the head and centre of Imperial unity” (Wilson 1996, 12). Thus, not only would nationalism be commemorated, but a unique monument to a colony’s colonialization would be the nadir of the national mall. In a way, these developments in Wales can be situated, perhaps as a precursor, within the work of Whelan (2002), as they examine the complex relationship between British colonialism and Irish nationalism in Dublin’s memorial landscape. Between the naming of the capital itself, the role of development, and the narratives in the memorial landscape, these processes indicate the complexity of memory at work in Cardiff. The public art of Cathays Park further reified the desire for Cardiff to be not only the economic but the cultural center of Wales long before it became the capital. “Sleeping Dragons” sculpted in 1904 by William Goscombe John outside the University of Wales, “Welsh Dragon” by Henry Charles Fehr created in 1906 and placed outside City Hall (Fig. 2), and two additional dragon-based works2 of public art outside the courts and university in Cathays park all indicate that while Cathays Park may have been a civic centre based in imperial loyalty, it certainly had a Welsh-spin (in addition to the Welsh Hall of Heroes within the City Centre’s Marble Hall). As of 2012 the Cardiff Council maintained a database which contained documentation of around 180 works of public art between the areas of Cathays Park and Cardiff Bay. Currently, statues and public art fall under the purview of city planning offices, which are strained in their typical workload due to the rapid growth of the city. Some works symbolically associate with Wales as a whole, either through their use of words (i.e. “Welsh National War Memorial”) or symbols (i.e. “Red Dragon on Bute Building”). Of the 180 listed works of public art in Cardiff, 31 display explicitly national text or symbols. One additional memorial, the Thalidomide Memorial (dedicated in 2015) was added after the latest database update. These 32 symbols of Wales (Table 1) are all centered on three (Cardiff Council-designated) areas of Cardiff. Despite many works of art throughout the entire city, Cardiff Bay, Cardiff City Centre, and Cardiff Civic Center (Cathays Park) each house several of these nationally-focused works of public art. 208 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper TABLE 1. Neighborhood Works Year created Ca th ay s Pa rk Lightning Columns – Welsh Office n.d. Lamp Stands (outside Law Courts) n.d. Sleeping Dragons 1904 Welsh Dragon on City Hall 1906 National Museum of Wales 1922 Welsh National War Memorial 1928 Temple of Peace and Health 1938 Red Dragon on Bute Building 1984 Spanish Civil War Memorial 1992 Statue of David Lloyd George 1960 Welsh National Falklands Memorial 2007 Thalidomide Memorial 2015 Ci ty C en tr e Statue of John Batchelor 1886 Statue of Gareth Edwards 1982 Statue of Aneurin Bevan 1987 Statue of Jim Driscoll 1997 Territorial Army Centre 1998 Millennium Riverwalk 1999 Statue of Tasker Watkins 2009 Ca rd iff B ay Celtic Ring 1993 Merchant Seafarer’s War Memorial 1996 Cader Idris 1999 Deep Navigation 2000 From Pit to Port 2005 Wales Millennium Centre 2005 A Meeting Place on the Plinth 2006 The Heart of Wales 2006 National Assembly Building 2006 Pierhead Building (appropriated national 2006) Wind Hedge 2006 Welsh Millennium Milepost 2007 Statue of Ivor Novello 2009 Fig. 2. Welsh Dragon, 1906, on the Cardiff City Hall dome. Source: Author 2011. Table 1. List of public art works in Cardiff with a national scope. Source: Author and Cardiff Council n.d. FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 209Mark Rhodes Within the placement of these public works of art, some initial patterns emerge. First, the age differential is clear. With only two exceptions all works within Cathays Park predate the 1990s. The City Centre’s works are much more focused on the 1980s and 1990s, and then with only three exceptions all works in Cardiff Bay were constructed in the 21st century. These dates correspond with the years of redevelopment in each region of the city. Secondly, corresponding to the spaces themselves, a thematic pattern emerges with statues prevalent in the City Center, memorials in Cathay’s Park, and artistic representations in Cardiff Bay. Many of Cardiff Bay’s memorials revolve around the Welsh Government either in design or association and most utilize artistic representation rather than text as expressions of national identity. For example, Heart of Wales in the center of the Senedd’s Siambr has no textual description yet represents the National Assembly as the heart of Wales, and the artist, Alexander Beleschenko, said that the glasswork “gives expression to a dynamic that is one of emergence, a reflection and statement about the Assembly itself which is new and emerging” (Senedd Cymru 2022). The memorial landscape of Cardiff Bay, while engaging in the development of the National Assembly engages far less with the legacies of Butetown, because in the context of these developments lies an increasingly socially, ethnically, and economically divided city (Bristow & Morgan 2007, 62). Most memorials lie beyond today’s vernacular Butetown, in areas once considered Butetown or Cardiff Docks and know known as Cardiff Bay. These memorials, many of which situated around the Welsh Parliament, rarely explicitly connect these multicultural communities into a national narrative. Cardiff Bay Development Corporation The Cardiff Bay Development Corporation (CBDC) was established in 1987 to, among other things, “create a superb maritime environment, with vibrant communities, around a 500-acre freshwater lake providing… public parks, open space, leisure and cultural amenities.” The development of Cardiff Bay deserves special attention to indicate how consistent the development and its effects have been over the past 30 years whereby the “welfare of the residents of Butetown played little or no part” (Thomas 2004, 275). In 1994, Thomas (1994, 326) wrote that “people from the Docks don’t go beyond the Monument [in Callaghan Square].” This indicates a historical north-south divide in the city between Butetown to the south and the City Centre to the north. Following the CBDC’s initial developments to the east docks, creating what is now Atlantic Wharf, the area directly adjacent to the County Hall, Punter wrote in 2007 that “Lloyd George Avenue was built as the one-sided road to nowhere, leaving its new housing as a piece of literal stage scenery on the east while a useless green strip was created alongside the rail embankment to the west.” He continues, “[t]his emphasized the standoff between the Butetown community and the incoming residents, a dramatic physical expression of a deeply-felt social apartheid” (Punter 2007a, 164). Here an east-west divide develops between the now more affluent and ‘White’ Atlantic Wharf and Butetown. While the rail line was already there, the CBDC had the opportunity to remove, permeate, or redevelop it and thus make visible the invisible mile of Bute Street and the socially and physically segregated community of Butetown. To continue to the present, Kelsey (2018) writes that “[t]here’s a road you can stand on which almost perfectly marks the split in the Cardiff Bay of the past and that of the present.” From the corner on James Street in Cardiff Bay they ask the reader to place themselves in the following landscape: Stand on the crossroads where the famous Bute Street ends and Mermaid Quay begins. Straight ahead of you is the Wales Millennium Centre, a landmark and feat of architecture which represents perhaps more than any other building the bay's transformation and stature. To the right is a coffee roaster, an upmarket hair salon and a Sainsbury's. Behind them is the rest of Mermaid Quay, the area most people mean when they talk of "the Bay"…But to the left looms…buildings standing empty and derelict – buildings whose Edwardian facades tell you they were once at the heart of one of the busiest ports in the world. (Kelsey 2018) In this way, Butetown has now been successfully cut off from the north, east, south, and while the river sits on its western border, the introduction of multiple public and private office buildings and institutions along Dumballs Road and the gated Century Wharf community, further constricts what is left of 210 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper Butetown into a roughly 4-by-10-block landlocked ward within the actual electoral ward of Butetown, proper. Such quotes are further substantiated by the landscape meaning reflected in the comments of Butetown resident and representative Gaynor Legall, as well as other interviewees, below. These developments all fall under the context of Butetown as a multicultural and historical whole. However, these outcomes are not surprising in the context of CBDC’s approach to history as stated from a brochure found within their papers in the National Library: The initial impetus for the development of Cardiff as a major port came with the expansion of the ironworks at Merthyr and Dowlais, and their need for dock facilities. However, it was coal that provided the backbone for dockland development during the 19th century. Traffic handled at Cardiff increased from 50,000 tons in 1820 to 350,000 by 1839, to 900,000 in 1850, and to 2¼ million in 1860… After 1913 the docks went into decline…It is now part of Associated British Posts and offers a wide range of improved facilities, with major traffic in timber, fruit and vegetables, oil and chemical products. (CBDC Collections, National Library Wales) This history does not mention people living in Butetown, past or present, despite the following page of the brochure pointedly mentioning the legacy of Roman settlement and presence in the city. One of their many slogans, “uniting Cardiff with its waterfront,” further perpetuates: (1) that no one lives or has lived in the Cardiff Docks/Butetown/Tiger Bay area, and that (2) ‘true’ Cardiff lies somewhere else, and thus needs to be connected with the Bay via this wasteland described by the CBDC. Thomas (2004, 276) writes that CBDC “attempted to ignore the history of racial discrimination, and present a Disneyesque version of contemporary social relations in the area…By writing racism out of the history, the corporation has tried to re-write the experience of its residents.” Punter’s (2007b) assessment of the situation further reflects both the idea of the CBDC excluding and exploiting Butetown: “[CBDC’s] design and property led regeneration was intended to largely bypass the existing residential community and create an entirely new social composition in the Bay” (ibid., 396). In this way the CBDC materializes another of their slogans, “From Wasteland to Wonderland.” Again, a repeated discourse emerges in the literature: “the overwriting of the topographies of the old Cardiff by the new, as Cardiff Bay, an artificial imagined community of British Wales has literally and symbolically displaced Tiger Bay – a community evocative of Valleys Wales, industry and social deprivation” (Pritchard & Morgan 2003, 122). This social divide, as I detail in the following sections, is reified in the artistic and planned landscape of the city, particularly through the public areas mentioned above. A study on the significance of these artistic discourses by Gonçalves and Thomas (2012, 345–346) once again reinforces this social divide accentuated by the memorial landscapes in the city: Indeed, most of the 58 pieces of public art projects developed by CBAT, in association with the CBDC, are visually stimulating but prevent ‘a reading of art as liberating through a capacity to imagine alternative futures’ (Miles 1997, 114)… Yet, as noted earlier, the way that the connection of Cardiff Bay with Roald Dahl is constructed – via a rather tenuous link to a cleaned-up picture- postcard white wooden church – itself foregrounds a temporally transient and socially insignificant phenomenon of interest to a fairly narrow social stratum, and thereby helps perpetuate the silence about the history of thousands of people of diverse ethnicities who endured, and challenged, injustice and racism. Returning to the words of Pritchard and Morgan (2003, 122), “[t]hese symbols of luxury living, devolved governance and global capital epitomise the new Cardiff and the new Wales”. Punter’s (2007c, 144) use of the developmental phrase, “cruise ships, casinos and conventions,” highlights the unsustainable nature of Cardiff’s capital progress. The keyword here being “capital”. In the case of Cardiff, Butetown sits on the periphery of (a) capital, despite housing the very institution which places Cardiff among European capitals, the Senedd Cymru, the Welsh Parliament. Having been deemed and classified as “waste” by the forces of capital, those forces physically and socially restructured the city. The city then, functioning as the political capital, set down its most public face and roots into the very land previously used and occupied by the Butetown residents, revealing the processes of surplus population, human-as-waste, and dispossession. In Cardiff, the combined forces of racism, colonialism, and capitalism painted a picture regarding Butetown “as a ‘social swamp’ [a wasteland] which also needed to be integrated in a more general sense with the city FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 211Mark Rhodes of Cardiff” (Cowell & Thomas 2002, 1251; c.f. Yates 2011). We can trace these socioeconomic urban development forces in Cardiff across many other examples, as well. Kern (2015, 75) highlights environmental gentrification in Toronto, where, through rebranding, the city has “pushed certain bodies and practices into the light, producing contaminated/contaminating ‘others’ who must be dismissed, concealed, contained, or displaced.” In Cardiff, we have and continue to see, the justification of industrial/natural/cultural heritage used as a means of exclusion and displacement from both space and narrative. Such patterns follow similar development across other European and North American cities, as well, from Lisbon (Nofre 2013) to Amsterdam (Ekenhorst & van Aalst 2019) to San Francisco (Dillon 2014), where practices of structural racism grasp upon concepts of heritage for exploitation and erasure within the memorial landscape. Meaning One dynamic to Cardiff’s Welsh memorial landscape comes from the perspective of the individuals involved in the experience and creation of these landscapes. These conversations with 30 people in Cathays, 30 along Lloyd George Avenue, and 17 along Bute Street, in addition to interviews with both contemporary and past Cardiff Council planners and a former Cardiff City Counselor for Butetown, expand the historical context of the memorial landscape provided via archives and other literature. While works of public art might closely align with the memorial landscape within geography, when asked on the street, “have you encountered or experienced any elements of Welsh history or memory here,” the memorial landscape begins to expand well beyond “the public art [that], for example, has made much of the maritime past of the area” (Gonçalves & Thomas 2012, 335). First of all, of the 77 individuals interviewed in Cardiff, 38 stated that they had not experienced any elements of Welsh history or memory in their current location, a point I will come back to shortly. For the half which had experienced Welsh history, the narratives shifted slightly from the expected. Looking at a stemmed word count in NVivo, the significance of the memorials and the docks features emerges (Fig. 3). Noticeably, the history of the people falls somewhat behind the history of the built environment with monuments, statues, memorials, and buildings, including the Millennium Centre and Coal Exchange all contrasting with people and the surprising lack of labor or other social activity- based terms. This Welsh meaning in the memorial landscape thus points us towards the absence of histories dealing with the people of the city and Wales in general and the presence of an imposing built material landscape which may or may not engage with certain historical narratives. The docks, besides being the most used word in my Cardiff interviews overall (Fig. 3), were mentioned by 13 interviewees as one of the significant historical elements of the memorial landscape. The next most used word which carried such a specificity was coal, as four interviewees mentioned the coal exchange. And the Millennium Centre was cited by seven interviewees as often their only experience of Welsh history in the area. In general, other than a heavy focus on the statues, plaques, monuments, and memorials in Alexandra Gardens, people connected most with the various buildings around Cardiff Bay and their representation of the Welsh nation, whether that was the National Opera, the Welsh coal industry, or National Assembly. Surprisingly, even the Norwegian Chapel was mentioned by two separate English visitors. While a third of those claiming to have experienced Welsh history cite the docks, very few of those stated why or how. A curious shift in the landscape is that what remains of the docks and the shipping industry has either been abstracted beyond the outsider’s view of context or pushed to the very periphery of the Butetown district. Looking at the southern edge of the map (Fig. 1), only one inland dock persists far from Bute Street or Lloyd George Avenue. The other relic docks can be found on the other peripheries: east, south, and west of the Senedd. Along Lloyd George Avenue and Bute Street, elements of the memorial landscape do, however, remain. As you travel down Lloyd George Avenue, which is a wide tree-lined, one-mile long stretch from the Millennium Center to the City Centre, you see what would best be described as postindustrial artifacts. These artifacts in almost no case have a description or name, so it is impossible to know which ones were moved here, versus the handful of items which look as if they were simply left untouched as the developers paved their way through the area. While these artifacts contain the stories and histories of Wales’ past and the dock workers 212 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper and their environment,3 they also obscure the historical context of the area. They have their stories to tell, but they don’t speak, they do not present a view of the historic landscape, they simply occupy space as curious objects to those who have no prior information about the rich history of this landscape. Even someone who lives in a different neighborhood of Cardiff might not be able to interpret the things which are meant to represent the core of the history of the Cardiff docks areas. As one interviewee stated, yeah, I guess you do [experience elements of Welsh history] on this walk down cause there's kind of those things. I walk this way to work so I walk past those type of things. I don't think about them a lot. I've walked down this way so many times for so long that I don't particularly notice. In this case the banal nationalism of these artifacts has reached a zenith. This individual both experiences these objects on an everyday occurrence yet only identifies them as “those things”. Another interviewee who lives in a different Cardiff neighborhood (Criger) more closely connected “those things” with the industrial history of Butetown, stating that “they have those monuments along the way here. They’ve got like a Welsh anchor from an old ship cause this used to be all docks along here.” Here, the individual connects the neighborhood (Butetown) with the docks, and claims it all as Welsh history, but there is still little personal connection with place. Add this to the perspective of Gaynor Legall (personal conversation), who replied to the question of how she experiences her duel Butetown-Welsh identity with, “[i]n Butetown? Not at all. Not at all. There is no sign or sight.” While the first two individuals cited little to no personal history or connections to the place, Gaynor Legall grew up in Tiger Bay, served as a city councilor for Butetown, has been at the forefront of upturning standard narratives in Wales and Cardiff for decades, and now directs the Butetown Heritage and Cultural Exchange. She remains very cognizant of the histories not being told in Butetown and the Bay today: One of the contentious issues for me is that Butetown is not seen as part of Welsh history, so the area will be mentioned in terms of the development of industrialization and the coal industry, but the people who lived round or about in Butetown are only seen as problematic or exotic, but certainly different and for me that is, like lots of history, incorrect and incomplete. (Gaynor Legall, personal conversation) Fig. 3. Word cloud of vox pop interviews in Cardiff about perception of Welsh history. Source: Author 2017. FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 213Mark Rhodes Legall was involved in the 1987 film Tiger Bay is my Home, and in providing commentary for a commemoration of Wales, World War I, and the sea, Legall (2019) expands upon these contentious issues raised above and ties them into the concept of reparative histories: Reparative Histories. At last I had a professional sounding term for what I thought and felt about my history, the ‘told’ history, the history of the lives of my family. Reparative Histories – to make amends, make restitution, for the lies and omissions and misleading recording of history that was about the Black population of Britain and Wales in particular. Tiger Bay is my Home shows that in the 19th century in Cardiff, like other port towns, there existed Black communities that were formed by the arrival of black colonial seamen originating in the ports where Britain plied its coal trade. The film showed the sense of attachment and belonging of those born and bred in Tiger Bay, the intermingling of people from different countries and of different religions who settled in Cardiff in the early 19th century and their offspring as they were in the 1980’s. The distinction between Bute Street and Lloyd George Avenue becomes incredibly clear in many ways. Of the 17 interviewees along Bute Street, 8 stated they were currently in Butetown, 4 said Bute Street, 4 said Cardiff Bay, and one did not know. Asking the 30 people just 100 feet away along Lloyd George Avenue, respondents provided very different answers despite all interviews technically taking place in Butetown. Four said Butetown, two said it was between Cardiff Bay and Butetown and another said it was between Atlantic Wharf and Butetown, and one individual accurately stated that “[w]e’d call it Cardiff Bay, but it’s technically Butetown.” And while there were a few others that provided mixed answers including Cardiff Bay, Grangetown, Atlantic Wharf, and the City Centre, 16 people clearly identified the interview location along Lloyd George Avenue as Cardiff Bay. This individual identification further indicates an obfuscation of Butetown and reinforces the assessment of Lloyd George Avenue as a “one-sided road to nowhere” by Punter (2007a, 164) cited above (c.f. Thomas 1994; Kelsey 2018). Across these 47 responses, 25 lived in Cardiff and only one lives in Butetown, while 17 of those 25 live in Cardiff Bay. Of course, these responses are as vernacular as their identification of Butetown itself, but it also reflects that these shaped perceptions are not simply reflections of unknowing tourists. Only 4 of those individuals who stated they live in the neighborhood identified the neighborhood we were standing in as Butetown. Gaynor Legall further substantiated many of these concerns in my interview with her, but also placed this geographic bounding into an equally problematic geographic expansion of Butetown. While the community continues to be culturally and economically squeezed, Butetown itself has actually expanded with the new political geography of the Butetown electoral district: Today, all of that is encompassed by the title Butetown, and what used to be the Docks…Cardiff Docks…Cardiff Bay…and that is Butetown. The old industrial parts of Dumballs Road, Curran Road and stuff, they’re Butetown. So, it’s a much bigger whole and much more complicated in terms of its populations and geographies. (Gaynor Legall, personal conversation) Combined with a signage system that points away from Butetown and the abstract post-industrial memorial landscape along Lloyd George Avenue, evidence indicates a systematic-turned everyday exclusion of Butetown as a memorial corridor for the city and more broadly the Welsh national narrative. Performance These corridors of national memory or obfuscation host performances and performers alike. From festivals in Cardiff Bay and Cathays, to the role of international tourists, to the significance of homelessness, gender, and language, to my own performativity though the streets and memorial spaces of Cardiff, performance plays a critical role in the understanding and development of any Welsh national identity. I focus primarily on two festivals that took place during the same weekend in August 2018 to celebrate the contributions and community of two significantly marginalized groups within the context of the city’s history. This will then transition into a more detailed discussion of the performativity of Welshness and the ‘other’ in the context of the city’s memory work. The idea of weaving, utilizing thin threads to interconnect various planes, illustrates much of the performative landscape of Butetown. As already described, to literally reach one area of Butetown from another, you’re given the option of three tunnels underneath the Cardiff Bay rail line. If you 214 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper are on the west edge of Butetown, a series of gates and fences blocks much of the ease of access between areas separated by gated communities. At the same time, this is not a derelict landscape, but one of multinational influences and intranational Welsh identities, as well. Broadening this out to Cardiff as a whole, one can start to see similar continuations of these patterns of intra- and international performances of identity. My timing in Cardiff in August 2018 allowed me to witness three different festivals closely associated with three specific minority groups: the Carnifal y Môr at the Welsh National Eisteddfod, the African diaspora inspired Butetown Carnival and parade, and the Pride Cymru Big Weekend and parade. While there have certainly been excellent and comprehensive works on these communities within Wales – and their Cardiff contexts (i.e. Aaron & Williams 2005; Llwyd 2005; Osborne 2016) – there has been relatively little academic engagement with the annual parades in Butetown or associated with Pride (the Eisteddfod’s Carnifal y Môr was a premier event), and all three festivals utilize intangible heritage to fill in the gaps mentioned above in the representation within the tangible landscape. The group Pride Cymru, which organizes the Pride parade and associated weekend festival, started in 1999 as the Cardiff Mardi Gras (or Cardiff-Wales LGBT Mardi Gras). The event has grown to about 20,000 people in the past twenty years and organizations such as Amnesty International and individuals such as the rugby union referee Nigel Owens and the actors Ian Watkins and Lu Corfield provide media and/or financial support. The parade itself did not begin until 2012 and includes commercial, community groups, and individuals. Overall, Pride Cymru’s own remit is “the promotion of the elimination of discrimination.” They classify this as including sexual orientation, gender, race, religion and ability (Pride Cymru 2018). The Pride Parade itself is heavily commercialized – businesses pay a substantial fee to participate (£575) – to fund the parade and festival. However, this powerful performance of capital clashes with the empowering processes of performing queer, trans, and other “othered” identities considering the space taken by these corporations, their capital contribution to free food and large elaborate floats, and the very narratives they express (buy my products; use my service). Not to dismiss the empowerment of individuals within these companies during these capital performances, I never-the- less see elements of this performance as another means of production in the age of the service- dominated European economy as companies take one afternoon to pay a few hundred pounds and paint their logo in rainbow. The Butetown Carnival, being a longer-running event has had more academic engagement, but currently has very little readily available information on the organization or the event online. Originally the Butetown Marti-Gras, the carnival was a week-long event. However, while the carnival has seen regular success each year it runs, the work needed to put it on has waxed and waned over the years. After a hiatus, it started back up seemingly in its current form around 1980, then disappeared in 1989 for 16 years until 2004 (Evans et al. 1984; Dewis 2014). Dewis’s (2014, 130) PhD thesis on Carnival runs parallel to this research, but deliberately avoided discussion of the Butetown Carnival in favor of the now defunct Cardiff Mas Carnival. In the case of the Butetown Carnival, with only the one sponsor, the Wales Millennium Centre, this same capital performance could not be seen, rather, as experienced during Pride. In many ways the performance antagonized the capital. Traffic was stopped, the redeveloped Roald Dahl Plas was traversed, and no shopping or gimmicky services were undergone to encourage people to visit Mermaid Quay as the parade drummed past. This was an anti-capital performance. In many ways it was also an anti-capital performance in that it wasn’t the Welsh event of the weekend, like Pride was. No news outlets covered the performance, no articles were written, no Welsh-Trinidad flags were waved about. Yet, it was Welsh. It was Welsh in its social solidarity and in its antipathy toward the spectacle of capital. Tancons (2008, 340 cited in Dewis 2014, 7) states, “[i]f the accumulation of capital is the condition of the Spectacle, the cancellation of capital is the condition of Carnival. If capital excess breeds Spectacle, the lack of capital engenders Carnival.” This memory and heritage work within performed urban morphology of the Carnival, follows what I have often heard (both begrudgingly and with pride) as the dominance of Marxist historiography in Wales. While most often used in reference to Welsh labor histories and intersections with industrial heritage, historians and archaeologists also outline the limits to that historiography whereby rural, industrial, and particularly FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 215Mark Rhodes Fig. 4. The front of the 2018 Pride Parade outside Cardiff Castle with the City Hall clock tower and the dome of National Museum Cardiff in the background. Source: Author 2018 216 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper white Welsh narratives of primitive accumulation, privatization, labor exploitation, and connections between state and industry often obscure broader British colonial material relations (see Williams 2012, 2015 for specifical applications of critical memory work in Wales whereby he argues the socialist traditions in Wales have, at times, obscured broader colonial conversations). This connection between the spectacle, capital, performance, and Carnival reveals the intricate connections between memory, performance, and capital. Cowell and Thomas (2002, 1252) also discuss such connections in the context of the Cardiff Bay Development Corporation: When the [Butetown Carnival] organisers sought CBDC support, they were advised that any assistance would be conditional upon the carnival becoming much larger, better marketed and – in many respects – more spectacular. But more is involved here than simply spectacle. The points of reference, for CBDC, were internationally famous spectacles, where the transgression and protest of carnival incorporate safe places for voyeurs, for monied consumers. In many ways, I see this as a divide between a marketed spectacle and a community carnival in the Pride and Butetown parades. But there are many other elements to consider, such as the functioning of performativity in the performances themselves. Which identities have more salience in the context of Welsh memory and heritage? Perhaps the functioning of Whiteness trumps queerness, and queerness diverts to being othered on a basic of economic class or ethnic origins. These performances, however, tie into the history and meaning in the landscape in several ways. Unlike the impacts and decisions of the CBDC, the performances push back against the role of capital in the capital and recenter necessary debates around national identity. While the sculpted landscapes of Cardiff’s post-industrial past speak little to either visitors or those dwelling within those spaces, performances, such as the Butetown Carnival presses upon participants and observers to understand not only the diversity which built the city historically, but the diversity of that Welsh heritage today. In many ways, 30-plus years following the film Tiger Bay is my Home, which Gaynor Legall discussed as a means of reparative history, these performative elements within Cardiff’s landscapes continue to serve as examples of reparative memory work. Fig. 5. The Butetown Carnival on Bute Street. Source: Author 2018. FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 217Mark Rhodes Discourse The performances documented in this study within the Bay, Butetown, and the City Centre follow on the footsteps of the national performative discourses which occurred since the establishment of Cathays Park as the Cardiff and Wales’ Civic Center, Alexandra Gardens, and the City Centre. These discourses have shifted over time, as already indicated above, between the Civic Centre of Cardiff and Cardiff Bay. Civic Centre While these discourses may have shifted temporally, many of the original attempts at a national memory work in Cardiff still stand throughout Cathays Park. As already discussed, the development of the Civic Centre of Cardiff predates the redevelopment of either Cardiff Bay or the City Centre. Today, the confluence of Welsh Government offices, Cardiff University, National Museum Cardiff and National Museum Wales administrative offices, and the adjoining Alexandra and Gorsedd Gardens maintain a prominent discourse in the memory work of Wales. As a space the structure of architectural alignment between the institutions and the memorial spaces maintains an air of national prominence in the space. While many of the buildings have their backs to Alexandra Gardens, the space never-the-less centers the neighborhood. The center points to the Welsh National War Memorial. Close by is the national Falklands Conflict Memorial. In a bush, also in Alexandra Gardens, is a second Cardiff memorial to the Falklands. Each of these memorials point first and foremost to the role of Wales within the British imperial state. The only two other prominent memorials in the gardens are a weathered Spanish Civil War memorial in the corner under a tree, and the relatively new Thalidomide Memorial. For the most part, as the toponymic memorial of the gardens themselves indicates, these spaces have traditionally been a space of imperial heritage. On the other side of City Hall and National Museum Cardiff, Gorsedd Gardens may offer a slightly more “Welsh” narrative, with former Prime Minister David Lloyd George’s statue and the National Eisteddfod artifacts of the gorsedd stones. Overall, however, these spaces are and have been White, male, heteronormative, imperial spaces. As someone asks on the steps of the Senedd, “[o]nd ble mae cerfluniau menywod Cardiff?” [But where are Cardiff’s women statues?] (Fig. 6). Not only in the Civic Fig. 6. A protester stands on the steps of the Senedd asking where are Cardiff's statues of women. Source: Author 2018. 218 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper Centre, but there is not a single statue in Cardiff to a specific woman (though of course, there are works of art such as Robert Thomas’s “Girl” and “Family Group” or John Clinch’s “People Like Us” with nameless female representations limitedly spread throughout the city). As the protestor stood outside, the decision to memorialize Betty Campbell with a statue was made partially through public input at the 2018 National Eisteddfod and will mark the first memorial to a Black woman in Cardiff. This decision, in particular, holds significance as Campbell grew up and taught in, as well as politically represented, Butetown. With Campbell’s memorialization in Cardiff City Centre, and the removal of slave owner Thomas Picton from the Gallery of Welsh Heroes in the Cardiff City Hall, perhaps the passing of these two ships indicate a broader shift in Cardiff’s memorial landscape. At the very least Campbell’s memorial will clearly link Butetown into the broader urban narratives, however many other elements of the memorial landscape continue to obfuscate BIPOC and post-industrial discourses in the city.4 The national discourse of Cardiff today is synonymous with Cardiff Bay. The Senedd, the face of the Welsh Parliament, is in the Bay, alongside the Millennium Centre, the Red Dragon Centre, Mermaid Quay, and a number of additional new developments. And while the City Centre is also currently getting a facelift with a new transportation hub, just as much, if not more, work is currently redeveloping much of the outer Cardiff Docks into the Tigre Bae neighborhood, a purposeful engagement with the historic colloquial Tiger Bay as a stand in for Butetown. Butetown More important than what areas like Cardiff Bay, the City Centre, and Atlantic Wharf abstract from Butetown and its history, is Butetown today, what is left of the core immigrant community, and the many vibrant memorial landscapes which tell the story of Wales through the lens of those historically excluded from contributing to that narrative. In a politically savvy statement in the Pierhead museum, Rhodri Morgan, former First Minister for Wales, described Tiger Bay’s “key part of Welsh History” as “cosmopolitan Welsh culture.” He argued that with devolution it would be key that everyone in Wales knew and identified with this alternative to “traditional Welsh culture.” My interviews however, despite the high hopes Rhodri Morgan had for the second decade of devolution, indicate that while this cosmopolitan culture continues in many forms in Butetown, those practicing it have yet to identify themselves or their practiced discourse as Welsh. Within Butetown, as the vernacular region which maintains its identity today (primarily sandwiched between Bute Street and Canal Park) a number of important memorial landscapes show their significance. First, a somewhat newer mural presents faces from Butetown (Fig. 7, 8). “Wellbeing Matters” frames ten individuals from Butetown as part of the project Representing Butetown – one of five UK case studies researching images of neighborhood health and wellbeing. This image “showcases existing – and co-produces new – representations of Tiger Bay and the Docks that are of value to local people,” particularly the everyday performances of elders which foster individual and community wellbeing. Fig. 7. Wellbeing Matters art installation along the Bute Street wall. Source: Author 2017. FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 219Mark Rhodes One clear difference between Bute Street and Lloyd George Avenue is the presence of the “Bute Street Works”. While “those things” along Lloyd George Avenue may have come from community planning coalitions (no evidence in the archives suggests as such), Bute Street Works was indeed a community-led effort to display the language, currency, trade, local landmarks, local legends, and patterns present within the culture and history of Butetown (further themed around past, present, and future). A combination of pillars depicting old businesses and locations and stones representing cultural symbology the street’s memorial landscape reinforces the history of the community. Figures 9 and 10 show the exact addresses of various buildings that would have been found along Bute Street during Cardiff’s heyday as a multicultural port city. Also visible in the figures are paving slabs which display a variety of symbols connecting the community to African and Caribbean cultural hearths. Designed by Andrew Rowe, David Mackie, and Heather Parnell in 2001, the Cardiff Public Art Register describes Bute Street Works as utilizing “six themes from the local community, including: local legends, landmarks and trades” (Cardiff Council n.d. 14). These memorial landscapes build upon one another in Butetown, but only in certain areas of Butetown. These cultural symbols of the street’s memorial landscape amass in a small square on West Close, just two blocks from the Cardiff Bay train station (Fig. 11). These symbols, also reflected in the pavement along Bute Street include the evermore relevant black panther, a Pan-African symbol of Black power. Even if the people with African roots living in Cardiff today may not identity as Black, the Fig. 8. A photo of the text accompanying the Wellbeing Matters installation. Source: Author 2017. 220 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper symbolism of a flipped imperial narrative that takes race and class into consideration, as the black panther symbolizes, is vital to the community’s own empowerment. Other symbols not only link the Pan-African identity of the neighborhood but reflect the truly multicultural and international roots of Butetown through Southeast Asian and Indigenous Caribbean cultural references. Outside-yet-inside of Butetown, John Clinch’s “People Like Us” next to Mermaid Quay depicts a dog, a man in overalls and newspaper, and a woman holding a high heeled shoe, and as the Cardiff Council states, “celebrates the people who lived and worked in Cardiff docks during the late 19th and 20th century.” However, Fig. 9. Somali Boarding House “Bute Street Works” bollard. Source: Author 2017 Fig. 10. Caribbean Social Club “Bute Street Works” bollard. Source: Author 2017 FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 221Mark Rhodes unlike Clinch’s other seaside memorial, “From Pit to Port,” which has bilingual plaques contextualizing the memorial, “People Like Us” offers no context whatsoever, and instead as Gonçalves and Thomas (2012, 345–346) describe simply help to please the contemporary tourist’s eye…[through a] socially insignificant phenomenon of interest to a fairly narrow social stratum, and thereby helps perpetuate the silence about the history of thousands of people of diverse ethnicities who endured, and challenged, injustice and racism. The everyday landscape of Butetown today includes the South Wales (Yemeni) Islamic Center built in the 1970s, a Somali café, a Yemeni Community Centre, and the Butetown Community Centre’s hallways filled with photographs. Landscapes of othering, prominent throughout Cardiff, contrast with the everyday landscapes of multiculturalism in Butetown. “Those things” of history primarily along Lloyd George Avenue might reference or connect with Somali, Yemeni or Jamaican centers, peoples, or their descendants, however the combination of social and physical displacement of people and the lack of context, prevents those connections from occurring. Meanwhile in Butetown, communities utilize the landscape as a means of resilient memory work. While too often resigned to environmental considerations, resilience and sustainability are just as salient when discussing memory studies and their political, economic, and social contexts. These landscapes in Butetown, the placing of diverse people, buildings, and practices within the too often confined spatialities of the community connect the concepts of memory work and dwelling with those of sustainability and resistance. This builds upon work by Garde-Hansen and colleagues (2017) and McEwen and others (2017) as they demonstrate the community resiliency of flood-based memory work and cultural, political, and economic ramifications. Likewise, in Butetown memory work demonstrates resilience not through the demarcation of high-water lines, but through maritime heritage and the direct demarcation of the multicultural past into the banal streetscapes of this Cardiff neighborhood. Perhaps, as seen in the memorialization of Butetown’s Campbell in the City Centre or the performances of Butetown’s past, present, and future in Cardiff Bay, this resilience will expand, draw upon growing calls for social justice, and cut through the abstracted meaning and discourse currently present in the memorial landscape of the city (c.f. Baram 2019; Meiners & Quinn 2019). Fig. 11. West Close Square in Butetown. Source: Author 2017 222 FENNIA 199(2) (2021)Research paper Conclusion The discourses of Cardiff Bay within Butetown show few of the multicultural and dynamic landscapes of the core Butetown community bordering it to the northwest. Instead, new development dominates. Glass, steel, and slate narrate a nation fueled by neoliberal and capitalist institutions with subtle hints towards Welsh heritage. The Red Dragon Center, more industrial artifacts, and buildings either repurposed or built to reflect the maritime nature of the area each indicate Wales’ (and Cardiff’s) significance as a global shipping power. The old harbor authority building is now administered by the Welsh Assembly and run as a museum, and the Senedd itself runs rotating galleries and exhibitions. What used to be bound by the Bute monument and the railroad tracks between the City Centre and Butetown has now also been bound by the tracks and Lloyd George Avenue heading toward the Bay and by the development of the Bay itself.5 This bounding can also be seen in the landscape through the use of signage. Cardiff Council’s signage points you in the direction of significant areas as you walk throughout the city, virtually none-of-which are located in Butetown, vernacular. Rather, these spaces, further reinforced by the public art and personal experiences throughout the landscape, wrap national discourse around the City Centre, the Civic Centre, and Cardiff Bay. Butetown may be at the center of these regions, but it none-the-less sits on the periphery of (the) capital. Continued discourses of race and waste place Butetown outside of the national narrative, and while my attention here focuses upon the landscapes and memories of Butetown, similar attention can and has been paid towards other neighborhoods around Cardiff facing parallel, yet uniquely place-based problems of top-down urban renewal, post-industrial displacement, and racially-charged discourse and planning (i.e. Payson 2018; Guma et al. 2019). Despite these changes to the city, one thing this research does uncover in the memory work of Cardiff is a fluid and performative landscape. This memory work, capable of adaptation and change both for and against capital development and its socioeconomic impacts, has shifted over time. From a focus on a British imperial past to an economically vibrant Welsh future, this memory works both alongside and against groups like Pride Cymru and the Butetown Carnival. And while the more performative and discursive elements of this research find significant power in these performances and fluid spaces and places of memory in the city, my interviews signify a continued reliance upon the built landscape to draw Welsh historical and national meaning. The power of the urban landscape as history and meaning draws from the processes of development and materialized discourse, as both visitors and residents demonstrate the continued abstraction of the Butetown community into simply a relic dockland, a “wasteland” between the city’s center and waterfront. This research demonstrates the utility of mixed-methods in interpreting urban landscapes. Particularly in understanding landscapes of memory work, the combination of archives, interviews, performance, and discourse in the spatial patterns of Welsh identity is critical. However, future work may dig deeper to uncover more of the bureaucratic and neoliberal geographies of the built and tourist landscapes throughout Cardiff. Likewise, closer connections with the new Heritage and Cultural Exchange in Butetown and the Butetown community, in general, can generate clear next steps for understanding the deep and ongoing political and economic impacts in the urban environment of Butetown. None-the-less, the memorial and heritage planning landscapes of Cardiff reflect and may serve broader assessments of urban intersections with memory. As cities (particularly metropoles) increasingly take a critical eye to their role within colonialism, slavery, or other structures of violence while they simultaneously expand planning around cultural heritage for sustainable and resilient communities, they will have to take notice of authorship and representation within their memorial landscapes. Overall, Cardiff is dealing with growing pains. In its post-industrial reimaginings, the new capital city must balance tourism, industrial heritage, economic vibrancy, and new and old communities of people who may or may not fit traditional understandings of Welsh nationhood. In certain aspects, the performances, narratives, and discourses of the city speak to the power in its diversity, but in many more ways unchecked economic development, planning, and memorialization work to exclude the memory of women, immigrants, and other minorities from the memory of Cardiff’s rich cultural heritage. FENNIA 199(2) (2021) 223Mark Rhodes Notes 1 Hechter (1999) also describes this accumulation of wealth in Cardiff’s process of becoming a colonial enclave. 2 The dragon has been a symbol of Welsh national identity and the Welsh “state” (i.e. the Welsh flag) throughout much of its history. 3 As many posthumanist and postmodern geographers would describe as haunted landscapes, these artefacts do have power, agency and narrative. 4 Since the completion of this research, the Betty Campbell statue has indeed been sculpted and ceremoniously revealed in Cardiff’s Central Square. Its design (by Eva Shepherd), unveiling ceremony on 29 September 2021, and the broader series of five “Monumental Welsh Women” each contribute significantly towards the overall arguments made in this manuscript, despite their absence from my discussion, and deserve additional scholarly attention. 5 This last bounding is an interesting case of capitalism creating a (creeping) border. 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