Territorial curation – Extracting value from the rent gap

Abstract

This article builds on and expands existing work on rent gaps and territorial stigmatization, introducing the concept territorial curation to facilitate understanding of the unfolding and closing of rent gaps. Territorial curation occurs when public and private actors collaborate to overcome the barriers posed by territorial stigma to induce gentrification and extract land value. We argue that territorial curation is a form of stigma governance that reconfigures stigma rather than eliminating it, shifting it from the territory to specific people, delimited spaces, practices, and aesthetics. Based on original empirical research in Gamlestaden, Gothenburg, the location of Sweden’s first official BID-inspired model, we show how real estate owners and municipal actors work in concert to curate the neighbourhood’s image, commercial landscape, and historical narrative. Through interviews, planning documents, and field observations, we demonstrate how curated authenticity and aesthetic regulation are deployed to attract investors and middle-class consumers while marginalizing immigrant-owned businesses and their customers. In conclusion, we argue that territorial curation operates as a slow, cyclical process and functions as a form of risk management that bridges the reputational gap between a neighbourhood’s present and its imagined future.

Introduction

Over 40 years have passed since Smith (1979) wrote his classic study of rent gaps to explain the underlying mechanism of gentrification and unfolded why neighbourhoods gentrify rather than how (see also Kadıoğlu, 2024: 272). As such, his study is an account of capital’s movement in cycles of disinvestment and reinvestment creating an uneven urban development. The theory points to a ‘general structural tendency’ (Lees et al., 2008: 66), but, as Christophers (2021) argues, the closing of rent gaps is never guaranteed. While they always represent a potential, ‘it is only in attempting to close rent gaps that capital learns whether they are indeed closable’ (Christophers, 2021: 708). Therefore, as Kallin (2017: 106) points out, potential ground rent is ‘always hypothetical’.

In the past decade, urban researchers have increasingly turned to the concept of territorial stigmatization to explore how derogatory portrayals of certain locations both widen the rent gap and lay the groundwork for ideological justification of extensive class transformations (Kallin and Slater, 2014; Paton et al., 2017; Slater, 2015). While it is generally acknowledged that territorial stigmatization can pave the way for gentrification, it can also serve as a barrier. As Kadıoğlu (2022) and Mösgen et al. (2019) highlight, excessively entrenched stigma can effectively impede gentrification, as it creates unfavourable conditions for new investments and makes the prospect of closing the rent gap seem unattainable. Smith had also pointed this out, arguing in 1987 that despite a widened rent gap, ‘some economic opportunities remain unexploited and specific local conditions may discourage the process’ (Smith, 1987: 464). He suggested that racism and fear could be factors obstructing closure of rent gaps. To analyze these restrictions, Kallin (2017) introduced the concept reputational gap, which emphasizes that unlocking a rent gap’s hypothetical potential involves envisioning a prosperous future, which can induce a ‘symbolic metamorphosis’ of the urban landscape. The key seems to lie in striking a delicate balance: stigmatizing the area just enough to create incentives for new investments, whilst simultaneously presenting a vision of a bright future that the middle classes and capital investors find compelling. Arriving at this delicate balance requires proactive involvement from both state- and private actors, necessitating a coordinated effort to govern both the perpetuation of stigmatization and the cultivation of visionary narratives.

We have coined the concept territorial curation to analyze this further. The term builds on research on territorial stigmatization but is designed to analyze the process that takes place after territorial stigmatization which aims to initiate gentrification and close the rent gap. Derived from the Latin curare, meaning ‘to restore to health or a sound state’, curation is used to describe the task of art curators, who plan, select, and arrange artworks in a gallery setting. Territorial curation involves actions taken by public and private actors that are often described as a ‘cure’ for the area’s ‘illnesses’ of decay, criminality, and disorder. Like the art curator who plans, selects, and arranges works of art, these actions shape the look, content, and feel of the urban landscape, as well as its image and narrative. As we will show, territorial curation is by no means the end of stigmatization; instead, it should be seen as a form of stigma governance ‘which legitimizes the reproduction and entrenchment of inequalities and injustices’ (Tyler, 2013: 212). The concept of territorial curation is created in dialogue with two approaches to gentrification: research on residential gentrification that highlights rent gaps and territorial stigmatization on the one hand; and research on commercial gentrification that analyzes the role of cultural strategies and aesthetics on the other (see also Paton et al., 2017). Since many neighbourhoods contain both residential and commercial areas, and state-led plans for renewal often aim to transform neighbourhoods in their entirety, we find it relevant to combine these two research strands to further analyze how gentrification is planned through a ‘concerted and systematic partnership’ (Smith, 2002: 441) between the public and private sectors to induce a class transformation of a whole neighbourhood.

Our empirical study focuses on the neighbourhood Gamlestaden in Gothenburg, Sweden. Gamlestaden, which is currently undergoing strategic urban transformation, was chosen for its urban importance both within Sweden and in Gothenburg. After serving as a testing ground for public-private collaboration for over two decades, it became the site of Sweden’s first BID (Business Improvement District) resembling partnership in 2018. This initiative has been ‘forcefully presented as a “best practice” across the country’ (Valli and Hammami, 2021: 156), marking a significant shift in Swedish urban governance. Furthermore, as Kusevski et al. (2023: 1059) point out, BID-inspired initiatives in Sweden frequently emerge in areas of ‘untapped economic potential amid increasingly expensive cities’ – Smith called these ‘frontiers of profitability’ (Smith, 1996: 186; also cited in Kusevski et al., 2023: 1070) – and may therefore be seen as a strategic tool with which to manage the delicate balance between territorial stigmatization and curation.

As a semi-central neighbourhood, Gamlestaden has been viewed as a potential frontier for profitability for two decades. When Gothenburg’s Urban Planning Office released a new detailed development plan for Gamlestaden in 2006, it stated:

To lift Gamlestaden’s currently somewhat tarnished reputation as an unsafe and fragmented neighbourhood, and to create high-quality urban environments, the planning area and Gamlestaden require a very high level of urban development ambition. (Göteborgs Stad, 2006: 10, our emphasis)

Only 3 years later, in the 2009 Gothenburg Urban Master Plan, Gamlestaden is defined as one of five strategic hubs for urban development in the city, which potentially opened the rent gap even further. Under Sweden’s Planning and Building Act, Swedish municipalities have a statutory planning monopoly, which means that they alone decide on the adoption of detailed development plans. When they define an area as a strategic hub for urban development, it is a performative act that opens for new investments that were not possible previously.

Based on our original empirical research in Gamlestaden, Gothenburg, this article aims to develop the concept of territorial curation as a theoretical contribution to gentrification studies, building on and extending existing research on rent gaps, territorial stigmatization, and commercial gentrification. The article is structured as follows: We begin with a theoretical discussion of symbolic power and territorial stigmatization before outlining our theoretical contribution with the concept of territorial curation. After a brief contextualization of our case and a presentation of our data collection and research process, we analyze our material.

Symbolic power and territorial stigmatization

Drawing on Bourdieu’s concept of symbolic power, Tissot (2018) argues that the categorization of neighbourhoods is not merely descriptive but also performative – that is, labels actively contribute to the social construction of urban spaces. These categorizations often justify policy measures – whether increased surveillance, new development plans, or preservations programmes – which may in turn lead to significant social and material changes. The categorizations are also part of a power struggle between different actors in urban space who may or may not share the same interests.

The concept of territorial stigmatization was coined by Wacquant (2008), who merged Bourdieu’s theory of symbolic power with Goffman’s theory of stigma to analyze how the ‘blemish of space’ imbues places – and their inhabitants – with derogatory labels. Territorial stigmatization works through a symbolic defamation by statements uttered by ‘specialists in symbolic production’ in media, planning documents, political debates, and through policy making (Wacquant et al., 2014: 1275). This process, akin to Bourdieu’s notion of symbolic violence, inflicts ‘consequential and injurious’ harm through collective representation (Wacquant et al., 2014: 1278). While territorial stigmatization is inherently class-based, it is often also racialized, as many stigmatized areas are home to ethnically diverse communities. This racialization further stratifies inhabitants, with some individuals experiencing the stigma more acutely than others. As Kadıoğlu (2022: 5) notes, a person whose ethno-racial identity is not stigmatized may be ‘living in a blemished place but not as being of that place, in the sense of carrying its alleged characteristics (i.e. immigrant, black, Muslim . . .)’.

While research into territorial stigmatization tends to focus on the first phase of gentrification – the creation or widening of a rent gap (Kallin and Slater, 2014; Paton et al., 2017) – there are exceptions. In their analysis of Rotterdam, Uitermark and Duyvendak (2008) identify a local, state-deployed stigmatization that, in conjunction with timing, uses periods of stagnation with exacerbating neighbourhood deterioration, depicting residents as responsible for neighbourhood decline and thus justifying full-scale gentrification whilst benefitting from a fracturing resistance over time. Their analysis points to the importance of analyzing the cyclical and sequential process of gentrification over a longer period, where displacement takes place gradually.

As indicated previously, the creation of a rent gap does not necessarily lead to its closure, and territorial stigmatization may hinder gentrification. The ‘specialists in symbolic power’ (Wacquant et al., 2014: 1275) that play an important role in stigmatizing areas are also active in the production of new narratives of the bright future to come. These narratives are important for inducing what Kallin (2017: 104) calls a ‘symbolic metamorphosis’, which, in Kallin’s case of Craigmillar in Edinburgh, also included drastic measures such as destruction of housing and large-scale privatization. Together, these measures continuously reinforced the idea of a ‘new’ Craigmillar. However, this is only an option when the demolition of the built environment is possible; otherwise, the area needs to be re-imagined in other ways. Kadıoğlu (2022) shows an alternative strategy that involves what she calls a process of de-stigmatization. In her analysis of Neukölln in Berlin, she demonstrates that it is both empirically and analytically ‘useful to make a distinction between the stigmatization of residents and the stigmatization of territories’ (Kadıoğlu, 2022: 6); even if these might overlap in the initial stages, residents may still find themselves stigmatized in a neighbourhood that is being re-imagined.

Holmes’ (2022) similar concept demarginalization is defined as a process to improve a place’s ‘public image with the aim of overcoming the territorial stigma, in order to manufacture a space which is conducive to private investment’ (Holmes, 2022: 1170). Additionally, Horgan (2018) uses the concept territorial destigmatization to analyze the complex interplay between various stakeholders in a process of territorial stigmatization and destigmatization, shedding light on the cultural and symbolic strategies that underpin urban transformation. He argues that territorial destigmatization operates by ‘destigmatization through gentrification-led displacement’ on the one hand and ‘destigmatization through symbolic reinscription’ on the other (Horgan, 2018: 506). This double sense of the concept is essential; Horgan also shows that the ‘means of symbolic production do not belong to gentrifiers, realtors or the state alone’ (Horgan, 2018: 513), but can also be used by housing advocates to counteract the stigma.

While we concur with Kadıoğlu, Horgan, and Holmes, we find both (territorial) de-stigmatization and demarginalization to be insufficient concepts for our analysis. The prefix ‘de-’ in these concepts modifies the meaning of the root word to indicate a reversal or removal. As the results of these studies demonstrate, however, the stigmatization is not removed, but rather changes form and becomes more finely tuned. Following Paton (2018: 921), we see stigma as being ‘central to moral and economic class projects which are realised in distinctly spatial ways’. Furthermore, Paton (2018) understands stigma as ‘integral to forms of governance’ (p. 921), and we agree with her urging for researchers not only to gaze down at those who are stigmatized but also to gaze up at the role of the stigmatizers. To further elaborate on this, it is necessary to turn to research on the gentrification of commercial streets and outline the concept of territorial curation.

Territorial curation

We define territorial curation as a form of stigma governance and a ‘concerted and systematic partnership’ (Smith, 2002: 441) between the public and private sectors to induce a class remake of an urban area. Decoupling the stigma from the territory is central for this strategy as it removes the barrier for extracting value from the rent gap. This is done through the creation and curation of a new vision for the area that strategically uses some geographical parts of, and historical narratives about, the area whilst making others invisible, and a curation of the existing urban landscape by imposing aesthetical norms and sanitizing that which does not ‘fit’ the new vision. These processes, including the shift towards a more finely tuned stigmatization, are not chronological or linear; instead, they work in cycles over time.

As gentrification has come to be understood as a widespread restructuring and upgrading of urban space, gentrification research has cast a critical eye on the role of the local state, highlighting its pivotal part in orchestrating urban transformations (Davidson and Lees, 2005). This development has put both urban planning and urban policy at the forefront as gentrification has become ‘incorporated into public policy – used either as a justification to obey market forces and private sector entrepreneurialism, or as a tool to direct market processes in the hopes of restructuring urban landscapes in a slightly more benevolent fashion’ (Wyly and Hammel, 2005: 35).

While the state plays a significant role in territorial stigmatization and in enabling gentrification, it rarely acts alone. A great deal of urban restructuring happens via the pooling of resources by the public and private sectors, ‘coordinating a wide range of actors with partly overlapping and partly conflicting interests’ (Hertting et al., 2022: 255). Through research into territorial stigmatization, we have learned that the state is ‘a stratifying and classifying agency that wields a dominant influence on the social and symbolic order of the city’ (Wacquant, 2010: 215). By exerting the local state’s capacity to wield symbolic power (e.g. in defining land use), private interests may use this leverage to stigmatize an area, people, or activities, as well as (in collaboration with state actors) meticulously plan the transformation of an area.

One of the most important aspects of this transformation is to curate an area’s urban aesthetics to change its sensorial appearance. Gentrification often follows a general script of ‘gentrification aesthetics’, that intends to ‘produce the seductive conditions and instil the desires needed for creating exclusionary urban transformations predicated on displacing and disempowering vulnerable populations’ (Lindner and Sandoval, 2021: 14–15). The production of gentrification aesthetics does not ‘just happen’; it is carefully planned and curated over time to shift a neighbourhood’s identity from ethnic working-class to up-and-coming, white, and middle-class.

Although commercial streets often exist in gentrifying neighbourhoods and play a crucial role in both the economic and social fabric of the city, gentrification studies have often overlooked their significance (Rankin and McLean, 2015: 217). In their study of gentrifying streets in Toronto, Rankin and Mclean argue for a conceptual shift, emphasizing the importance of viewing these streets as arenas of contestation and class struggle. The authors introduce the concept racialized class project, defined as an ‘articulated planning vision, with attendant practices, that mobilize and consolidate intersecting ideologies of race and class, and that ultimately materialize as unequal structures of opportunity in everyday spaces of the city’ (Rankin and McLean, 2015: 217). Their study highlights the stigmatization of commercial spaces catering to low-income racialized immigrants and the consequent erasure of racialized individuals from urban planning narratives. Similarly, in their ethnographic gentrification study of two commercial streets in Amsterdam, Fiore and Plate (2021) show how a middle-class aesthetic of multiculturalism was deployed in redevelopment plans, and white people were viewed as the prime users (see also Kadıoğlu, 2020). Furthermore, existing commercial activities were stigmatized and blamed for decay and a destitute appearance. This stigmatization contributed to perceptions of the streets as run-down and suspicious, legitimizing efforts to revamp them aesthetically and rebrand their commercial offerings. In both these studies, the local state was a promoter and enabler of both the stigmatization and the remake of the areas. The studies also highlight how these processes both legitimize practices of racial inequality (Fiore and Plate, 2021: 403) and enforce spatial segregation (Rankin and McLean, 2015).

The idea of authenticity is integral to gentrification aesthetics and has become an important tool for branding gentrifying neighbourhoods. Zukin (2010) observes the emergence of a model for how an ‘authentic’ neighbourhood should look: small shops, ‘ethnic’ restaurants, and alternative lifestyle consumption. The paradox of ‘authenticity’ is that it is based on a longing for something real but ends up playing with vague historical references only to establish something ‘new’ (but internationally recognizable) that distinguishes itself from the history of the location. In this way, ‘authenticity’ becomes a tool of power to reshape and curate the city and control who feels welcome there and who does not.

Presentation of the case

In recent decades, Sweden has undergone a neoliberal transformation marked by deregulation favouring privatization, citizen responsibilization, increased surveillance, and public-private partnerships (Thörn and Larsson, 2012). This shift has led to fast-growing inequality, particularly evident in housing policies. Following the financial crisis of the 1990s, the liberal government closed the national housing department, cut subsidies, and deregulated the market (Clark and Johnson, 2009). Christophers (2013) makes the important point that the Swedish model uniquely combines neoliberal mechanisms with welfare state legacies. He characterizes this as a ‘monstrous hybrid’ in which ‘housing has become a pivotal locus for the creation, transference (across generations), and thus reproduction of socioeconomic inequality in Sweden’ (Christophers, 2013: 906). The shift has also taken place in urban planning. In a study of Stockholm, Zakhour and Metzger (2018) show that the city’s urban planning shifted from a planning-led regime, dominant between 1930 and 1990, to a development-led regime starting in 1995. In the planning-led regime, public land was viewed as a tool for implementing political visions, while the development-led regime was market-driven and viewed land as a financial asset. The dominance of economic interests is also clearly illustrated in Saldert’s (2022) study of Frihamnen in Gothenburg, in which she shows that social sustainability was gradually redefined during the 2010s to fit within a neoliberal economic framework, thus limiting what was considered feasible. Financial practices presented as neutral ultimately depoliticized social goals and reinforced a business-as-usual approach. This reflects a broader trend where market-driven urban strategies, often implemented through public-private partnerships, prioritize economic growth at the expense of social and environmental objectives (Cugurullo, 2017; Levenda, 2019; Miller and Mössner, 2020; Rosol et al., 2017).

It is within this context that a Swedish version of the BID model appeared. Kusevski et al. (2023) argue that the neighbourhood-based form of BID has become a popular property-oriented solution in stigmatized neighbourhoods ‘with high re-development potential and a long history of public area-based interventions’ (Kusevski et al., 2023: 1053). Gamlestaden is the most emblematic example of this trend; this is also stated in a national news article entitled ‘Gamlestaden transformed – Government eyes national rollout of urban renewal model’ (Hedberg, 2021).

Geographically and economically, Gamlestaden is located between the upgraded central city and the poor outskirts, making it a semi-central neighbourhood. The population is ethnically mixed and low-income, but employment is relatively high. It has a strong industrial and working-class history with many old factory buildings still standing today. The area was highly influenced by labour migration in the mid-20th century, primarily from Italy and Finland, but also Poland, Hungary, and former Yugoslavia. The municipality placed a high number of social housing units in the area in the 1970s, including residences for newly arrived refugees. During the 1980s and 1990s, Gamlestaden was one of the areas in Gothenburg with the highest concentration of unemployment, individuals receiving social assistance, and first-generation immigrants (Valli and Hammami, 2021).

In the late 1990s and early 2000s, Gamlestaden was the focus of two state interventions aimed at countering segregation and negative economic development. Following these state-funded projects, the Association of Real Estate Owners in Gamlestaden (hereafter ROG) was founded by the local municipal housing company in September 2001 (Sahlin and Wennerström, 2010: 253–255). While the official goal was to improve living conditions for residents, the first action plan revealed a broader objective: to increase the economic value of rental housing and condominiums (Sahlin and Wennerström, 2010: 265). To do that, ROG implemented several safety measures, such as installing gates to previously open courtyards, improving street illumination, employing security guards, and organizing safety walks (Borelius and Wennerström, 2010: 45). The high number of social contracts – where the municipality (through the social services) leased flats and sublet them to homeless households – was also considered problematic, and a common policy was adopted to reduce their number. However, this proved difficult, as some smaller property owners outside the ROG did not follow the policy and rented out flats to what one civil servant described as ‘riff-raff’ (Sahlin and Wennerström, 2010: 272). To address this, the municipal housing company that had initiated ROG began purchasing these properties and aligning their rental policies with ROG’s objectives.

ROG became a long-term partner for the municipality, and in 2018, BID Gamlestaden (hereafter BIDG) was established and nationally promoted as Sweden’s ‘first BID’ (despite the absence of national BID legislation; Valli and Hammami, 2021). According to Kusevski et al. (2023: 1052), BID-inspired models in Sweden may be defined as: ‘geographically delimited urban areas where property and business owners, organized in a non-profit association, pay voluntary membership fees in order to fund services and small-scale improvements within their district’. The City of Gothenburg and ROG are BIDG’s core members. While ROG already exerted an influence over the municipality’s urban planning in Gamlestaden, the BIDG partnership further solidified its role as a legitimate developer. ROG’s coordinator was even employed by the municipality, holding the same position there as she held within the association. In their analysis of BIDG, Valli and Hammami (2021: 166) conclude that the model: (a) privileges the interests of developers and property owners while excluding renters from decision-making processes; (b) enables sanitizing- and disciplinary actions that further marginalize vulnerable groups; and (c) supports patterns of gentrification. They also argue that BIDG has achieved many of its goals by merit of its close relationship with the city planning department and the relatively high political capital of some of its central members. BIDG is thus not only a tool for the pooling of resources but also a creator of a common vision and goal that privileges powerful actors.

While ROG/BIDG has been researched before, this article will highlight their actions to transform Gamlestaden as acts of territorial curation. To do so, we focus on two areas of Gamlestaden: the Old Factories (comprising Gamlestaden’s Factories and the Slaughterhouse), which consist of old industrial land; and Central Gamlestaden, which consists of commercial streets and residential areas. We show that ROG/BIDG treats these two areas quite differently, reflecting distinct aspects of territorial curation. In the Old Factories, the focus is on attracting new entrepreneurs and establishing an ‘authentic’, curated identity from the ground up, often through the redevelopment and rebranding of previously ‘unused’ or industrial spaces. In contrast, the commercial streets and residential areas of Central Gamlestaden require a different strategy that involves working with – and at times against – existing businesses and social structures. In our analysis, we refer to ROG prior to 2018 and to BIDG after the formal agreement was signed in 2018. When we discuss ongoing work that spans both periods, we use the term ROG/BIDG. Essentially, however, these are the same actors.

For this article, we conducted 12 semi-structured interviews with key-informants directly involved with BIDG and/or the urban planning of Gamlestaden. The interviews were carried out between 2019 and 2021, and the interviewees were real estate owners (4), BIDG leaders (2), civil servants (4), and coaches employed by the BIDG (2). Interviewees were informed through the research project, and informed consent was obtained prior to the interviews. The real estate owners interviewed, three of whom were private owners and one a municipal owner, were chosen as they are ROG/BIDG’s most influential stakeholders. The interviews are complemented with written material produced by or for ROG/BIDG, such as newsletters (predominantly from 2014 and onward), activity plans, reports, PowerPoint presentations (from 2016 and onward), and other publicly accessible information from their webpage. We have also used material from marketing websites customized for Gamlestaden’s Factories and the Slaughterhouse, and promotional texts on real estate owners’ and property developers’ websites. Lastly, we used recordings we made of BIDG’s public annual meeting in 2022.

The material has been analyzed based on how the area has been defined in the past, present, and future. Our analysis specifically examines how problems are constructed and which solutions are proposed. We have also gathered observations through walks in the area from 2019 to 2024; these have been photo-documented. Some marketing material is no longer accessible or has been changed. However, all material used in this article has been saved by us, either in PDF-form, as screenshots, or copied text, together with the original download date.

The territorial curation of Gamlestaden

Territorial curation aims to overcome the barrier posed by the stickiness of territorial stigma to extract value from the rent gap. Its overall goal is to decouple the stigma from the territory and to introduce a new phase of fine-tuned stigmatization of activities, commercial spaces, people, and aesthetics. This approach is combined with an attempt to induce and curate a symbolic and material metamorphosis of the area. This section takes a closer look at how public and private actors work together with territorial curation in Gamlestaden.

Close collaborations and joint narrative

One important aspect of territorial curation is the insistence on the land’s potential value. As Kallin (2017, 2021) has pointed out, this potential is imagined, and the realization of that imagined value may fail: speculation may prove unrealistic, the demand may be too low, or territorial stigma may prove too persistent. In Gamlestaden, we suggest that ROG/BIDG was created as a tool to mitigate such risks and ensure that the various actors involved – multiple real estate owners and civil servants in urban planning – strived toward a shared goal. They have worked slowly and strategically from the start, exercising agency together to induce gentrification in Gamlestaden. As the BIDG coordinator explains:

That’s how it was in Gamlestaden twenty years ago. If you lived in Gamlestaden, you wouldn’t tell your coworkers where you lived. And that’s really a matter of language. But it’s not like someone sat down and developed a language strategy to change how people talk about Gamlestaden. It’s simply about changing the reality.

One central strategy to create a common ground and legitimacy for their work has been the invention of an origin story based on a ‘before and after’ narrative. According to this narrative, ROG was born out of necessity in a declining neighbourhood wrought with criminality, social problems, and physical decay, and their work has succeeded in shifting this negative trend. This is described in the report ‘From Decay to Rebirth’, published by ROG:

At the turn of the millennium, Gamlestaden in Gothenburg was a neighbourhood on the verge of decline. The area was characterized by neglected public spaces and poorly maintained private properties, organized crime including car fires, explosions, and shootings, as well as high levels of everyday criminality such as car and home-related offenses. There were extensive social problems, frequent negative media coverage, and a widespread sense of insecurity among residents, prompting many to leave the neighbourhood. Today, Gamlestaden is an attractive and pleasant place to live. Many public spaces, streets, squares, and parks have been renovated, as have numerous private properties. The neighbourhood has become noticeably more aesthetically appealing. (Holmberg, 2016: 7)

In the quote, ‘Gamlestaden before’ is put in stark contrast to ‘Gamlestaden today’. There are several negative descriptions of the past: ‘verge of decline’, ‘extensive social problems’, ‘negative media coverage’, and the mention of factors that prompted many to ‘leave the neighbourhood’. This differs from its present state, where the area is described as more attractive and pleasant as well as ‘more aesthetically appealing’. The report was initially presented at the annual book fair 2016 in Gothenburg under the heading ‘From Gangsterland to Urban Idyll’ but the title was changed in response to criticism from the nation’s foremost architecture magazine, Arkitektur.

The ‘before’ narrative heavily relies on three newspaper headlines from the turn of the century concerning a shooting, increased gang violence, and attempted murder in Gamlestaden. These headlines were shown at ROG’s inaugural meeting in 2001 and are still displayed on their website today, 24 years later, in 2025. They are employed as an explanation and a legitimization of the renewal plans, and as proof of success (see also Sahlin and Wennerström, 2010: 269; Valli and Hammami, 2021). The headlines also appeared at BIDG’s public annual meeting in 2022, while the speaking BIDG representative said: ‘This was my everyday life back then. My neighbours were the ones being shot at, video stores were being bombed . . . yes, they were thrilling times. But, like I said, I’m still here!’ Similar sentiments of Gamlestaden ‘before’ were also present in our interviews, where interviewees reiterate how bad the area was prior to ROG. Referencing the same handful of stories, they express how problems had become inherent to Gamlestaden and forced ‘good’ residents to move away (see also Paton et al., 2017). After an initial decrease in the crime rate in ROG’s first years, however, criminality rose to higher levels than before the security efforts (Sahlin, 2010: 31), and it has continued to fluctuate since then. In contrast to the origin story, however, current crimes are not presented as inherently part of Gamlestaden but rather as part of Gothenburg’s overall criminality, a residue from the old Gamlestaden, or as random events for which individuals are responsible.

BIDG’s origin story is also repeated in media. In 2020, Sweden’s foremost morning paper published an article about the collaboration in Gamlestaden with the headline: ‘Once seen as a future slum – Now new Gamlestaden is growing’ (Herold, 2020). The narrative makes it clear: before the formation of ROG/BIDG, Gamlestaden was overburdened with criminality and social problems, but after a few years of hard work, ROG/BIDG succeeded in curing the neighbourhood and turning the tide.

An important part of this origin story is the leverage of ROG/BIDG and their capacity to get things done. The collaboration between the city and the real estate owners is presented as so close that the municipal planner even states:

Sometimes it feels like I don’t work for the City of Gothenburg, but rather for a ‘municipality’ called Gamlestaden – for better or worse. But I’m deeply engaged in this part of the city. And I really think that the BIDG, or more precisely the real estate owners in Gamlestaden, have done a fantastic job since . . . well, since around the turn of the millennium, and today, the neighbourhood breathes optimism and a sense of belief in the future.

A city official argues that the tight collaboration: ‘creates this kind of sense, like, “something is happening now,” and then we do it together’.

Evoking roots and curating authenticity

Another element of territorial curation is to create a new vision from scratch that uses some strategic parts of the area’s architecture and history whilst making others invisible. This imagineering strategy is mainly used in the Old Factories area, which comprises Gamlestaden’s Factories and the Slaughterhouse, where the past is curated by evoking roots and authenticity. Here, BIDG turns to an older history of Gamlestaden, before its ‘decline to a slum’ in the 1980s–1990s. In particular, they wield physical and narrative elements from the industrial age, which is far enough in the past for the area’s working-class stamp to become romanticized. This history, combined with the old building’s aesthetics, is presented as undeveloped value of the area. As the municipal planner argued in our interview: ‘there’s a certain patina in the physical environments that promotes development’. In the following section, we will go through how this visionary authentication process differs between the two areas in the Old Factories.

The vision created for Gamlestaden’s Factories is constructed around businesses that originated in the area and have become internationally successful (such as SKF and Volvo), and industrial buildings from the 18th and 19th centuries. These working-class legacies are reformulated as evidence of an authentic, creative, and entrepreneurial spirit that can be handed down to a new generation of entrepreneurs after the renewal. For example, Platzer (2022), the main real estate owner in the area, markets Gamlestaden’s Factories as ‘a home for inventors’ and ‘creators’. They narrate the area thus:

In Gamlestaden, development and renewal are ingrained in the walls. Here, the journeys began for SKF, Volvo, and Åhléns. In the same spirit, the journey now continues, but with new walls and new opportunities. (Platzer, 2021)

Here, the ingrained spirit of ‘development and renewal’ is also active in new walls, making the area itself the carrier of inventive influence. Platzer works with commercial estates, but the new condominiums that are built in the area are marketed similarly:

There are several old industrial buildings in the district, and Fabrikören [The Factory Owner] will flirt with this while standing out with its modern interpretation. The façades, for example, will be clad in brick and metal, like the original architecture of the district. (JM, 2024)

The newly built neighbourhood, ‘flirting’ with Gamlestaden’s industrial heritage, is named The Factory Owner, evoking nostalgia whilst also signalling a shift in power from collective labour to private ownership and market-driven urban development. Along the same lines, a property developer explained in our interview that the area will be developed as a ‘melting pot for entrepreneurs’ that draws on the area’s history:

What we see in Gamlestaden – it springs from the entrepreneurial spirit. We see it even today, there are many entrepreneurs who operate and exist here, and have propelled Gamlestaden to what it is today.

Attracting the ‘right kind’ of companies to the area is important for realizing this narrative. Swahn (2022) refers to these business owners as pioneering entrepreneurs, highlighting their gentrifying role as they align with what Zukin (2010) identifies as ‘authentic’ aesthetics – distinctive concepts designed to appeal to the middle classes. ROG/BIDG have actively worked to facilitate the pioneering entrepreneurs’ establishment in the area. The real estate owners have for example offered free renovations, initially subsidized rents, and helped the entrepreneur’s marketing through creation of a Gamlestaden’s Factories-website. In turn, the entrepreneurs are expected to contribute to the area’s development by participating in meetings and collaborative events arranged by BIDG (Swahn, 2022). In a BIDG newsletter from 2018, a commercial custodian stated:

We are actively working to create an exciting mix of leaseholders that can synergize and develop Gamlestaden’s Factories together with us. We believe in a grassroot movement where Platzer can work as a catalyst by consolidating driven businesses. (BID Gamlestaden, 2018).

The work to attract pioneering entrepreneurs is also crucial in the imagineering of the Slaughterhouse. The area consists of several brick buildings built for a large-scale municipal slaughterhouse in 1905. In contrast to Gamlestaden’s Factories, which try to attract successful companies and lease office spaces, the Slaughterhouse is branded as a ‘genuine experience’ – a trendy, exclusive destination for shopping, food markets, restaurants, and nightlife. The concept draws inspiration from internationally successful redevelopments such as New York’s Meatpacking District, Copenhagen’s Kødbyen, and Stockholm’s Slakthuset – all of which share similar names and offer comparable ‘alternative’ activities for the middle classes. The Slaughterhouse in Gamlestaden is framed as uniquely authentic to its local context, however:

The goal is a place for experimentation and creativity with a focus on the place’s DNA – food and food production. Small-scale production of food, drinks, and design, restaurants, and culture. A meeting between old and new, retrospection and innovation. A natural destination for Gothenburg locals and visitors. Something that does not exist in Gothenburg today but where the place’s soul remains. (Higab, 2022)

A key element of the area’s new identity is an intentionally ‘rough’ aesthetic. The phrase ‘rough and perfect’ (Slakthuset, 2022a), for example, appears prominently on the Slaughterhouse website, styled in a worn white font against a black background reminiscent of an old chalkboard. As Zukin (2010: 20) argues, such rough aesthetics convey a sense of alternative and ‘authentic’ urban culture. In line with this, the site’s industrial past is romanticized as a ‘story about meat, hard work and camaraderie’ (Slakthuset, 2022b), reinforcing a nostalgic narrative that blends grit with creativity.

Holgersson (2022) notes that this kind of storytelling often is crafted in redeveloped areas so that new users can incorporate the place’s history into their own personal or business narratives (see also Zukin, 2010: xii, 19). That this is a desired outcome in the Old Factories is evident, for example in the following excerpt from a marketing interview with an industrial designer formerly based in the area:

For us, it’s a lot about storytelling. It becomes a way to connect our brand, a heritage, a place like Gamlestaden. For us, this works very well, that we as product developers can be a part of Gothenburg’s industrial history. (Platzer, 2016)

What we can see in the Old Factories is a strategy that invokes a romanticized past to legitimize BIDG’s visions as authentic, historically grounded, and reflective of the ‘true’ identity of Gamlestaden. However, these curated versions of history omit another equally significant dimension: Gamlestaden as a working-class neighbourhood shaped by poverty, left-wing political activism, and a rich, multiethnic heritage. The narrative also positions ROG/BIDG as a benefactor that is ‘reviving’ Gamlestaden’s supposed original entrepreneurial and enjoyable spirit after what is framed as decades of decline.

Re-make and clean-up of existing commercial streets

In this final section, we examine territorial curation through the remodelling and clean-up of existing commercial streets. Unlike the Old Factories, which could be reimagined from scratch, the commercial streets in Central Gamlestaden require redevelopment in collaboration with existing shop owners. These streets have a high symbolic importance in the decoupling of territorial stigma from the present and realizing the vision of Gamlestaden as a vibrant, up-and-coming neighbourhood.

In 2016, ROG commissioned a consultancy firm to develop a commercial concept for Central Gamlestaden. The firm recommended retaining local traders but noted that ‘the challenge is to improve and develop the local shops so that they align with customers’ expectations’ (Reteam Group, 2016: 7). The streets were described as diverse but lacking a distinct identity, with ‘unclear, dirty, and outdated signage’ (Reteam Group, 2016: 52), and as being both ‘physically and mentally inaccessible’ (Reteam Group, 2016: 26). The goal was to create a ‘neighbourhood with a clear identity that stands out in the hustle and bustle of the big city’ (Reteam Group, 2016: 26).

Following these recommendations, BIDG hired two coaches in 2019 to ‘coach and uplift local businesses’ and foster a sense of ‘community’ among them (Real Estate Owners Gamlestaden [ROG], 2021: 4). In our interview with them, the coaches explained that their work has focused on street-level businesses in central Gamlestaden, specifically those they believe ‘need to change’. The coaches offer support in improving business concepts, aesthetics, cleanliness, and other practical matters. They have also developed a strategy called ‘new-lift-move-remove’, which aims to:

1. Attract new, appropriate businesses;

2. Lift the quality of existing businesses;

3. Move businesses that ‘lack a clear business idea or have potential but do not require ground-floor premises with display windows’ (ROG, 2020: 7);

4. Remove businesses that ‘occupy attractive locations’ but ‘do not contribute local services to residents and workers, and may also conceal more questionable activities’ (ROG, 2020: 7).

There are no official criteria for these categories. In our interview, the coaches explained that while they have not formally listed any businesses, the category to which they belong ‘is rather clear when you meet them’. The coaches can thus be seen as micro-managers of symbolic power, and with the support of the BIDG, they wield significant discretionary power.

At the BIDG’s annual meeting in 2022, the coaches stated that central Gamlestaden still lacks a strong profile and is dominated by older businesses that have ‘not kept up with the development’. They have, however, introduced the concept ‘eco-fair’ (eko-reko) to create a unified brand for the area. According to the coaches, this concept is intended to ‘attract new entrepreneurs that we want to strengthen this concept’, and they believe that ‘many existing traders could fit [in], with a little support’. Existing businesses that repair bicycles or sell second-hand goods are seen as potential fits – if they shift toward a ‘vintage’ rather than a ‘second-hand’ aesthetic. As Bradley (2009: 228) points out, sustainability in Sweden is closely tied to notions of Swedishness, middle-class habits, and symbolic actions like recycling and using tote bags. A vintage concept targeting the middle class thus aligns more closely with the eco-fair vision than low-cost resale.

Many businesses in Gamlestaden, including newer ones, face financial struggles. The difficulties of newer establishments are not viewed as problematic, however. Swahn (2022: 97) suggests this is because the ‘pioneering entrepreneurs’ contribute to Gamlestaden’s rebranding by hosting events, collaborating on marketing, and promoting the area as ‘the place to be’. In contrast, older businesses are associated with poverty and ‘failed’ immigration. The coaches describe these traders ‘not as entrepreneurs’ but as individuals trying to survive in a biased labour market. Their strategy of diversifying products is seen as devaluing the business and the area. As one coach remarked: ‘You add something more, and then you add something more. And suddenly, we have businesses selling ice cream and washing machines’. The example is rhetorical – there is no business that sells ice cream and washing machines – but it is an effective way of expressing how random they find the selections in existing business. This contrasts with what is presented as the personally curated offerings of the new entrepreneurs.

Additionally, there is a programme titled The Gamlestaden Uplift (Gamlestadslyftet; InUse, 2018), that explicitly states that a particular aesthetic should be removed from the area. Trinch and Snajdr (2016) identify this kind of aesthetic as ‘old school vernacular’, an important part of immigrant working-class shop culture. The signage is typically dense with information and features varied colours, fonts, and languages. Järlehed et al. (2018) found that most signage in central Gamlestaden fits this category. InUse (2018) recommends a signage policy requiring each business to use a single name and logo, consistently presented in terms of colour, size, and placement. Shop entrances should be ‘inviting’; at least 50% of the display window should be unobstructed and there should be discreet security features in the place of cheaper shutters or grilles. Trinch and Snajdr (2016) describe such signage as ‘distinction-making’, targeting the white middle-class and excluding those with lower socio-economic capital (see also Fiore and Plate, 2021). The programme further suggests the need to ‘enhance the businesses’ visual imprint in the cityscape’ (InUse, 2018: 3). According to the programme, this change to the signage system would ‘increase real estate value’, ‘attract the right tenants’, and ‘increase the ability to make demands on tenants’ (InUse, 2018: 11). There is an ongoing discussion within BIDG about businesses’ impact on the area, as one of our interviews with a real estate owner confirmed:

I’d like to bring up something that’s quite relevant and currently being discussed. Certain types of businesses tend to attract a particular clientele to the area, which isn’t always beneficial. So, we’re working quite a lot with BIDG on this. How can we, together with other property owners, bring in businesses that we believe will benefit Gamlestaden? A small study has been done to identify what kinds of businesses are needed in Gamlestaden. So, whenever premises become available, we try to refer to that list and coordinate with the municipal housing company and everyone else involved.

Although the official mission of the coaches is to help older businesses remain and to preserve (and refine) Gamlestaden’s community and multicultural identity, these businesses are consistently framed as problematic. As Kadıoğlu (2020) points out, old businesses that change their concepts still create a displacement pressure against earlier customers. The work to change central Gamlestaden thus fits into Rankin and McLeans’ (2015) concept of the ‘racialized class project’. As micro-managers of symbolic power, the coaches play a central role, using discretionary power in close collaboration with the real estate owners in shaping and curating which identities and aesthetics are deemed desirable in the new Gamlestaden.

Conclusion

Research on territorial stigmatization has shed light on the role of symbolic defamation in gentrification processes, and it is crucial to understand how these dynamics unfold beyond the initial phase of gentrification. The concept of the reputational gap, introduced by Kallin (2017), reminds us that there is a disjuncture between the present and the future, and that potential ground rent is not only hypothetical, but also an imaginary value projected forward in time. In this article, we have analyzed how public and private actors work in concert to bridge this gap, and we have developed the concept of territorial curation to capture this process.

Territorial curation refers to the concrete practices carried out by private and public actors in stigmatized neighbourhoods designated for urban development. It encompasses both symbolic and material transformation, making it a gradual, cyclical process that unfolds over time. Fully grasping how it operates and reshapes urban space thus requires examination over an extended period of time. The process goes beyond branding and narrative creation; it involves deliberate actions aimed at altering the look and feel of a neighbourhood to attract new tenants, shop owners, and forms of consumption. A key aspect of this is a subtle, yet targeted stigmatization, which continues to affect businesses associated with the area’s former reputation – in this case, immigrant-owned shops catering to the needs of low-income customers.

The district in study in our case, Gamlestaden, has undergone a gradual transformation over more than twenty years. Following the initial phase of territorial stigmatization (2000–2006), the municipality redefined the neighbourhood as a strategic hub in Gothenburg’s urban development. This shift opened the door to substantial new investments and activated the rent gap. ROG initially employed strategies of territorial stigmatization and then shifted into acts of territorial curation. We argue that ROG/BIDG emerged at this urban frontier as a strategic tool to manage the delicate balance between territorial stigmatization and territorial curation.

A joint narrative and vision for the neighbourhood was developed and disseminated across a broad network of actors through a close collaboration between real estate owners and the municipality. ROG/BIDG thus functions not only as a mechanism for pooling resources, but also as a coordination tool that ensures alignment among stakeholders. A small group sets the development agenda and oversees its implementation. When premises become vacant, new businesses are selectively recruited to fit the vision, while others are encouraged to relocate. Some businesses receive rent reductions, while others face increases. As Valli and Hammami (2021: 166) argue, this approach privileges the interests of developers and property owners whilst excluding those with limited means and no ownership. Gamlestaden has thereby served as a ‘testbed’ for a new form of neoliberal urban governance, where public and private actors co-produce urban change.

Since the official collaboration agreement was signed in 2018, these efforts have intensified, positioning Gamlestaden as the first official BID-inspired model in Sweden. A central element of this initiative has been the employment of coaches who act as micro-managers of symbolic power, steering business development and reshaping street aesthetics in line with their vision. Over time, these coordinated efforts have led to significant transformation of the area.

In conclusion, we argue that territorial curation is not a post-stigmatization phase but rather a form of stigma governance – a strategy that seeks to decouple stigma from the present territory and reattach it to selected aspects of the past, as well as to specific people, delimited spaces, practices, and aesthetics. As our analysis shows, this form of governance is deeply class-bound and racialized, privileging white, middle-class aesthetics and consumption patterns. Because the potential value of the rent gap is both hypothetical and imagined, territorial curation may be understood as a form of risk management – one that curates the present as well as the history and imagined future of a place to overcome the barrier of territorial stigma and extract value from the rent gap.