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When Your Normal Becomes Someone Else’s Problem

I live in Steglitz. Not the part of Berlin that anyone means when they talk about the “problem in the Stadtbild.” Not Neukölln or Wedding or Kreuzberg—the neighborhoods where the so-called issue apparently lives.

Which means I’m thinking about this controversy from a position of remove. I’m not watching my own street get turned into evidence. I’m reading about other people’s neighbourhoods being marked as problems.

And there’s something about that distance that keeps bothering me.

In one of the last weeks Chancellor Merz said there’s still a “problem in the cityscape” that needs addressing—through “removing” that what disturbs the Stadtbild he means. Within 24 hours, ten thousands of people signed a petition. Protests erupted with signs reading “Wir sind das Stadtbild”—”We are the cityscape.”

I’ve been trying to understand what “problem in the cityscape” means as a description of what’s actually there versus what someone thinks should be there. And I keep coming back to the question of who gets to not-notice.

Because here’s the thing: I don’t think about the “look” of Steglitz very much. It’s just where I live. The streets are familiar to the point of invisibility. I know which bakery has better bread, which café has the window seat I like, where the U-Bahn entrance is that’s slightly closer to my flat.

None of this registers as a “cityscape” to me. It’s just the unremarkable ordinary of daily life.

There’s a concept in anthropology—Bourdieu, I think—about how habituation makes the social world feel natural. You stop seeing the constructed nature of things because familiarity renders them invisible. What’s around you just becomes background, the taken-for-granted texture of existence.

But habituation is never neutral. What you get to stop noticing depends entirely on your position.

I get to experience Steglitz as just where I live, unmarked and unremarkable, because neighbourhoods that look like mine aren’t the ones being discussed when people talk about problems in the cityscape. The visual field of my daily life—the shop signs, the languages in cafés, the people on the street—apparently codes as “normal” in whatever framework produces the category “problem.”

I didn’t choose this. I’m not claiming credit for it. But I benefit from it. My neighbourhood gets to be invisible in the sense that matters: it’s not being marked as evidence of anything wrong with Germany (except for high rents maybe).

Meanwhile, people in Neukölln or Wedding—neighbourhoods I rarely go to compared to Kreuzberg, Schöneberg or Charlottenburg, if I’m being honest—are living in spaces that someone in government has decided to name as visual problems. Their daily ordinary has been turned into a crisis requiring state intervention.

And I’m sitting here in Steglitz trying to think through what that means.

There’s something about distance that feels both necessary and suspect. Necessary because I need some remove to think clearly, to not just react emotionally. Suspect because thinking clearly from a position of safety is itself a kind of privilege. The people whose neighbourhoods are being marked as problems don’t easily get the luxury of intellectual (and physical) distance.

I keep trying to imagine what it would feel like if someone in government looked at Steglitz and said it had a “problem” that required—well, let’s name it more bluntly—deportation. If my unremarkable ordinary—the bakery, the café, the familiar streets—suddenly became evidence of something wrong.

But I can’t quite get there. Because the framework that produces the Stadtbild as a “problem” isn’t aimed at neighbourhoods that look like mine. It’s aimed at visibility of a particular kind: Turkish script, Arabic conversations, the aesthetic presence of people marked as somehow not-quite-German-enough in the ideas of Merz.

This is what I keep getting stuck on: the politics of what becomes background and what stays foreground.

In visual perception studies they track eye movements to see what people actually look at in an image. What registers as important, what gets skipped over, how long attention rests on different elements. And it turns out people trained in different ways literally see different things in the same visual field.

But those are productive forms of trained attention. They help you notice what matters for your work, your discipline, your purposes.

What happens when the trained attention is aimed at deciding who belongs? When the framework is designed not to understand but to mark certain presences as disruptions?

I think this is what Stadtbild as a political term does. It creates a particular way of seeing urban space. It makes some things hypervisible (Turkish shops, Arabic conversations, headscarves) while rendering other things invisible (the economic structures producing gentrification, the history of guest worker programmes, the reality that Berlin has always been multiple cities layered over each other).

And once that framework exists, once someone has named certain neighbourhoods as having a “problem,” you can’t unhear it. The category persists. It shapes how people see, how they talk, what solutions seem reasonable.

From here in Steglitz, I can think about this somewhat abstractly. I can read about protests in other neighbourhoods. I can try to analyse the frameworks and the politics and the differential distribution of whose presence gets marked as normal versus problematic.

But I’m also aware that my ability to think about it abstractly is itself produced by distance. I’m not (usually) the one being looked at. My neighbourhood isn’t the one being turned into evidence. I get to be the one analysing rather than the one being analysed.

And I don’t know what to do with that asymmetry except notice it.

There’s something Marx said about ideology—that it makes the historical appear natural, the constructed seem inevitable. The framework that produces “Stadtbild problems” works the same way. It treats a particular vision of what Berlin should look like as if it’s just describing what’s normal, what’s proper, what belongs. As if saying “there’s a problem in the cityscape” is a neutral observation rather than a strong political claim.

But neutrality is always someone’s particular position claiming to be universal.

My neighbourhood gets to be neutral. Gets to be unmarked. Gets to just exist without justification or explanation or defense. Other neighbourhoods don’t have that luxury. They’re marked, noticed, turned into sites where the question of belonging gets fought over.

I wonder sometimes what it would take for Steglitz to become a “problem” in someone’s framework. What would have to change—or what shift in political rhetoric, what new way of seeing—for my unremarkable ordinary to suddenly become evidence requiring intervention.

But that’s probably the wrong question. Because the framework isn’t really about what’s actually there in any neighbourhood. It’s about power. About who gets to define normal, who gets to mark deviation, who gets to decide what counts as the proper look of a city.

The protests said “Wir sind das Stadtbild”—we ARE the cityscape. Present tense. Not asking for inclusion, but refusing the framework that treats their presence as a problem requiring solutions.

And I’m here in Steglitz, not in those protests, not in those neighbourhoods, trying to figure out what my relationship is to all of this. What it means to be the one whose neighbourhood gets to be invisible, unremarkable, unproblematic. What responsibility comes with that particular form of habituation.

I don’t think the answer is guilt. That’s too easy, too self-focused. And I don’t think the answer is just being a good ally or showing up at protests, though maybe that’s part of it.

I think maybe the answer—if there is one—is about learning to see your own seeing. Recognising that what feels neutral to you is produced by a particular framework. Noticing that your habituation, your ability to not-notice, is itself political.

And then—this is the harder part—figuring out what to do with that knowledge.

I’m still living in Steglitz. Still experiencing it as just where I live, unremarkable and ordinary. I can’t stop that habituation through force of will. Can’t make myself constantly notice the privilege of being unmarked.

But I can notice when someone marks other neighbourhoods as problems. I can notice the framework being deployed. I can refuse to treat that framework as neutral description rather than political claim.

Maybe that’s all there is. Maybe that’s where the work starts: in the gap between frameworks, in the moment when you realise your normal is produced by the same system that marks someone else’s normal as crisis.

I don’t know if that’s enough. Probably it isn’t. But it’s what I have from here, from this position, from this particular distance.

The view from Steglitz. Unmarked, unremarkable, complicit.

Explorations: Walk Neukölln this week

Today and for the rest of the week (if you can), walk Neukölln.

Here’s a question to hold lightly while you walk: What is trying not to disappear?

This works no matter which book you’re reading. If you’re with Tsing, you’re attuned to survival in damaged landscapes. If you’re with Scott, you’re noticing what resists legibility. If you’re with Macfarlane, you’re wondering what claims presence or agency.

Don’t answer the question directly. Just hold it somewhere in the back of your mind while you walk.

Maybe start at Hermannplatz and move in any direction that draws you. Or pick a street you’ve never walked down. Neukölln is full of layers—old Turkish shops next to new cafes, Arabic signs on former East German buildings, gardens squeezed into impossible spaces.

One thing to notice: Look for things that insist on being there despite everything suggesting they shouldn’t be. A shop that’s held on for decades. A language that keeps appearing. A community space that found a way to stay. A tree growing through concrete.

Whatever catches your attention is what matters.

(Next week: Kreuzberg, I’ll send you another prompt then.)

Writing Berlin – Session cancelled today, task for next week

Dear all,

I’m sorry to say I’m still not well enough to teach today, so we need to cancel our session this morning.

We’ll resume next Wednesday, October 29, 10-12, same room.

Since we’re missing our session on disciplinary approaches today, I want to give you something to work on in the meantime that will help us move forward when we meet next week.

Task for October 29

Between now and next Wednesday, I want you to do two things:

1. Think about how your field (or a field that you know well or like) studies cities

Reflect on the question we would have explored today: How does your discipline approach urban spaces? What methods, concepts, or frameworks does it use? What questions does it ask? What does it help you see—and what might it miss?

You don’t need to write this up formally, just think about it. Maybe jot down some notes for yourself.

2. Write 1-2 pages before class next week

Respond to this prompt:

“Think about Berlin—neighborhoods you’ve walked through, spaces you’ve encountered. What tension, pattern, or question about what survives (or doesn’t survive) in this city catches your attention? What makes you curious? What bothers you or puzzles you?”

Don’t worry about framing it in disciplinary terms yet. Don’t worry about being profound or academic. Just write honestly about what draws your attention when you think about survival, persistence, or disappearance in this city.

Bring this writing to class on October 29. We’ll work with it together to help you identify your specific angle on our shared question: What survives in cities?

A suggestion

If you’re stuck, go for a walk this week. Go somewhere in Berlin you’ve been meaning to explore, or somewhere familiar that you can look at with fresh eyes. Notice what catches your attention (especially also if you have started reading one of the three books from the explorations course already). What makes you pause? What makes you wonder?

Sometimes the best writing comes from genuine curiosity about something you’ve actually encountered, not from trying to think of a “good academic topic.”

I apologize again for the disruption. Take care of yourselves, and I’ll see you next Wednesday (or Tuesday for the Beyond course).

Best,
Victoria

Writing Berlin: What we discussed + next week’s assignment

Dear all,

Thank you for the engaged conversation today about writing as discovery. It was fascinating to hear the different tensions you’re noticing about urban life—from questions of visibility and erasure to patterns of displacement and belonging to the persistence of certain stories over others.

What We Explored Yesterday

We started with the question of what writing actually does—not just as a way of communicating what we already know, but as a tool for discovering what we think. Writing helps us see patterns we hadn’t noticed, make connections that weren’t obvious, and find questions we didn’t know we were asking.

The central question for this course is: What survives in cities?

Each of you will investigate this question from your own perspective and background over the semester, developing a substantial piece of writing (4,000-6,000 words) that approaches the question through your particular lens, using Berlin as your case study.

You may work and write in teams. The piece of writing is open to many different formats.

The early weeks (the next 4-5 sessions) will help you find your specific angle on this shared question. Then the course opens up—we’ll meet every few weeks to share drafts, problems, and discoveries, functioning more like a research community than a traditional seminar.

For Next Week (Oct 22, Wed 10-12)

Assignment: Bring one example of how your field studies cities—or a field that you like or in which you are interested.

This could be:

  • A book chapter or article that exemplifies the discipline’s approach to urban spaces
  • A specific method or framework the field uses
  • A key concept or theory
  • Even just a way of asking questions that’s typical of the discipline

Come prepared to share it briefly (5 minutes) with the group. We’ll discuss: What does each approach try to answer? What does it reveal? What might it miss?

You don’t need to prepare a presentation—just be ready to talk about it conversationally.

Looking Ahead

Our schedule for the next few weeks:

  • Oct 22: Disciplinary approaches to cities
  • Oct 29: Identifying your specific tension
  • Nov 5: Why should anyone care? What’s at stake?
  • Nov 12: Continue development

Then we’ll meet every 2-3 weeks as you work independently on your writing.

A Reminder

If you’re thinking “I don’t know enough about Berlin yet” or “I’m not sure what my discipline would say about this”—that’s completely normal. You don’t need to know yet. That’s what the semester is for.

Keep the question with you this week: What survives in cities? Let it follow you around. Notice what it makes you pay attention to.

See you Wednesday, Victoria


P.S. If you’re having trouble finding an example from your field, or if you’re not sure what “your field” even is yet, that’s fine—just bring your uncertainty and we’ll work with it.

After our first meeting – course overview & next steps

Dear all,

Good to finally meet you today. I’m glad we found each other, even if it took a bit of searching.
Since we had less time than planned, I wanted to send a brief overview of how this course works and what happens next.

Course Structure

We meet four times this semester:
Today (October 14) – Introduction ✓
November 18 (10:00-14:00, with lunch break) – First gathering: “What has been catching your attention?”
January 20 (10:00-14:00, with lunch break) – Second gathering: “What patterns are you noticing?”
February 10 (10:00-14:00, with lunch break) – Final gathering: “What questions do you have now?”

Between these meetings, you walk Berlin and read your chosen book. No assignments, no check-ins from me—just sustained attention to the city. I’ll send occasional short provocations (questions to carry with you) via email.

The Three Books

Choose ONE of these to read over the next weeks:
Anna Tsing – The Mushroom at the End of the World
About survival and collaboration across difference; how life persists in damaged landscapes.
James C. Scott – Seeing Like a State
About how states try to make people and places “legible” and how people resist simplification.
Robert Macfarlane – Is a River Alive?
About personhood, rights, and what gets counted as having agency in urban spaces.

Where to find them: Check the VÖBB (public library system) – you can search their catalogue online and reserve books. I also recommend the Libby app, which lets you borrow ebooks and audiobooks from VÖBB. All three books should be available there in various formats.

Until we meet again (November 18)

Your task is simple but demanding:

Choose your book – Read the descriptions, maybe sample each one if you can, then commit to one. Start reading it.
Walk Berlin – Go to neighbourhoods you’ve never been. Or walk familiar places differently. There’s no quota, no requirement for how much. Just pay attention when you do. What catches your eye? What makes you pause? What do you wonder about?

Complete the walking exercise I had planned for today – If you haven’t already: Walk for 20 minutes around campus or your neighbourhood. Notice what draws your attention. Write 2 paragraphs about what seemed important. You don’t need to send this to me—it’s for you, to begin practicing this kind of attention.

Let the question follow you: “What survives in cities?” Don’t try to answer it yet. Just notice when it becomes relevant to what you’re seeing.

Remember: we will never discuss the books directly in our sessions. They’re lenses that shape how you see, not topics we analyse. Let the book and the city have a private conversation.

Where to Find Course Materials

I will publish all messages and further materials for the course on my blog: https://nodiscipline.hypotheses.org/. I occasionally write essays there too inspired from the courses and our exchanges—so you might find reflections on questions we’re exploring together appearing there throughout the semester.

The Blackboard will remain open in case you need it for communication purposes, but the blog will be the main hub from my perspective.

A Note on Process

I know this course structure is unusual. Six weeks with no meetings, no clear assignments, just “walk and read and pay attention” can feel uncertain. That’s intentional.
The course trusts that sustained attention—to a city, to a complex text—will generate insights that lectures couldn’t. Your particular background, your discipline, your way of seeing will reveal things my attention would miss.
If this feels uncomfortable, sit with that discomfort. See what it teaches you.

Questions?

If anything is unclear, if you can’t find the books, if you’re lost (literally or metaphorically), email me. I’m here.
Otherwise: go walk. Read. Pay attention. I’ll send a small provocation in a couple of weeks.

See you November 18th (or in the sessions of the Writing course on Wednesday).
Victoria