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Climate and disaster adaptation is local and context specific. This was the key message I heard as I joined Sydney Environment Institute (SEI) colleagues��in Ōtautahi Christchurch, Aotearoa New Zealand, for the conference. To achieve this, adaptation planning must genuinely engage with pluralistic knowledges as legitimate forms of expertise, especially local and Indigenous knowledges. Conversely, doing this is crucial for legitimising adaptation within place.

The clear endorsement of place-based turns in climate and disaster adaptation planning resonated with me. Simply put, my research is about connection to place: its meaningfulness, the��knowledges and actions it enables, and the suffering and injustice caused when these attachments are ruptured. I understand place as a densely knotted cluster of relations – variably and simultaneously material, cultural, social, ecological, mnemonic, and temporal in nature. Cultural geographer Doreen Massey tells us that this cluster is constantly unravelling and entangling; it is never ‘still’ nor is it experienced uniformly.^[1]

In the spirit of being local and context specific, then, what follows are some reflections on the relationship between place and climate adaptation based on my firsthand experiences in Ōtautahi Christchurch, both facilitated by the conference directly and through my spontaneous wanderings.

Garden City/Quake City

Ōtautahi Christchurch is known as the city of gardens and earthquakes. The city earns its leafy moniker. I spent hours strolling through northern and southern Hagley Park, two huge green spaces on either side of Christchurch Botanical Gardens. Within the Gardens, I practiced some nature journaling techniques with local birdlife. My presence on a bench overlooking the Ō����첹���� Avon River seemed like an invitation for them to gather around. The promise of food, perhaps? No doubt, the legacy of hundreds of interactions that preceded me and what will unfold long after I have left.

The river wends its way through the city and out to sea, providing a serene green-blue spine through the urban bustle. Long before I knew its settler name, I thought it reminded me of the Avon River in England: drooping willows, leisurely punters on the water, an abundance of ducklings (a Spring-time population boom!). Of course, these green and blue spaces are heavily constructed spaces, materially and ecologically transformed through their ongoing encounter with colonialism. Most of the birdlife I encountered also seemed to be introduced species, their names marked with foreignness, such as 'California quails’ and ‘Canada geese’. Nevertheless, these spaces and encounters brought joy amid the week’s sometimes heavy discussions.

But while a place is more than its disaster history, it also cannot be separated from it. Disasters – whether they are climate-induced or otherwise – help forge a place materially, socially and culturally. Ōtautahi Christchurch still bears the scars from two devastating major earthquakes in 2010 and 2011. Both caused widespread damage while the second one, possibly an aftershock six months after the first one, claimed 185 lives. Although the first earthquake is generally held to have not killed anyone, Annie Potts and Donelle Godenne challenge this human-centric narrative as thousands of chickens, several cows, many aquarium fish, a dog and a lemur perished.^[2] These do not capture the impacts on local wildlife either.

Both taxi drivers and city council officers were keen to point out that the city’s skyline has permanently changed. I was told several times that tall buildings are not being built anymore, and that only a few still stand following the quakes. Meanwhile, the ‘residential red zone’ has meant over 5,000 homes have vanished from Ōtautahi Christchurch’s urban and suburban sprawl.^[3] This is where liquefaction, where soil loses its strength and behaves like a liquid following extreme stress such as quake tremors, has made areas largely uninhabitable.

Red Zones and Green Spaces

I attended the Christchurch City Resilience Tour – one of the ��tours organised by the conference. Led by Tony Moore, Principal Advisor for Climate Resilience with Christchurch City Council, the tour brought us to various community- and council-led initiatives in the city and its surrounds. Unfortunately, I cannot cover everything here, as the tour was wide-ranging. It covered projects and programs in the inner-city ( Ōtautahi) before travelling to nearby coastal Little Brighton and Charlesworth Reserve (covering sand dunes and wetland restoration as nature-based adaptations), through Lyttelton (�����Ի� ) and up into Port Hills (covering wildfire recovery and sensing). While clearly intended to showcase council-led and supported programs, I appreciated how the tour gave candid insights into the inner workings of local government and enabled a platform for grassroots groups to speak for themselves.

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In several ways, ‘resilience’ and ‘adaptation’ blended those seemingly incompatible monikers for Christchurch, city of quakes and gardens. For example, the Orchard Community Garden and Food Forest. We heard that the earthquakes revealed that local supermarkets only had three days’ worth of food. Food resilience and security emerged as a key concern. The Orchard, doubling as a hub for learning about growing food, environmental consciousness and community connections, was one result; one hub within a broader food resilience network comprising across the Canterbury Region. I was also surprised to learn that the city had thousands of ��available for free use – putting into practice what we have heard suggested by community members in recent workshops in Sydney and Parramatta.

The location itself also speaks to the synthesis of place identities. The Orchard partially overlaps with the former site of the PGC Building, a five-storey building that collapsed during the 2011 earthquake, killing 18 people and injuring many more. Now, a public food forest is grown alongside multiple herb and vegetable beds. Permaculture techniques, such as the ‘seven forest layers’, have helped foster a self-sustaining microclimate for the public food forest to flourish. With over 100 edible plant species, the Orchard aims to produce 1,000 kilos of fresh produce per year as its contribution to making Ōtautahi Christchurch the ‘Edible Garden City’.

Another synthesis of these place identities is presented in the Avon River Corridor��regeneration plan. As mentioned, the residential red zone was classified following the earthquakes, covering 602 hectares along the river. Over 5,000 properties were purchased by the Crown, so they can be removed from land deemed ill-suited for dwelling and construction. In their place, a generational regeneration area (projected to span 30-50 years of development) is being implemented. At its core is the ‘green spine’, stretching for 11 kilometres from city to sea, which will “feature swathes of restored native habitat, trails, paths, footbridges, community spaces, and riverside landings that provide access to the water.” It is intended to enrich ecological recovery while also providing more parkland space for human and companion species’ recreation.

The green spine incorporates remnants of the former dwellings: streets, lawns, gardens. This ��produced by ��explains how street names will be kept as a mark of respect, memory and continuity with the homes once located there. An important reminder of the sensitivity that must surround any form of permanent relocation measure within disaster recovery or climate adaptation planning. Who used to live here? Did the red zone disproportionately impact those already marginalised in different ways? Did the process of relocation respect and address other forms of home/place attachment beyond material and financial compensation?

These were the questions I had as I stood within the green spine, otherwise excited for the prospects of the regeneration initiative. I do not have answers to these questions yet as they relate to the Ō����첹���� Avon River Corridor. However, as my work on everyday domicide (the deliberate destruction of home) and memoricide (killing of memory) has argued and increasingly in relation to climate change and adaptation, there needs to be a wariness around ‘greater good’ narratives. After all, while climate and disaster adaptation must be local and context specific, it must also be just.

[1] Massey, D. (1994) Space, Place and Gender. University of Minnesota Press

[2] Potts, A., and Gadenne, D. (2014) Animals in Emergencies: Learning from the Christchurch earthquakes. Canterbury University Press

[3] Christchurch City Council (n.d.) History of the Ō����첹���� Avon River Corridor. ccc.govt.nz/parks-and-gardens/regenerationareas/otakaro-avon-river-corridor/history-and-background