Chapter 29
The Rise of a New Knowledge/Creative Economy: Prospects and Challenges for Economic Development, Class Inequality, and Work
Introduction
The late twentieth century marks an epochal shift in capitalist development within Western advanced economies. This shift is characterized by the increasing move from material labor – the manual production of things – to immaterial labor – the production/creation of new ideas. Due to heightened competition and the automation of routine production activities, creativity and the generation of new knowledge are now viewed as key resources for firms wanting to distinguish their products in a global marketplace. The premium placed on these activities today has implications for the nature and organization of work and the kind of worker that is valued. It also involves new ways of thinking about what drives economic growth and development and how we can (try to) manage, govern, and regulate it.
In this chapter, we begin by reviewing the main aspects of the creative or knowledge economy and the implications of this shift for the organization of work. We then discuss two opposing perspectives on the drivers of this economy: a human capital approach (including the creative class thesis) and a production system approach. We also consider the implications of these perspectives for economic development policy. In the second half of the chapter, we discuss the tremendous influence that one of these approaches, the creative class thesis, has had in policy circles. We consider the reasons for its influence, and its consequences for sociospatial inequalities and new forms of labor market segmentation and risk.
Transition to a Knowledge-based Economy
The rise of a knowledge-based economy has been attributed to a crisis in the preceding phase of capitalism, Fordism. Fordism came to prominence in the immediate post-war period as an economic system centered on mass production, that is, the production of standardized goods in large volumes at low cost. The production process itself relied on a strict division of labor whereby (“white collar”) management made key decisions about who did what, and unskilled (“blue-collar”) workers executed those decisions with the aid of special-purpose machinery. Protected by strong unions, blue-collar workers were paid well enough so that they could purchase the standardized goods they were producing. They were also ensured job security in exchange for carrying out routine functions. Companies in turn profited on the basis of Fordist efficiency.
The limits of the system, however, became evident by the 1970s when lower-cost producers overseas entered the competition and mass markets became saturated. The rise of information and communication technologies further leveled the competitive playing field, providing access to instantaneous and regular flows of information, and reconfiguring production systems and consumption patterns on a global scale.
Together, these challenges have prompted a new competitive strategy to emerge in advanced industrialized countries, one centered on the production of niche – as opposed to mass – goods and services, differentiated on the basis of the image or symbolic value they embody (Lash and Urry 1994; Scott 1997). However, an economy based on the production of signs and symbols, that is, the intangible qualities of a product or service, implies the privileging of a new set of resources. Knowledge and creativity replace traditional factors of material production, such as access to cheap land, natural resource endowment, or an abundant labor supply, as key inputs. It is no longer the physical resources that you have that matters but what you know.
The Nature of Work in the New Economy
Allen Scott (2007: 1466) suggests that the new economy is “cognitive-cultural,” where the labor process depends more and more on “intellectual and affective human assets.” The industries that constitute the cognitive-cultural economy include high-technology sectors, service functions, neo-artisanal manufacturing, and cultural industries (Scott 2007). With digital technologies, he argues, the routine activities that characterized white-collar work (e.g. accounting) and blue-collar work (repetitive, manual operations) under the Fordist mode of organization have become increasingly automated. Efficiency is no longer the order of the day. Rather, the economic imperative now is problem-solving: identifying new ways to enhance a product (e.g. rolling a cell phone and mp3 player into one), or new ways to personalize a service (e.g. some light music with your latte?).
Similarly, Richard Florida, in The Rise of the Creative Class (2002) contends that creativity trumps efficiency as the key driver of today’s economy. He defines creativity as the development of “new ideas, new technology and/or new creative content” (Florida 2002: 5) and suggests that is an activity that relies on independent judgment and high levels of education. For Florida, the “creative economy” is comprised of a set of occupations, ranging from engineering, business, law, architecture, design, computer programming, art and media, among others, that demand primarily knowledge and judgment.1 Those individuals best suited to perform this work constitute a new economic elite, the “creative class,” who are highly valued and well-remunerated. Apart from a capacity for complex problem solving, Florida (2002: 8) suggests that these individuals function as a class in that they share a “creative ethos,” one that values “creativity, individuality, difference and merit.”
New Forms of Work Organization
New forms of work in the contemporary economy also signal a new kind of work organization. The command-driven shop-floor of the Fordist era has given way to an open and flexible work environment that encourages learning and communication. For many, the new economy implies a “no-collar” workplace, where a company values an employee’s autonomy, self-expression, and self-management over their ability to execute a strictly defined task (Ross 2009). To facilitate greater autonomy, the “no-collar” workplace eschews dress codes and set work schedules and has open, flexible workspaces. There are none of the rigidities that might stifle creative identities; the new economy worker can show up to the office at noon, dressed in jeans, if it is more likely to stir her creative juices.
The new economy worker is also more likely to pursue a different career trajectory than her Fordist counterpart. Rather than working for the same firm and gradually climbing up the corporate ladder, the new economy worker will seek out jobs she finds most rewarding, even if it means changing employers. Consequently, she will build up a base of experience through the various jobs she takes on. In other words, the new economy marks the rise of a horizontal labor market, or “external” career ladder, where the worker’s loyalty is to her trade rather than a given firm. The quest is to find the best opportunities for improving within that trade (Saxenian 1994).
New Labor Market Divide
Life in the new knowledge economy however is not rosy for all. The new class of knowledge or creative workers is defined in relation to other more marginal classes – those who are said to lack knowledge or creativity. These workers tend to be employed in traditional manufacturing jobs (the working class) or service occupations, such as personal care or clerical work. They are paid either to execute the ideas of the new economic elite or to cater to their personal needs, with little of the autonomy and flexibility associated with creative work (Sassen 1991; Florida 2002; Scott 2007). Most of these jobs are characterized as low-skill and low-paying, and they are often taken on by more vulnerable groups in society, such as women, immigrants, ethnic minorities, youth and the elderly. According to Florida (2002), these classes constitute the majority of workers in the United States today, accounting for nearly 70% of all workers. The working and service classes earn substantially less than their creative counterparts. Thus, while class lines are drawn primarily on the basis of knowledge (or “creative capacity”) rather than income, the income divide remains a defining feature nonetheless, with the Creative Class constituting the economic elite (Florida 2002).2 Florida (2002) and Scott (2007) further assert that this divide is manifest spatially in the growing segregation of classes across metropolitan areas.
Implications of the New Economy for Economic Development Policy
While there is widespread agreement among economic geographers that today’s economy is increasingly centered on innovation and creativity, there are conflicting views as to what gives rise to a knowledge-based or “creative” economy and what policies can best facilitate its development. In this section, we consider two competing perspectives: one views creativity as the attribute of a particular set of individuals; the other as emanating from a broader system of interrelated economic activities. Both approaches privilege the “urban” context, particularly large cities with a diverse base of activities, as sites in which creativity flourishes. They differ, though, in the forces they believe shape urban growth.
Human Capital Approaches to Economic Development
The first perspective can be labeled a human capital perspective. Human capital is broadly defined as the set of competencies and skills that enable a worker to perform economically valuable labor. As suggested above, within the contemporary economy, such skills involve the ability to create new and useful ideas. They are embodied in individuals and can be enhanced through education and experience (Romer 1986; Lucas 1988; Glaeser 2000). In contrast to physical capital, such as machinery or buildings, the power of human capital rests on its capacity to renew and transform itself through use. Consequently, the possibilities for innovation are limitless. For proponents of this perspective, the ingredient for economic success is thus straightforward. If locations want to grow their creative economies, they should increase their endowment of human capital. It will attract innovative firms.
But how can a city or nation increase its stock of human capital? One way is to “grow” human capital locally. This can be done through greater investments in educational institutions (college, universities) or by encouraging on-the-job training programs or apprenticeships. Another way is to import it. Because the individuals who possess high levels of human capital are highly mobile, they can be lured to a specific place if the inducement is sufficient.
Within policy circles, the latter perspective, associated with Richard Florida’s creative class theory, has attracted much attention in recent years. Like other human capital theorists, Florida (2002) sees creativity and innovation as residing in individuals. However, his creative class theory also considers “the underlying factors that shape the location decisions of these people instead of merely stating that regions are blessed with certain endowments of them” (Florida 2002: 223). What does it take to attract and retain them? Drawing on interviews and focus groups with creative workers, he establishes that social rather than economic factors play a significant role. In particular, he finds that creative workers are drawn to cities that are diverse, tolerant, and open to new ideas, that is, those with “low barriers to entry.” He suggests that the size of the foreign-born or gay population are generally good indicators. Attractive locales are also those that provide the amenities “that people really want” (Florida 2002: 283). Creative workers are not interested in big-ticket attractions or major league sports. They seek out everyday forms of leisure, such as a vibrant street-life, a thriving music and arts scene, and outdoor recreation.
Together, these lifestyle options constitute a “quality of place” that creative workers prefer. They offer a neo-bohemia where this new elite can take part in shaping an “authentic” cultural experience and can validate their creative identities (Florida 2002; Lloyd 2006). The best part is that many of these options are easy to deliver, from a policy perspective. According to the creative class thesis, the provision of parks and bike lanes, the widening of sidewalks, the funding of public markets, performance venues, and exhibition spaces, the promotion of cultural festivals, and the branding of resident hipster scenes can go a long way in refashioning places as creative hotspots.
To make his case, Florida (2002) cites the example of Austin, Texas, which has a high percentage of creative workers. The city has ample outdoor recreation opportunities, a revitalized university/downtown district and a flourishing music scene that benefits from an annual film and music festival and live broadcasts on public TV. He contrasts this with the case of Pittsburgh, which is losing out in the new class geography. The city remains home to a large contingent of the working class but few members of the creative class. Pittsburgh continues to hold a traditional corporate mentality and to invest in big-box retail stores, sports stadiums, and highway development. Clearly, Austin has the better recipe for creating a “people’s climate” (Florida 2002: 283).
Creativity and Economic Development Take 2: Defining the Creative Economy as a System of Production Relations
The second perspective is both a critique of the creative class thesis and provides an alternative conception of what gives rise to creativity. This critique stems from questions about the direction of causality between urban growth and human capital. Florida suggests that human capital promotes innovation which in turn attracts firms and investors, leading to economic growth and dynamism. But an argument can be made for the opposite relationship: urban growth attracts human capital. Creative workers gravitate to places where their skills are recognized and rewarded by capital that is already there. It is not that capital seeks out workers who have already located according to the “qualities of place” (see for example Storper and Manville 2006; Storper and Scott 2009; Scott 2007). Scott (2007: 1477) argues that it is the employment opportunities within an urban region that are most important:
cities are subject to path-dependent growth trajectories in which both the supply and the demand for labor move in patterns of mutually cumulative causation. The primary engine of this process is not the inward and unilateral migration of particular types of workers, but the complex apparatus of the urban production system.
Citing evidence from employment and income growth in the Canadian urban system, Shearmur (2006–2007: 42) finds considerable evidence to support the conclusion that the migration of skilled graduates responds to economic conditions rather than the reverse.
What then are the conditions that drive the growth trajectories of cities and provide employment opportunities for creative workers? For scholars such as Storper and Manville (2006) and Storper and Scott (2009), a clustering of interrelated economic activities within a city is key for the development of an “urban production system.” Economic geographers have long cited the benefits arising from the agglomeration of activities. In particular, they cite the reduction of transport and transaction costs for firms that want to source inputs or services from other nearby firms (Pred 1966; Scott 1988). Cost savings relate to what Storper (1995) terms “traded inter-dependencies” or market-based exchange. In the past, when efficiency reigned supreme, such savings were deemed key to competitiveness. Today, the imperative for knowledge-production and creativity implies an additional function of the clustering of activities. Clustering facilitates the exchange of ideas that is necessary to produce new forms of knowledge. It does so in two ways. First, clustering enables frequent interaction among firms in the same industry or across industries, and this allows for the emergence of a localized business culture, including a set of norms and trust-based conventions that fosters flows of information (Saxenian 1994). Second, it enables workers to monitor and observe their competition (Porter 1998). These interactions are what Storper (1995) terms “untraded inter-dependencies,” and from these sets of relations, new ideas are produced and made meaningful. For example, a fashion designer (who develops a general concept) can work closely with a patternmaker (who produces a technical rendering of the concept), and collectively their expertise can produce a material object. Similarly, the designer may be inspired by an artist in the selection of colors or textures.
The underlying view in this perspective is that creativity is inherently a social or collective process, as opposed to some attribute residing in a single and isolated individual. Creativity depends on convergence and coordination of different bases of knowledge, skills, and resources, that is, a localized system of production relations.
This alternative view has important implications for policy. Rather than pursuing creative city initiatives designed to enhance the attractiveness of the city for creative elites, urban governments might be better off attracting firms and promoting diversified industrial clusters. Policies might more fruitfully focus on business start-up grants, tax incentives, or export development assistance. Alternatively, urban areas could establish business or arts incubators designed to nurture young firms, help establish supporting institutions such as trade associations, or provide public spaces and forums in which a range of economic actors interact.
The Creative Class Thesis as Practice: Why it’s so Seductive and Why it’s so Dangerous
Despite these opposing theories of the knowledge/creative economy, it is the creative class thesis that has won out in economic development circles. In the following sections we discuss the appeal of this script, and also highlight some of the problems associated with a set of policies that deem creativity as an individualized process. We sketch out how such policies heighten social-spatial inequalities in the city and promote risk-laden, entrepreneurial forms of work.
Neoliberalism, Fiscal Constraint, and the Allure of Creative Class Policies
Why do creative class agendas resonate so profoundly with local policymakers? The attractiveness of this policy prescription can be explained – at least in part – by the historic shift in urban governance from managerialism to entrepreneurialism (Harvey 1989; Hall and Hubbard 1998). Responding to a fiscal crisis of the state and processes of deindustrialization in the 1970s and 1980s, entrepreneurial agendas have sought to capture investment and tourists through the provision of business subsidies but also through the building of stadiums, convention centers, and shopping malls. Rather than cater to the citizenry at large, these investments are aimed at securing professional sports teams, high-end specialty stores, and other elite activities to mark the city as “world-class.” In a competitive entrepreneurial framework, enhancing a city’s attractiveness as a site of consumption is critical to attracting investment away from other urban areas. Harvey (1989) describes a “treadmill” effect, whereby cities feel continuous external pressure to upgrade their amenities in order to maintain their position in the urban hierarchy (see also McCann 2004; 2007). In this way, governments – often in partnership with private interests – have increasingly financed amenities for urban elites at the expense of local collective consumption (Donald and Morrow 2003: 12).
While the focus in entrepreneurial agendas is on attracting firms, in the creative city agenda, the spotlight shifts to attracting highly skilled workers, who can in turn draw mobile firms to the region. While the focus has changed, the prescription for success is remarkably consistent. In both agendas, the objective is to enhance the attractiveness of the city as a site of consumption.
The entrepreneurial shift is part of a broader move toward neoliberal models of governance. Neoliberalism proposes that human well-being is best achieved within a system that maximizes individual entrepreneurial freedoms (Harvey 2005). The focus is on private property rights, free trade, and free markets. Within this model, the role of the state is to forge an appropriate institutional framework. Accordingly, the state intervenes to create markets where they do not already exist, or to ensure that private property rights are upheld. However, the basic philosophy is that state intervention should be minimized (Harvey 2005: 2). As a result, the shift to neoliberal governance is often associated with deregulation, privatization and the withdrawal of the state from social provision. Expensive Keynesian style policies aimed at income redistribution and supporting demand are abandoned in favor of less costly strategies, often targeting particular classes and neighborhoods.
As noted above, one of the appeals of creative class policies is that they are relatively inexpensive and often require little direct state intervention. Quality of place enhancements can often be realized, for example, through small investments in street facades, public art, or bike paths, or alternatively through the construction of a new branding campaign for the city. In this way, Peck (2005: 760) points out, “Florida’s ideas may have travelled so far, not because they are revolutionary, but because they are so modest.”
Urban beautification schemes are often financed by private interest groups (such as developers or business improvement districts). Alternatively they are funded through public-private partnerships, thus reducing their cost to the state (Harvey 1989). An agenda focused on quality of place is very attractive to growth coalitions that have long dominated urban politics – landowners, developers, real estate agents, and chambers of commerce (Logan and Molotch 1987; Jonas and Wilson 1999). For these actors, the exchange value of land is at the heart of urban politics (Peck 2005: 760). Creative city policies thus complement neoliberal property and market-led economic development agendas (Peck 2005: 761).
Evaluating the Impact of Creative Class Policies
To date, Florida’s ideas have indeed traveled far. Around the world, municipalities have been reorienting their economic development agendas in response to Richard Florida’s creative class thesis. Within this metric, arts and culture are increasingly valued not in their own right, but rather as economic assets that enhance the competitive position of a city. As Gibson and Kong (2005: 552) observe, there is a risk in creative city agendas that only certain types of creativity will be encouraged, while less commodified and more resistant forms of creativity are marginalized (see also Gibson and Klocker 2005). Racial, ethnic, and sexual diversity are similarly commodified, reduced to marketing platforms used to sell cities as exciting places to live, work, and play (Goonewardena and Kipfer 2005).
The growing influence of the creative class thesis in policy circles has translated into a heightened emphasis on the quality of place. In Canada, local leaders are jumping on the bandwagon. In Montreal, for example, the City has sought to enhance its reputation as a city of high fashion and design. To this end, it has initiated a number of programs oriented toward rebranding itself as a “design metropole.” In one program, the city hosts an annual competition for the best architectural or interior design of a commercial establishment (such as a boutique, bar, café, or office) (Leslie 2005; Rantisi and Leslie 2006). The competition is known as Commerce Design Montreal (CDM) and involves individual businesses renovating their interior space with the help of a designer or architect. The overall objective is to make Montreal a chic and fashionable place to live, work, and visit, and to attract talent and tourists to the city. Not surprisingly, most of the businesses taking part in the competition serve an upscale market; design is a tool to create a heightened image of exclusivity.
Quality of place enhancements have also figured prominently in Toronto’s creative city policies. In that city there has been a particular policy focus on monuments designed by world-renowned architects such as Frank Gehry, Will Alsop, and Daniel Libeskind. These star architects are appropriated to establish the city’s world class status (Evans 2003). Renovations have been made to existing facilities (such as the Art Gallery of Ontario, the Ontario College of Art and Design, and the Royal Ontario Museum), and there has also been the development of a new opera house and a state-of-the-art headquarters for the Toronto International Film Festival.
The city’s “Culture Plan for the Creative City” (City of Toronto 2003) begins by acknowledging that Montreal and other North American cities are devoting greater resources to arts and culture. The goal is to better position Toronto in the race to become the next destination for the creative class. Proposed initiatives include expanded cultural facilities, facade improvements, museums, heritage preservation, and public art. The city has also dedicated resources to community, ethnic, and gay pride festivals, such as Caribana and Gay Pride, as well as to high profile arts festivals, including Nuit Blanche, “an all night art happening,” and Luminato, a “Festival of Art and Creativity” (City of Toronto 2003; 2008). The city has also recently embarked on a new branding campaign designed to establish the city’s reputation as a major center of multicultural diversity and artistic experimentation.
Another means of attracting the creative class is to dedicate resources toward the historic preservation of bohemian neighborhoods, which can serve as sites of artistic experimentation for the creative class. A key focus in policy agendas is the creation of cultural quarters. Liberty Village, Toronto is one such district. Comprised mainly of atmospheric factory and warehouse spaces, this area has become a central employment district for the creative class in Toronto, especially for those working in new media, film, television, and design.
A central actor in the construction and branding of this district is the Liberty Village Business Improvement Area (LVBIA) incorporated in 2001. The formation of the BIA is representative of the growing role of non-state actors in local economic development. In classic neoliberal fashion, the City encouraged the formation of this association in order to finance quality of place improvements in the area.
The business improvement district spends most of its budget fixing broken windows, improving streetscapes, and implementing public art projects. These aesthetic enhancements are aimed at improving the image of the area for employees (Catungal and Leslie 2009). A second focus of the LVBIA is on security. The BIA provides a private security guard to monitor the area to ensure that the neighboring low income and marginalized populations are kept at bay.
Florida’s arguments thus lend themselves to an agenda focused on the construction of trendy and gentrified neighborhoods that meet the needs of an elite class (Peck 2005: 760). Although modest in financial terms, and requiring little in the way of direct state resources, these initiatives have a dramatic impact on local populations. The construction of cultural districts is often associated with the displacement of poor and racialized communities, as well as certain members of the creative class itself (Catungal, Leslie, and Hii 2009). Some artists rely on affordable studio space, housing, and the presence of independent exhibition or performance sites. But these options become scarce in increasingly gentrified and sanitized districts.
The focus in the creative city script is on the creative class: on those employed in creative and professional occupations. Creative individuals are positioned as the drivers of economic growth, relegating the working and service classes to a passive and marginal role (Peck 2005: 757). Peck (2005: 762) argues that the creative class agenda “is about nurturing and rewarding creativity, not compensating the creative have nots” (Peck 2005: 762). Accordingly, the theory lends itself to policies which respond to and benefit the creative class. As Shearmur (2006–2007: 35) observes “given that by definition this class comprises those people best suited to succeed in the ‘new’ or ‘knowledge’ economy- the knowledge aristocracy- this message boils down to saying that municipalities and regions should reinforce and subsidize their elites” (see also Bontje and Musterd 2009). Shearmur (2006–2007: 37) refers to this as a new form of talent welfare, reminiscent of earlier corporate welfare policies designed to attract and retain firms through tax breaks and other incentives.
For Florida (2002), attracting the creative class will benefit all residents of the city because their presence will spur economic growth. In the long run, the creative class will also develop ways to help other classes realize their creative potential (Florida 2005). This version of trickle-down economics is questionable, however. As Shearmur (2006–2007: 38) points out, economic growth, particularly when it is driven by elites, often creates negative externalities for a city’s poor, including increased congestion, pollution, and rising real estate values.
Florida (2004; 2005) acknowledges the correlation between creativity and inequality, recognizing that members of the creative class work long hours and require a range of external services to support their reproduction, including food preparation, dry cleaning, and housekeeping. The presence of a creative class is thus tied to the formation of a service class. However, he offers no advice on how to alleviate inequality (McCann 2007: 190). Little mention is made of collective forms of organization such as unions, of class-aligned political parties, or of the continuing importance of the national state in crafting solutions to these problems (Peck 2005: 746). Donegan and Lowe (2008) argue that inequality needs to be tackled by a variety of actors, including not only the creative class but also local governments and advocacy groups. A combination of policies are also required, including living wage ordinances and minimum wage legislation, campaigns to unionize the service sector, and policies designed to assist immigrant workers (Donegan and Lowe 2008: 54).
The Dark Side to Working in the Creative Economy
The creative class framework is also premised upon a very individualistic and entrepreneurial model of work. Workers come together for individual projects – such as the creation of a film or music video – but then move on to different projects. There is often a tendency in the literature to celebrate the increasingly fluid and contingent nature of project-based employment in the creative economy (Edensor et al. 2010). The creative class framework, for example, assumes that flexibility brings opportunities for employees, that it liberates them from company rules, conformity, and managerial surveillance. However, it ignores the negative dimensions of freelance and project-based work, and the parallels that exist between the creative and service classes (Ross 2008; Gill and Pratt 2008). Like the service class, many artists and creative workers struggle with employment instability. They face the continual need to maintain employment networks. As Ross (2008: 36) puts it,
once they are in, some of the players thrive, but most subsist, neither as employers or employees, in a limbo of uncertainty, juggling their options, massaging their contacts, never knowing where their next project or source of income is coming from. The resultant cycle of feast and famine is familiar to anyone whose livelihood folds into the creative economy.
Despite the uncertainty, Ross (2008) argues that flexible work has proven so pervasive because it exploits the notion that individuals increasingly have some power and autonomy over their situation. Ross (2008) compares the uncertainty of creative work to a survivor challenge in a videogame. It is seductive for many workers because they think they will win the contest.
In an increasingly neoliberal work environment, characterized by deregulation and a commercialization of the creative sectors, workers are increasingly individualized, set free from workplace organizations, social institutions, and bonds of community and social class (McRobbie 2002: 518; see also Giddens 1991; Beck 1992). Older forms of state support are disappearing, requiring individuals to assume responsibilities once covered by the government. Subjectified to a new culture of risk, creative workers must fashion individual solutions to systemic problems (McRobbie 2002). This often means simultaneously taking on multiple projects and pursuing non-creative jobs in order to survive. The individual is forced to become self-disciplining and entrepreneurial, leading to what McRobbie (2002: 519) calls a “downgrading of creativity,” as more and more time is spent on non-creative tasks. The current economic recession has no doubt added to the risk and insecurity experienced by creative workers.
In addition to privileging an entrepreneurial perspective, the creative class thesis also advances a masculinist notion of the subject. The thesis pays little attention to gender and lifecycle issues (Donald and Morrow 2003: 14; Peck 2009). Aspects of quality of place that may appeal to female workers – such as maternity leaves, benefits, childcare facilities, and quality public schools – are ignored in Florida’s account, which tends to emphasize cafes and nightlife.
The creative class framework thus fits nicely within a neoliberal political agenda that emphasizes the withdrawal of the state from social provision. It puts emphasis on the priorities of an elite class. The creative city script shifts policy away from issues of redistribution and a comprehensive approach to city planning. It leaves workers increasingly to take responsibility for their own lives, ignoring the profound divisions which characterize the labor market, and the risk and insecurity affecting all employees. Furthermore, the creative class agenda does little to address acute pressures for creative class workers related to gentrification and the lack of affordable housing and studio space. Ironically, these problems are magnified by creative city policies themselves.
Conclusion
Florida’s creative class hypothesis has proven very attractive to city officials around the world, replacing production-centered or cluster-based theory as the dominant urban economic development paradigm (Donegan and Lowe 2008: 46). This has led to a plethora of policies designed to attract and retain the creative class, with most of these policies focused on quality of place enhancements.
However, serious concerns can be raised about such an agenda. In the creative class framework, priorities have arguably been realigned away from large scale collective projects designed to meet the needs of all citizens and workers, toward an elite class agenda centered on gentrified cultural quarters and heritage districts. Often, there are negative consequences for poor and racialized communities that are displaced in such developments. Some members of the creative class – particularly artists – also suffer from gentrification-related pressures and rising real estate values. The current economic crisis and consequent loss of jobs, affordable housing, and poverty alleviation measures has undoubtedly exacerbated these sociospatial inequalities, making the politics of catering to elites all the more controversial and encouraging the need for broader initiatives which address inequality.
Policies are required that protect neighborhoods at risk of gentrification. In the City of Toronto, for example, the city has placed a moratorium on new bars and restaurants on Ossington Avenue, a street undergoing rapid gentrification (Wingrove 2009). Additional policies are needed to preserve affordable rents and to prevent the displacement of low-income populations.
What hope is there then for a progressive politics in this creative age? Despite the negative externalities associated with this new class structure, and the dominance of the elite interests of the creative class, some theorists argue that a new politics could be mobilized around the experience of creative work. The heightened insecurity, which creatives experience, can give rise to new subjectivities and new forms of socioeconomic regulation. Gill and Pratt (2008) for example discuss the emergence of a “precariat” – a concept which brings together precariousness and the proletariat to capture the potential for a new form of identity, one that emphasizes a common experience that crosses class lines. Ross (2008) further substantiates this view, arguing that the concern for autonomy and self-direction on the part of creative workers cannot be dismissed entirely as neoliberal discourse, but can be combined with a concern for the welfare of others (e.g. the service class) and the development of cross-class alliances.
Despite obvious differences between the creative and service classes, both share an experience of precariousness that can form the basis of collective action (Ross 2008). In Denmark and the Netherlands, for example, workers of all kinds have mobilized for new forms of welfare to protect employees in flexible labor markets (Ross 2008). Hardt and Negri (2000) see the cognitive workforce as a potential source of power, pointing to the new linkages that have developed in France and in Italy between new media workers (part of the creative class), and student movements, migrants, and service workers.
Others are skeptical that privileged creative workers can be encouraged to pursue a politics addressing inequalities in the new economy. These writers point to the imbalance in social, economic, and cultural capital that exists between the creative and service classes. The experience of precarious work is also uneven; it is actively sought out by some workers and imposed on others (Ross 2008). Furthermore, creative workers are often highly individualized, with little interest in collective action. If what unites a new class alliance is precarity, it is doubtful that workers will ever have the opportunity, time, or space to form a stable coalition.
Despite these differences of opinion and the difficulties of organizing, the formation of cross-class alliances is crucial. Ross (2008) cites a number of encouraging examples of political mobilization among the creative class – such as the Information Technology (IT) workers at the WashTec union who organized collectively around a range of issues. Another example of increasing political action is in the academy. Academic work is often seen as a highly individualized form of labor, known for its self-directing propensities. In the last several decades, however, sessional instructors and teaching assistants have been organizing to improve working conditions and challenge the increasing casualization of work (Ross 2008). A further example is provided by Mayworks, a multidisciplinary arts festival in Toronto that celebrates working class culture. It begins from the premise that workers and artists share a common struggle for good working conditions and living wages. The festival aims to promote the interests of cultural workers and trade unions (http://www.mayworks.ca). These are all important examples of how knowledge and creative workers are increasingly engaging in political activism.
The forging of cross-class alliances between the creative class and the service class will only work by reviving old institutions such as unions and the state, that is, institutions viewed as defunct in the current neoliberal/creative class agenda. A new politics for the creative age thus requires a new policy mindset, one that valorizes substantive investments and places the broader welfare of all classes (creative and otherwise) at the center of urban and regional development initiatives.
Notes
1 Florida (2002) brings together a wide variety of occupations under the banner of the creative class. Markusen (2006) draws attention to the fact that some of these occupational groups contain uncreative as well as creative occupations. Business and financial occupations, for example, encompass claims adjustors and purchasing agents, while the category of engineer includes surveyors and drafting technicians. While Markusen (2006: 1923) acknowledges that some of these jobs may in fact be creative, she points out many jobs designated uncreative in Florida’s categories –such as millwrights and tailors- could be equally creative (see also Ettlinger 2010).
2 There are however hierarchies and divides within the creative class.
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