Today's Christian Science Monitor has a piece about the Cidade Limpa ("Clean City") campaign spearheaded by São Paulo Mayor Gilberto Kassab to ban all billboards and all display signs larger than 10 square meters from any spot in the city. The article barely touches on the profound impact the law is having on the city, and as someone who spent 10 years visiting before I became a resident, I would say that despite the cheery reporting in this article, the jury is out on whether Cidade Limpa is a success or not.
One thing I will agree on -- the lightning speed of compliance with the law - passed in January of this year - has been startling. The article is right - even the Golden Arches have been dismantled over every McDonald's location. Nothing ever happens that fast in this country, and Brazilians are not exactly known for their devotion to following laws. It's a shame, though, that this is because the Cidade Limpa rules are being enforced so tenaciously by the city -- the threat of fines lingers over anyone who doesn't comply, and your lack of compliance is...well....quite visible. I say it's a shame because there are many more important laws in this city that are not being enforced with the same zeal. (Like one against murder, for starters. Oh, and then there's the one about not taking bribes. You know.)
São Paulo has been known for its plethora of billboard technology and ingenuity. A brilliant acquaintance of mine made a fortune at a young age by building the company Eletromidia, the leading outdoor digital display company in Brazil. He was able to because consumer advertising all over South America's busiest city in general has been expanding tremendously since the stabilization of the Brazilian economy over the last seven years. Since more than half the population spends about a quarter to a third of its day in São Paulo on the overcrowded roads, freeways and sidewalks, it would seem logical to capitalize the space as much as possible.
Kassab, however, hated what he felt was excess. He also, along with most of the city's residents, grew tired of São Paulo's reputation for being one of the ugliest cities in the world. Few who live here dispute the charge. So as one way to clean up the city, as it were, he chose to tackle visual pollution.
I couldn't agree more about the visual pollution. It's part of why I adore Rua Oscar Freire here in Jardins, whose luxury shop merchants banded together and financed the burying of telephone and electrical cables under a new and expanded pedestrian sidewalk, narrowing the one-way car traffic access. The visual impact was amazing, and it's a pleasure to stroll down that street now. This followed similar efforts on a handful of other streets -- from the tiny but luxurious restaurant row of Rua Amauri in Itaim to the larger Rua Avanhandava in one part of the Centro. These few spots contrast with 99% of the other streets in the city, and points up part of what Kassab is talking about.
But in the few months since January when most of the billboards started to rapidly disappear, I also found myself wondering if this was such a good idea. As the Monitor piece reports, pulling them down has been the equivalent of lifting up floor boards to discover the termites:
...many of the large signs that were erected served to hide damp patches, and pipes, ducts, broken windows, and grubby air conditioning units.
And that doesn't begin to tell the story. While the
Monitor focuses on a small section of the city's old Centro neighborhood where art deco, neoclassical and art nouveau buildings lay crumbling and often empty, the vast majority of the buildings in this city are "period pieces" from the neo-Soviet 1960s and beyond. They are rectangular, sallow concrete slabs plunked on broken roads, yarned with tangles of wiring along utility poles that obliterate second storey views.
And most of us neither live in the old Centro, nor do we ever set foot there. The area has been known for years as "
Cracolândia" (yes - 'Crackland'), and is never on anyone's tourism checklist. It's a shame, because back when I lived here in 1984, the old Centro was still hanging on to its faded glamour. I remembered walking every day from my high school,
Colêgio Mackenzie in Higienopolis, to
Praça da Republica in the heart of the Centro to have lunch and hang out with friends. We'd go into book stores to read magazines on fashion and music, and we'd buy cassette tapes by Culture Club and The Cure, or just people watch. The city's now ridiculously undersized Metrô was, at that time, heavily centered on moving people from the Centro to the environs of
Avenida Paulista, as well as in and out from the then-outer rings of the city (which are now more like their own mini-downtowns within the Red Giant that the city has since become).
It was a more logically built city back then. It gave São Paulo a sense that neighborhoods still mattered. But that's a notion that has long since been shattered by whatever socio-cultural-economic upheaval that unfolded between the two periods of my living here. The city has become a huge whirl of in-migration, diaspora, horrendously poor planning and eventual blight.
Indeed, most of us only drive through Centro, or preferably over it on the elevated crosstown freeways. Following those routes from point to point, the billboards were the only things brightening the appalling decay of so much repulsive architecture that gives you a sense of what Pyongyang is going to look like when the Kim regime finally falls.
If Kassab has some genius vision behind all this -- like it will spur on capital investors to swarm in and renovate the squalor -- then he's strangely keeping mum. What's more, the
Monitor accurately reports that while Phase 1 of the Cidade Limpa program comes to an end in a few months, with the close out of the grace periods to remove the signs, there seems to be little if any signals that the government will keep its word and provide financial support for the Phase 2 makeovers the city is supposed to get.
The vehemence of the enforcement has also been cutting to the bone for some of us. This week,
an oversight panel ruled that the Itaú electronic sign and clock atop the Conjunto Nacional on Avenida Paulista between Rua Augusta and Av. Padre João Manuel must come down. It does not, according to the Commission to Protect Urban Landscapes (CPPU), qualify as an item of historic or cultural significance. I strongly beg to differ. That sign has served for decades as a guidepost for many of us who come in and out of this area, and it brings life to the skyline view of Avenida Paulista from the buildings south of Jardim Europa, like the rooftop Skye Bar at
Hotel Unique. It also, to be honest, serves many of us as would a wristwatch, if it weren't so dangerous to wear one out on the street. To say that particular skyline is not significantly impacted by the disappearence of that digital sign is to completely misunderstand the whole concept of an urban landscape. Kassab should have tried to intervene, if only to better articulate the point of this whole campaign.
So, we'll see if Cidade Limpa is so wonderful in the next year. We'll see if anyone besides the folks the
Monitor interviewed (who seemed to have a financial or academic stake in a few key buildings) are cheering. But at this moment, what the campaign seems to have most successfully done is to unearth the ancient fossils of a long-gone São Paulo that seems impossible to recreate now.