643751

research-article2016

EUR0010.1177/0969776416643751European Urban and Regional StudiesAndersen and Re

European Urban
and Regional
Studies

Article

The social context and politics

of large scale urban architecture:
Investigating the design of
Barcode, Oslo

European Urban and Regional Studies

114
The Author(s) 2016
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DOI: 10.1177/0969776416643751
eur.sagepub.com

Bengt Andersen

Oslo and Akershus University College, Norway

Per Gunnar Re
University of Oslo, Norway

Abstract
The well-known and much investigated rise of urban entrepreneurial policies has fuelled a transformation of urban
spaces and landscapes, and has led to changes in the social composition of city centres. This is the case for Oslo,
Norways capital, where increasingly urban policies are designed to attract transnational companies and those in
the creative class. A key strategy to achieve this has been to transform the citys waterfront through spectacular
architecture and urban design, as has taken place in other European cities. Transnational and local architects have been
commissioned to design the Barcode, one of the most striking waterfront projects. This article investigates the role
of architecture and architects in this process, because architects can be seen as influential generators of urban spaces
and agents for social change, and because there is remarkably little published empirical research on this specific role
of architects. It is argued that although there was an overall planning goal that the projects along the waterfront of
Oslo should contribute to social sustainability, with the implication that planners and architects possessed information
about the local urban context and used this knowledge, in practice this was not the case. It is demonstrated that
the architects paid little attention to the social, cultural and economic contexts in their design process. Rather, the
architects emphasized the creation of an exciting urban space and, in particular, designed spectacular architecture that
would contribute to the merits of the firms involved. It is further argued that because of this the Barcode project will
not contribute to the making of a just city.

Keywords
Architecture, urban design, urban entrepreneurialism, urban planning, waterfront transformation

Introduction
Since the 1970s, urban transformation and development have followed an entrepreneurial logic in many
advanced capitalist countries (Tarazona Vento, 2016).
In several cities, central districts and former harbour

Corresponding author:
Bengt Andersen, Work Research Institute, Oslo and Akershus
University College, Div. AFI, Postboks 4 St. Olavs plass, 0130
Oslo, Norway.
Email: bengt.andersen@afi.hioa.no

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European Urban and Regional Studies

or industrial spaces have been converted into business quarters and high-end housing areas, as well as
sites for museums and other buildings of culture in
order to attract inward capital investments, possibly
members of the so-called creative class (as defined
by Florida, 2005), and tourists. This paper makes a
contribution to understanding the role of architecture
and, more precisely, the architectural design process with regard to entrepreneurial urban regeneration, through a theoretical discussion informed by a
singular empirical case study of an on-going waterfront transformation in Oslo. Because architects have
been said to have particular importance for the city
(Short, 2006: 161), since they are the experts designing it, and given professional architectures reliance
on [powerful] clients (Jones and Card, 2011: 232),
we investigate how architects explain their own
designs, and how the design process relates to the
overall planning and development goals, in this case
specifically in the city of Oslo. We are therefore highlighting how architects, as influential actors with little formal power, are not only shaping the physical
structures and elements, but also have a substantial
influence on the social fabric of and possible social
practices in the city.
In recent decades the waterfront of Oslo, the capital of Norway, has been radically transformed. In
1982 the shipyard located close to the town hall, in
the area today known as Aker Brygge (the Aker
Quay), was shut down and restructured into blocks
of condominiums, offices, shops and entertainment
outlets (Aker Brygge, 2012). Internationally, such
transformations were first seen in the USA, for
example the Inner Harbor in Baltimore in the early
1970s (Harvey, 2000), and later in several North
American and European cities, for instance in New
York, Vancouver, London, Hamburg and
Copenhagen, where the former physical manifestations of the industrial epoch have to a large extent
been replaced by cultural, financial and up-market
consumer and residential institutions and structures
(Sandercock and Dovey, 2002). This restructuring is
linked with the well-known rise of entrepreneurial
urban policies in many Western cities (Hall and
Hubbard, 1996; Harvey, 1989), and increased
regional and international competition over economic and human capital (Jessop, 1998; Ley, 2010).

In Oslo this has been translated into the step-bystep dismantling, rerouting and disappearance variously of highways, railroads, shipyards, port
functions and warehouses, and the building of an
iconic opera house, shopping centres, restaurants,
museums, semi-public spaces, high-end residential
developments and, not least, high-rise office buildings for financial corporations and transnational producer services (Re, 2015; Skrede, 2013; Smith and
Strand, 2011). This is part of an overall policy and
plan for making the waterfront area, renamed the
Fjord City, a vibrant and attractive new district
(The Municipality of Oslo, 2008a).1 The goal has
been to create a waterfront for everybody to use (The
Municipality of Oslo, 2008b), thereby meeting the
criteria of the just city as defined by Fainstein
(2010, 2005), namely democracy, equity, diversity,
growth and sustainability. The challenge according
to Fainstein (2005) is to create synergies and handle
contradictions between these goals. Based on previous research (Andersen, 2013; Aspen, 2013; Bergsli,
2005; Re, 2015), however, there are reasons for
claiming that the Fjord City is becoming an area
designed for well-off inhabitants, tourists, visitors
and investors, and to a lesser degree the lower classes
of the city and socially marginalized groups. Much
of the waterfront is owned and controlled by private
interests. As Heringstad (2008) has demonstrated,
the designers and owners have attempted to use the
design of the buildings and spaces as a means to control the de facto access of welcomed and non-welcomed groups. Consequently, a substantial part of
these waterfront areas does not qualify as a truly
public space as defined by Smith and Low (2006:
4).
The particular case discussed in this article is the
most visible and most debated project in the Fjord
City Plan, namely the Barcode project, a row of
mainly office buildings, which is part of the development plan for the larger Bjrvika area (see Figure 1).
We present an investigation of the initial phase of
this building project, focusing on the work of the
hired architects, the architectural competition and
the immediate process thereafter. We question especially how the Barcode design was developed, and
on what types of knowledge, specifically regarding
the urban social context, it was based. Because it

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Andersen and Re

Figure 1. Barcode under construction (Barcode Project, Bjrvika, Oslo, seen from Srenga, June 2012 photo by
Helge Hifdt, licenced under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons (https://
commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Barcode_June_2012_seen_from_S%C3%B8renga.JPG).

was a political objective to make the new waterfront

a socially mixed urban space, our aim is to shed light
on whether, and how, this goal was reflected in the
work of the architects. To investigate this we draw
mainly on in-depth interviews with architects, a former city planner, real estate developers and property
owners; we also draw on newspaper articles and
policy documents, as well as existing research.

Oslo: the background

Oslo is a relatively small, but fast growing, capital.
In fact, it has been estimated to be Europes fastest
growing capital (Gundersen and Strand, 2014: 6).
Between 2010 and 2014, the population increased by
almost 50,000 so that in January 2014 close to
635,000 people were resident within its administrative borders, and in March 2015 citizen number
650,000 was registered. By 2035 the population is
expected to have grown to 852,000 (Gundersen and
Strand, 2014: 6). This growth is welcomed by local
politicians who, equally, argue about how to plan for
the future growth towards 2030, especially with
respect to housing and infrastructure. Because of a
national compact city policy and the political consensus on the conservation of the woodlands north of
the city, the population increase is to be handled
through densification within the built-up area of the

city as well as in the suburban neighbourhood

municipalities. The densification policy is spatially
differentiated, and areas close to public transport
hubs such as Barcode, which are located within
walking distance to trains, buses, trams and the
metro, are considered to be ideal for developing a
sustainable Oslo (The Municipality of Oslo, 2015b:
4546).
Central to the politicians and urban planners
visions of a socially and environmentally sustainable 2030 city is the desire to prevent the development of a segregated city (The Municipality of Oslo,
2015b: 26). Notwithstanding this vision, and despite
a national ethos of equality, historic and present patterns of socio-economic and ethnic residential segregation hint at a relatively unjust urban development
in Norways largest city (Andersen, 2014; Andersen
etal., 2015; Ljunggren and Andersen, 2014). Until
about 1970, Norway was relatively homogeneous in
terms of ethnicity. Today, however, about 30% of
Oslos population has an immigrant background and
about 21% are categorized as having a non-Western immigrant background (The Municipality of
Oslo, 2015a). The upper class and upper-middle
class, and the whites, are over-represented in the
area known as the West End and the lower classes, as
well as non-Westerner immigrants, live mainly in the
East End (Andersen, 2014).

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European Urban and Regional Studies

Figure 2. Timeline for the planning and development of Bjrvika.

The waterfront development at Bjrvika is taking

place just a few hundred meters from the downtown
section of the East End; that is, the districts of
Grnland and Tyen. Whereas these areas have witnessed some gentrification (Huse, 2014; Magnusson
Turner and Wessel, 2013), Grnland and Tyen still
house some of the largest concentrations of disadvantaged people in Oslo (Brattbakk etal., 2015). A walk
across the train tracks separating these two areas and
Bjrvika takes you from the new, shiny architecture
of Barcode to the somewhat older and worn out, but
architecturally diverse and multicultural, Grnland.
Arguably, the restructuring of Bjrvika represents an
extension of the West End (historically where the
elite of Oslo resided), or so-called new-build gentrification (Davidson and Lees, 2005), along the harbour,
turning former parts of the neglected east into a
respectable west, to borrow from Harveys historical account of Paris (Harvey, 2006: 30).
While overall Oslos built environment is low-rise,
Barcode in contrast consists of a row of, in a
Norwegian context, high-rise buildings. All of the
buildings have a relatively unique or distinct architectural aesthetic. Thus even though Barcode is a row of
tall and slender buildings, the footprint, the height, the
materials used and the design of the individual buildings differ. When finished, Barcode or the Opera
Quarter as the developers have renamed it will consist of 12 buildings (see the timeline in Figure 2).
Whereas only 400 dwellings will be located in
these buildings, 10,000 individuals will be employed
in the firms occupying most of the spaces in the 12

buildings. In total, Bjrvika will house about 5000

residential units and about 20,000 people will be at
work there (Bjrvika Utvikling AS, 2015). The
Barcode buildings are the most explicit physical, as
well as political and symbolic, expression of the
recent waterfront restructuring in Oslo. Barcode has
been heavily debated mainly because of its scale and
building height, and its architectural form. Moreover,
the adjoining streets, pavements and squares are also
the subject of discussions, with regard to their function as traffic arteries and public spaces. In addition,
several commentators have been interested in the
environmental consequences of this compact urban
form (see for instance Foss, 2013; Tenny etal.,
2013). Some have also expressed concern about the
social consequences of Barcode becoming a homogenous office ghetto (as stated in Kjrs, 2009: 73),
or that Barcode and the whole Fjord City are turning
into an enclave for the rich/upper-middle class
(Nordb, 2013). Nevertheless, there has been
remarkably little public debate concerning the
broader social impacts of both the Barcode project
and other transformation projects in Oslo.
Before discussing the Barcode project, we will
review relevant findings from research on the role of
urban architecture in the restructuring and transformation of other cities. We then turn to a short discussion of Norwegian urban planning, in order to
provide a necessary social and political context,
before shedding light on the planning and design
process leading up to Barcode. We conclude the
paper with a discussion of our empirical findings.

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Andersen and Re

The transformative role of urban

architecture lessons from the
literature
Urban scholars have emphasized how power relations and differently positioned actors shape cities
(Galster, 2012). Whereas ordinary inhabitants create
meaningful places, others plan and structure the
spaces in which such place-makings can be done
(Andersen, 2001; Re, 2014). It is claimed that the
dominant actors of urban capital investment and circulation, that is the owners of local business enterprises and transnational companies, as well as key
politicians and other decision-making actors, are the
ones with the most power to (re-) structure the city
(Andersen, 2014; Bunce and Desfor, 2007; Flierl
and Marcuse, 2012; Lukes, 2005; Marcuse, 2012;
Re, 2015). These actors are the most influential in
organizing, making or shaping the urban spaces and
their material features. As Brenner etal. (2012: 3)
argued, capitalist cities are intensively commodified, implying that their architecture and their different districts, such as waterfront areas, are
sculptured and continually reorganized in order to
enhance the profit-making capacities of capital
(Brenner etal., 2012: 3).
Increasingly, urban investigations have focused
on the role and meaning of architecture in urban
restructuring and transformation, turning attention
away from the study of architecture as signs and
symbols in themselves, to the investigation of the
social production and social construction of architecture. In a study of one of the major post-industrial
transformation projects, London Docklands, Crilley
(1992: 231) emphasized that architects were influential in image building and the selling of a place, and
that architecture has a role in the mediating perceptions of urban change and persuading us of the
virtues and cultural beneficence of speculative
investments. The role of architecture is also emphasized by Grubbauer (2014) in her study of Vienna,
where the discursive and visual representation of a
project with a decontextualized office architecture is
part of a shift in urban political strategies towards
attracting international companies and becoming a
European metropolis, in addition to being an Eastern
gateway. However, such strategies may give rise to

debate and cause conflict. Desfor and Jrgensen

(2004), in their investigation of the rebuilding taking
place in the harbour area of Copenhagen, focused on
a new flexible governance initially producing an
architecture which brought a public outcry that
threatened to destabilize urban politics and fracture
continuous economic growth (Desfor and Jrgensen,
2004: 493). This conflict also escalated because the
waterfront project was placed in a working class
area, as in the case of Barcode, where people felt
alienated from the process and the result, and because
no affordable housing was offered.
In studying the ways in which corporate and
state actors and institutions, mobilise architecture as
one way of making political economic strategies
meaningful, Jones (2009: 2520) suggested using the
framework of cultural political economy. This helps
to distinguish between, on the one hand, the symbolic meaning and interpretation of architecture,
and, on the other hand, the relationship between
architects and the dominating classes and the powerful actors of urban politics and business. Dovey
(2010) argued that there is a silent complicity
between architects and the agendas of the politically
and economically powerful, in contrast to the common conception of the architect as a free-standing
designer or artist. Rather, according to Jones (2009:
2525), cultural forms (values attached to architectural forms and aesthetics) become laden with political-economic meaning due to the material strategies
associated with their construction. Grubbauer (2014:
355) adds to this, stating that, economic imaginaries
might be installed more efficiently if they are discursively connected to and visually represented by
buildings in urban space, as this enhances their plausibility and visibility. This relationship between
architecture and private capital may reach a higher
emotional level, or even an erotic relationship,
according to Kaika (2011), as depicted in the novel
and film The Fountainhead (by Ayn Rand), when an
architect is asked by a powerful New York media
tycoon to design a monument to his life.
Although an increasing number of investigations
focus on the production of architecture and the
involved actors in such transformation projects, they
seldom study the design processes in detail. One
exception is Leess (2001) ground-breaking study of

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European Urban and Regional Studies

the design of the then new public library in

Vancouver, as well as the heated discourse about,
and the plurality of meanings and the habitual use
and consumption of, the library. Although Lees studied the writings of the architects, she did not interview them herself about the design process.
However, McNeills (2007) investigation of two premium office buildings (designed by two leading
international firms) in Sydney is based on interviews
with key agents involved in the commissioning,
design and management of the two building projects,
as well as design documents and media coverage.
Hagen (2014), in her study of the Oslo and New
York-based architect firm Snhetta, did also study
the working and creative processes of architects
through long-term, multi-sited ethnographic fieldwork. Other scholars, also focusing on premium or
iconic buildings (Charney, 2007; Sklair, 2010),
emphasized the role of high profile architects and
transnational design firms, producing decontextualized architectural fragments and solitary buildings
(Grubbauer, 2014). Nevertheless, Faulconbridge
(2009) argued that the global homogenization of
architecture, driven forward by global capital and
glocal architects, may not necessarily lead to total
decontextualization:
the received wisdom that transnational corporations
localize their services through in situ operations that
allow access to local knowledge which informs that
adaption of products and services seems to be in need
of embellishment and further consideration ()
members of the project design team are embedded in
the cultural, economic, social and political context of
the place in which the product is to be consumed.
(Faulconbridge, 2009: 2551)

This may of course vary a great deal from city to

city and between projects, including different consortia of architects and consultancies.

The societal context and the

planning frame of Barcode
Following the Second World War, the Municipality
of Oslo acted like an urban developer (Andersen,
2014: 117). However, the city now has a planning
regime in which private developers have taken over

most parts of the detailed planning process (especially its initial phases), while the city government is
more of a regulatory power. For example, of all the
adopted zoning plans in Oslo in 2007, 82% were private proposals (Falleth etal., 2008: 2129). As such,
urban planning practices in Norway can be categorized as either adhering to a neoliberal logic or as
being largely deregulated (Re, 2014: 510). It is
also private actors or semi-private/semi-public institutions that, in the words of the former city planner
we interviewed, execute the plans. The City
Municipality can designate an area as ready for
development, but if a private entrepreneur does not
find it profitable, plans will not be followed by construction. As one of the largest residential developers
stated, when asked about the citys ambition to
develop environmental friendly housing in Oslos
East End:
It is out of the question for us to build anything like that
there. The demands formulated by the city makes it too
expensive to sell as the prospective [East End] home
seeker does not have the ability to pay for it. Even
though we have a property there, we wont develop it.
(Interview, 2013)

In other words the rent gap was not large enough.

If the municipality does not have the political will to
take more responsibility for planning, design and
construction in Oslo, the market actors are de facto in
the drivers seat (Hanssen, 2010: 721).

Restructuring the waterfront in Oslo

As noted, Aker Brygge was one of the first waterfront areas to undergo post-industrial transformation. A former city planner looked back at this
development when explaining how the ideas for the
Fjord City came about:
I think it was in 1982 when they had this idea
competition The Fjord and the City This was the
first time Aker Brygge was no longer a shipyard () A
master plan [for the larger harbour area] was designed.
But the processes went off and on for some time. Then
at the peak of the yuppie era at the end of the 1980s,
Bjrvika was one of the sections they discussed. Some
canal cities were drawn () Then, jumping to 1999,

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Andersen and Re
we started to collaborate with the Norwegian Public
Roads Administration [the NPRA] to make new plans
for Bjrvika () It was necessary to get the major
roads there into [an underwater] tunnel. The NPRA was
positive but viewed it as an urban development issue,
and not a road issue. But [in 2000] the [parliament]
decided that the National Opera was to be relocated to
Bjrvika, and everyone knew that the opera could not
have Norways largest intersection as it nearest
neighbour. You know; in for a penny, in for a pound
the parliamentary resolution [to relocate the opera]
implied [that the NPRA had to make big changes to the
roads in Bjrvika]. Bjrvika involved considerable
work, amounting to 7 or 8 agreements. (Interview,
2014)

According to Habhab (2013: 6), the Oslo Inner

East faction of the Norwegian Labour Party persuaded its fellow party members in the parliament
that locating the Opera in Bjrvika would be an
engine for renewal of the deprived Inner East. It
was hoped that this redevelopment would improve
the living conditions in the eastern downtown area.
In addition, this development would give the eastern neighbourhoods a new access to water
(Grnning, 2011: 146). As noted, they succeeded in
relocating the opera in June 1999 and, in the following year, the city council passed its Fjord City
Strategy resolution which stated that the remainder
of the harbour activities should be concentrated further east and that the waterfront should be made
ready for urban development. Despite the fact that
much of the land was public property, and even
though several of the major developers were controlled by public agencies, the Norwegian planning
and urban development regime made sure that the
development followed the logic of the market.

Visioning a socially sustainable

community developing an exclusionary
enclave
According to Bergsli (2005: 109), Bjrvika was initially meant to be a socially balanced environment.
In other words, the whole area was to be socially
sustainable as defined by the municipality (The
Municipality of Oslo, 2015b). It was supposed to be
a heterogeneous area in terms of class, ethnicity,

household composition, and age. Moreover, it was

planned to be a diverse district with a vibrant urban
scene and with many different cultural facilities
(quoted in Bergsli, 2005: 109). However, both a representative from one of the largest property owners
in Bjrvika and the former urban planner explained
the ambition to set aside a part of the dwellings for
affordable housing was not realized. The former city
planner elaborated:
You know, this is a political game. The city council
pass a resolution that they want 10% affordable
housing, and then the municipality sign this contract
for the development of the area and the developers are
able to exert pressure on the politicians and end up
committing to only 5% affordable housing units. And
then they define what affordable housing shall be
Given the very high property price here none of the
residences end up being truly affordable to rent for
low-income groups (Interview, 2014).

The representative of the property owner who

was interviewed added that they had agreed to set
aside a property for student housing and because
these units would make up 5% of the total housing
units, the city government was satisfied since this
then qualified as 5% affordable residential units. Of
course, students may not be affluent; but equally
they can hardly be said to represent the socio-economic and ethnically mixed population of Oslo. In
other words, the vision of social sustainability
remained a vision in the sense of a dream. It was not
to be realized.

The architectural competition

and conceptualization of Barcode
While architects and thus their practices are localized or emplaced, the local settings in which they
operate are connected to much broader economic,
political, and cultural developments by linkages so
complex that they defy summary (Larson, 1993:
67). We cannot untangle these complex relations, but
acknowledge that the question of where ideas originate, and what factors or mechanisms are involved in
the planning and final development of such a project,
is an issue too complex to be reduced to a single
coherent narrative of the Dutch and Norwegian

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European Urban and Regional Studies

architects that met and collaborated in the design of

Barcode. Their ideas and their design are part and
parcel of a much larger context, or structures and
practices of actors, rules and regulations, knowledge, representations, which in large part (consciously or not) influence their work. Jones (2011),
drawing on the works of Bourdieu, stressed that the
work and designs of architects are not the result of
the efforts of autonomous artists. Similarly, Dovey
(2010: 38) referred to Bourdieu when claiming that
there are no zones of neutrality in which to practice
as an architect; this also holds true when considering
the making of Barcode. In addition to their participation in or knowledge of the transnational architectural discourse on urban architecture and planning
(Plger, 2001), framing the practices of firms taking
part in prestigious competitions like the one that
would result in Barcode, the architects had to fulfil
the expectations of real estate actors and developers,
as well as relate to, adjust to, or in some cases
oppose, policies, planning assumptions and formal
regulations. The designers conceptualizing Barcode
were, for instance, taking part in a competition where
certain regulations on how to develop the properties
had to be adhered to. Although the Barcode project
would deviate somewhat from these regulations, the
architects had to try to make their proposal fit the
preferences of the competition jury and, especially,
the needs of the property owners/developers.
The property owners had formed a consortium
called OSU (the consortium consisted of three major
real estate developers: Entra Eiendom AS, Linstow
AS and ROM eiendom). Important elements were
infrastructure and streets, the number of dwellings
and offices, and building heights. It was mainly the
building heights, which in the original development
plan were set to a maximum of 12 to 13 office storeys, that caused antagonism. This is not surprising
because this regulation is important for the building
design (the creative outcome of the architectural
design process) and the market profitability (because,
in general, higher densities and taller buildings create more income per investment cost). The consortium of architectural firms that won the competition
and OSU suggested a new maximum height at the
equivalent of 17 office storeys or 22 dwelling storeys. Despite protest initiated by the Directorate for

Cultural Heritage, arguing that the consequences

would be severe for the visual landscape and the
remnants of the medieval town of Oslo, the proposed
building heights were retained.

A break with Norwegian urbanism and

architecture
When the architectural competition for what would
become the Barcode area was announced in 2003,
two Norwegian firms, Alab and Dark (belonging to
the same company group), contacted MVRDV, a
renowned Dutch architectural firm. Dark was an
established Norwegian firm, but Alab was then relatively unknown. One of the architects at Alab
described the firm thus: We were a Wild Card office
at that time, we were very young. He explained further that they wanted to submit something innovative to the competition, but to be able to do that the
Norwegians needed a partner. A team of architects
from the new Alab, the more established Dark and,
not least, the futuristic MVRDV that turned
European cities upside down was to become, the
Norwegian architect claimed, an interesting mix for
Norway (Interview, 2014). In an interview the
MVRDV architect who led the design process for
the Barcode concept explained:
[We] developed very clear urban rules. If you build a
tower your neighbour has to do something else if you
use brick then your neighbour cannot use brick
anymore. When an architect does building A, he cannot
do building B anymore. The reason for that was
because at that moment the Barcode was the first step
in development of a new city-centre around Barcode.
(Interview, 2014)

The Dutch architect said that they viewed Oslo as

a somewhat uninteresting city and they wanted their
project to be different, by offering topologies that
stimulate differentiation and almost force a new type
of urbanism in Oslo. The Norwegian collaborating
architect from Alab elaborated on this, and said that
the MVRDV architects considered Norwegian architecture and urban planning as traditional:
They [i.e. other Norwegian architects] are preoccupied
with Norwegian fjords, cabins The narrative about

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Andersen and Re
the new, dense Oslo with a lot of noise and people is
absent. [But] if we are to succeed with Oslo, then we
have to succeed with the new, dense, future-oriented
and democratic Oslo. That points towards the future
() When people first saw the Barcode plan, it caused
a public outcry. They didnt like the heights and the
density that we proposed. However, Barcode has now
become the illustration of the new Oslo that more and
more people like. In 2003, we said to ourselves that
what were going to be criticized for Barcode in 2023,
is that we didnt build taller. I still think that. Also, I
dont think Barcode would have turned out the way it
did if it wasnt for our collaboration with the Dutch
they had a very different urban planning competence.
Additionally, how they worked with knowledge
differed compared to what we traditionally do here in
Norway. In Norway, we are used to work in a masterapprentice kind of way, were the chief architect will
teach the others who will then digest what they have
heard. Then they will follow the masters instructions.
When we met the Dutch, they worked very differently.
It was go wide, go deep. (Interview, 2014)

He continued, saying that at MVRDV everybody

discussed everything until they were finished. They
made as many good proposals as possible. Key to
this process was an analytical approach in which
they used different kinds of information compared to
what the Norwegian architects had done in their
work. The Dutch architect also stated that MVRDV
had a different competence and that their analytical
approach was very different to that with which the
Norwegians were familiar. The MVRDV architect
explained their own practice:
We started working in the Netherlands, but quite soon
we started doing projects [abroad]. MVRDV is a
research-driven office, we have a clear analytic way of
working, an analytic methodology, and we describe
architecture and urban planning as a tool, a device. With
every project we clearly try to analyse and formulate
what we try to contribute to a specific context, location
or urban situation. Although we work all over the world,
the result is that none of our buildings look like the
buildings we made before, which was in a different area.
We try not to have a specific style, but to adapt the needs
of the location.(Interview, 2014)

Asked whether there were projects made after

Barcode that resembles Barcode he said that,

You can recognise elements of it in our projects, but

also in urban planning in general. The quality of
densification, the quality of intimacy, the quality of
densification and vividness on the street, Iconographic
architecture maybe. These are generic tools you can
say, that can also be recognised in other places in the
world. (Interview, 2014)

Replying to a question about whether Barcode

was either anchored locally or more internationally
oriented, the Alab architect suggested that Barcode
was a symbol of big-city growth. For the architects
it was important to see Barcode as part of non-local
processes and tendencies. It could be recognized in
other places in the world and was a symbol of global
urbanization processes.
When the team members met, the first thing they
did was to gather information on urban growth and
demographics. The Norwegian participant admitted
that he did not know why they needed this information, as the representative from Alab told us:
But the Dutch had a detailed list of what they needed.
And they made these diagrams that showed how Oslo
would develop. This was to make sure that we did not
just make the best physical [solutions] for the area, but
to go behind that and find out what they really wanted
and what the city needed. (Interview, 2014)

Both the Dutch and the Norwegian architect

stressed how MVRDV, and thus the whole project
team, worked analytically. It is relevant here that
when designing and making Barcode the team members were doing their work in the Netherlands. In
addition, the architects at MVRDV did not have substantial prior knowledge of Oslo, and certainly not
about Bjrvika. Moreover, although the architect at
Alab stressed that they tried to understand what the
clients truly sought, it was the architects who defined
the needs of the city; or, in other words, the design
needed to make this a project that could fit the urban
socio-spatial context. Of importance is that, as the
architect from Alab said, they asked themselves
what it was that the clients wanted, what do they
want for their future users, that is, a Central Business
District?. The architects had to make their proposal
fit the needs of the developers. Apart from this obvious instruction, the architects were interested in

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European Urban and Regional Studies

creating buildings that are very emblematic, or

an architecture that is hyper-direct extremely
visual and communicative, as the Dutch designer
explained. He also stressed that they had succeeded
in designing something new or innovative in a
slightly boring Oslo. They had, he said, offered
topologies that stimulated differentiation and
almost force a new urbanism in Oslo. [It] has really
paid off if you take a look at how Barcode has been
featured in all magazines and newspapers of
importance.
When asked whether or not more tall buildings
would be a good idea for Oslo, he replied:
It is a good idea for different reasons [] By densifying
you are able to improve your cities, you are able to
make cities more valuable and more attractive for
people to live. [We aim] to create cities that are more
vivid, to be able to increase the amount of bars and
restaurants and cultural amenities. Densification is
clearly a tool for making the city more attractive and
valuable to live in. (Interview, 2014)

The Norwegian architect also referred to physical factors when clarifying what their aims were
when designing Barcode: [We wanted to create] a
vibrant urban place [] What we did was a modern
version of the harbour in Bergen, with streets and
roads to pull the activities out. When asked, what is
Barcode? the answer was simply, It is houses that
look different, but that are organized according to a
pattern with a passage through. The main thing is
that they address a front side.

Barcode, a case of decontextualized

urban development project
The interest of the urban designers of MVRDV and
their Norwegian partners lay in creating what they
saw as interesting architecture and an exciting urban
space, as well making Barcode a practical or convenient space for the businesses to be located there.
They spoke in terms of density and heights and
emphasized how Barcode as a built form was innovative and a success. Despite the political ambitions
of making Bjrvika/Barcode an integrated part of the
existing city, and despite the initial political vision of
creating a balanced and diverse social and

cultural environment, the architects developing the

conceptual design of Barcode paid scant attention to
the local social setting, including the social implications of such a large-scale restructuring. Instead,
they were interested in making an impressive architectural project that was not necessarily iconic but
which was at least distinct. Moreover, Barcode was
seen as representing urban development in general
not necessarily anchored in the local context. It
was also planned and designed for the business elite.
If socially decontextualized projects and sociospatial enclaves are to be avoided, as quite clearly
were the ambitions in Bjrvika as well as in the
Fjord City Plan, architects and urban planners should
consider carefully the impact of their designs, not
only with respect to landscape aesthetics and sightlines, but also regarding social inclusion and justice.
As Dovey (2010: 38) argued, design is the practice
of framing the habitat of everyday life, both literally and discursively. Because architects are key
actors in determining these very frames, their work
does have significant social consequences. If they
are to be able to reflect on and consider the outcome
of particular urban projects, the designers need to
gather relevant information or to develop particular
forms of knowledge. Of relevance here is that, as
Barth (2002: 1) pointed out, knowledge [is] what a
person employs to interpret and act on the world.
Architects acting on the world have greater material impacts than many other groups because their
material designs not only enable but, as Dovey
(2010: 38) stated, also constrain the acts of people in
general. Consequently, not only should architects
and planners generate data about the urban sociospatial context of a project, as well as the wider
urban area, but also they need to interpret and use
this information consciously during the design
processes.

Concluding discussion
The aim of the larger Fjord City master plan has
been to design a waterfront that all of Oslos residents can make use of, and new urban districts that
are varied socially and culturally. It was specified
that Bjrvika would be accessible to the inhabitants
of the city and that this seaside space would

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Andersen and Re
contribute to its neighbouring parts (quoted and
translated by Berg, 2007: 24). For the adjacent eastern areas, it was hoped that the relocation of the
opera, and the subsequent urban development at the
seaside, would benefit these neighbourhoods and
their residents. How Barcode and the development
of the rest of Bjrvika would contribute to the larger
city and the adjacent areas in terms of accessibility,
equity, social sustainability or the improvement of
living conditions was not, however, either part of the
architects vision or their concern. Consequently, we
argue that the Barcode project can be seen as a case
of socially insensitive and decontextualized urban
design. Whilst the potential of the waterfront areas
as a public urban space open for a variety of groups
and practices should not be dismissed, we agree with
Aspen (2013: 198) that there are indeed few traces
of how the citys existing social and cultural diversity informed the planning and design of the new
waterfront. The architects stated that they worked
analytically and tried to contribute to [the] specific
context; but it is difficult to see any indication of
how or if the architects actually included knowledge
of the local social context in their work. The heterogeneous social environment and the vernacular
architecture are not reflected in the final design. In
other words, neither the planning process nor the
final design of this large-scale architectural project
was ever informed by the kind of knowledge that
could situate and integrate the project within the
wider socio-spatial urban context. Today, the
Barcode buildings make up a business district that
targets a very limited group of people. The frame
constructed by the architects enables some practices
more than others: or, rather, using their knowledge
and through their design, the architects acting on the
world have created a habitat or a place of work
mainly for the upper classes, thereby fitting into a
political economic strategy of positioning culturally
the new districts of the city centre in a transnational
sphere of competition.
While we do not subscribe to any kind of architectural determinism, we nevertheless see the built
environment as being an expression of power relations (Flierl and Marcuse, 2012), as a spatial framework for urban spatial practices, and as an influential
factor in (new-build) gentrification processes that

change the social composition of urban districts

(Lees etal., 2008). Architects, politicians and, not
the least, property developers and property owners
are all clearly influential or powerful city makers.
We have also documented that even if local politicians formulated certain visions for [the] new
waterfront (Bunce and Desfor, 2007: 258) and urban
development in general, other key actors, such as
internationally-oriented and design-focused architects and profit-seeking developers, did not operationalize these visions into detailed plans and
designs. Similar to Schmidts (2015: 171) observation, it is possible to question if the visions formulated in (master) plans, or the urban development
strategies following from these ambitions, are something politicians want to ensure developers and
architects adhere to (see Christiansen, 2014). If
social sustainability includes developing a just city,
minimalizing residential segregation, then this part
of Oslos waterfront can hardly be said to support
such an ideal. Just as important and recall here the
negotiation over the amount of affordable housing
in Bjrvika the politicians did not seem to have the
will, and thus the means, to realize such visions in
this case.
In conclusion, we therefore argue that Barcode
represents more than an aesthetic break with, or a
physical barrier to, the inland (eastern) city behind
it. Located adjacent to the traditional working-class
and todays ethnically mixed East End, Barcode is a
visible manifestation of the financial elite and the socalled creative class, thereby contributing to ongoing gentrification (Magnusson Turner and Wessel,
2013), socio-spatial segregation (Wessel, 2000) and
the development of visibly exclusionary enclaves
(Andersen, 2014). The lack of an analytical approach
taking social issues into consideration in the work of
the architects designing Barcode, focusing instead
on the architecture and physical layout, has contributed to the general lack of attention to social issues
in and the social context of this large-scale urban
transformation project.
Acknowledgements
The authors would like to thank Joar Skrede and the anonymous reviewers for valuable comments and suggestions
on how to improve the previous draft.

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European Urban and Regional Studies

Funding
The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial
support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of
this article: This article presents some of the results from the
research project Governance and Learning (project no.
143762), funded by the Norwegian Research Councils programme Democratic and Effective Governance, Planning
and Public Administration (DEMOS).

Note
1. All translations from Norwegian to English are our
own unless otherwise noted.

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