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The love-child of Onsite Mono and Onsite Standard, Onsite SemiMono is a unique hybrid that fuses technical nuances of a monospace (prolonged serifs and crossbars) with proportional spacing & kerning lent from Onsite Standard. The subfamily embodies associations and code-like language of a mono, but with none of the drawbacks of fixed-width characters.

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REGENERATE — It is worth noting that the success of such campaigns was due to the number of wealthier, more influential people involved in them. Whilst Jacob’s resistance to Moses’ proposal is a touching David vs. Goliath tale, the relative wealth and influence of the residents of Lower Manhattan she mobilised is not to be discounted. The ECTC, on the other hand, was a rare coalition of middle-class blacks and affluent whites from neighbouring areas; the success of the movement is due in large part to this fact. For the poorest, inner-city residents, without the wherewithal to stop the construction of highways through their neighbourhoods, these proposals were a fait accompli. The historically black neighbourhoods of Rondo, Minnesota; Chattanooga, Tennessee; Black Bottom, Detroit and many more that were gutted to create new highways show the role institutional racism played in the construction of these roads. Inequality is thus inscribed in the American landscape, illustrated by the crisscrossing of the Interstate Highway System. Similar plans for large scale transport infrastructure projects were made in the UK and were either only partially completed, or wholly abandoned. Sir Patrick Abercombrie’s wartime proposal to build highways surrounding London were developed twenty years later by the Greater London Council into the London Ringways Plan. It proposed four concentric rings of motorway surrounding the capital, connecting a series of radial roads directing traffic in and out of the city. Only some piecemeal construction was completed before the plans quickly proved to be too expensive and widely unpopular. The portions of Ringways 3 and 4 that were built were stitched together to form what is today the M25. The North and South Circular roads are also a pared back version of what was to be Ringway 2. Ringway 1, the innermost ring road too was only partially built, the East Cross Route and the Westway are the only parts of the original route that exist today. In each instance, plans to fully realise these roads, or to link them to wider road networks were met with fierce local resistance, some successful, others not. In the late 1960s, the South Cross Route - which was to be the southern portion of Ringway 1 - was intended to run from Battersea in southwest London through the centre of Brixton in the south. The local community was spared this destruction as opposition from various quarters led the GLC to abandon the project. Several years later, the M11 protest of the late 1990s was a campaign against the link road designed to connect traffic from the East Cross Route (A12) in Hackney Wick, East London further east to the M11 via Leyton and Redbridge. Local residents and groups such as the Link Road Action Group rose up in resistance, even members of neighbouring and outside communities travelled to the area in solidarity with the movement. The protesters engaged in demonstrations, and occupied several key buildings on the proposed route of the development. Unfortunately this was not enough to stop the construction and the motorway went on to be built as planned, opening in 1999. However the high profile of the demonstrations, and the increased costs of construction and of curtailing the protesters changed British attitudes towards motorway building and led to the review and cancellation of several other schemes elsewhere in the country. An alternative form of resistance to highway construction can be seen in the local response to the construction of the Westway, the 4km portion of the A40 motorway running from White City to Marylebone and elevated over the Paddington and Notting Hill neighbourhoods in West London.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz → äå 0123456789 ⁂ £0.99† ≠ 3½ ?!*↴ ↪ ➊➁➍➄➏➆➑➈ ◌○ 【SOCIOTYPE©】 With no option but to wait for its resolution, he might never have left the airport at all had he not been hospitalised in July 2006 – nearly two decades after he arrived in 1988. While Nasseri sought to leave the airport, others slip in deliberately: in January 2021, the ebb and flow of Chicago International O’Hare airport turned up 36-year-old Aditya Singh. While it emerged that Singh had been living in the airport’s secure side since October 2020, he was only noticed once the post-December holiday rush (and coronavirus surge) impacted traveller numbers; until then, he had been quietly making use of the bathrooms, entreating strangers to buy him food, and sleeping in the terminals. Like countless other homeless individuals, Singh made use of an airport as form of shelter. Back in 1986, the Chicago Tribune wrote about a comparable case – that of former accountant Fred Dilsner, who had managed a full year in the city’s airport. Even then, Dilsner was far from alone; the report estimated 30-50 individuals living in the building at the time, with the number projected to climb to 200 that winter. An airport’s anonymity might be off-putting for anthropologists like Augé, but it’s invaluable for those seeking to fly under the radar – and while some turn to cavernous terminals for shelter when they have no other choice, others actively seek out their unique combination of contextless and convenience. Wei Jianguo, for instance, has been living in Beijing Capital International Airport since 2008. Following an argument with his wife about his drinking nearly 14 years ago, Wei packed up and headed to the local airport where he remains to this day. And while authorities have asked Wei to leave, he’s thus far held out in his campaign to avoid returning to his family home. In 2018, he told China Daily that in order to move back in, he’d have to quit the drinking and smoking that caused the inciting argument all those years ago – meanwhile, at the airport, Wei can largely do as he pleases. Equipped with a mobile stove and blankets for sleeping, his unique set-up seems satisfactory as well as surprisingly stable. The Airport Test: While Augé’s idea of the airport as a non-place is widely applicable, what about the individuals for whom airports mean something different altogether? If ‘places’ are defined as an anthropological category, non-places are equally subjective; for those who work in them, there’s as much identity to be found in an airport as someone else would take from an office. And with their myriad moving parts, the average airport supports hundreds of staff. From security and air traffic controllers to border police and customs officers, from chefs and shop assistants to cleaners and security guards, it takes all manner of people to keep an airport running smoothly. What’s more, because of aviation’s round-the-clock schedule, working hours are immensely demanding – often encompassing night shifts, weekends and national holidays too. So what’s it like to spend so much time somewhere that everyone else (with a few resident exceptions) is just passing through? There’s more at stake in that question than meets the eye – just ask a hiring manager. The Airport Test, well-known in recruitment circles but less familiar to job seekers, is a question for an interviewer rather than an interviewee: namely, would you like to be stuck at an airport with this person?
Facilitating movement of goods and services Nowhere is this more evident than in the US, where the extensive network of highways that characterises so much of its landscape tore through the inner-cities throughout the country. On its surface the benefits of these highways were obvious, they would facilitate the movement of goods and services between rural and urban areas in the country, connect suburbanites to vital places of work and leisure in the city centres, and generally reduce traffic. This last point in particular proved to be a fallacy, as all evidence shows that the induced demand for cars caused by increased road building actually worsens traffic. The philosopher André Gorz illustrates the basic paradox at the heart of highway construction “Since cars have killed the city, we need faster cars to escape on superhighways to suburbs that are even farther away. What an impeccable circular argument: give us more cars so that we can escape the destruction caused by cars.” Of course escape is a luxury afforded to very few, and those who remained in the cities had to deal with an increase in noise and pollution, or worse, saw their homes decimated to make way for highway construction. In the US, the most affected were the low-income, predominantly black neighbourhoods who were targeted in accordance with the principles of ‘urban renewal’, a federally backed, crypto-racist program designed to demolish large swaths of land considered to be blighted. President Eisenhower’s Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956 saw the creation of 66,000 kilometres of interstate highways, and the displacement of over 475,000 households and 1 million people. Many of these displaced people were rehoused in low-income public housing complexes, in overcrowded, crime-ridden neighbourhoods, further exacerbating the racial and economic divides that still exist in many parts of the US today. Some highways, however, were never built, they were sometimes blocked by city government officials and in other instances by grassroots efforts involving local residents and activists. In the 1950s, the journalist and urbanist Jane Jacobs successfully led a campaign against the construction of the Lower Manhattan Expressway in New York. The plans, proposed by powerhouse public official Robert Moses would have run through what became SoHo and Little Italy, as well as Jacob’s own Greenwich Village. In Washinton DC, several groups of local citizens’ associations formed the Emergency Committee on the Transportation Crisis (ECTC) in opposition to highway development in the city. The movement, led by Reginald M. Booker and Sammie Abbott operated under the slogan “white men’s roads through black men’s homes”. It is worth noting that the success of such campaigns was due to the number of wealthier, more influential people involved in them. Whilst Jacob’s resistance to Moses’ proposal is a touching David vs. Goliath tale, the relative wealth and influence of the residents of Lower Manhattan she mobilised is not to be discounted. The ECTC, on the other hand, was a rare coalition of middle-class blacks and affluent whites from neighbouring areas; the success of the movement is due in large part to this fact. For the poorest, inner-city residents, without the wherewithal to stop the construction of highways through their neighbourhoods, these proposals were a fait accompli.
So what does the future of public-private space look? For answers, one might have to look beyond our little island. In a Parisian suburb, the Atelier d’architecture Autogérée (“studio for self-managed architecture”, A.A.A.) has claimed more than 5 km square for public use. According to its website, the citizen-run project advocates for ‘micro-political’ gestures to participate in making the city ecological and more democratic, to make the space of proximity less dependent on top-down processes and more accessible to its users. The ‘self-managed architecture’ is an architecture of relationships, processes and agencies of persons, desires, skills and know-hows. Such an architecture does not correspond to a liberal practice but asks for new forms of association and collaboration, based on exchange and reciprocity and involving all those interested, whatever is their scale. While the state of play in urban centres and beyond can feel disheartening, blueprints for more equitable ways of running a city abound if only we can commit to imagining them. Claiming tranches of land for the many rather than the few, A.A.A.’s model uses capitalism’s own logic of ownership against it – a kind of inversion of the Enclosures. Precisely where such boundaries ought to be drawn and by whom will always be contentious, but treating the public as an interested party seems a smart place to start. As of 2022, there remains 1.3 million acres of common land in the UK across more than 9,000 different registrations. Whether owned by a local authority or the National Trust, common land is def-ined by its availability for use by others; some can be camped on (with the owner’s permission), and theoretically used to graze animals too – a relic of its original intended use, stretching back to medieval times when communities held common plots for use by all. Perhaps unsurprisingly, that era of hyper-local collectivism wasn’t to last. Rumbling for centuries but at their brutal apex in the 17th and 18th, The Enclosure Acts took that shared land and used it to further enrich the already-powerful gentry. Speaking with TIME, Ingels explained that adding some solar panels on the roof and so on is all well and good, ‘but most of it is not very effective.’ However, ‘Every time you go up in scale, you can actually do more.’ What’s more, the decisive action taken globally in response to Coronavirus proved it. It’s going to take a plan as radical as BIG’s to bail us out, but so far, the world’s politicians seem a bit too pigeon-livered to deliver; the ‘existing technologies’ that could save our skin are far more likely to be used to profit from it (but in shiny, new ways!) and although the plans of today’s Starchitects can seem peacock-y, what’s far more disturbing is what you can’t see. The new plan for King’s Cross in London was widely heralded as a success, yet there was a big backlash following the revelation that facial recognition software had been used in its CCTV systems. Turns out Big Brother Was Watching Us, but they forgot to mention. A similar story unfolded when Google-backed Sidewalk Labs pledged to turn Toronto’s quayside into the most innovative district in the world. It would have used AI to analyse traffic patterns, monitor the speed of cars and attempt to prevent collisions. It proposed a smart, pneumatic rubbish collection system meaning even YOUR BINS ARE WATCHING YOU. The best-laid plans of mice and men, eh? Another political equivalent of a tongue-twister is unfolding in the Saudi desert. It’s called Neom, and the ego behind this fictional non-fiction is Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. His $500 billion desert destination includes plans for a fake moon that will light up the city at night. Alongside the plan to plant thousands of trees in the desert and restoring surrounding coral reef, a key part of the design is known as The Line – ‘a city of a million residents with a length of 170km that preserves 95% of nature within Neom, with zero cars, zero streets and zero carbon emissions’, according to HRH. It’s fair to say from satellite images of the Neom project showing just one computer-chip-sized block completed that The Line is so far just The Dot. Currently, all eyes in the climate community are waiting to see how this particular eco-city pans out. Saudi Arabia promised to increased oil production just weeks after making headline green pledges for this year’s COP26 climate conference, Neom is not without its complexities.
Indeed, what’s striking is that even the world’s most ‘futuristic’ cities share common concerns with some of humanity’s oldest. The ancient Roman world was recycling buildings millennia ago: The (pagan) Pantheon became a consecrated church in 609CE, while Hagia Sphia flipped from Christian basilica to Islamic mosque – a few minarets here, mosaics there and voila! Fast-forward to the early 20th century and you see that Le Corbusier was facing the same issues of overcrowding and pollution that we face today when envisioned his ‘Radiant City’. Just like Ebenezer Howard’s garden city movement, his idea was to build up rather than out – once again, Le Corbusier’s ‘Towers in the Park’ have not exactly aged well, with many of his high-rise buildings now situated in impoverished banlieues on the outskirts of Paris. Whether you’re building Roman aqueducts or experimenting with cutting-edge desalination techniques (in the case of Neom), conserving water has always been a challenge confronting great urban planners and imaginaries.
Collectivist — Each six to eight minute episode clearly telegraphs the message that there is no inevitable direct correlation between size and quality of life. In this world, spaces serve double duty as beds, dining tables, sofas and even staircases fold away when not in use. And so, a kitchen becomes a work station, a bedroom flips into a yoga studio. Clerestories bring light into internal bathrooms. A mezzanine floor can be built into a small but high-ceilinged room. Washing machines in a co-housing development are relocated into a communal laundry room, and rooftops converted into large outdoor living spaces where apartment owners can gather to party, meditate, work and socialise. On a human level, these are important reflections because they amply demonstrate that, yes, whilst a mindset adjustment is required, it’s actually not that difficult to live well in a small(er) home. On a macro-level, they are a timely reminder that the uncontrolled urban sprawl that bedevils almost every single one of the world’s 21st-century metropolises need not necessarily be this way. This reminder is important because by 2050, seven out of ten people in the world will live in a city, an extraordinary statistic by any metric, never mind the amount of resources that must consume. To literally make room for everyone, the temptation is to just push out beyond existing city boundaries. But as Never Too Small points out, this comes at enormous cost. For far-sighted city architects like Rob Adams, who is Melbourne’s City Architect, the mission is to build along existing infrastructure and within current boundaries. For every one million people you keep within extant boundaries, you will save A$110b in new infrastructure costs. Which means that making do with what we already have - abandoned inner-city warehouses and factories in Boston, and under-utilised shophouses in Singapore, for instance - becomes key. This is certainly not an invitation for developers to continue to churn out expensive but meanly sized cookie-cutter accommodation - the windowless dorms of Munger Hall for UC Santa Barbara students spring to mind here - but rather, it is an opportunity to increase the quality of a development within existing housing stock without sacrificing the humanity of its residents. All of which brings us back full circle to the original question, though lightly amended to account for our mental health and connection to our wider community: “How much space do we need to live well?” The answer may be: “Much less than you think.” Divided by Highways - Since the Roman times, the efficient construction of good straight roads has been equated with civlised society. Do they really lead to a better world? The highways that sprung up in major Western cities in the latter half of the 20th century were seen as a mark of progress, however, they left a legacy of displacement and destruction in their wake. Nowhere is this more evident than in the US, where the extensive network of highways that characterises so much of its landscape tore through the inner-cities throughout the country. On its surface the benefits of these highways were obvious, they would facilitate the movement of goods and services between rural and urban areas in the country, connect suburbanites to vital places of work and leisure in the city centres, and generally reduce traffic.
At the time, Spiegelhalters had been based at Number 75, & had been there since the 1880s. Wickham had asked to expand, Spiegelhalters’ agreed and moving into number 81. The ancient Roman world was recycling buildings millennia ago: The (pagan) Pantheon became a consecrated church in 609CE, while Hagia Sphia flipped from Christian basilica to Islamic mosque – a few minarets here, mosaics there and voila! Fast-forward to the early 20th century and you see that Le Corbusier was facing the same issues of overcrowding and pollution that we face today when envisioned his ‘Radiant City’. Just like Ebenezer Howard’s garden city movement, his idea was to build up rather than out – once again, Le Corbusier’s ‘Towers in the Park’ have not exactly aged well, with many of his high-rise buildings now situated in impoverished banlieues on the outskirts of Paris. Whether you’re building Roman aqueducts or experimenting with cutting-edge desalination techniques (in the case of Neom), conserving water has always been a challenge confronting great urban planners and imaginaries. Similarly, public transport, sustainable energy sources, green spaces, and waste management are issues that have been faced by generations of architects. When we are feeding the cows seaweed and drones are planting trees and our Big Tech oligarchs are flying around space in phallic symbols, we will always need people who dare to dream even bigger than them – or at least better. Of course, when one dreams of paradise, you can’t help but simultaneously dream up its shitty cousin Dystopia. But as Oscar Wild said, ‘A map of the world that does not include Utopia is not worth even glancing at, for it leaves out the one country at which Humanity is always it’s not designed for long term stays, but what’s it like to do extended time in the strange non-place that is the airport terminal? At the airport, normal rules seem suspended. Travellers from every corner of the world nap under coats and roam corridors, respecting no discernible shared clock – rather, diverse internal ones. Have a pint of beer with breakfast; buy trinkets that would normally seem superfluous; beneath those fluorescent lights bathing vast terminals, each more anodyne than the last, anything goes.. As part of his theorisation of ‘supermodernity’, anthropologist Marc Augé described airports – along with shopping malls, motorways and hotel rooms – as ‘non-places’: anonymous blanknesses where our normal means of relating to one another cease. And while airports aren’t technically lawless, parts of them are indeed subject to different restrictions and requirements than the countries they’re located in. The most familiar example of those legal loopholes is the duty-free hall, where retailers entice sleep-deprived shoppers with tax-less prices; less well known but more consequential are rules regarding immigration. While other laws of the country in question (regarding possession of controlled substances, for instance) continue to apply throughout airports, visa and customs requirements are often suspended to permit international transfers. So if the tunnel connecting plane to port feels interminable, purgatorial, that’s because it is. Known as sterile zones, those liminal areas arguably represent a non-place within a non-place – and in these no-mans-lands, people can pause almost indefinitely. Whether awaiting diplomatic process, like Edward Snowden who spent 39 days in Moscow airport’s transit area after fleeing the US in 2013, or simply blending in with the crowd to make use of the facilities, many well-documented people (and countless other anonymous ones) have spent considerable stretches in airports.
ATELIER ARCHITECTURE AUTOGÉRÉE (ABR A.A.A) Similar plans for large scale transport infrastructure projects were made in the UK and were either only partially completed, or wholly abandoned. Sir Patrick Abercombrie’s wartime proposal to build highways surrounding London were developed twenty years later by the Greater London Council into the London Ringways Plan. It proposed four concentric rings of motorway surrounding the capital, connecting a series of radial roads directing traffic in and out of the city. Only some piecemeal construction was completed before the plans quickly proved to be too expensive and widely unpopular. The portions of Ringways 3 and 4 that were built were stitched together to form what is today the M25. The North and South Circular roads are also a pared back version of what was to be Ringway 2. Ringway 1, the innermost ring road too was only partially built, the East Cross Route and the Westway are the only parts of the original route that exist today. In each instance, plans to fully realise these roads, or to link them to wider road networks were met with fierce local resistance, some successful, others not. In the late 1960s, the South Cross Route - which was to be the southern portion of Ringway 1 - was intended to run from Battersea in southwest London through the centre of Brixton in the south. The local community was spared this destruction as opposition from various quarters led the GLC to abandon the project. Several years later, the M11 protest of the late 1990s was a campaign against the link road designed to connect traffic from the East Cross Route (A12) in Hackney Wick, East London further east to the M11 via Leyton and Redbridge. Local residents and groups such as the Link Road Action Group rose up in resistance, even members of neighbouring and outside communities travelled to the area in solidarity with the movement. The protesters engaged in demonstrations, and occupied several key buildings on the proposed route of the development. Unfortunately this was not enough to stop the construction and the motorway went on to be built as planned, opening in 1999. However the high profile of the demonstrations, and the increased costs of construction and of curtailing the protesters changed British attitudes towards motorway building and led to the review and cancellation of several other schemes elsewhere in the country. An alternative form of resistance to highway construction can be seen in the local response to the construction of the Westway, the 4km portion of the A40 motorway running from White City to Marylebone and elevated over the Paddington and Notting Hill neighbourhoods in West London. The motorway brought noise, disruption and pollution to an already deprived community and created 23 acres of derelict land underneath. Following its construction in 1970, a network of community action groups formed in response to campaign for better housing and adequate open spaces in the area. These group eventually coalesced into the Westway Trust, a network of community groups and residents’ associations who in partnership with the local authority, manage the 23 acres of land under the flyover. The trust operates sports facilities, offers education and training programmes, promotes arts and culture, and provides space and development opportunities to individuals, businesses, and charities.
As part of his theorisation of ‘supermodernity’, anthropologist Marc Augé described airports – along with shopping malls, motorways and hotel rooms – as ‘non-places’: anonymous blanknesses where our normal means of relating to one another cease. And while airports aren’t technically lawless, parts of them are indeed subject to different restrictions and requirements than the countries they’re located in. The most familiar example of those legal loopholes is the duty-free hall, where retailers entice sleep-deprived shoppers with tax-less prices; less well known but more consequential are rules regarding immigration. While other laws of the country in question (regarding possession of controlled substances, for instance) continue to apply throughout airports, visa and customs requirements are often suspended to permit international transfers. So if the tunnel connecting plane to port feels interminable, purgatorial, that’s because it is. Known as sterile zones, those liminal areas arguably represent a non-place within a non-place – and in these no-mans-lands, people can pause almost indefinitely. Whether awaiting diplomatic process, like Edward Snowden who spent 39 days in Moscow airport’s transit area after fleeing the US in 2013, or simply blending in with the crowd to make use of the facilities, many well-documented people (and countless other anonymous ones) have spent considerable stretches in airports. Airport Alumni: Complete with places of worship and police forces as well as cafes and bathrooms, airports cater for every basic need – food, shelter, water – while addressing none of a human being’s more profound requirements. Of course, that’s no problem for most visitors, whose stays last hours at most – but how about the select few who settle in for the longest of long hauls, by choice or necessity? Without community or personal fulfilment, how long can a person last in these cultural-deserts-cum-miniature-villages? Well, the answer might surprise. Perhaps most famous of all airport residents, Mehran Karimi Nasseri inspired Stephen Spielberg’s film The Terminal after spending a full 18 years in Paris Charles de Gaulle. After losing his immigration papers in transit, unable to either officially enter or leave France, Nasseri was plunged into a bureaucratic stalemate of Kafkan proportions. With no option but to wait for its resolution, he might never have left the airport at all had he not been hospitalised in July 2006 – nearly two decades after he arrived in 1988. While Nasseri sought to leave the airport, others slip in deliberately: in January 2021, the ebb and flow of Chicago International O’Hare airport turned up 36-year-old Aditya Singh. While it emerged that Singh had been living in the airport’s secure side since October 2020, he was only noticed once the post-December holiday rush (and coronavirus surge) impacted traveller numbers; until then, he had been quietly making use of the bathrooms, entreating strangers to buy him food, and sleeping in the terminals. Like countless other homeless individuals, Singh made use of an airport as form of shelter. Back in 1986, the Chicago Tribune wrote about a comparable case – that of former accountant Fred Dilsner, who had managed a full year in the city’s airport. Even then, Dilsner was far from alone; the report estimated 30-50 individuals living in the building at the time, with the number projected to climb to 200 that winter. An airport’s anonymity might be off-putting for anthropologists like Augé, but it’s invaluable for those seeking to fly under the radar – and while some turn to cavernous terminals for shelter when they have no other choice, others actively seek out their unique combination of contextless and convenience. Wei Jianguo, for instance, has been living in Beijing Capital International Airport since 2008. Following an argument with his wife about his drinking nearly 14 years ago, Wei packed up and headed to the local airport where he remains to this day. And while authorities have asked Wei to leave, he’s thus far held out in his campaign to avoid returning to his family home. In 2018, he told China Daily that in order to move back in, he’d have to quit the drinking and smoking that caused the inciting argument all those years ago – meanwhile, at the airport, Wei can largely do as he pleases. Equipped with a mobile stove and blankets for sleeping, his unique set-up seems satisfactory as well as surprisingly stable. The Airport Test: While Augé’s idea of the airport as a non-place is widely applicable, what about the individuals for whom airports mean something different altogether?

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Sociotype Journal Issue #3:
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EDITION OF 1,500 COPIES
220 PAGES • 210 x 275 MM
ISSN 2754-7698

SECTION SEWN, PRINTED IN 4 COLOURS
+ 2 FLUORESCENT PANTONES

DESIGNED AND PRINTED IN THE UK
ON FSC AND RECYCLED PAPERS BY FEDRIGONI & SAPPI