下載App 希平方
攻其不背
App 開放下載中
下載App 希平方
攻其不背
App 開放下載中
IE版本不足
您的瀏覽器停止支援了😢使用最新 Edge 瀏覽器或點選連結下載 Google Chrome 瀏覽器 前往下載

免費註冊
! 這組帳號已經註冊過了
Email 帳號
密碼請填入 6 位數以上密碼
已經有帳號了?
忘記密碼
! 這組帳號已經註冊過了
您的 Email
請輸入您註冊時填寫的 Email,
我們將會寄送設定新密碼的連結給您。
寄信了!請到信箱打開密碼連結信
密碼信已寄至
沒有收到信嗎?
如果您尚未收到信,請前往垃圾郵件查看,謝謝!

恭喜您註冊成功!

查看會員功能

註冊未完成

《HOPE English 希平方》服務條款關於個人資料收集與使用之規定

隱私權政策
上次更新日期:2014-12-30

希平方 為一英文學習平台,我們每天固定上傳優質且豐富的影片內容,讓您不但能以有趣的方式學習英文,還能增加內涵,豐富知識。我們非常注重您的隱私,以下說明為當您使用我們平台時,我們如何收集、使用、揭露、轉移及儲存你的資料。請您花一些時間熟讀我們的隱私權做法,我們歡迎您的任何疑問或意見,提供我們將產品、服務、內容、廣告做得更好。

本政策涵蓋的內容包括:希平方學英文 如何處理蒐集或收到的個人資料。
本隱私權保護政策只適用於: 希平方學英文 平台,不適用於非 希平方學英文 平台所有或控制的公司,也不適用於非 希平方學英文 僱用或管理之人。

個人資料的收集與使用
當您註冊 希平方學英文 平台時,我們會詢問您姓名、電子郵件、出生日期、職位、行業及個人興趣等資料。在您註冊完 希平方學英文 帳號並登入我們的服務後,我們就能辨認您的身分,讓您使用更完整的服務,或參加相關宣傳、優惠及贈獎活動。希平方學英文 也可能從商業夥伴或其他公司處取得您的個人資料,並將這些資料與 希平方學英文 所擁有的您的個人資料相結合。

我們所收集的個人資料, 將用於通知您有關 希平方學英文 最新產品公告、軟體更新,以及即將發生的事件,也可用以協助改進我們的服務。

我們也可能使用個人資料為內部用途。例如:稽核、資料分析、研究等,以改進 希平方公司 產品、服務及客戶溝通。

瀏覽資料的收集與使用
希平方學英文 自動接收並記錄您電腦和瀏覽器上的資料,包括 IP 位址、希平方學英文 cookie 中的資料、軟體和硬體屬性以及您瀏覽的網頁紀錄。

隱私權政策修訂
我們會不定時修正與變更《隱私權政策》,不會在未經您明確同意的情況下,縮減本《隱私權政策》賦予您的權利。隱私權政策變更時一律會在本頁發佈;如果屬於重大變更,我們會提供更明顯的通知 (包括某些服務會以電子郵件通知隱私權政策的變更)。我們還會將本《隱私權政策》的舊版加以封存,方便您回顧。

服務條款
歡迎您加入看 ”希平方學英文”
上次更新日期:2013-09-09

歡迎您加入看 ”希平方學英文”
感謝您使用我們的產品和服務(以下簡稱「本服務」),本服務是由 希平方學英文 所提供。
本服務條款訂立的目的,是為了保護會員以及所有使用者(以下稱會員)的權益,並構成會員與本服務提供者之間的契約,在使用者完成註冊手續前,應詳細閱讀本服務條款之全部條文,一旦您按下「註冊」按鈕,即表示您已知悉、並完全同意本服務條款的所有約定。如您是法律上之無行為能力人或限制行為能力人(如未滿二十歲之未成年人),則您在加入會員前,請將本服務條款交由您的法定代理人(如父母、輔助人或監護人)閱讀,並得到其同意,您才可註冊及使用 希平方學英文 所提供之會員服務。當您開始使用 希平方學英文 所提供之會員服務時,則表示您的法定代理人(如父母、輔助人或監護人)已經閱讀、了解並同意本服務條款。 我們可能會修改本條款或適用於本服務之任何額外條款,以(例如)反映法律之變更或本服務之變動。您應定期查閱本條款內容。這些條款如有修訂,我們會在本網頁發佈通知。變更不會回溯適用,並將於公布變更起十四天或更長時間後方始生效。不過,針對本服務新功能的變更,或基於法律理由而為之變更,將立即生效。如果您不同意本服務之修訂條款,則請停止使用該本服務。

第三人網站的連結 本服務或協力廠商可能會提供連結至其他網站或網路資源的連結。您可能會因此連結至其他業者經營的網站,但不表示希平方學英文與該等業者有任何關係。其他業者經營的網站均由各該業者自行負責,不屬希平方學英文控制及負責範圍之內。

兒童及青少年之保護 兒童及青少年上網已經成為無可避免之趨勢,使用網際網路獲取知識更可以培養子女的成熟度與競爭能力。然而網路上的確存有不適宜兒童及青少年接受的訊息,例如色情與暴力的訊息,兒童及青少年有可能因此受到心靈與肉體上的傷害。因此,為確保兒童及青少年使用網路的安全,並避免隱私權受到侵犯,家長(或監護人)應先檢閱各該網站是否有保護個人資料的「隱私權政策」,再決定是否同意提出相關的個人資料;並應持續叮嚀兒童及青少年不可洩漏自己或家人的任何資料(包括姓名、地址、電話、電子郵件信箱、照片、信用卡號等)給任何人。

為了維護 希平方學英文 網站安全,我們需要您的協助:

您承諾絕不為任何非法目的或以任何非法方式使用本服務,並承諾遵守中華民國相關法規及一切使用網際網路之國際慣例。您若係中華民國以外之使用者,並同意遵守所屬國家或地域之法令。您同意並保證不得利用本服務從事侵害他人權益或違法之行為,包括但不限於:
A. 侵害他人名譽、隱私權、營業秘密、商標權、著作權、專利權、其他智慧財產權及其他權利;
B. 違反依法律或契約所應負之保密義務;
C. 冒用他人名義使用本服務;
D. 上載、張貼、傳輸或散佈任何含有電腦病毒或任何對電腦軟、硬體產生中斷、破壞或限制功能之程式碼之資料;
E. 干擾或中斷本服務或伺服器或連結本服務之網路,或不遵守連結至本服務之相關需求、程序、政策或規則等,包括但不限於:使用任何設備、軟體或刻意規避看 希平方學英文 - 看 YouTube 學英文 之排除自動搜尋之標頭 (robot exclusion headers);

服務中斷或暫停
本公司將以合理之方式及技術,維護會員服務之正常運作,但有時仍會有無法預期的因素導致服務中斷或故障等現象,可能將造成您使用上的不便、資料喪失、錯誤、遭人篡改或其他經濟上損失等情形。建議您於使用本服務時宜自行採取防護措施。 希平方學英文 對於您因使用(或無法使用)本服務而造成的損害,除故意或重大過失外,不負任何賠償責任。

版權宣告
上次更新日期:2013-09-16

希平方學英文 內所有資料之著作權、所有權與智慧財產權,包括翻譯內容、程式與軟體均為 希平方學英文 所有,須經希平方學英文同意合法才得以使用。
希平方學英文歡迎你分享網站連結、單字、片語、佳句,使用時須標明出處,並遵守下列原則:

  • 禁止用於獲取個人或團體利益,或從事未經 希平方學英文 事前授權的商業行為
  • 禁止用於政黨或政治宣傳,或暗示有支持某位候選人
  • 禁止用於非希平方學英文認可的產品或政策建議
  • 禁止公佈或傳送任何誹謗、侮辱、具威脅性、攻擊性、不雅、猥褻、不實、色情、暴力、違反公共秩序或善良風俗或其他不法之文字、圖片或任何形式的檔案
  • 禁止侵害或毀損希平方學英文或他人名譽、隱私權、營業秘密、商標權、著作權、專利權、其他智慧財產權及其他權利、違反法律或契約所應付支保密義務
  • 嚴禁謊稱希平方學英文辦公室、職員、代理人或發言人的言論背書,或作為募款的用途

網站連結
歡迎您分享 希平方學英文 網站連結,與您的朋友一起學習英文。

抱歉傳送失敗!

不明原因問題造成傳送失敗,請儘速與我們聯繫!
希平方 x ICRT

「Liz Ogbu:若能以治癒取代淘汰,中產階級化會有何等光景?」- What If Gentrification Was about Healing Communities Instead of Displacing Them?

觀看次數:2264  • 

框選或點兩下字幕可以直接查字典喔!

I grew up in a family of social scientists, but I was the weird child who drew.

From making sketches of the models in my mom's Sears catalog...to a bedroom so full of my craft projects that it was like my own personal art gallery, I lived to make. I don't think anyone in my family was surprised when I became an architect. But to be honest with you, the real foundation of the architect I became was not laid in that bedroom art gallery but by the conversations around my family's dinner table. There were stories of how people lived and connected to one another, from the impact of urban migration on a village in Zambia to the complex health care needs of the homeless in the streets of San Francisco.

Now, it would be fair if you're looking over at your seatmate and wondering, "What the hell does that have to do with architecture?" Well, all of these stories involved space and how it did or didn't accommodate us. The fact is, we share some of our deepest connections in physical space. And our stories play out, even in this crazy age of texting and tweeting, in physical space. Unfortunately, architecture hasn't done a great job of telling all of our stories equally. Too often, we see the building of monuments like the Gherkin or even Trump Tower...

that tell the story of the haves rather than the have-nots. Throughout my career, I've actively resisted the practice of building monuments to certain peoples' stories—usually white, male, rich—and bulldozing other peoples' stories—usually people of color from low-income communities. I've tried to create a practice that is rooted in elevating the stories of those who have most often been silenced. That work—it's been a mission in spatial justice.

Now, spatial justice means that we understand that justice has a geography, and that the equitable distribution of resources, services and access is a basic human right. So what does spatial justice look like? Well, I'd like to share a story with you.

For years, I've been working in the historically African-American neighborhood of Bayview Hunters Point in San Francisco, on a plot of land that once held a power plant. Back in the '90s, a community group led by mothers who lived in the public housing on the hill above the plant fought for its closure. They won. The utility company finally tore it down, cleaned the soil and capped most of the site with asphalt so that the clean soil wouldn't blow away.

Sounds like a success story, right? Well, not so fast. You see, because of various issues like land entitlements, lease agreements, etc., the land actually couldn't be redeveloped for at least five to 10 years. What that meant is that this community that had been living near a power plant for decades, now had 30 acres of asphalt in their backyard. To put that in context for you, 30 acres is equal to about 30 football fields. Now, the utility company didn't want to be the bad guy here. Recognizing that they owed the community, they actually put out a call for designers to propose temporary uses for this site, hoping to turn it into a community benefit rather than blight.

I'm part of the diverse team of designers that responded to that call, and for the last four years, we've been collaborating with those mothers and other residents, as well as local organizations and the utility company. We've been experimenting with all types of events to try and address issues of spatial justice. Everything from job training workshops to an annual circus to even a beautiful, new shoreline trail. In the four years that we've been operational, over 12,000 people have come and done something on this site that we hope has transformed their relationship to it. But lately, I'm starting to realize that events are not enough.

A few months ago, there was a community meeting in this neighborhood. The utility company was finally ready to talk concretely about long-term redevelopment. That meeting was kind of a disaster. There was a lot of yelling and anger. People asked things like, "If you're going to sell it to a developer, wouldn't they just build luxury condos like everyone else?" And "Where has the city been?" "Why aren't there more jobs and resources in this neighborhood?"

It was not that our events had failed to bring joy. But in spite of that, there was still pain here. Pain from a history of environmental injustice that left many industrial uses in this neighborhood, leaving residents living near toxic waste and, literally, shit. There's pain from the fact that this zip code still has one of the lowest per capita income, highest unemployment and highest incarceration rates in a city which tech giants like Twitter, Airbnb and Uber call home. And those tech companies—hm—they've actually helped to trigger a gentrification push that is rapidly redefining this neighborhood, both in terms of identity and population.

Now let me pause for a moment to talk about gentrification. I suspect for a lot of us, it's kind of like a dirty word. It's become synonymous with the displacement of poor residents from their neighborhood by wealthier newcomers. If you've ever been displaced, then you know the agony of losing a place that held your story. And if you haven't experienced this, then I'm going to ask you to try and imagine your way into it right now. Think about what it would be like to find your favorite local spot, a place where you often went and hung out with the old-timers or your friends, had vanished. And then you get home, and you find a letter from your landlord, saying that your rent's been doubled. The choice to stay—it's not yours to make. You no longer belong in your home. And know that this feeling you're feeling right now, it would be the same regardless of whether or not the person who harmed you meant to do so. Developer Majora Carter once said to me, "Poor people don't hate gentrification. They just hate that they rarely get to hang around long enough to enjoy its benefits."

Why is it that we treat culture erasure and economic displacement as inevitable? We could approach development with an acknowledgment of past injustices—find value not only in those new stories but the old ones, too. And make a commitment to build people's capacity to stay—to stay in their homes, to stay in their communities, to stay where they feel whole.

But to do this rethink, it requires looking at those past injustices and the pain and grief that is interwoven into them. And as I started to reflect on my own work, I realized that pain and grief have been recurring themes. I heard it early on in the Bayview Hunters Point project when a man named Daryl said, "We've always been set aside like an island—a no-man's-land." I also heard it in Houston, when I was working on a project with day laborers. And as Juan told me stories of being robbed of his wages many times on the corner in which he stood every day to earn a living to support his family, he asked, "Why can't anyone see the sacredness of this site?"

You know, you've seen the pain, too. From campaigns around statue removals in Charlottesville and New Orleans...to towns that have lost their industrial lifeblood and are now dying, like Lorain, Ohio and Bolton, England. We often rush to remake these places, thinking that we can ease their pain. But in our boundless desire to do good, to get past all of our mistakes, to build places that hold possibility, we often maintain a blissful ignorance of a landscape filled with a very long trail of broken promises and squelched dreams. We are building on top of brokenness. Is it any wonder that the foundations cannot hold?

Holding space for pain and grief was never part of my job description as an architect—after all, it's not expedient, focused on beauty, and hell, even requested by my clients. But I've seen what happens when there's space for pain. It can be transformational.

Returning to our story, when we first started working in the neighborhood, one of the first things we did was go out and interview the activists who had led the fight to close the plant. We consistently heard and felt from them a sense of impending loss. The neighborhood was already changing, even back then. People were leaving or dying of old age, and with those departures, stories were being lost. To those activists, no one was going to know the amazing things that had happened in this community, because to everyone on the outside, it was the ghetto. At worst, a place of violence; at best, a blank slate. Neither was true, of course. So my colleagues and I, we reached out to StoryCorps. And with their support, and that of the utility company, we built a listening booth on our site. And we invited the residents to come and have their stories recorded for posterity. After a few days of recording, we held a listening party where we played clips, much like what you hear on NPR every Friday morning.

That party—it was one of the most amazing community meetings I've ever been a part of. In part because we didn't just talk about joy but also pain. Two stories that I remember well—AJ talked about what it was like to grow up in the neighborhood. There was always a kid to play with. But he also spoke with sadness of what it was like to first be stopped and questioned by a police officer when he was 11. GL also talked about the kids, and the ups and downs of the experience of living in this neighborhood, but he also spoke with pride of some of the organizations that had sprung up to provide support and empowerment. He wanted to see more of that. By holding space to first express pain and grief, we were then able to brainstorm ideas for a site—amazing ideas that then became the seeds of what we did over the next four years.

So why the radically different meeting now? Well...the pain and grief woven into these spaces was not created in a day. Healing also takes time. After all, who here thinks you can go to therapy just once and be cured?

Anyone? I didn't think so. In retrospect, I wish that we had held more listening sessions, not just joyful events. My work's taken me all over the world, and I have yet to set foot in a place where pain didn't exist and the potential for healing was absent. So while I've spent my career honing my skills as an architect, I realize that I'm now also a healer.

I suppose this is the point in the talk where I should be telling you those five steps to healing, but I don't have the solution—yet. Just a path. That being said, there are a few things I have learned along the way.

First—we cannot create cities for everyone unless we're first willing to listen to everyone. Not just about what they hope to see built in the future but also about what has been lost or unfulfilled. Second—healing is not just for "those people." For those of us with privilege, we have to have a reckoning with our own guilt, discomfort and complicity. As non-profit leader Anne Marks once observed, "Hurt people hurt people; healed people heal people." And third—healing is not about the erasure of pain. We often have a tendency to want to put a clean slate over our pain, much like that asphalt on the soil in Bayview Hunters Point. But it doesn't work that way. Healing is about acknowledging pain and making peace with it.

One of my favorite quotes says that healing renews our faith in the process of becoming. I stand here before you as an architect-healer because I'm ready to see what I can become, what my community and those that I work with can become, and what this country, and frankly, this world can become. And I was not meant to take that journey alone. I believe that many of you are unhappy with the way that things are now. Believe that it can be different. I believe that you all are far more resilient than you think. But the first step requires courage. The courage to see each other's pain, and to be willing to stay in the presence of it, even when it gets uncomfortable. Just imagine the change that we can make together if we all committed to that.

Thank you.

播放本句

登入使用學習功能

使用Email登入

HOPE English 播放器使用小提示

  • 功能簡介

    單句重覆、重複上一句、重複下一句:以句子為單位重覆播放,單句重覆鍵顯示綠色時為重覆播放狀態;顯示白色時為正常播放狀態。按重複上一句、重複下一句時就會自動重覆播放該句。
    收錄佳句:點擊可增減想收藏的句子。

    中、英文字幕開關:中、英文字幕按鍵為綠色為開啟,灰色為關閉。鼓勵大家搞懂每一句的內容以後,關上字幕聽聽看,會發現自己好像在聽中文說故事一樣,會很有成就感喔!
    收錄單字:框選英文單字可以收藏不會的單字。
  • 分享
    如果您有收錄很優秀的句子時,可以分享佳句給大家,一同看佳句學英文!