TDSR VOLUME XV NUMBER I 2003
Inbal Ben-Asher Gitler has taught history of modern art and design in the Department of Art History at Tel-Aviv University and Holon Institute of Technology in Israel.  She is currently a Ph.D. candidate at Tel-Aviv University.
“Marrying Modern Progress with Treasured Antiquity”: Jerusalem City Plans during the British Mandate, 1917–1948
INBAL BEN-ASHER GITLER
British Mandatory schemes for developing Jerusalem have seldom been examined in the con­
text of theories of colonial urban planning. In this article I show that the British approach to
designing new urban schemes for Jerusalem deviated from the norms and concepts imple­
mented in colonial cities. I examine three official British Mandatory publications that present­
ed comprehensive urban programs for Jerusalem, comparing them to aspects of colonial city
planning. Consequently, I interpret the plans as a renegotiation of Jerusalem’s contested space,
a renegotiation that erased controversy and subtly promoted an image of British supremacy.
Palestine for most of us was an emotion rather than a reality.
— C.R. Ashbee, 19231

On December 9, 1917, British forces conquered Jerusalem, ending four hundred years of Ottoman rule in the city.  The British immediately initiated a long-term urban planning project with two distinctive goals: preserving the walled Holy City’s historic sites, which hold immense religious significance for Judaism, Christianity and Islam; and transform­ing Jerusalem into a modern city.
This article deals with the urban schemes devised during the thirty years of the British
Mandate in Palestine, concentrating on the 1922 plan formulated by Charles Robert Ashbee
(1863–1942) and the 1944 plan by Henry Kendall (b. 1903).  Ashbee served as Civic Adviser
between 1918–1922, during the years of British military administration in Palestine and
shortly after the beginning of the Mandate.  Kendall served as Government Town Planner in
Palestine from 1935 until 1948, the year Britain’s Palestine Mandate ended.  The plans dis­
cussed here form an integral part of three official British publications dealing with various
aspects of town planning in Jerusalem.  These are Jerusalem 1918–1920: Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council during the Period of the British Military Administration, published in 1921; Jerusalem 1920–1922: Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council during the First Two Years of the Civil Administration, published in 1924; and Jerusalem: The City Plan, Preservation and Development during the British Mandate 1918–1948, by Henry Kendall, published in 1948.2 The fact that no less than three extensive and lavishly illustrated pub­lications dedicated to British town plans for Jerusalem were put forth during those years attests to the importance the British placed on caring for Jerusalem and developing it.
Although these plans have been reviewed in geographi­cal/urban histories of Jerusalem, much has yet to be revealed about their meaning and their relationship to the cultural and political complexities of the period. In this article I explore the British approach to urban planning in Jerusalem as reflected in these official publications.
Recent studies of the British enterprise with regard to the built environment of Jerusalem have taken for granted that the colonial conditions existing in other cities of the British Empire can be transcribed to Palestine.  For example, although Fuchs and Herbert acknowledged that Palestine was “not defined as a colony,” they entitled their work “A Colonial Portrait of Jerusalem.” Emphasizing that Palestine was “administered by the colonial office,”
 they defined the Mandate-era architecture of Charles Robert Ashbee, Austen St. Barb Harrison, and Clifford Holliday as “colonial regional­ism.”3 Likewise, in a dissertation entitled “British Planners in Palestine, 1918–1936,” which provides a comprehensive study of urban plans for many of the cities developed in Palestine during the Mandate, Hyman stated there is “an a-priori case for considering Palestine within the colonial planning con­text.” Yet, though he questioned the appropriateness of apply­ing the term “colonial urban planning” to Mandate-era Palestine, he did not pursue the question in any depth.4
As noted by Hyman, a thorough methodological compar­ison between Jerusalem and cities in other British colonies — or even colonies of other European powers, such as France — would be required to fully understand the distinction.5 In this article, I do not attempt such a detailed comparison. Rather, I present a more conceptual analysis of official British plans for
Jerusalem in relation to contemporary research on colonial
urbanism. In this respect, it is important to see the mandate system as a hybrid form of foreign rul
e, historically parallel to emerging processes of decolonization. And consequently, I
suggest that, rather than using the term “colonial” to discuss the British urban plans for Jerusalem, it would be more accu­rate to use the term “mandatory.”
EARLY TWENTIETH-CENTURY JERUSALEM
Jerusalem is situated on a plateau in the midst of a mountain region, about 800 meters (2600 ft.) above sea level. Its topography is characterized by rocky hills. In the heyday of Ottoman rule, from the mid-1800s, it experienced rapid growth in population.6 The layout of Jerusalem’s walled Old City resembled the casbahs of other Middle Eastern cities, with densely built neighborhoods and narrow streets.  But at the end of the nineteenth century and beginning of the twentieth, new residential neighborhoods and areas of commerce were constructed outside its ancient walls. These developments were comparable to contemporary transformations of Damascus, Cairo and Baghdad.7 Yet, unlike these other cities, Jerusalem had a unique socio-cultural makeup, stemming from its function as the center for the three monotheistic reli­gions. This led to a historic division of the Old City into four quarters: Jewish, Christian, Armenian (Christian), and Muslim.  Three prominent historical holy sites dictated the quarters’ locations: the Muslim quarter was adjacent to the Dome of the Rock and the Haram; the Christian and Armenian quarters developed around the Holy Sepulchre; and the Jewish quarter lay near the Wailing Wall.
Within this overall division of the city according to religion, there existed a further sectionalization of urban space according to subculture — such as in the Christian community between Arabs, Greek Orthodox, Catholics, and numerous monastic orders. Among the Muslim population, sectional division usu­ally accorded to family and clan ties. The Jewish population was divided into Sephardic, Ashkenazi, and other groups.  At the time of the British Mandate, Jews comprised the majority of Jerusalem’s population.8 After World War I, Zionist Jews immi­grating from Europe quickly became the major and most influ­ential group in the city.9 They were perceived as a threat by the Arab population because of their aspiration to make Palestine a national home for the Jews.  Orthodox Jews likewise perceived the Zionists, with their secular European culture, as a threat.
Similar to the sectional structure of the Old City, new neighborhoods outside Jerusalem’s walls for the most part developed according to existing patterns of religious and sub­cultural affiliation.  Thus, the multicultural and multireligious character of the city deeply affected its existing urban layout and architecture at the beginning of the Mandate period.10
The final decades of Ottoman rule were also character­ized by a growing European presence in the city, manifest in grand architectural projects for churches, hospitals, missions and consulates. The European powers saw their presence in the city as involving more than just a religious mission, and their efforts to establish a political presence led to competi­tion for the best plots of land and ever more ostentatious dis­plays of architecture.11 In discussing British building projects of the period in Jerusalem, Mark Crinson has used the terms “surrogate colonialism” and “informal imperialism,” which
are apt descriptors of this phenomenon in general.12
BRITISH URBAN PLANNING IN JERUSALEM: EARLY INITIATIVES
For the British Empire, whose armies conquered Palestine during the final stages of World War I, control of Jerusalem was part of a “package deal” involving the postwar dissection of the remains of the Ottoman Empire.13 The British both aspired to retain a hold on Palestine for strategic considerations and coveted Jerusalem for its religious signifi­cance.14 Upon entering the city in 1917, General Edmund Allenby declared military rule there, and thereafter the city became the seat of British government in the region.
One of the clearest indications of the deep tie the British felt toward Jerusalem was their sense of urgency in gaining control of its physical environment. Shortly after its occupa­tion, Ronald Storrs (1881–1955), the new military governor, issued an edict intended to prevent alteration or destruction of monuments within the walled Old City and the area immediately surrounding it. The edict declared, “No person shall demolish, erect, alter or repair the structure of any building in the city of Jerusalem or its environs within a radius of 2,500 meters from the Damascus gate . . . until he has obtained a written permit from the Military Governor.”15
This imperative eventually formed the basis for a more complete system of building regulation for the Holy City. Writing in 1948, Henry Kendall attempted to convey the urgency of this preservation mission at the time:
The enemy was still on the Nablus-Jordan valley line
astride the centre of Palestine when Allenby asked the then
City Engineer, Alexandria [Mr. William Mclean], to come
to Jerusalem and report and advise upon what measures
should be taken to institute the necessary control of build­
ing operations and town development, keeping in view the
architectural traditions of Jerusalem and the importance
of preserving its historic monuments.16
To the British, the Old City was above all a space of religious practice and historical significance, and they viewed their charge as being to enhance preservation within its walls, while promot­ing development of a modern city outside them. However, as long as Jerusalem was under military administration, and as long as Britain’s hold on Palestine was unrecognized, some form of administrative method was needed to implement such urban plans. Thus, in 1918 Storrs established a society, or council, to advise him on urban development mattes.17 Named the Pro-Jerusalem Society, its function was to partake in decisions pertain­ing to city planning, and to some extent assist with their implementation and funding. The society’s declared goal was the “preservation and advancement of the interests of Jerusalem, its district and inhabitants. . . .”18 Among other things, this meant preserving antiquities, developing modern urban cultural functions such as museums, libraries, theaters, etc., and foster­ing the education and welfare of the city’s inhabitants.
The society was comprised of representatives of most of the religious sects and national groups in the city, as well as archae­ologists, historians and architects.  In his memoirs, an optimistic Storrs supplied a long list of the society’s participants:
I was able to assemble together round one table the Mayor of
Jerusalem, the British Director of Antiquities, the Mufti, the
Chief Rabbis, the Presidents of the Italian Franciscans and
the French Dominicans, the Orthodox, the Armenian and
the Latin Patriarchs, the Presidents of the Jewish Community,
the Anglican Bishop, the Chairman of the Zionist
Commission, the Dominican Fathers Abel and Vincent,
Capitano Paribene (with the Distaccamento and afterwards
Italian Minister of Fine Arts), with other leading members of
the British, Arab, Jewish and American communities.19
It was ultimately the multicultural character of the city that prompted the British to seek the cooperation of this diverse assemblage of clerics and representatives of countries and ethnic groups — some of whom had been Britain’s allies during World War I, and could not be ignored.20 But the establishment of the Pro-Jerusalem society also anticipated an important characteristic of British Mandate-era rule: a commitment to creating a democratic, unifying body with the active participation of the local population. However, while the Pro-Jerusalem Society declared its commitment to including the local population in its activities, its members still regarded Jerusalem’s inhabitants as having “much to learn yet in the elementary duties of citizenship,” as Ashbee put it.21 And the publications discussed here indicate that mostly British development ideas were implemented.
Ultimately, the society was active until 1926, although its influence and activism diminished after Britain’s Mandate over Palestine went into effect in 1922.  The society published two out of the three books discussed here: Jerusalem 1918–1920 and Jerusalem 1920–1922, both edited by C.R. Ashbee. These con­stituted the records of the society’s activities, which included archaeological and architectural preservation and presentation of Ashbee’s town planning schemes. The two volumes are impressive in their wealth of maps and photographs. The maps include plans for the development of the entire city as well as programs for individual neighborhoods.22
THE PLANS OF WILLIAM MCLEAN AND PATRICK GEDDES
Among other things, Jerusalem 1918–1920 presented the first two comprehensive plans for developing the city.  These were commissioned from William Hannah Mclean and Patrick Geddes, consecutively, and formed the basis for later schemes.
Engineer William Hannah Mclean (1877–1967) formulat­ed the first British plan for Jerusalem in 1918 (fig.1 ).23 One of its most important features was the encirclement of the Old

figure 1. William Mclean, “Jerusalem Town Planning Scheme No.1,” 1918.  From C.R. Ashbee, ed.,
Jerusalem 1918–1920: Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council during the Period of the British Military Administration
(London: John Murray, 1921), No.21.  Reprinted by permission.
City with two belts. One (indicated by a brown line) designated an area where, in accordance with Storr’s regulations, “no new buildings [are] to be permitted.”24 In the plan’s legend, Mclean specified that this area was to be left “in its natural state.”25 The second belt, located between the brown line and a dotted line, indicated an area for special planning, where building would be allowed under special permission. Among other things, the belts dictated that new urban development should primarily take place to the west and north of the Old City.  Such develop­ment was envisioned to include a British Governorate complex (to the north of the Old City, near the Notre Dame de France Hospice), and to the west as a grand axis, linking what is referred to on the map as “public buildings” with sites for two memorials. In the area designated for modern development, a grid of streets was imposed upon the city.
Having arrived from Egypt, Mclean was familiar with the urban development of Cairo during the colonial period.26 He had also planned an extension of an earlier British plan for Khartoum, the capital of Sudan, in 1912.27 Hyman believes the grid structure of the streets in the Jerusalem plan was deriva­tive of Mclean’s earlier plan for Khartoum.28 Meanwhile, the new grand axis of monuments planned for the city may have been inspired by plans for New Delhi, the new capital of the British Raj in India.29 The 1913 plan for that city, by George
S.C. Swinton, John A. Brodie, and Edwin L. Luytens, featured a similar central axis, with the Government House at one edge, a plaza with a commemorative column, and other buildings and memorials along a central axis (fig.2).30


figure 2. George S.C. Swinton, John A. Brodie, and Edwin L. Luytens, “Urban Plan of New Delhi.  Layout labeled ‘Accompaniment to the Final Report of the Delhi Town Planning Committee on the Town Planning of the New Imperial Capital,’” March 20, 1913.  Source: R. Irving, Indian Summer: Luytens, Baker and Imperial Delhi (New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 1981), Fig.27.  Reprinted by permission of author.
The similarities in the schemes for New Delhi and Jerusalem indicate that Mclean’s attitude toward the planning of Jerusalem was a colonial one, regarding the city as a future capital in the British Empire.31 Mclean’s scheme manifested, to both the local population and competing European powers, that the empire was capable not only of plotting the course of Jerusalem’s future development, but of negotiating a new physical space for colonial architecture in the city.  Of course, it would be simplistic to define British policy in the Middle East during this period as colonial. Yet it is equally important to stress that, while World War I presented Britain with new realities in the international arena, retaining control of Palestine was one of its top strategic goals.32 Mclean’s far-reaching and comprehensive street plan, calling out the loca­tion of new monuments and government institutions, was certainly the reification of a policy of long-term domination.
One year after Mclean’s proposal, Sir Patrick Geddes (1854–1932) presented a new plan for the city (fig.3).33 The famous Scottish sociologist and town planner had traveled to Palestine in 1919 to design a future Hebrew University on behalf of the Zionist Commission.34 But Storrs also asked Geddes to comment on Mclean’s plan, which had been exhib­ited in 1919 at the Royal Academy in London and been criti­cized as inappropriate to the region’s hilly topography.35 Geddes had acquired experience in colonial town planning during his sojourn in India, and used this to emphasize preservation of the Old City and prevention of its overcrowd­ing.36 Preservation of the Old City also accorded with Geddes’s philosophy of “conservative surgery” — his attempt to widen the scope of conservation from individual buildings to the entire historical city.37 In India, this notion had led Geddes to advocate greater respect for local culture as an alter­native to the typical colonial practice of planning new city quarters based on grids of streets.38 Mclean’s plan had com­bined preservation of the Old City with a grid plan outside the walls.  By comparison, Geddes’s plan was more fluid and included a clearly defined park or greenbelt encircling the Old City, an enhancement of Mclean’s “natural” zone.  This green­belt narrowed toward the west where urban development out­side the walls was already prominent, and extended widely to the northeast and southeast. Geddes’s plan also emphasized the role of future beltways.39 These would connect new sub­urbs with the core of the Old City, substituting for the rigid grid of streets presented by Mclean. In sum, what Geddes presented for the city was a modern scheme of up-to-date Western town-planning ideas.  However, because it relin­quished the grand axis of monuments, its representation of British power was understated in comparison to Mclean’s.


A CITY OF THE MIND: CHARLES ROBERT ASHBEE
Charles Robert Ashbee’s plan for Jerusalem was pre­sented in 1922 (fig.4). Ashbee, a central figure in Britain’s second-generation Arts and Crafts Movement, was sum­moned to Jerusalem by Storrs in the spring of 1918 to survey the extant crafts in Jerusalem and advise on town planning.40 To fulfill these duties, he held the post of “Civic Adviser” until 1922. He also served as secretary and chief coordinator of the Pro-Jerusalem Society.
figure 3. Patrick Geddes, “Jerusalem Town Planning Scheme No.2,” 1919.  From C.R. Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920: Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council during the Period of the British Military Administration
(London: John Murray, 1921), No.22.  Reprinted by permission.


Ashbee regarded Jerusalem as a “city of the mind.”  By this he meant a spiritual place, a place dedicated to culture and religion. Initially, Ashbee shared the optimism of many of his countrymen that Palestine could become a bi-national Jewish-Arab entity under British guidance.  However, like many British administrators, he later became disillusioned, as the Arab-Zionist conflict escalated.
Its reception of the Mandate in 1922 meant the British Empire would serve as a trustee in Palestine, accountable to the League of Nations.41 However, the terms of the Mandate contained a basic contradiction between a commitment to establish a “National Home” for the Jews in Palestine and a pledge to protect Arab land rights there.42
Although Ashbee ardently carried out his mission, he also had a rare gift of sensitivity, and was able to see how the indigenous population perceived the British presence. For example, writing about the transition from Ottoman to British rule, he observed, “They did not risk their lives to change masters.”43 Ashbee was also anti-imperialist, and in A Palestine Notebook he advocated the notion of commonwealth over empire.44 Unlike Storrs or Kendall, therefore, Ashbee questioned the basic assumptions of the British Mandate, and was fully aware of the complicated political situation and the national aspirations of both Jews and Palestinian Arabs.  In his diary he also commented on the weakness of the British administration in Palestine.  In his opinion, this weakness stemmed from the unjust nature of the British presence there and its support for Jewish colonization, a policy he opposed:
The Administration is in one of its recurrent states of ner­vous collapse. That is to say, being an essentially timid Administration, with an uneasy Protestant conscience, it is arming itself cap-a-pie and shaking as to its knees: route marches, demonstrations in the streets, displays of Indian soldiery, armoured cars, and all for the sake of the Mandate and this unhappy ‘Wa’d Balfour’ which we should be so much better without. . . . You cannot govern well or wisely except by consent. . . .45

Ashbee’s criticism of the British presence in Palestine was not unique. Ambivalence about the necessity of the Mandate ran through British thinking of the period.  Written in 1938, The Colonial Problem, for example, referred to “the common assumption that the A mandates were veiled pro­tectorates destined to indefinite duration.”46 This “common assumption” has received frequent reinforcement in histori­cal research, and the mandate system itself is often seen as a refinement of imperialistic doctrine to meet the needs of the time.47 In the mandate system, however, oversight by the League of Nations and emphasis on the eventual institution of self-government in the “entrusted” territories introduced different perceptions of foreign policy, and produced a devia­tion from colonial practices.48
During the mandate system’s formative years, British for­eign policy also underwent swift, yet profound changes.  In the post-World War I years, growing nationalism and the assertion of the right to self-determination by indigenous pop­ulations in many colonized or occupied territories brought a re-examination of issues pertaining to Britain’s entire overseas empire. In the case of Palestine, which was indeed conceived of as a “veiled protectorate,” these changes led to criticism of the burdensome temporary rule almost as soon as it had begun.49 On the one hand, interest in keeping Palestine in British hands was first and foremost represented by the Prime Minister, David Lloyd George.  However, there were others such as Maurice Hankey who favored United States trusteeship.50 Winston Churchill was also critical.  In 1920 he wrote: “Palestine is costing us 6 millions a year to hold.  The Zionist movement will cause continued friction with the Arabs. . . . The Palestine venture . . . will never yield any prof­it of a material kind.”51 The cost of an enduring British pres­ence in the Middle East did much to sway public opinion.52
Ashbee’s opposition to the Mandate in A Palestine Notebook shows how these dilemmas filtered through all echelons of the British administration. However, he did not allow his personal opinions or political ideals to enter into the Jerusalem books he edited for the Pro-Jerusalem Society.  Instead, he emphasized the need for Western guidance in the specific field of town plan­ning, seeing it as his mission to advise and direct the local pop­ulation. This he did in an often condescending manner, in con­trast to the more egalitarian tone of his diary.
Like his friend Patrick Geddes, Ashbee regarded town planning as an art that embraced all aspects of the physical and cultural space of living.  He had formulated this concep­tion in Where the Great City Stands, published 1917.  That book contained a theory of modern town planning based on the ideals of the Arts and Crafts, Garden City, and City Beautiful Movements, along with other examples of modern town plan­ning he had seen in the U.S. Ashbee was enthusiastic about implementing these ideals in Jerusalem, and his meticulously developed plan for the city appeared in Jerusalem 1920–1922. Among other things, it incorporated a “zoning system,” which had been absent from his predecessors’ plans, but which could be used to divide the city into functional areas of residence, industry and business.53 Ashbee’s most direct model for this type of zoning was probably the 1916 zoning scheme for New York City, which he discussed in Where the Great City Stands.54
In the Jerusalem plan Ashbee proposed several zones. A dotted area, referred to in the legend as “reserved for spe­cial treatment,” marks the Old City and the Valley of Siloam to the south. A red area to the east of the Old City and sur­rounding it marks “The Jerusalem Park System.”  Industrial zones are marked as slanted lines on a red background, while business and residential zones appear as slanted lines on a white background (these are the more thinly drafted lines). An area to the south is marked “new military area.” As had the two plans that preceded it, Ashbee’s plan called for future development of the city to occur toward the west and north — and here also to the south of the Old City. In general, his scheme also expressed an ambitious project for modernizing Jerusalem.  It was to include new roads, new water and energy supply systems, museums, galleries, cen­ters for performing arts, schools, and more.
However, Ashbee’s plan for the modern city was most remarkable for what was absent: the historical division of the Old City and existing areas outside its walls into quarters or neighborhoods representing the three major religions and their many subcultures. Ashbee’s zones created the illusion (or perhaps the optimistic prediction) that these would even­tually blend into a homogenous residential fabric. In effect, therefore, his plan was an embodiment of political policies during the Mandate’s early years, which attempted to merge the different sections of the city.55 This ideology prohibited the expression of religious segregation in urban planning, encouraging urban spatial flexibility instead. The shift from Ottoman to British regulations regarding land ownership fur­ther complicated the planning process.56 This proved extremely complex, and was aggravated by the fact that land ownership was a frequent cause of conflict between Jews and Palestinians.57 Confirming the presence of religious or sec­tarian boundaries on maps would have contradicted British attempts to solve these conflicts.
DIVERGENCE FROM THE COLONIAL MODEL
One of the most notable characteristics of colonial cities — often seen, for example, in British colonial India and French colonial North Africa — was the physical separation of the indigenous population from the ruling colonial elite.58 Among other things, this segregation led to the creation of “dual cities,” divided into “native” and “European” quarters.59
Ashbee’s plan of 1922 is notable in its divergence from the colonial planning model in this regard. The presence of a foreign regime is indicated by the military zone in the southern part of the new city.  But Ashbee does not refer to it in text accompanying the map (the presence of military force had also been conspicuously absent from the earlier plans by Mclean and Geddes, and from earlier plans by Ashbee, him­self).  More importantly, the map does not designate a British or European quarter.  Instead, British presence is understated, intentionally diffused within the urban fabric — although in reality, the British did tend to concentrate in the southern neighborhood called the Templers’ Colony.60
There are other differences between Ashbee’s plan and typical colonial precedents. Furthermore, the park system surrounding the Old City was not intended to function as a cordon sanitaire or esplanade.61 In India, cities such as Allahabad and New Delhi incorporated greenbelts into their segregating schemes for reasons of health and security.62 And in Morocco, greenbelts around old cities were justified not only by reasons of health and security, but to “preserve” indigenous culture.63 In Ashbee’s scheme, the park system was intended to provide Jerusalem’s new modern spaces with open areas, or “lungs.” But, as originally suggested by Geddes, a park system would also frame the Old City and preserve it from the damaging effects of new development. And in this sense it also conformed to the colonial idea of assisting preservation — although in this case the need for preservation was defined in more historical and religious terms.64 This is not to say that Ashbee did not take an inter­est in preserving social and cultural forms, as can be seen in his concern for traditional crafts.  But in annotations to his urban schemes this aspect was minimized. In addition, Ashbee was fully aware of the diversity of cultures in Jerusalem.  Indeed, his views in this regard might best be compared to those of General Hubert Lyautey, who approached the subject of cultural preservation in Morocco based on an awareness of processes of change within indige­nous cultures themselves.65
The park system’s largest area was set out east of the Old City, in a way that integrated and thus preserved ancient Jewish and Muslim cemeteries.  Ashbee designated this area around the walls as a public space enabling appreciation of the city’s “romantic beauty and grandeur.”66 He then planned the park system down to its smallest details, with the object of arousing emotional and religious sentiment.67 With the park encircling it, the Old City was symbolically set in the center of future modern Jerusalem.  Modernization of the Old City was thus all but prohibited so as to preserve the past and cultivate a picturesque mosaic of places of worship, Middle-Eastern architecture, and ancient archaeology.68

The difference between the use of zoning in plans for Mandate-era Jerusalem and in a typical colonial city can be seen by comparing Ashbee’s plan with a British plan for Kampala, dated 1919 (fig.5).69 The zoning plan for the capi­tal of Uganda, which became a British protectorate in 1888, is discussed in Henry Kendall’s Town Planning in Uganda.70 Kampala had initially developed as a dual city, Kampala-Mengo, with Europeans and Indians residing in Kampala, and Africans in Mengo.71 However, a major feature of the 1919 plan was the creation of a central greenbelt that would segregate European residential areas from the rest of the city.
On the plan, the projected European quarter appears as a large, diagonally shaded area in the upper part of the town, including the neighborhoods of Kololo and Nakasero.  Its southern boundary dictates the shape of the greenbelt (which would include vegetation and a golf course for the amuse­ment and health of the city’s European inhabitants). Also indicated is an Asian quarter, horizontally shaded southeast of the greenbelt. To the southwest, dark areas indicate and Asian trading zone, and hatched areas a European one. Dotted areas designate “public open spaces.”
About this plan, Kendall wrote: “The principles of the gen­eral draft plan were discussed at length, especially as regards the future of the existing Indian bazaar and the position of the green belt zones separating the residential areas of the three principal races from each other and from the commercial or
figure 5. “Kampala 1919 Scheme.” From H. Kendall, Town Planning in Uganda: A Brief Description of the Efforts Made by Government to Control Development of Urban Areas from 1915 to 1955 (London: The Crown Agents, 1955), facing p.21. Reprinted by permission.
bazaar area.”72 Yet, although “three races” are mentioned in his text — Africans, Europeans and Indians — the 1919 zon­ing plan only appears to divide the city into European and Asian zones. Mengo, the major African urban center, located on the map south of the Kampala “Township Boundary,” is not characterized as an “African” zone or mentioned in the legend. Nevertheless, a wide “proposed public open space” (i.e., anoth­er greenbelt, or cordon sanitaire) is shown to separate Mengo from the commercial zones of Kampala.  This lack of specifici­ty is consistent with what Catherine Coquery-Vidrovitch has noted to be a recurring phenomenon in African colonial urbanism: that the European town is recognized as the “true” urban space, while the African settlements (delineated as Kampala’s “environs” in Kendall’s book73) are perceived as uncontrolled development.74
The Kampala zoning plan thus recognizes two levels of racial segregation. The first is a stratification carried over from Imperial India.75 The second separates this already dual construction from the African population. The result is that the main cluster of African urban functions supposedly exists outside the town boundaries.
By contrast, Ashbee’s zoning plan for Jerusalem avoids recognition of any existing socio-cultural divisions. Residential, commercial and industrial zones are all shown as homoge­neous spaces, undifferentiated by cultural or, as in the Kampala plan, racial characteristics. The situation in Jerusalem clearly presented several difficulties.  One was that new neighborhoods outside the city walls had already formed in ways that replicated the diverse cultural mosaic of the Old City. Another was that centuries of multidenominational religious practices stemming from various origins, including European ones, had created a population that largely defied the definitions of “indigenous” or “nonindigenous”/“European.”  Among other things, this meant that any greenbelt or park system around the Old City would have to be a porous zone, and not one of segregation.

It should be noted here that Jerusalem was not unique in having preexisting patterns of ethnic and religious segregation. Various colonial cities in Asia and Africa evinced forms of cul­tural and social segregation prior to the arrival of Europeans. The colonial powers simply imposed a new level of segregation on top of this.76 But the case of Mandate-era Jerusalem differs from these cities in two respects. First, urban tensions and confrontations among Arabs and Jews resulted in spatial dilemmas with which planners deliberately chose not to con­tend. Second, the planners chose not to impose a colonial “dual-city” form of segregation on the existing layout of space.
Only one plan for a residential neighborhood appears in Jerusalem 1920–22 (fig.6). It is for a modern Jewish garden suburb designed by the Jewish architect and town planner Richard Kauffmann.77 The neighborhood, laid out according to Garden City principles, was later given the Hebrew name Rehavia.78 Curiously, Ashbee chooses not to refer to it as a Jewish neighborhood, and only mentions it by an Arab name, Janjirieh Garden City (spelled Janziriah on the plan), thus refraining once more from reference to sectarian divi­sions. Like other Garden City neighborhoods of the time, it comprises garden lots that surround houses whose location in relation to the street varies to avoid the appearance of excessive symmetry. Streets are generally laid out in relation to a main boulevard that traverses the neighborhood, but a strict grid is avoided, and a separate system of footpaths is provided to improve pedestrian movement.79
It is further important that Ashbee never refers on his maps or in his book to the relation between neighborhood planning and local housing traditions. During the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, traditional residential structures in Jerusalem consisted largely of the Palestinian-Arab hosh, or court-house, and the Jewish chatzer (court) — both based on similar principles.80 But Ashbee never refers to the close-knit fabric these apartments created, nor to the family nuclei around which they evolved. Nor does he mention extant early­twentieth-century neighborhoods in which dwellings had evolved beyond the traditional types.  Nor does he elaborate on which Jewish, Christian or Muslim sects would reside in the proposed new Garden-City neighborhoods.  Nevertheless, by incorporating “Janjirieh Garden City” into his book, Ashbee probably intended to show how a Jerusalem neighborhood could be representative of modern town planning. And as an advocate for Garden City ideas, he probably was also advocat­ing such a model for the many neighborhoods of private dwellings constructed during the first decade of the British Mandate by Jews, Christian Arabs, and Muslim Arabs.81

COMMEMORATION: HENRY KENDALL
Henry Kendall was commissioned as Government Town Planner for Palestine in 1935 and served in this office until 1948. His urban schemes, discussed here as they appeared in his book Jerusalem: The City Plan, Preservation and Development during the British Mandate 1918–1948, are of great interest, since this publication summarized the process of Jerusalem’s urban development during the thirty years of the British Mandate. During the years that elapsed between Ashbee’s plans and those of Kendall, other important plans were issued.  One of the most notable of these was by Clifford Holliday, which was approved in 1930 as the first statutory plan for the city.82
Kendall’s book presents his own contribution, a new plan for Jerusalem devised in 1944.  A large and lavishly illustrated section is also dedicated to describing the Old City, its history, and British preservation and restoration projects. Finally, the book illustrates the official buildings constructed by the British in Jerusalem during the Mandate.83 Clearly, the pur­pose of publishing this volume on the eve of British with­drawal from Palestine was to bequeath for posterity an official record of Britain’s role in preserving and developing Jerusalem.  Indeed, the last High Commissioner for Palestine, Sir Alan Gordon Cunningham, presented this volume as a commemoration “of the efforts made to conserve the old while adding the new in keeping with it, of the process of marrying modern progress with treasured antiquity.”84
The last ten years of the British Mandate were violent times in Palestine.  Both Zionist and Arab nationalism became more defined and extreme, leading to frequent and severe clashes. The British attempted to use force to restrain this violence, while also seeking diplomatic solutions to its underlying sources.85 The progress of World War II further complicated British poli­cies in the Middle East, and in Palestine in particular.  And as time went on, it became evident the Mandate would not become a permanent arrangement.  Misgivings regarding it were under­scored by disputes within the British government itself.86

During these years, several proposals for a partition of Palestine into Jewish and Palestinian states were put forth by the British, all of which were rejected by one or both sides. Interestingly enough, none of these relinquished Jerusalem to either party.  And even though by the end of World War II this particular “A” mandate occupied more than a fair share of the energies of an exhausted empire, the third and final British proposal, in 1946, still left Jerusalem in British hands.87 The fourth partition proposal, submitted by the United Nations in 1947, retained Jerusalem as an international enclave.88
Although the plans and ordinances contained in Kendall’s book outlined a course of development for many years to come, and although the official British architecture displayed in it was anything but temporary, Kendall’s attitude toward the city’s future was cautious:
. . . this publication is . . . more of an expression of the various plans and schemes that have been prepared and are in force, rather than a civic survey with recommenda­tions for the development of a master plan. Too much has been heard in recent times of ambitious plans that have been abandoned almost as soon as they have been launched. The development of the modern town of Jerusalem is bound up with its political future, and that is a matter for the attention of the United Nations.89

Kendall’s urban scheme for Jerusalem included several maps, some of which documented Jerusalem’s layout at that time and some of which, as noted above, contained plans for
figure 7. Henry Kendall, The 1944 Scheme: Zoning Plan.  From
H. Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, Preservation and Development during the British Mandate, 1918–1948 (London: His Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1948), map facing p.26. Reprinted by permission.
future development. But Kendall’s development schemes were characterized by numerous ambiguities. Among other things, they were disassociated from each other and lacked elaboration and clarification in the text.  Delineated in 1944, they above all expressed the tumultuous period during which they were made.  As in Ashbee’s earlier plan, this uncertain­ty about Jerusalem’s future was embodied in Kendall’s lack of methods for coping with urban realities.
Among other trends during the Mandate period (and with the encouragement of British officials), the area outside the Old City walls had undergone a process of accelerated growth and modernization, including massive infrastructure development. Kendall’s 1944 zoning plan shows that the city had generally developed according to earlier directives (fig.7). Residences and business had been built toward the west, north and south; and the park system, which Kendall terms a “nature reserve,” had developed toward the east — although the city’s rapid growth entailed a significant reduction in its size.  Similarly, as Ashbee had intended, the park system had been used to frame the Old City and protect it from new development (but not to segregate its residents from the rest of the city).
Similar to Geddes’ 1918 scheme, Kendall’s 1944 plan includes a modern road system, with a beltway surrounding the city.  The plan also allocates a much larger area for indus­try, although, like his predecessors, Kendall commented that “Jerusalem is unsuited for heavy industries. . . .  [S]uch a development would conflict seriously with its more important cultural and religious aspects.”90 Despite more than twenty years having gone by since Ashbee’s plan, emphasis was still placed primarily on the city’s spiritual surplus. Preservation areas, identified in the legend as “Archaeological Zones,” also appear on the 1944 zoning map. However, as dashed black frames, one often can only guess where they are.  Most are also layered over residential zones, so that it is unclear how they would be excavated, or how neighborhoods would contin­ue to exist if they were.91

When attempting to analyze the allocation of residential zones, the obscurities in Kendall’s 1944 plan are further per­plexing. The legend divides residential zones into areas A–F on the basis of the size of the individual dwellings in each zone.92 Two ideas may be instructive here.  First, as did Ashbee, Kendall proposes garden suburbs for outlying areas
— although these would include modern apartment blocks, not just private villas.93 Second, his plan, like his predeces­sor’s, displays considerable insensitivity toward indigenous patterns of housing.94 Kendall justifies severe limitations on house size based on an assertion that “a house of 150 to 180 square meters in area is ample for the normal requirements of most families in Jerusalem.”95 He dismisses the possibili­ty of larger homes for the wealthy, and he ignores the fact that traditional or orthodox Arabs and Jews often had very large families. In the end, Kendall integrated such housing regulations into a town plan ordinance, which was viewed as restrictive even by his contemporary, Clifford Holliday, who blamed him for adopting an outdated plan with “regulatory and restrictive control of development.”96
In a critique of Le Corbusier’s Plan Obus for Algiers, cre­ated during the 1930s and early 1940s, Michele Lamprakos discussed how that plan’s modern housing dismissed the rela­tion of traditional Muslim dwelling form to such suprafamilial institutions as the extended family and clan.97 She argued that in the colonial city, planners often viewed such traditional pat­terns as a hindrance to the development of a capitalist econo­my.98 Kendall’s emphasis on modern housing, coupled with his use of dwelling size as a criterion for zoning subdivision, is consistent with such a view.  Indeed, his zoning plan may have been indicative of a desire to introduce modern criteria, based on the structures of a capitalist economy, to Jerusalem.
The effect of this dismissal of the city’s existing socio­cultural structure is only accentuated by the use of a confus­ing color scheme. In most sections of the 1944 zoning map it is impossible to make a connection between the colors in the legend, which in some cases are framed or striped, and the colors of the map itself. Thus, it is unclear which neigh­borhoods and roads are extant and which are proposed for future development. In addition, several of the residential areas appear to overlap open-space zones.
Holliday sharply criticized this graphic ambiguity in a review of Kendall’s book in 1948.  It may have been, as Holliday put it, that this was the result of “faulty reproduc­tion.”99 But I would like to suggest that the incoherence was at least partially intentional.  In the 1944 plan, no “Residential Zone” is mentioned by name, making its divi­sion into religious and sectarian neighborhoods invisible. The legend does mention “Old City,” “Silwan,” and “Et Tur” next to a bluish square, but no reason is given for singling them out. Quite simply, no zoning plan which ignored the basic division of a city such as Jerusalem into neighborhoods could ever convey the reality of its existing urban fabric, let alone project its future. And since Palestinian Arabs and Jews contested many areas of the city, Kendall may also have been attempting to avoid any political statement that could be construed as allocating territory for future development by one group or another.
Another key feature of Kendall’s plan was its refusal to identify a “British” or “European” neighborhood.  The reality here was that during the last years of the Mandate — even more than during Ashbee’s time — such an explicit declara­tion of foreign presence would only have injured British attempts to resolve the conflict between Arabs and Jews, and undercut Britain’s image as a mediator not just in the eyes of the local population, but in the eyes of the world. The omis­sion of the British presence from the maps also accentuated Kendall’s hope that his book would be seen as a commemo­ration of Britain’s trusteeship, not a statement of continuing ownership of the city.
Despite his decision to leave racial and religious divisions off the main zoning map, Kendall’s book does include another map entitled “Distribution of the Population” (fig.8 ). This indicates areas populated by Jews, Christians and Muslims, with blue indicating areas of Jewish population; green, Muslim; and purple, Christian.  But the map does not address subdivision by sect, nor does it indicate areas co-populated by two or more groups. And the map’s fluid blocks of color are rendered even less legible by such additional designations as “overcrowded areas,” “commercial,” and “industrial” zones. Moreover, Kendall makes no attempt to connect the informa­tion on the general zoning scheme to this second map, and so project patterns of development which might reflect the exist­ing religious divisions in the city.
Another map, describing “Grouping of Neighborhood Units” also seems surreal today (fig.9 ). Clearly, this is an application of contemporary British planning theories, according to which cellular neighborhoods, each containing a primary school and shops, are joined together by zoning hierarchies and roads to form a town.100 In Kendall’s map, however, biomorphic shapes in dark brown and beige, repre­senting neighborhoods, float freely among the main roads of the city.  The dark-brown forms indicate “existing quarters”; the beige halos surrounding them are their extensions; and earth-brown forms indicate future neighborhoods. True to the theoretical British model, the nucleus of each Jerusalem neighborhood contains a school (indicated by a red dot) and shops (indicated by a blue dot). However, they are devoid of such basic Middle Eastern facilities as places of worship (be they mosques, synagogues or churches) and public baths, the hamaam or the mikveh. By omitting these cultural or reli­gious signifiers, Kendall again avoids committing his neigh­borhoods to one group or the other. By contrast, Albert Laprade integrated such places as public baths, Q’uranic

figure 8. Henry Kendall, “1944 Survey: Distribution of the Population.”  From H. Kendall,
Jerusalem: The City Plan, Preservation and Development During the British Mandate, 1918–1948 (London: His Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1948), map facing p.34. Reprinted by permission.
figure 9. Henry Kendall, “The 1944 Scheme: Grouping of Neighbourhood Units.”  From H. Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, Preservation and Development During the British Mandate, 1918–1948
(London: His Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1948), map facing p.40. Reprinted by permission.
schools, mosques, and neighborhood ovens into his plans for new neighborhoods in Casablanca.101 The map in Figure 9 thus also dismisses the sectarian urban neighborhoods, and it too creates the illusion of a unified urban space.
Set among the numerous photographs and illustrations of Jerusalem that filled the rest of his book, Kendall’s urban plans attempted to erase the fundamental ethnic, religious and cultural characteristics of the city.  In their place at the end of the Mandate era they stressed the potential of unen­cumbered modern development.

DEFINING ARCHITECTURAL STYLE
Significant portions of Ashbee’s and Kendall’s books were also dedicated to defining an appropriate architectural style for the planned new sections of Jerusalem.  In deter­mining this style, they turned to the ancient edifices and “Oriental” urban setting of the Old City as a source of inspi­ration. Recognition of the Old City as a model for new archi­tecture provided additional impetus for its preservation. Both in relation to preservation and the definition of a new style, Ashbee’s and Kendall’s attitudes were similar to the approach commonly adopted in colonial cities.
During the early years of the Mandate, preservation of the Old City was directed by the Pro-Jerusalem Society.  The roman­tic, Orientalizing conception held by its officers was well expressed in Ashbee’s opening remarks in Jerusalem 1918–1920:
The [Pro-Jerusalem] Society’s objective has been to regard the old city as a unity in itself, contained within its wall cir­cuit, dominated by its great castle with the five towers, and intersected with its vaulted streets and arcades, the houses often locked one over the other . . . ‘Zion is a city compact together’.  It is this compactness or unity, so characteristic of Jerusalem, that the Society has set itself to preserve.102
The Old City thus became subject to British intervention, so that Western approaches and concepts of urban preservation dictated architectural practices. British decisions pertaining to the urban fabric also had distinct political purposes, the first of which was to delegitimize the recent era of Ottoman rule.
British officials sifted through the grains of history, pre­serving first and foremost their own romanticized notion of Jerusalem.  Thus, ancient Israelite, Roman, Muslim and Crusader remains and monuments were valued as treasures. So were Ottoman monuments from the age of Sultan S.leyman the Magnificent.  Archaeologists and historians who collaborated in the production of Ashbee’s volumes marveled at sites attributed to these epochs, and their preser­vation was discussed in detail. Henry Kendall also repeatedly expressed admiration for these eras.103
In sharp contrast, more recent projects of the Ottoman period were systematically devalued.104 And the erasure of physical evidence from this later period of Ottoman rule was justified by a constant debasement of the Turks.105 Thus, an article in the London Times on February 5, 1919, hailing new British schemes for Jerusalem and apparently written by Ashbee, contained the following:
It is difficult to imagine a sharper contrast between the Jerusalem of man’s imagination, whether he thinks of it in terms of Mahomed’s vision and ascent to Heaven, of Solomon’s grandeur, or of Christ’s Sermon on the Mount, and the actual Jerusalem left us by the Turk.  This latter concrete Jerusalem is a picturesque but filthy medieval town, with sprawling suburbs; ill timbered, unwatered, with roads inconvenient and leading nowhere. . . . 106
In actuality, the Ottoman administration had introduced many improvements to Jerusalem toward the end of the nineteenth century.107 Yet despite these improvements, the British still faced many serious problems, and they used these sites of disrepair to strengthen their claim to the city.
Both Ashbee’s Jerusalem volumes and Kendall’s Jerusalem: The City Plan contain numerous comments similar to those in the Times article. A recurring theme was hygiene, or rather the lack of it. Claims of inferior hygiene and sanitation in colo­nized lands were routinely used as justification for their posses­sion by European powers. And in the case of Palestine, both Ashbee and Kendall used this theme to delegitimize the land’s former rulers.108 Generally, in the colonial setting, the “native city” was seen as a site of “picturesque” architecture, erratic traf­fic flow, and filth.109 However, instead of using this discourse of debasement to establish the superiority of the “European” city, Ashbee and Kendall used it to deplore their predecessors’ negli­gence. Ashbee, in particular, discussed the need to clean up the refuse left by the Turks.110 And both he and Kendall emphasized what they perceived to be the Turks’ lack of regard for the archaeological significance of the city walls.111 Thus, Kendall also reported that “Prior to the arrival of the British the condi­tion of the buildings generally in the Old City was appalling.”112
Perhaps the most symbolic act of erasure concerning the period of Ottoman rule was the demolition of an ornate clock-tower and its adjacent sebil, referred to by Kendall as “unsight­ly,” and by Ashbee as “hideous.”113 These edifices had been erected in 1901 near the Jaffa Gate in commemoration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the rule of Sultan ‘Abd al-Hamid
II.114 They were dismantled in 1924, despite public protest.115
Kendall also referred to “clearing of the unsightly shops in the vicinity of the Damascus Gate.”116 And in this case he related the process by which such a demolition might legitimately occur:
With the collaboration of the local authority notices were
served on the owners of these properties giving them ample
time to find alternative accommodation.  Expropriation pro­
ceedings were commenced and after a period of some months
the buildings were demolished and owners compensated.117
In a section of his book dealing with urban traffic flow, Kendall also provided the following description of the west­ern entrance to Jerusalem: “the Jaffa road straggles through a partly built-up locality and provides frontage to some build­ings which fall within a reconstruction area and which are ripe for demolition [my emphasis].”118 Here, too, he pointed out, “it is hoped that the local authorities will achieve in col­laboration with competent persons a more satisfactory type of architectural expression for buildings. . . .”119
Kendall’s dominating expressions can today be perceived as colonial, yet he also stressed the advantages of collaborating with “local authorities.” Although the identity of these “authori­ties” was not revealed, he was most likely referring to Jerusalem’s semi-autonomous municipal administration.120 This again reflected the terms of the Mandate, which required that Britain foster a new tradition of autonomy and self-gover­nance among the local population.121 Yet while the local authori­ties were to be consulted, Kendall showed no interest in considering the views of local inhabitants. Ashbee also wrote, in a manner consistent with colonial discourse, about how the local population could be enlisted to clean up “Turkish” debris and implement archaeological reconstruction. Contented by the prospect of enforced cooperation, he also observed that “Work with the hands . . . keeps men from empty political spec­ulation.”122 In general, the British approached the conservation and development of Jerusalem in a manner similar to that of French colonial authorities in the cities of the Maghreb.  For example, the French singled out the medina of Rabat and the casbah of Algiers for preservation because of their picturesque Oriental fabric.123 Yet in both cities, as in Jerusalem, preserva­tion also carried a clear agenda of domination, and was charac­terized by similar modes of justification in colonial texts.124 Despite this similarity, the objective of protecting Jerusalem’s religious functions made it distinct from the French case.  The most important principle in Jerusalem was to allow all three religions to continue to observe important rituals at their holy sites. For this reason, the preservation of Jerusalem could not include the confinement of the indigenous population to the Old City — as was the case, for example, in Rabat.125 It should be reiterated that in Jerusalem, the population within the Old City included both indigenous and immigrant inhabitants of European, Middle Eastern, and various other origins, and that these inhabitants had already begun to settle outside the city walls, replicating their old groupings in new spaces.

Another important goal of preservation was to maintain the buildings of the Old City as a source for an “appropriate” archi­tectural style for modern Jerusalem.  This new style was to be in keeping with the domes, flat roofs, arches, and stone masonry admiringly displayed through photographs in both Ashbee’s and Kendall’s books (fig.10). Once again, this approach bears simi­larity to the situation in French Morocco, where colonial plan­ners used stylistic elements from the Moroccan vernacular to define an appropriate style for new development.126
In Jerusalem, the architecture of the Old City was per­ceived as constant and unsusceptible to change and develop­ment. The only “threat” came from outside in the form of “foreign” or European architecture, which was to be avoided as much as possible. Ashbee, in particular, viewed the invasion of European architecture as not just a problem of style, but also of technique and materials.127 Thus, building regulations placing restrictions on style and allowing the use of local stone only were developed into a doctrine, and eventually imple­mented in the modern city as well.128 In this way, the building traditions of Jerusalem’s inhabitants were turned into law.  But, as perceptively cited in the 1938 treatise The Colonial Problem:
Custom belongs to the community itself, but to remove
from the community the right of interpretation and of
transformation is an act of violence more serious, though
less visible, than the confiscation of arable land or of forest.
Now, as soon as custom is written down, formulated in leg­
islation, and invested by the European Power with its
omniscient authority, it is applied, no doubt, to the native
community as a caning may be applied, but it no longer
belongs to the community.129


In Jerusalem, the British Mandate authorities took upon themselves this exact annexation of style and its definition.
Ashbee’s plan for the rearrangement and remodeling of an area outside the Jaffa Gate is an excellent example of this approach. He proposed replacing new European-style structures there with buildings featuring a series of white domes and arch­es (fig.11). Pre-Mandate-era buildings were also designated for demolition, so that the remaking of the area would include a process of historic erasure. However, Ashbee did not accompa­ny this proposal with detailed architectural plans, and so his con­cern seems to have been mostly with the aesthetic interplay of facades. In a sketch, Ashbee also reproduced the figures appear­ing in the photograph, emphasizing their traditional clothing, so as to convey an Oriental atmosphere. In the texts for the Pro-Jerusalem Society books, picturesque and Oriental details are not abundant, but in photographs and architectural schemes in the books, Ashbee routinely incorporated robed figures driving camels and donkeys, or carrying baskets.130
Kendall’s Jerusalem: The City Plan also showed the local population in a manner that perpetuated Oriental conventions. And like Ashbee, Kendall put forth several suggestions for “Oriental” facades and landscaping, while his book’s illustrations and plans were also often dotted with “Oriental” figures.  This can be seen, for example, in a model prepared for a reconstruc­tion of the Damascus Gate, where a robed figure leading a camel and a figure riding a donkey ascend toward the ramp (fig.12).

figure 11. Charles Robert Ashbee, photograph of the Jaffa Gate Market, coupled with a sketch showing “Proposed alter­ations from the same point with the reconstructed caf. and a low-built containing wall for a properly regulated market.” From C.R. Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1920–1922: Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council during the First Two Years of the Civil Administration (London: John Murray, 1924), Nos.42–43. Reprinted by permission.

In respect to architectural preservation and the definition of style, then, both of Ashbee’s Jerusalem books and Kendall’s Jerusalem: The City Plan took an approach that largely mimic­ked prevailing colonial attitudes. This approach seems to con­tradict the character of the urban development schemes presented in the books, further accentuating the sense of ambivalence regarding the British position in the city.
THE IMAGE OF COEXISTENCE
Since Jerusalem never became the capital of a British colony, one cannot speak of an expression of colonialism or a process of decolonization in its urban plans. However, certain characteristics of these processes can be noted, which constitut­ed a renegotiation of the urban space. First, colonialist attitudes dehistoricized and petrified the Old City, while attempting to erase marks of the Ottoman regime and introduce new urban policies. Indeed, preservation of the Old City was used as propa­ganda to justify British rule. One can almost hear the slogan “nobody does it better” echoing through British Mandate-era writing. Second, the Old City’s architectural traditions were extracted by both Ashbee and Kendall, and used to designate an appropriate architectural style for new buildings. New architec­tural schemes were not presented in detail in Ashbee’s or Kendall’s publications, but it is clear that neighborhood planning did not take into account local cultural practices and traditional dwellings.  Third, planning policies for Jerusalem displayed cer­tain aspects of a decolonization process, in as much as they expressed a city seemingly belonging to its native inhabitants, who were to fulfill certain administrative functions, and who were encouraged to collaborate with the British authorities.

Yet despite these similarities to other colonial cities, the planning of Jerusalem differed remarkably from the colonial model. Although the Old City was separated by a greenbelt from the new city, as often seen in colonial cities, the purpose was not to segregate, but to create a “spiritual” zone.  In addition, the ten­dency of the population to segregate along cultural-religious lines, both within the Old City and the newer areas outside its walls, was ignored in both Ashbee’s and Kendall’s plans.  This was done even though both men clearly recognized the presence of the three monotheistic religions as essential to the city’s char­acter.  Moreover, the presence of the British as a ruling power was virtually nonexistent on planning maps. Hence, the colonial phenomenon of imposed segregation between “European” and “indigenous” populations did not manifest itself in schemes for Jerusalem’s urban development.  Nevertheless, accompanying texts often expressed this sense of authority through rhetorical devices common to discourses of colonial alterity.131
It would be an oversimplification to attempt to explain these differences between Jerusalem and other colonial cities solely on the basis of Jerusalem’s unique hybridity.132 It is instead necessary to examine the mandatory situation, which was different from the colonial one. Considering this context, it is possible to see that the urban plans discussed here express an ambivalence that stemmed from the very uncertainty of the British trusteeship and a resultant vagueness toward the future of the city. Indeed, the blurring of Jerusalem’s sociocultural realities in all the plans discussed here is evidence of a persist­ing atmosphere of temporality and political instability, which was at times voiced by British officials regarding the Mandate. In particular, the British schemes expressed the necessity of manifesting control while at the same time acknowledging the growing right of both Jews and Arabs to assert their own national identities. Thus, on an urban level, the schemes were shaped by the need to camouflage an emerging conflict, which evolved from the aspirations of cultures and subcultures to define their urban space in the same geographical zone.
In support of this effort to maintain the image of successful urban custodianship, Ashbee’s and Kendall’s rhetoric refrains from discussing conflicts within the city, since discussions of this nature would have adversely reflected on the Mandate’s suc­cess. Rather, the texts reiterate Jerusalem’s importance to the British and their will to maintain its guardianship. British dedi­cation to the city is further commemorated by the books’ empha­sis on those portions of the plans that were actually carried out during the Mandate years, such as government building projects and conservation operations in the Old City.
Although British presence is consistently muted in these maps, the act of prescribing new town plans was in itself a reification of political and cultural authority.  By reproducing the urban space for its inhabitants British administrators creat­ed a “cartography of hegemony.”133 In other words, they con­veyed the power of their Mandate supremacy through a graphic enunciation of Jerusalem’s urban space.  In this process the cartography that delineated Mandate-era plans for Jerusalem constructed an illusionary space of coexistence, and created the image of Britain as a neutral mediator, striving for a peaceful city and a unified urban plan.  The Old City was at the center of this cartography, its historical narratives serving not as a reminder of the complexities of its multicultural space but as a symbol of a coveted peaceful coexistence. The modern Western town plan that was imposed on the city, with its parks, highways, and garden neighborhoods, did not just convey the message that modernity can cross social and cultural barriers, it also disguised those barriers. The modern schemes also emphasized the need for the presence of a guiding Western entity capable of their implementation. In the absence of direct colonial rule, the imperative of modernization provided justification for the presence of the mandatory power.134
The ambiguities in the maps are thus better understood in the context of the broader historical conditions, exposing the diverse voices of British administrators, planners and politi­cians. In this article, the different perspectives among British planners are discussed as well as the ambivalent British approach to the mandate system. These different approaches reemphasize the need, as King has pointed out, to avoid gener­alizations not only when discussing the indigenous inhabitants of a city (in his case the “colonized” of a colonial city), but also the agents of a ruling power.135 In the case of Mandatory Palestine, these were the administrators who formulated British policies and created the urban plans for Jerusalem.  Hence, Jerusalem’s urban schemes acquired unique characteristics. They were shaped by a distinct mode of rule in relation to a renegotiation of cultural and political realities, which resulted in their deviation from more typical colonial urban planning. It is because of these distinctions that I have suggested that these be viewed as mandatory, and not colonial, urban schemes.
A report of the League of Nations Research Committee regarding the Palestine Mandate, dated June 1930, ends its review with the conclusion that, “The Palestine Mandate rep­resents one of the great political and social experiments of history.”136 In many ways, this is also true for the urban development schemes for Jerusalem, which can be seen as experiments, characterized by an ambiguity that reflected neither the city’s cultural realities nor the Jewish-Arab con­flict and Britain’s role in it.  Rather than reiterating Jerusalem’s tormented existence during the Mandate era, these plans inscribed, on the Holy City’s hilly topography, both a perception of its past and a hope for a peaceful future.
REFERENCE NOTES
A shorter version of this paper was present­ed at the fifty-fourth Annual Meeting of the Society of Architectural Historians, April 2001, Toronto, Canada. I would like to thank Edina Meyer-Maril for her valuable comments and critique, and Cindy Kamoroff for reading the manuscript.
1.
 C.R. Ashbee, A Palestine Notebook: 1918–1923 (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, Page & Co., 1923), p.276.

2.
C.R. Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920: Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council during the Period of the British Military Administration (London: John Murray, 1921);


C.R. Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1920–1922: Being the Records of the Pro-Jerusalem Council dur­ing the First Two Years of the Civil Administration (London: John Murray, 1924); and Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, Preservation and Development during the British Mandate 1918–1948 (London: His Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1948).
3.
 R. Fuchs and G. Herbert, “A Colonial Portrait of Jerusalem: British Architecture in Mandate-Era Palestine,” in N. AlSayyad, ed., Hybrid Urbanism: On the Identity Discourse and the Built Environment

(Westport: Praeger, 2001), p.85.

4.
 B. Hyman, “British Planners in Palestine, 1918–1936,” unpublished Ph.D. disserta­tion, The London School of Economics and Political Science, 1994, pp.26–30.

5.
 Ibid., p.26.

6.
 Y. Ben-Arieh, A City Reflected in its Times: Jerusalem in the Nineteenth Century


(Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi Publications, 1977, in Hebrew), pp.155–59,316–18.
7.
 See S. Bianca, Urban Form in the Arab World (London: Thames and Hudson, 2000), pp.169–71.

8.
 Ibid., pp.7–8; and R. Kark and M. Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs: Quarters, Neighborhoods, Villages 1800–1948 (Jerusalem: Academon, 1995, in Hebrew), pp.176–77.

9.
 M. Gilbert, Jerusalem in the 20th Century (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1996), pp.67–72.

10.
 Y. Ben-Arieh, A City Reflected in its Times: New Jerusalem – The Beginnings (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi Publications, 1979, in Hebrew). This entire book provides an



excellent source of information on the sub­ject; see, for example, pp.616–27. See also Gilbert, Jerusalem in the 20th Century, pp.9–10.
11.
 An historical account of these develop­ments is given in Ben-Arieh, A City Reflected in its Times, pp.178–203; and in Kark and Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs, pp. 17–31,142–43. Specific building projects have been discussed in M. Crinson, Empire Building: Orientalism and Victorian Architecture (London: Routledge, 1996), pp.198–226; D. Kroyanker, Jerusalem Architecture: Periods and Styles: European-Christian Buildings outside the Old City Walls

(Jerusalem: Keter, 1991, in Hebrew); and E. Meyer, “Die Dormition auf dem Berge Zion in Jerusalem, eine Denkmalskirche Kaiser Wilhelms II. im Heiligen Land,” Architectura, Vol.14 No.2 (1984), pp.149–70; and E. Meyer-Maril, “Binyan Augusta-Victoria al Har-Hazeytim,” Ariel, Vols.122–123 (1997)(in Hebrew), pp.51–62.

12.
 Crinson, Empire Building, pp.2,200,227,234 n.1.

13.
 R. Adelson, London and the Invention of the Middle East: Money, Power and War, 1902–1922


(New Haven: Yale, 1995), pp.169–89; and Y. Porat and Y. Shavit, eds., The History of Eretz Israel: The British Mandate and the Jewish National Home (Jerusalem: Keter, 1982, in Hebrew), pp.12–14.
14. For a general discussion of the British reli­gious and spiritual ties to the Holy Land, see
B. Tuchman, Bible and Sword: England and Palestine from the Bronze Age to Balfour (New York: New York University Press, 1956).
15.
 Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920, p.v.

16.
 Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, p.4.

17.
 A detailed account of the founding of the Pro-Jerusalem Society, its aims and actions, is given in R. Storrs, Orientations (London: Ivor Nicholson & Watson, 1937), pp.363–70.

18.
 Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920, p.vii.

19.
 R. Storrs, The Memoirs of Ronald Storrs (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1937), p.327.

20.
 For a comprehensive account of Britain’s alliances during and after World War I, see


D. Fromkin, A Peace to End All Peace: The Fall of the Ottoman Empire and the Creation of the Modern Middle East (New York: Henry Holt, 1989), especially parts 6–9.
21.
 Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920, pp.4–5.

22.
 The photographs form an intriguing record of Jerusalem in the beginning of the twentieth century. The majority of photos serve to document sites designated for architectural conservation or renovation. They are coupled with sketches that Ashbee made suggesting how to implement these projects. One example is figure 11 of this article. Yet the photos are in themselves worthy of a separate study.

23.
 Mclean’s plan is discussed in Hyman, “British Planners in Palestine,” pp.39–96.

24.
 The edict appears as item 2 on the map’s legend.

25.
 This is defined in item 2 on the map’s legend.

26.
 Urban transformations that took place in Cairo during the colonial era are dis­cussed in M. Scharabi, “Stadt- und Stadtarchitektur im Nahen Osten zur Kolonialzeit: Das Beispiel Kairo,” Architectura, Vol.15 No.1 (1985), pp.47–51; and in J. Abu-Lughod, Cairo: 1001 Years of the City Victorious (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), pp.99–143.

27.
 Hyman, “British Planners in Palestine,” pp.45–47.

28.
 Ibid., pp.41–42.

29.
 Hyman also notes this affinity, and com­pares the grand monument axis to planning for Washington, D.C. See Hyman, “British Planners in Palestine,” p.82. This compari­son is noteworthy, as the plans for Washington, D.C., apparently influenced those of New Delhi. See R. Irving, Indian Summer: Luytens, Baker and Imperial Delhi

(New Haven: Yale, 1981), pp.82–84.

30.
 Irving, Indian Summer, pp.73–75.

31.
 For an analysis of the principles and lay­out of colonial cities using New Delhi as a case study, see A.D. King, Colonial Urban Development: Culture, Social Power and Environment (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1976), especially chapter 10.

32.
 Britain’s strategic interest lay in protect­ing the Suez Canal. Control over Palestine would create a protective buffer between Britain’s most important artery to its dominions in the east and any threat from the north. The terms of this control would be defined in post-World War I negotia­



tions, primarily between Britain and her allies. These were conducted by Britain’s top diplomats, including Prime Minister David Lloyd George, Foreign Secretary Arthur Balfour, and others.  See Tuchman, Bible and Sword, pp.210–14; Adelson, London and the Invention of the Middle East, pp.136–54; and Gilbert, Jerusalem in the 20th Century, pp.42–43.
33.
 Geddes’s plan is discussed in Hyman, “British Planners in Palestine,” pp.121–44.

34.
 The plans for the Hebrew University conceived by Geddes in collaboration with his son-in-law, the architect Frank Mears, are discussed in H. Meller, Patrick Geddes: Social Evolutionist and City Planner (London: Routledge, 1990), pp.263–84; D. Dolev, “Architectural Orientalism in the Hebrew University,” Assaph, Section B No.3, (1998), pp.217–34; Fuchs and Herbert, “A Colonial Portrait of Jerusalem,” pp.98–102; and V. Welter, Biopolis: Patrick Geddes and the City of Life (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002), pp.229–39.

35.
 Meller, Patrick Geddes, p.276.  This criti­cism is also mention by Ashbee in Jerusalem 1918–1920, p.12; and by Kendall in Jerusalem City Plan, p.4.

36.
 Meller, Patrick Geddes, pp.276–77.

37.
 Geddes’s concept of “conservative surgery” is discussed in P. Clavel, “Ebenezer Howard and Patrick Geddes: Two Approaches to City Development,” in K.C. Parsons and D. Schuyler, eds., From Garden City to Green City: The Legacy of Ebenezer Howard (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2002), pp.53–55; and Welter, Biopolis, p.109.

38.
 Welter, Biopolis, pp.116–20.

39.
 In the last years of the twentieth century, construction began on a beltway along lines similar to those in Geddes’s 1919 scheme. Most of it has now been completed.

40.
 For a biography of Ashbee, see A. Crawford’s landmark work, C.R. Ashbee: Architect, Designer and Romantic Socialist (New Haven: Yale, 1985).  Ashbee’s town planning in Jerusalem is discussed in Hyman, “British Planners in Palestine,” pp.357–415.

41.
 Porath and Shavit, eds., The History of Eretz Israel, p.18.  It is important to note that by 1920 the British had already insti­gated civilian rule in Palestine and nominat­ed a high commissioner, despite the refusal


of the Turks to relinquish sovereignty there. See Adelson, London and the Invention of the Middle East, pp.183–84; and Gilbert, Jerusalem in the 20th Century, p.85.
42.
 Gilbert, Jerusalem in the 20th Century, pp.200–5; and Porath and Shavit, eds. The History of Eretz Israel, pp.11–14,20–33.  The history of this clash of interests, especially as reflected in the Balfour Declaration, is dis­cussed in Tuchman, Bible and Sword, pp.198–203; and in Adelson, London and the Invention of the Middle East, pp.149–54. For a discussion of the unique terms of the Palestine Mandate in the framework of the mandate system as a whole, see The Mandate System: Origins — Principles — Application

(Geneva: League of Nations, 1945), pp.24–32.

43.
 Ashbee, A Palestine Notebook, p.205.

44.
 This is evident, for example, when he discusses the Egyptian Nationalist Manifesto of 1919 as a model for Palestine.  See Ashbee, A Palestine Notebook, pp.182–83.

45.
 Ashbee, A Palestine Notebook, p.206. Written July 11, 1922.

46.
The Colonial Problem (London: British Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1938), p.249.

47.
 R.F. Betts, Uncertain Dimensions: Western Overseas Empires in the Twentieth Century (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1985), pp.48–49.

48.
 F.S. Northedge, “1917–1919: The Implications for Britain,” Journal of Contemporary History, Vol.3 No.4 (October 1968), pp.202–3.

49.
 Fromkin, A Peace to End All Peace, pp.361–63.

50.
 Ibid., p.374.

51.
 Ibid., p.448.


52.
 Ibid., pp.499–501,556. See also Gilbert, Jerusalem in the 20th Century, pp.94–95.

53.
 Ashbee discusses his zoning principles in Where the Great City Stands: A Study in New Civics (London: Essex House Press, 1917), pp.59–67.

54.
 Ibid., pp.61–63. For the development of the New York City zoning scheme, see A. Sutcliffe, Towards the Planned City: Germany, Britain, the United States and France, 1780–1914 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1981), pp.116–21.

55.
 For this policy, see Porat and Shavit, eds., The History of Eretz Israel, pp.28–29; and R. Storrs, Orientations, pp.364–65.


56. British land-ownership policies in Palestine are discussed in Kark and Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs, p.167,178,259–76,299–300; and M. Bunton, “‘Progressive Civilizations and Deep-Rooted Traditions’: Land Laws, Development, and British Rule in Palestine in the 1920’s,” in G. Blue, M. Bunton, and
R. Croizier, eds., Colonialism and the Modern World: Selected Studies (Armonk, NY, and London: M.E. Sharpe, 2002), pp.145–63.
57. R. Khalidi, Palestinian Identity: The Construction of Modern National Consciousness
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1997), pp.114–17; T. Segev, Palestine under the British (Jerusalem: Keter, 1999, in Hebrew), pp.89–107; and Porat and Shavit, eds., The History of Eretz Israel, pp.103–6.
58.
 A.D. King, “Colonial Cities: Global Pivots of Change,” in R.J. Ross and G.J. Telkamp, eds., Colonial Cities (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, 1985), pp.22–23; A.D. King, “Exporting Planning: The Colonial and Neo-Colonial Experience,” in G.E. Cherry, ed., Shaping an Urban World (London: Mansell, 1980), pp.212–13.  For case-specific discussions, see J. Abu-Lughod, Rabat: Urban Apartheid in Morocco (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), especially chapters 7–8; Z. .elik, Urban Forms and Colonial Confrontations: Algiers Under French Rule (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), pp.26–27,35–39; Irving, Indian Summer, pp.75,76; and G. Wright, The Politics of Design in French Colonial Urbanism

(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), pp.145–49.

59.
 King, “Colonial Cities: Global Pivots of Change,” pp.25–26.

60.
 Kark and Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs, pp.167,212.  Ashbee, for example, chose to live in the Arab village of Wadi Joz, to the north of the Old City.  See Ashbee, A Palestine Notebook, p.208.

61.
 The greenbelt as a means of segregation is discussed in King, “Colonial Cities: Global Pivots of Change,” pp.24–26; and King, Colonial Urban Development, pp.39–40.

62.
 T.R. Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp.180–81; and King, Colonial Urban Development, pp.88,271.

63.
 Abu-Lughod, Rabat: Urban Apartheid in Morocco, pp.142–47.


64.
 The idea of the greenbelt, adopted by both Ashbee and Geddes, stemmed from Ebenezer Howard’s concept of a belt of agri­culture surrounding the Garden City. This was later developed as a park area around existing metropolitan centers, and was fur­thered as such especially by the leading British planner-architect Raymond Unwin, who had collaborated with Geddes on a plan for a suburb of Dublin in 1914. See R. Freestone, “Greenbelts in City and Regional Planning,” and M. Miller, “The Origins of the Garden City Neighborhood,” both in Parsons and Schuyler, eds., From Garden City to Green City, pp.73–74,120.

65.
 P. Rabinow, “Colonialism, Modernity: The French in Morocco,” in N. AlSayyad, ed., Forms of Dominance: On the Architecture and Urbanism of the Colonial Enterprise

(Aldershot: Avebury, 1992), p.172.

66.
 Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920, p.21.

67.
 I. Ben-Asher Gitler, “C.R. Ashbee’s Jerusalem Years: Arts & Crafts, Orientalism and British Regionalism,” Assaph, Vol.5 (2000), pp.29–41.

68.
 The long-term adverse effects that halt­ing urban development had on the Old City are discussed in E. Schiller, “Ha’eer Ha’atika Kayom” (“The Old City Today”), in


E. Schiller and G. Biger, eds., Yerushalayim: Ha’eer Ha’atika (Jerusalem: The Old City), special publication of Ariel, Vols.57–58 (1988) (in Hebrew), pp.70–92.
69.
 Interestingly enough, in 1903 Uganda was offered by the British to the Zionist leader Theodore Herzl as a land where a national home for the Jewish people could be established. This offer, unacceptable to the majority of members of the World Zionist Congress, who envisioned a return to the land of the Bible, died with Herzl in 1904. See Fromkin, A Peace to End All Peace, pp.272–74.

70.
 H. Kendall, Town Planning in Uganda: A Brief Description of the Efforts Made by Government to Control Development of Urban Areas from 1915 to 1955 (London: The Crown Agents, 1955), facing p.21. Kendall became director of town planning for Uganda some­time after his Palestine commission terminated in 1948 with the end of the British Mandate.

71.
 A. Southall, “Imperialism and Urban Development,” in P. Duignan and L.H. Gann, Colonialism in Africa 1870–1960 (London: Cambridge University Press, 1971), p.237.



From a report on the population of Kampala by A.E. Mirams, Town Planning Advisor to the Government of Uganda, it would appear that already in the late 1920s these distinctions dis­integrated. According to Mirams’s report, by 1930 the majority of Kampala’s inhabitants were African. Thus, the city obviously did not evolve according to the 1919 designations. See
A.E. Mirams, Report on the Town Planning and Development of Kampala (Antebbe: The Government Printer, 1930), Vol.1, pp.17–20.
72.
 Kendall, Town Planning in Uganda, p.21.

73.
 Ibid., inside cover.

74.
 C. Coquery-Vidrovitch, “The Process of Urbanization in Africa (From the Origins to the Beginning of Independence),” African Studies Review, Vol.34 No.1 (1991), p.69. See also King, “Exporting Planning,” p.208.

75.
 For a discussion of segregation in India, see Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj, pp.179–81.

76.
 King, “Colonial Cities: Global Pivots of Change,” p.22.

77.
 Richard Kauffmann planned the majority of the first modern Jewish garden suburbs in Jerusalem, such as Talpioth, Bait-Hakerem, and Bayit Vagan. He was influenced mostly by modern urban planning of his native Germany, but was also well aware of the British Garden City movement. See D. Kroyanker, Jerusalem Architecture: Periods and Styles: The Period of the British Mandate, 1918–1948 (Jerusalem: Keter, 1991, in Hebrew), pp.248–84; Kark and Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs, pp.201–4; R. Kauffmann, “Talpioth, Erlaeuterungsbericht zum Bebauungsplan,” Central Zionist Archives, Jerusalem, L18/78/4,1, n.d.

78.
 The principles of the Garden City neigh­borhood are discussed in M. Miller, “The Origins of the Garden City Neighborhood,” in Parsons and Schuyler, eds., From Garden City to Green City, pp.99–130.

79.
 Ibid.


80.
 For the Jewish residential building types, see Kark and Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs, pp.137–140; and Ben-Arieh, A City Reflected in its Times, pp.248–53,257,273–58. For the Palestinian type, see R. Fuchs, “The Palestinian Arab House and the Islamic Primitive Hut,” Muqarnas, Vol.15 (1998), pp.157–77; and R. Kark and S. Landman, “Hayezia’a Ha-Muslemit Michutz La Chomot beshalhey Hatkufa ha’Ottomanit” (“Muslim Building Outside the Walls in the Heyday of


the Ottoman Period”), in S. Shealtiel, Prakim Betoldot Yerushalayim Bazman Hachadash
(Jerusalem: Yad Ben-Zvi and Israel Ministry of Defense, 1981, in Hebrew), pp.194–207.
81.
 The approaches to planning of the dif­ferent sections’ neighborhoods are dis­cussed in Kark and Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs, pp.166–243.

82.
 Ibid., pp.172. Holliday’s Jerusalem work is discussed in Hyman, “British Planners in Palestine,” pp.436–75,526–27.

83.
 The most prominent of these were built by the British architect Austen St. Barb Harrison. They are discussed in R.A. Fuchs, “Austen St. Barb Harrison: A British Architect in the Holy Land,” unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Technion, Haifa, 1992 (in Hebrew); and Fuchs and Herbert, “A Colonial Portrait of Jerusalem,” pp.91–98.

84.
 Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, p.v.

85.
 An historical account of these events is given in N. Bethell, The Palestine Triangle: The Struggle between the British, the Jews and the Arabs 1935–48 (London: Andre Deutch, 1979); and R.W. Zweig, Britain and Palestine during the Second World War (Suffolk: Boydell Press, 1986).

86.
 M.J. Cohen, Palestine: Retreat from the Mandate: The Making of British Policy, 1936–45 (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1978), pp.160–85.

87.
 Porat and Shavit, eds., The History of Eretz Israel, pp.77–79; and Bethell, The Palestine Triangle, pp.257,269–70.

88.
 Porat and Shavit, eds., The History of Eretz Israel, pp.46–54,79–84; and Bethell, The Palestine Triangle, pp.30–38,194–202,294–97.

89.
 Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, p.xi.

90.
 Ibid., p.3.

91.
 The existence of ancient archaeological sites within areas of urban development has been a recurring phenomenon due to Jerusalem’s long history. It still poses a substantial challenge to urban planners and architects.

92.
 Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, p.25.

93.
 Ibid., facing p.44 and p.50.

94.
 It is noteworthy that in Town Planning in Uganda, Kendall does take into account certain cultural aspects of local indigenous dwellings. His zoning plan for Kampala, made in 1951 and apparently exhibiting a preliminary expression of decolonization, is



an intriguing comparison to the Jerusalem 1944 scheme, but is beyond the scope of this paper.  See Kendall, Town Planning in Uganda, p.24 and map facing p.25.
95.
 Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, p.19.

96.
 C. Holliday, “Jerusalem City Plan by Henry Kendall (1948),” R.I.B.A. Journal (August 1948), p.469.

97.
 M. Lamprakos, “Le Corbusier and Algiers: The Plan Obus as Colonial Urbanism,” in N. AlSayyad, ed., Forms of Dominance, pp.198–99.  Another example which can be cited is Michele Ecochard’s failed attempt to provide adequately sized dwellings for Morrocans in Casablanca in 1946. See Rabinow, “Colonialism, Modernity,” pp.180–81.

98.
 Lamprakos, “Le Corbusier and Algiers” pp.198–99.

99.
 Holliday, “Jerusalem City Plan by Henry Kendall (1948),” p.469.

100.
 W. Houghton-Evans, “Schemata in British new town planning”, in G.E. Cherry, ed., Shaping an Urban World, pp.109–10.

101.
 Rabinow, “Colonialism, Modernity,” p.178.

102.
 Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920, p.1.

103.
 Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan. See, for example, pp.12,14.

104.
 Much of the Ottoman architecture dated from the late nineteenth century and begin­ning of the twentieth was emulative of European eclecticism, such as the neo-Baroque clock tower discussed below. It is probably due to the “foreign” influences of this style that the British did not value it as highly as earlier Ottoman architecture, which did contribute greatly to the “Oriental” atmosphere of the city.  In all likelihood, this is the reason for the British distinction between “appropriate” and “unsuitable” Ottoman architecture in the city.

105.
 A useful definition of architectural erasure is given in A. Wharton, “Erasure: Eliminating the Space of Late Ancient Judaism,” in L.I. Levine, Z. Weiss, and D. ‘Amit, eds., From Dura to Sepphoris: Studies in Jewish Art and Society in Late Antiquity (Portsmouth, RI; Journal of Roman Archaeology, 2000), p.195.

106.
The Times (London) (February 5, 1919). The article, as it first appeared was not signed. Only the attribution “(from a correspondent)”


appeared under the title “Reconstruction in Jerusalem.”  However, Ashbee later included this article in A Palestine Notebook, citing the same date and claiming authorship. See Ashbee, A Palestine Notebook, pp.78–80.
107.
 Kark and Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs, pp.29–31.

108.
 See, for example, the case of India, described by Thomas Metcalf in Ideologies of the Raj, pp.171–76.

109.
 King, Colonial Urban Development,


p.88.

110.
 Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920, p.2.

111.
 Ibid., p.22.


112.
 Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, p.37.

113.
 Ibid., p.6.; Ashbee, A Palestine Notebook,


p.182.

114.
 For a discussion of the events related to the demolition of the clock tower, see Fuchs and Herbert, “A Colonial Portrait of Jerusalem,” pp.89–91.

115.
 Kark and Oren-Nordheim, Jerusalem and its Environs, p.35.

116.
 Kendall, Jerusalem: The City Plan, p.17.

117.
 Ibid.

118.
 Ibid., p.20.

119.
 Ibid.


120.
 An excellent account of the history of the municipality in the years of the Mandate is given in P.A. Alsberg, “Hama’avak al Rashut Iriyat Yerushalayim Bitkufat Hamandat” (“The Struggle over the Leadership of the Jerusalem Municipality during the Mandate Period”), in Shealtiel,


Prakim Betoldot Yerushalayim Bazman Hachadash.
121.
The Palestine Mandate (Geneva: League of Nations Association of the U.S., 1930), p.23, article 3.

122.
 Ashbee, ed., Jerusalem 1918–1920, p.34.

123.
 This aspect is discussed in relation to Rabat in Wright, The Politics of Design in French Colonial Urbanism, pp.85–90; and in relation to Algiers in .elik, Urban Forms and Colonial Confrontation, pp.25–26.

124.
 See Wright, The Politics of Design in French Colonial Urbanism, pp.89–90,117–18; and .elik, Urban Forms and Colonial Confrontations, pp.40–42.

125.
 Abu-Lughod, Rabat: Urban Apartheid in Morocco, pp.141–44.


126.
 Rabinow, “Colonialism, Modernity,” pp.175–79.

127.
Report by Mr. C.R. Ashbee on the Arts and Crafts of Jerusalem and District (1918),


p.44. Copy of the report from the Felicity Ashbee Papers, in the Jerusalem Municipal Archive, box 361 [C.R. Ashbee].
128.
 Many of these style-setting regulations are in effect to date.

129.
The Colonial Problem, p.264.  Cited from Pierre Charles, S.J., Le Probl.me des Centres extra-coutumiers, pp.118–27.

130.
 Conventions of Orientalism in British art and photography have been dealt with widely in art historical research. The following stud­ies on the subject should be mentioned, to name a few of the most relevant: J. Sweetman, The Oriental Obsession: Islamic Inspiration in British and American Art and Architecture, 1500–1920 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); J.M. MacKenzie, Orientalism: History, Theory and the Arts (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995); and J. Davis, The Landscape of Belief: Encountering the Holy Land in Nineteenth-Century American Art and Culture

(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996).

131.
 For a discussion of these devices, see A. Loomba, Colonialism/Postcolonialism (London: Routledge, 1998), pp.43–57.

132.
 My use of the term “hybrid” in this con­text is based on the definitions put forth by Nezar AlSayyad in: “Hybrid Culture/Hybrid Urbanism: Pandora’s Box of the Third Place,” in AlSayyad, ed., Hybrid Urbanism, pp.1–17.

133.
 The term “cartography of hegemony” is used in the context of colonial space-power relations by Ananya Roy in “‘The Reverse Side of the World’: Identity, Space and Power,” in AlSayyad, ed., Hybrid Urbanism, p.241.

134.
 The role of modernization in colonial discourse is discussed by D. Spurr in The Rhetoric of Empire: Colonial Discourse in Journalism, Travel Writing and Imperial Administration (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993), p.70.

135.
 A.D. King, “Rethinking Colonialism,” in AlSayyad, ed., Forms of Dominance, pp.339–55.

136.
The Palestine Mandate Vol.1, No.3, June 1930 (Geneva: League of Nations Association of the U.S.), p.16.