Mechanistic and scientific approaches to resilience assume that there is a “tipping point” at which a system can no longer absorb adversity; after this point, it is liable to collapse. Some of these perspectives, particularly those stemming from ecology and psychology, recognise that individuals and communities cannot be perpetually resilient without limits. While the resilience paradigm has been imported into the social sciences, the limits to resilience have often been disregarded. This leads to an overestimation of “human resourcefulness” within the resilience paradigm. In policy discourse, practice, and research, resilience seems to be treated as a “limitless” and human quality in which individuals and communities can effectively cope with any hazard at any time, for as long as they want and with any people. We critique these assumptions with reference to the recovery case in Ōtautahi Christchurch, Aotearoa New Zealand following the 2010-11 Canterbury earthquake sequence. We discuss the limits to resilience and reconceptualise resilience thinking for disaster risk reduction and sustainable recovery and development.
The city of Christchurch, New Zealand, was until very recently a “Junior England”—a small city that still bore the strong imprint of nineteenth-century British colonization, alongside a growing interest in the underlying biophysical setting and the indigenous pre-European landscape. All of this has changed as the city has been subjected to a devastating series of earthquakes, beginning in September 2010, and still continuing, with over 12,000 aftershocks recorded. One of these aftershocks, on February 22, 2011, was very close to the city center and very shallow with disastrous consequences, including a death toll of 185. Many buildings collapsed, and many more need to be demolished for safety purposes, meaning that over 80 percent of the central city will have gone. Tied up with this is the city’s precious heritage—its buildings and parks, rivers, and trees. The threats to heritage throw debates over economics and emotion into sharp relief. A number of nostalgic positions emerge from the dust and rubble, and in one form is a reverse-amnesia—an insistence of the past in the present. Individuals can respond to nostalgia in very different ways, at one extreme become mired in it and unable to move on, and at the other, dismissive of nostalgia as a luxury in the face of more pressing crises. The range of positions on nostalgia represent the complexity of heritage debates, attachment, and identity—and the ways in which disasters amplify the ongoing discourse on approaches to conservation and the value of historic landscapes.
