Photo Essay

This photo essay depicts the town of Allston, MA in the fall of 2009. Though historically Allston has developed on a different trajectory from that of its Cambridge neighbor, the future of that dynamic may have changed forever in the 1980s when Neil Rubenstein, president of Harvard University authorized the first university purchases of Allston property. At that moment, Allston’s future became inextricably tied with that of Harvard’s.

Envisioning a campus expansion across the river, Harvard began a massive and secretive land-buying project, purchasing several hundred acres in North Allston during the eighties and nineties. Over the course of the next several decades, the university began to plan a utopian vision of new science facilities and the transformation of an industrial neighborhood. With several hundred acres to work with, and the perception of unlimited capital, Harvard was in an excellent position to dream big. The capacity for science research to cure diseases and improve global health allowed the Allston plans to project a narrative of common good, which continues to have an immense amount of power in discussions of the neighborhood. However, the university expansion has been a source of controversy and discontent among residents of Allston who object to Harvard’s secretive purchasing and the current plethora of Harvard-owned, empty warehouses.

Now in the early aftermath of last year’s economic crisis, Allston exists as a town in waiting, dependent on the revival of the financial markets and the future of Harvard’s endowment to fill those empty spaces. In the meantime, many different players including the university, a variety of Allston residents and the municipal government, come together again and again, all trying to leverage what power they can garner over the project and its outcomes.

I decided to put this together as a photo essay because much of the material about Harvard’s expansion into Allston is filled with plans and maps that are beautiful and visionary but hide what exists now. The power of the map is that it reveals as much as it conceals; you cannot see what was there before, and so this essay aims to show what is in Allston now.






In any discussion of Allston there will be several key words that appear over and over again with little specificity as to what they really mean. “Community” may be the most importunate of those words. People speak of the Allston community as if it were a homogenous or monolithic group; they speak of community representatives as if it were possible to have one or two people represent the entire populations’ needs; and they hold community meetings where activist-residents are able to voice their opinions in the presence of power. The terminology is integral to the process and yet it is important to maintain an awareness that such wording can be deceptive in its seemingly definitive nature.

One of the most consistent complaints from Allston residents, often voiced by community representatives at community meetings, regards the state of Harvard’s land bank in Allston. In 2009, the University now owns more land in Allston than it does in Cambridge. Yet most of Harvard’s properties in Allston are empty warehouses, and residents of the neighborhood resent living in that kind of environment. Considering that Harvard’s plan for its Allston expansion spans fifty years into the future, Allston residents don’t see a solution in the near future. Although the economic crisis may make leasing properties more challenging, it appears that Harvard has some options, including longer-term leases to developers who might want to build on those properties. Another strategy, as voiced by Harry Matteson, a community organizer, would be to build something low-maintenance that could be replaced when Harvard is ready to continue its expansion. He suggested an organic farm or a mini-golf course—things that might make Allston a popular destination. The risk for Harvard is that over time people might grow to love the farm or the mini-golf and then resist when the University is ready to build there.

Given that the University is in the midst of a financial crisis, I imagine that owning several hundred acres of property should be an incredible asset that Harvard could leverage to alleviate its budget deficit. Though I am not a real estate expert, leasing these properties seems like a good choice for both the university and for the neighborhood.






Listening to Harvard planners discuss the science center complex on Western Avenue is almost a magical experience. You will hear of a utopia in which sustainability meets community accessibility and cures for incurable diseases. It is for this reason that the delay in construction of the science center project has been so devastating to so many different people, from scientists to planners to Allston residents. For Allston, the science center held the promise of a transformed Western avenue, and without it, suddenly leasing the empty properties becomes more of a challenge because fewer people will be in the area during the day. Suddenly all of the construction jobs are no longer needed. Suddenly there is a massive hole in the ground and a big fence around it. Suddenly Harvard’s expansion plans are all on hold.









Reflected in the sign (above) for the Science Center is Charlesview, the low-income housing complex at Barry’s corner. Built in the late 1960s in what Samuel Johnson, board of directors of Charlesview, calls an “avante garde” construction process, Charlesview is dilapidated and nearing possible collapse. Drilling the hole in the ground for the science center did not help the stability of the Charlesview structure, but it has brought a possible solution for Charlesview residents: a Harvard-financed relocation.

It is unclear what Charlesview would have done if Harvard had not been here. Would the management of Charlesview have done a better job to keep it in good condition, or has that been truly impossible based on the building material and structure? What the miserable conditions of Charlesview have done is create a narrative of necessity—residents must move and they must move now. This narrative also appears in reference to Harvard’s overall expansion in Allston where the empty warehouses and the dilapidated streets require Harvard’s investment and reinvigoration.

Charlesview residents complain not just of leaks and structural damage, but also of rodents—particularly since the science center hole displaced much of the Allston rat population. At one BRA meeting concerning Charlesview, a resident brought a plastic bag with two dead mice to show the meeting her situation. Her incendiary performance bought her little favor among other Allston residents at the meeting, because the residents of Charlesview and the rest of the Allston “community” don’t always see eye to eye. Disagreement concerns plans to move and rebuild Charlesview in a different part of Allston, closer to the more residential part of the North Allston. Charlesview residents just want to move as soon as possible because of the conditions in which they are living. Other Allston residents see Charlesview as one of the last leverage points over Harvard, and they want to make as many demands as possible to the university, which is financing the move and Charlesview redevelopment.

For anyone who attended the October 5th, 2009 BRA meeting about the Charlesview relocation, the Brookline Machine property at Brighton Mills probably would have struck you as a key piece of the puzzle and a key part of the disagreement between Charlesview residents and other North Allston residents. In reality, the Brookline Machine property may not have deserved all the attention that it got at the meeting. The owners of the Brookline Machine bought their Brighton Mills property in 1949, expanding the company from its original location in Brookline. When Harvard began buying property in Allston, Brookline Machine held out. However, when the plans for the Charlesview relocation reflected a new location at Brighton Mills, it appeared that the Brookline Machine would be blocked in by the new development. That is when Brew Whiting, President of Brookline Machine, knew that he had leverage over Harvard and was willing to negotiate. Eventually, as the financial crisis descended upon Harvard’s endowment, Whiting was willing to sell quickly, and now Harvard owns the Brookline Machine Property. Brookline Machine has another year on their lease from Harvard and then they plan to move their business elsewhere. Meanwhile, the property has been a sticking point for Allston residents in the neighboring area because they want Harvard to promise to develop it for residence. They do not want to see Brookline Machine sit empty.



Though the BRA’s community meetings may do little with the input generated, as suggested by former mayoral candidate, Michael Flaherty, among others, they typically bring together a number of activists who hope to speak for the community. In this context, certain voices are heard repeatedly, but it is difficult to know who is not speaking. Given that Allston is home to a large population of recent immigrants, language presents an obvious barrier, but it is not the only one. Intimidation along class lines may also play a role in silencing residents of Charlesview and other lower-income Allstonians.