Barcelona Metropolis

Community centres, which celebrated their fortieth anniversary two years ago, represent the city’s most extensive network of public cultural spaces. They offer a broad range of activities, including workshops, exhibitions, concerts and courses. But community centres are more than just the activities they host; they are also the buildings themselves, each with its own intriguing story that reflects the city’s history and its evolution.

The year 2022 marked a significant milestone for the city’s community centres, celebrating 40 years of this network of public cultural facilities. The Centre Cívic Guinardó was the first to open its doors in 1982, followed by La Barraca in La Sagrera, Sant Martí, Casinet d’Hostafrancs, La Sedeta in Gràcia, Can Deu in Les Corts, Zona Nord in Nou Barris, Casa del Rellotge in La Marina and many others.

When we talk about community centres – one of the public services most highly regarded by Barcelonans – we think of democratic access to culture and the community activism of the 1970s and 80s. This activism involved both the public reclamation of unused or historic buildings and the construction of new ones. It’s well known that there was a notable gap from the early 20th century until democracy was restored. The subsequent disengagement of the working and middle classes from the mid-1990s onwards is also widely recognised.

Prior to the strategic plan for community centres, Barcelona had a fragmented and unstable grassroots cultural network, comprising cultural centres and clubs, social reading rooms, moral and religious centres, associations and cultural spaces with no fixed premises or targeted management.

Places with history

During the 40th-anniversary celebrations, there was significant interest in uncovering the origins of the idea behind creating these local cultural spaces. Looking back, we see that most of today’s community centres are situated where fields or country estates once stood. Frequently, these buildings were factories or industrial warehouses, barracks, convents, stables, or stately homes in the late 19th century. It is rare to find structures with a strong cultural heritage among them. Exploring the history of each building also highlights the city’s journey through industrialisation and deindustrialisation, the relocation of factories to the suburbs and the overall transformation of the urban environment.

I met with consultant Bruno Sivilla, a long-time resident of Sant Gervasi. He shared with me the story of the local activism surrounding the Espai Jove Casa Sagnier, located on Carrer de Brusi, which was as a community centre until 2018. The building was the home of architect Enric Sagnier and his descendants until the early 1950s. Mercè Rodoreda references this location in the preface of Mirall trencat (A Broken Mirror), describing it as the “abandoned park of the Marquis of Can Brusi” and recalling the magnificent gardens it once had before the war.

After serving as a women’s hall of residence and a centre of study for the University of Barcelona, local residents protested the reclassification of the land towards the end of the century. According to Sivilla, the campaigners proposed occupying the gardens around the clock. People would bring their chairs, staying resolutely and cheerfully as long as they could. They even created a board game about the campaign (not a game of chance!) and took up crocheting – perhaps explaining why the community centre later specialised in textile and handmade arts. They then held extended discussions, whether about politics, football or social issues. These conversations would stretch late into the night, continuing until the morning crowd arrived, so the discussions never really ended. According to Sivilla, who is quite talkative, this is the best thing that can happen to a conversation. I’m not sure if he’s pulling my leg.

Another fascinating story is that of the Centre Cívic Cotxeres de Sants, which still features several areas reminiscent of the porticos where the animals pulling trams used to rest. This is also noted in Maria Barbal’s novel Tàndem, where a pivotal scene unfolds at this centre. If time permits, I’d also like to visit the Centre Cívic La Bruguera in the El Coll neighbourhood, a place I’ve been to only a few times. The well-known publishing house of books and comics, significant to the area since 1910 and especially after the war, had its headquarters and printing presses there. The community centre is part of this history (which is full of contrasts, by the way).

As we say our goodbyes, Sivilla mentions that if I’m truly working on a feature about community centres, it would be worth exploring what they’re currently offering. It’s not just about looking at the past. There are workshops, talks, exhibitions, courses and cultural tours – at least in the Orlandai centre he knows. He never actually goes there himself but feels reassured knowing it’s nearby. Better than a Starbucks or a start-up incubator [he jokes]. No tourists, expats or digital nomads, he adds with a hint of sarcasm. And before we part, he suggests that, given my obsession with architecture and history, I might want to consider proposing a tour of the 52 community centre buildings. That’s how he wraps up our conversation.

Community centres: here and now

I’m at the former Escola Massana, located in the Rubió i Lluch Gardens. Tourists are taking photos of the solomonic column cross, Arab women are entering the Associació Intercultural Diàlegs Dona [Intercultural Women’s Dialogue Association], workers from the Biblioteca de Catalunya are going about their day, and some locals are visibly struggling with heroin addiction.

I’ve met with Sergi Díaz and Manel Doñate, who oversee the network of community centres from the Institut de Cultura de Barcelona [Institute of Culture of Barcelona] (ICUB), although each district and centre operates autonomously. From their broad perspective of the entire network, they explain that some programmes are centrally managed, such as Música Z, which focuses on emerging artists, not necessarily young ones. Community centres provide a venue for performances before a highly diverse audience. Pantalla Barcelona, with its twelve editions, is the most extensive film programme, supported by twelve centres, and serves as an alternative to the Filmoteca, film festivals or commercial cinemas more dedicated to auteur cinema. Barcelona Districte Cultural (BDC) is the neighbourhood cultural circuit that includes circus, dance and theatre. The “Temporals” programme showcases audiovisual, digital, multimedia and experimental arts. As mentioned, these programmes tour all the community centres, each of which also has its own unique artistic programming.

Since 2012, the number of community centres has been set at 52, ensuring that no resident is more than a 30-minute walk from one. There are no plans to open any additional centres in the near future. Current challenges for managing these centres in line with today’s society, include reflecting the city’s diverse demographics, as each year sees tens of thousands of people moving in and out. Another challenge is addressing the needs of an ageing population, who may face modest pensions but potentially have more educational qualifications than previous generations. According to a leaflet I read, it’s essential to focus on diversity, knowledge, integrity and community and local networks.

I’m at La Casa Elizalde, which always reminds me of the film Tras el cristal (In a Glass Cage) by Agustí Villaronga. It’s one of my favourite community centres, where I’ve spent many hours. I’m meeting Uri Barjola here, an old university friend and literature workshop facilitator at various community centres. He now works for the Consorci per a la Normalització Lingüística [Consortium for Language Normalisation] and is thrilled not to have to teach in a secondary school. He still had a few documents to submit and a form to sign. We eventually got around to the hare-brained yet charming question: What is culture? It’s been a delightful afternoon. Both of us, as part of the ever-changing group of cultural workers, are always pleased to see that cultural funding doesn’t come at the expense of political salaries and that management avoids fostering precarious conditions. Long live community centres.