Earthquakes rupture not only the objective realm of the physical landscape, but also the subjective landscape of emotions. Using the concepts of topophilia and topophobia developed by Yi-Fu Tuan as theories of love and fear of place, this paper investigates the impact of Christchurch’s earthquakes of 2010 and 2011 on relationships with the city’s landscape. Published accounts of the earthquakes in newspapers from around New Zealand are examined for evidence of how people responded to the situation, in particular their shifting relationship with familiar landscapes. The reports illustrate how residents and visitors reacted to the actual and perceived changes to their surroundings, grappling with how a familiar place had become alien and often startling. The extreme nature of the event and the death toll of 185 heightened perceptions of the landscape, and even the most taken-for-granted elements of the landscape became amplified in significance. Enhanced understanding of the landscape of emotions is a vital component of wellbeing. Through recognising that the impact of disasters and perceived threats to familiar places has a profound emotional effect, the significance of sense of place to wellbeing can be appreciated.
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.
