In a neighborhood with no intact front gates, only eight households remained. Warning notices announcing demolition were posted here and there on broken gates and windows. Alleys were filled with burst 75ℓ garbage bags, broken chairs, suitcases, vacuum cleaners, videotapes, and more; this place is Jeongneunggol in Seongbuk District, Seoul, on the brink of redevelopment.

In Jeongneunggol, where birdsong is heard more often than human voices, voices could be heard calling the so-called ‘nonhuman residents’. “This is kkotmari. It is common in sunny places and grows in clusters.” “A nest woven this loosely is usually a rock pigeon’s nest. People sometimes mistake it for a branch during pruning and cut it off, they say.”

The animal rights group ‘Animal Church’ held a ‘Jeongneunggol Nonhuman Resident Diversity Survey activity’ in Jeongneunggol on the 19th. Since last year, Animal Church has stood in solidarity with the Jeongneunggol Tenants’ Countermeasures Committee, which has been calling, “Denounce the pressure for forced relocation with no plans for residents,” ahead of redevelopment. Jeongneunggol is a hillside shantytown where, in the 1960s~70s, people who lost their homes due to the clearance of shanty settlements around Cheonggyecheon came and began to live. Talk of redevelopment has circulated for a long time, but demolition has not yet begun due to conflicts within the association and other reasons.

This activity was held in the lead-up to Earth Day on the 22nd. The activist Sai (45) explained, “Our activity is a small version of a bioblitz (Bioblitz).” A bioblitz is a ‘biodiversity survey activity’ in which citizens and scientists investigate how many species of birds, insects, trees, and other living things are present in a given area. Sai said, “Even though many people have left, the lives of those who remain and the nonhuman residents continue, and we wanted to experience that we can still form relationships in such living spaces.” That day, they mainly observed plants.

The four participants had not walked even 1 meter from the entrance to Jeongneunggol before stopping to match plants with a field guide. When Yong-gi (screen name·30) read from the guide, Choi Hyun-seong (29), who was in charge of recording, wrote down the names one by one. Huin-jeotjebi-kkot, with long triangular leaves and almost no wings; naengi, with heart-shaped fruits and rough leaves; and gwaengi-bap, with heart-shaped leaves and no teeth along the edges. Bori (screen name·30) zoomed the camera in and out and took numerous photos.

After an hour of stopping, reading, shooting, and writing, more plants had become familiar. “That purple one is jaju-goe-bul-jumeoni.” “There are a lot of kkotmari.” “Is this a Western dandelion or a native dandelion?” Yong-gi marveled, saying, “It feels like the resolution with which I see the world is changing.” Even when a passerby said, “Why come to take photos? It will be torn down before long,” they steadfastly took in the nonhuman residents with their eyes. The plants they encountered that day totaled 41 species.

Although the neighborhood was overrun with trash, traces of people standing in solidarity with the displaced could also be seen here and there. A drawing of three sparrows and graffiti reading, ‘Sparrows huddled together live here. Guarantee the right to housing,’ and graffiti reading, ‘Behind the arrogant delusion that there is no one here, that everyone will be driven out, beings who are still living are watching,’ were written on the sooty walls and fences.

Choi said, “At this hour one could invest in stocks or go look for land to speculate on, but simply coming here instead seems meaningful.” Bori said, “When I go to spaces where beings disappear, like a slaughterhouse, there is nothing I can do; I can only witness,” and added, “Even so, the very fact that there is at least one person who remembers that scene, that we know about those being pushed out, seems to make us perceive our lives differently.”