
Dean Dunham 9pm - 10pm
17 January 2025, 07:34
Walk through the city and you’d be forgiven for thinking the squares, parks, and plazas you encounter belong to all of us.
They’re open, green, and buzzing with activity. But look closer – or check for those subtle gold studs embedded in the pavement – and you’ll discover the uncomfortable truth: you’ve just crossed into private property.
These innocuous little markers are all that stand between what’s truly public and what’s privately owned, yet they govern what you can and cannot do in these pseudo-public spaces, or POPs.
Who knew? Certainly not most of us. When did these little studs even become a thing?
They’re a demarcation line so discreet it feels almost sneaky, designed to pass unnoticed by the very people it affects. The first time I stumbled across them, it was only because I was trying to figure out why I’d suddenly been stopped for taking a photograph.
On one side of the studs, I had every right to capture the scene – it was a public space. On the other side, however, the space was privately owned, and a security guard was suddenly in my face, telling me I couldn’t film without permission.
The absurdity of this cannot be overstated. How can a small gold stud embedded in the ground determine whether an entirely legal activity – filming, taking a photo, sitting on the ground – is suddenly prohibited?
These studs represent more than just a boundary; they symbolise the creeping privatisation of spaces that look and feel public but are anything but.
Under current laws, the rules for these privately owned public spaces are drawn up by the landowner, not by local councils or democratic bodies.
Worse still, they aren’t even obligated to tell you what those rules are. The boundaries are invisible, the restrictions opaque, and the enforcement arbitrary.
As a journalist, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been threatened by yellow-jacketed security guards for doing something as simple as standing in one of these spaces and filming a piece to camera or taking into a microphone.
It’s maddening to think that one step across an invisible line can strip me of my right to do my job.
And who would ever think that so many popular places are governed by rules made up by their owners, not the council, which are enforced not by the police but by private security.
During one encounter a few years ago I'd walked a little down a side street to record something as the noise from the main road was a bit much, a normal road with no signs saying it was private property, no barriers or anything, only to be mobbed by three 'SIA accredited' security guards.
They then proceeded to berate me because I was on private land, but how did I know? They said the paving stones were a different colour and size to the ones installed by the council, oh yes, of course.
The fact that these tiny studs – often noticed only by accident – can have such a significant impact on what you’re allowed to do speaks to the deeply unequal nature of these spaces.
They might look public, but they are private property, governed by corporate interests rather than public accountability. This means that landowners get to decide what’s permitted, and they can change those rules whenever it suits them.
Taking a photo or recording a video might be seen as a harmless activity by most people, but for a private landowner it could be interpreted as a threat to their carefully curated image – and they have the power to stop you.
The gold studs are also emblematic of how detached the rules governing POPs are from the public they supposedly serve. Most people don’t even realise these boundaries exist, let alone that they’re being constantly monitored and controlled while using what appears to be public space.
It’s a quiet erosion of rights – so quiet that you only notice it when you bump up against it, usually in the form of a security guard enforcing rules you didn’t know existed.
This phenomenon isn’t just irritating; it’s a symptom of a much larger problem. Public spaces have historically been places where people could gather, protest, and interact freely, without interference from private interests.
But the rise of pseudo-public spaces is turning these essential parts of urban life into tightly controlled environments where corporate priorities come first, and the public’s needs are an afterthought.
The gold studs, as unassuming as they are, mark the spot where this shift becomes visible. They’re a reminder that what we think of as public might not be public at all – and that we’re losing more than just the right to take a photo or film a video. We’re losing the right to be ourselves in our own cities.
It doesn’t have to be this way. Local councils need the resources to create and maintain genuinely public spaces, free from private control. Transparency laws must force landowners to disclose the rules governing their spaces.
And as citizens, we need to push back against this creeping privatisation before the gold studs start marking every corner of our cities.
Because a city isn’t just its buildings – it’s the spaces where its people come together.
And those spaces belong to all of us, not just the ones who can afford to own them.
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