G H O S T of shtromka
u r b a n a f t e r l i f e of s t i g m a
THE URBAN PRESENT IS HAUNTED
by what came before and by what has not yet arrived.
Cities are shaped not only by their physical forms
but also by their histories, collective memories,
and the expectations projected onto them.
In many neighborhoods,
the built environment may change,
yet the symbolic weight of the past persists,
lingering like a ghost that refuses to leave.
by what came before and by what has not yet arrived.
Cities are shaped not only by their physical forms
but also by their histories, collective memories,
and the expectations projected onto them.
In many neighborhoods,
the built environment may change,
yet the symbolic weight of the past persists,
lingering like a ghost that refuses to leave.
MORE LAYERS,
more layers I didn’t first encounter Shtromka in September,
when we began imagining the neighborhood together.
But during those three months I started noticing its specters
— traces of territorial stigma, a symbolic residue
out of sync with the newly renovated streets and buildings.
It became the starting point
of my
project,
and what began as an intuitive feeling
gradually became a method of inquiry.
and what began as an intuitive feeling
gradually became a method of inquiry.
This ghost is not just a feeling
— it carries social hierarchies,
histories of exclusion, shared anxieties as residue.
The ghost is not stigma itself, but what remains
once stigmatisation has detached from its original conditions.
It is the afterlife of a reputation
that continues to shape perception.
By paying attention to the ghost,
we can better understand
how urban futures are socially produced,
how belonging is negotiated,
and how space and imaginaries
can be reclaimed.
To explore the ghost, — it carries social hierarchies,
histories of exclusion, shared anxieties as residue.
The ghost is not stigma itself, but what remains
once stigmatisation has detached from its original conditions.
It is the afterlife of a reputation
that continues to shape perception.
By paying attention to the ghost,
we can better understand
how urban futures are socially produced,
how belonging is negotiated,
and how space and imaginaries
can be reclaimed.
I gathered beliefs from people
whose perceptions of Shtromka don’t align with its history.
Instead of listing different stigmas,
I focused on how the stigmatisation of Shtromka
persists as reputation beyond its historical conditions.
Drawing from a sample of beliefs and subjective analysis,
I identified recurring dynamics that I named:
ghost of memory,
algorithmic haunting,
rumor phantom,
specter of assumption,
mythic everydayness,
institutional afterlife.
To make these layers tangible, algorithmic haunting,
rumor phantom,
specter of assumption,
mythic everydayness,
institutional afterlife.
I transformed my observations into an album of ghost stories.
Each story traces one recurring dynamic
through which the afterlife of stigmatisation continues to linger,
told from the perspective of those who can see the ghost.
By using stories as a method, the album illustrates
how past narratives and present beliefs interact,
and shows how Shtromka’s mental map remains haunted.
WHERE
the ghost comes from
the ghost comes from
Territorial stigmatisation
begins
when a neighborhood becomes judged.
Certain areas are named and remembered
through simplified stories
— dangerous, failed, left behind.
Labels that flatten histories into narratives
that spread easily and widely. Over time, these labels detach from lived reality
and begin to move on their own.
They circulate through media, institutions, casual talk,
and inherited assumptions.
Once stigma clings to a neighborhood,
it no longer needs evidence to survive.
The place turns into shorthand,
shaping encounters in advance.
Territorial stigmatisation produces symbolic residue:
a reputation that outlasts the conditions
that initially produced it
and continues to circulate independently.
Within this residue,
the ghost is not a metaphor for stigma itself,
but for its temporal misalignment.
Territorial stigmatisation also binds place and people together.
Residents inherit the neighborhood’s reputation
regardless who they are.
A stigmatised neighborhood is not simply misrepresented,
it is socially positioned as lesser, risky, or suspect,
producing material and symbolic inequality.
My project does not reconstruct
the original history of stigma.
Instead, it traces what remains
once history turns into reputation
and continues to move forward on its own.
when a neighborhood becomes judged.
Certain areas are named and remembered
through simplified stories
— dangerous, failed, left behind.
Labels that flatten histories into narratives
that spread easily and widely. Over time, these labels detach from lived reality
and begin to move on their own.
They circulate through media, institutions, casual talk,
and inherited assumptions.
Once stigma clings to a neighborhood,
it no longer needs evidence to survive.
The place turns into shorthand,
shaping encounters in advance.
Territorial stigmatisation produces symbolic residue:
a reputation that outlasts the conditions
that initially produced it
and continues to circulate independently.
Within this residue,
the ghost is not a metaphor for stigma itself,
but for its temporal misalignment.
Territorial stigmatisation also binds place and people together.
Residents inherit the neighborhood’s reputation
regardless who they are.
A stigmatised neighborhood is not simply misrepresented,
it is socially positioned as lesser, risky, or suspect,
producing material and symbolic inequality.
My project does not reconstruct
the original history of stigma.
Instead, it traces what remains
once history turns into reputation
and continues to move forward on its own.
WHY
the ghost lingers Hauntology offers a way to understand
why this ghost does not disappear.
As Jacques Derrida suggests,
the present is never clean or complete,
it is shaped by unresolved pasts
and unfinished histories.
In Shtromka,
stigmatisation persists not because conditions remain unchanged,
but because the past has never been fully confronted.
The ghost exists between times
— neither fully historical nor fully present.
It appears in jokes, warnings, and so-called common knowledge
that spread casually
and feel self-evident rather than constructed.
Haunting helps explain why the ghost moves
through feeling and anticipation rather than evidence.
As Avery Gordon describes, it appears as a something-to-be-done,
a sense that something is wrong even when it cannot be named.
Seen through hauntology,
territorial stigmatisation leaves behind an urban afterlife
— old hierarchies continuing in new form.
The ghost remains
not because the past is remembered too much,
but because it is remembered selectively
and without context, politics, and responsibility.
To study haunting is not to dwell on nostalgia or fear,
but to trace how unresolved histories
continue to shape space, perception, and belonging in the present.
HOW
the ghost circulates
the ghost circulates
Throughout my project,
ghost, specter, phantom, myth, afterlife, and haunting
refer to different expressions of the same phenomenon:
the circulation of territorial stigma
after it has detached from its historical conditions,
across time and scale.
Through conversations, media encounters,
and everyday remarks collected over three months,
six recurring dynamics emerged.
They overlap, amplify, and feed into one another,
creating a dense and persistent ghost
that shapes how the neighborhood is understood and approached.
These accounts are not approached as evidence to be verified,
but as circulating beliefs
— traces of how the ghost reproduces itself
regardless of accuracy.
My approach focuses on perception and repetition
rather than representation, reflecting
how the afterlife of territorial stigmatisation works in practice.
ghost, specter, phantom, myth, afterlife, and haunting
refer to different expressions of the same phenomenon:
the circulation of territorial stigma
after it has detached from its historical conditions,
across time and scale.
Through conversations, media encounters,
and everyday remarks collected over three months,
six recurring dynamics emerged.
They overlap, amplify, and feed into one another,
creating a dense and persistent ghost
that shapes how the neighborhood is understood and approached.
These accounts are not approached as evidence to be verified,
but as circulating beliefs
— traces of how the ghost reproduces itself
regardless of accuracy.
My approach focuses on perception and repetition
rather than representation, reflecting
how the afterlife of territorial stigmatisation works in practice.
GHOST of memory
This layer works through inherited recollection.
Memories of Soviet-era hardship stay
not as detailed history,
but as simplified impressions passed down through stories,
media fragments, and generational talk.
The past is not recalled as context, but as atmosphere.
Memory here acts as a residue:
it builds expectations of danger or decline
without requiring direct experience.
In hauntological terms, the past remains unfinished,
returning as a filter of perception rather than a closed chapter.
This layer works through inherited recollection.
Memories of Soviet-era hardship stay
not as detailed history,
but as simplified impressions passed down through stories,
media fragments, and generational talk.
The past is not recalled as context, but as atmosphere.
Memory here acts as a residue:
it builds expectations of danger or decline
without requiring direct experience.
In hauntological terms, the past remains unfinished,
returning as a filter of perception rather than a closed chapter.
algorithmic HAUNTING
Algorithmic systems function as accelerators of the ghost.
Online representations of Shtromka amplify
selective images of crime or decay,
producing a version of the neighborhood
detached from everyday life.
Search results, videos, and recommendation feeds
favor sensational continuity over change,
allowing the digital ghost to flow faster and farther
than lived experience.
For those who have never visited,
the algorithmic image becomes the place itself.
Algorithmic systems function as accelerators of the ghost.
Online representations of Shtromka amplify
selective images of crime or decay,
producing a version of the neighborhood
detached from everyday life.
Search results, videos, and recommendation feeds
favor sensational continuity over change,
allowing the digital ghost to flow faster and farther
than lived experience.
For those who have never visited,
the algorithmic image becomes the place itself.
rumor PHANTOM
Rumors rely on informal transmission.
They require no evidence and resist verification,
thriving on repetition rather than accuracy.
Each retelling updates old stigma narratives for new contexts,
allowing fear to hold without a clear source.
The rumor phantom is mobile and adaptable,
stitching fragments of past narratives
into a continuously renewed reputation.
SPECTER of assumption
This layer functions through pre-emptive perception.
People approach Shtromka already knowing what to expect,
based on long-standing representations
rather than encounter.
These assumptions affect behavior,
reinforcing the very conditions they presume to be natural,
This layer functions through pre-emptive perception.
People approach Shtromka already knowing what to expect,
based on long-standing representations
rather than encounter.
These assumptions affect behavior,
reinforcing the very conditions they presume to be natural,
making encounters anticipatory rather than reactive.The specter of assumption makes the ghost self-fulfilling.
MYTHIC everydayness
Here, the ghost turns ordinary.
Jokes, stereotypes, and casual remarks fold the neighborhood
into cultural common sense.
These small stories do not dramatize danger.
Instead, they normalize marginality.
Through repetition, the ghost becomes background noise
— rarely questioned and easily reproduced —
where it functions as cultural common sense.
institutional
AFTERLIFE
This layer reflects structural continuity.
Even as Soviet-era institutions dissolve,
their logics survive
through planning practices, bureaucratic habits,
and inherited categories.
These institutional remnants sustain the ghost
by carrying stigma into material governance.
The afterlife of institutions ensures
that the past remains operational, even when officially rejected.
In this way, governance inherits stigmatisation
even when it no longer acknowledges its origins.
This layer reflects structural continuity.
Even as Soviet-era institutions dissolve,
their logics survive
through planning practices, bureaucratic habits,
and inherited categories.
These institutional remnants sustain the ghost
by carrying stigma into material governance.
The afterlife of institutions ensures
that the past remains operational, even when officially rejected.
In this way, governance inherits stigmatisation
even when it no longer acknowledges its origins.
THE ALBUM
of ghost stories The Ghost Album is both an analytical tool
and a narrative strategy.
Instead of correcting stigma with facts,
it makes its afterlife visible through stories.
And because the ghost works through atmosphere,
storytelling becomes an effective method.
Each story is grounded in a particular layer of haunting
and told from the perspective of those who can perceive the ghost
— not as victims of stigmatisation,
but as witnesses to its absurdities, contradictions, and endurance.
Together, the stories show
how reputation arrives before the place itself. Irony and exaggeration are not decorative.
They expose the instability of the ghost and show how easily its authority can fracture when taken seriously on its own terms.
The aim of the humor is not to trivialize the effects of stigmatisation,
but to reflect how enduring forms of harm persist
precisely because their afterlife is made ordinary, deniable,
and socially acceptable.
By taking everyday absurdities seriously,
the stories make visible how the ghost operates
most effectively when it appears harmless.
The Ghost Album does not aim to exorcise the ghost.
It aims to make it visible, legible, and contestable.
THE DOG WHO SMELLS OLD NARRATIVES
ghost of memory “My dog can detect the ghost of stigma
the way other dogs sense panic,
as if rumors from the past left a scent trail
that never fully faded.
Last week, someone whispered,
“Shtromka smells like the ’80s.”
My dog barked once, and the word “’80s”
appeared as a tiny, embarrassed ghost
wearing a synthetic tracksuit.
It glanced around, astonished to still exist.
Sometimes, I think my dog should run for city council.
He’s the only one qualified to sniff out
the undead reputations of the past
– and enforce it with impeccable judgment.”
ghost of memory “My dog can detect the ghost of stigma
the way other dogs sense panic,
as if rumors from the past left a scent trail
that never fully faded.
Last week, someone whispered,
“Shtromka smells like the ’80s.”
My dog barked once, and the word “’80s”
appeared as a tiny, embarrassed ghost
wearing a synthetic tracksuit.
It glanced around, astonished to still exist.
Sometimes, I think my dog should run for city council.
He’s the only one qualified to sniff out
the undead reputations of the past
– and enforce it with impeccable judgment.”
THE TEENAGER WHO FEARED THE FEED
algorithmic haunting
“I watched too many YouTube videos
about “Post-Soviet Districts of Tallinn,”
all filmed like trailers for an unsettling sci-fi movie.
The algorithm fed me a ghost tour disguised as information
– so when I visited Shtromka,
I expected broken streetlights, muttering shadows,
maybe a swing set trembling under Tarkovsky-esque wind.
Instead, I found a grandmother knitting aggressively
while yelling at crows in three languages.
She radiated the kind of authority
that survives all political regimes.
When I told my friends, they said,
“She must be a local spirit.”
Maybe she is. She knitted faster than history.”
about “Post-Soviet Districts of Tallinn,”
all filmed like trailers for an unsettling sci-fi movie.
The algorithm fed me a ghost tour disguised as information
– so when I visited Shtromka,
I expected broken streetlights, muttering shadows,
maybe a swing set trembling under Tarkovsky-esque wind.
Instead, I found a grandmother knitting aggressively
while yelling at crows in three languages.
She radiated the kind of authority
that survives all political regimes.
When I told my friends, they said,
“She must be a local spirit.”
Maybe she is. She knitted faster than history.”
THE ICE CREAM VENDOR WITH A SNIPER
rumor phantom
“People ask if I feel safe
selling ice cream in Shtromka,
their voices carrying leftover suspense
from the era of sensationalist reality TV.
Safe? The biggest threat is Kaido the seagull,
who operates with the precision of a sniper.
Once, someone leaned in and muttered,
“I heard this area has all sorts.”
Kaido swooped down, pooped on his shoulder,
and strutted away like a… screenwriter.
“Yes,” I said, nodding gravely. “Indeed.”
He thought I meant the neighborhood.
I meant the bird – the only thug
whose behavior has remained consistent
since the ‘90s.”
THE VOLUNTEER BESIEGED BY THE ELDERLY
specter of assumption “I walk shelter dogs at Shtromka.
People warned me that “Local types” might approach me.
They did. Three elderly women
demanded the full biographies of every dog:
names, astrological compatibility, preferred decade of pop music, their stance on pineapple pizza.
One asked if the puppy speaks English.
Another said she knew Shtromka’s reputation,
but she’d lived here for 54 years
and had not been murdered once.
Sometimes the living are the best ghost-busters.
They keep the receipts.”
THE BLOGGER WHO REPORTED FROM EMERGENCY
mythic everydayness
“I reviewed a café in Shtromka once.
Someone commented: “Bold choice.”
Bold? The café had non-pie pies and succulents.
If this area is haunted,
the ghosts are definitely gentrified hipsters.
The only truly alarming moment was when someone declared
that cardamom buns had become “too bourgeois.”
A cultural emergency, sure
– but not the one they were imagining.
Sometimes the biggest specters
are the expectations people bring with them,
not the pastries.
mythic everydayness
“I reviewed a café in Shtromka once.
Someone commented: “Bold choice.”
Bold? The café had non-pie pies and succulents.
If this area is haunted,
the ghosts are definitely gentrified hipsters.
The only truly alarming moment was when someone declared
that cardamom buns had become “too bourgeois.”
A cultural emergency, sure
– but not the one they were imagining.
Sometimes the biggest specters
are the expectations people bring with them,
not the pastries.
THE BUS DRIVER WHO GUIDES THROUGH GHOST PORTALS
institutional afterlife
“Every time someone steps onto my bus
and asks,“Does this go to….. Shtromka?”
the pause suggests they’re inquiring
about a metaphysical crossing.
Yes, the bus goes there. The portal leads
to a beach, a supermarket, and a woman selling mushrooms
from a suspiciously large bucket.
No demons – unless you count tourists
who refuse to validate their tickets,
the eternal revenants of public transport.
I’ve felt confusion sometimes. But danger?
That’s mostly a story
that commutes more than my passengers do.”
Thank you for listening
— to the stories, and to the ghost they carry.
My project is theory-informed and interpretive,
drawing on urban sociology, hauntology, and spatial theory
as a conceptual framework rather than an object of analysis.
BibliographyDerrida, Jacques. Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt,
the Work of Mourning, and the New International.
Translated by Peggy Kamuf. New York: Routledge, 1994.
Gordon, Avery F. Ghostly Matters: Haunting and the Sociological Imagination. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2008.
Lefebvre, Henri. The Production of Space. 1974.
Link, Bruce G., and Jo C. Phelan. "Conceptualizing Stigma."
Annual Review of Sociology 27 (2001): 363–385.
Wacquant, Loïc. "Territorial Stigmatization in the Age of Advanced Marginality." Thesis Eleven 91, no. 1 (2007): 66–77.