Neal Rockwell

Montreal Based Photographer

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Some 35mm shots from my recent return to Herongate with former resident Falah Rashed (pushed out during the mass eviction of 2018), seeing how the property is being run down and neglected to make way for demolition and building of luxury rentals.

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Yesterday I went back to Herongate for the first time since 2019. I went with Fallah, one of the former residents evicted en masse in 2018 to make way for new luxury rentals. The parcel of land where Falah's home once stood, along with those of almost 600 other residents, was left empty for almost 7 years and only now have they broke ground for the new apartment blocks. Hazelview the multinational, financial firm landlord has said they won't conduct any more mass evictions. So far that has been the case, but the alternative has been little better for the community. Instead, when someone moves out of one of the aging townhouses, the company just leaves them empty and ceases to maintain them. The result is a patchwork: a few remaining residents amidst a multiplicity of vacant units, slowly returning to nature. Eventually the company will tear these down for the next phases of redevelopment. Fallah repeatedly mentioned the sadness he felt seeing the end of the community that he remembers there since he was a small child, when he first came to Canada as a refugee from the Iraq war.

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Ratscape 5

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Ratscape 4

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Ratscape 3

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Ratscape 2

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Ratscape 1

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Nafija Rahman

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Danny in his studio

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Whereof One Cannot Speak

Vacation Posts of a Nonfluencer

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Father: 40.5 years old. Mother: almost 36. Child: 16 months. We arrived at Cancun airport late on December 31, 2023. No bus. Only taxi. Only one company. Cost: $110 US dollars though the ride was no more than 23 minutes. When we complained the taxi manager mocked us, following behind as we walked: there are no other options – I run everything here – didn’t you know Cancun is expensive? Could we pay in Pesos? With credit? That would incur a supplementary fee. US cash was the most desired. The night smelled of tropical plants and moisture. It is new year’s eve, please do not forget to tip, the manager told us as we stepped into the cab. 

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The taxi driver told us that he worked 13 hour shifts. There was very loud music playing from the hotel across the canal when we arrived at our rooms. We closed the blinds and put the air conditioner to maximum in order to block out the sound of new years celebration. The next morning a German in the common space explained that our host lived in the upper suite, though we never saw her, accessing the apartment via a key box with a combination. A pungent smell of old cooking oil in the kitchen led credibility to these claims. A loud road ran beside. The apartment was part of a row of condominiums built in a line, likely in the nineties, or perhaps the 80s. The genetic structure of Cancun feels like it came into existence in this pre-internet period and thus the city still reproduces itself along these lines. The roads and buildings are the children of glossy folded brochures, timeshares advertised in newsprint circulars and catalogues selling resort packages found in travel agents’ offices.