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| In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to live.
In addition to natural hazard vulnerability, the lack of access to basic infrastructure and financial services imposes restricted production and consumption conditions for this population, as well as limits technological innovations that for some privileged experts, would be promising for reducing our environmental degradation [2]. Hence, when thinking along the United Nation’s promise of “leaving no one behind” for a sustainable future, one must think – What is really possible in marginalized, peripheral, poor contexts?
In my diverse experiences in social projects in Brazil, I came to face situations where from the lack of options, these populations have been actively resisting their existence through informal and creative ways of production, consumption and education. Ways that have been excluded from the respect of government officials and policymakers, but that we can learn from to ressignify our modus operandis that have overpassed the bearable impact on the planet.
I bring to the discussion the practice of mutirão, a word with indigenous roots from Tupi-Guarani mutyrõ (within many other variations), freely translated to English as “common work”. The practice, with debated origin [3], has been present in diverse cultural contexts and geographical regions, suggesting a common intrinsic human trace of solidarity [3], but that aggregates different layers of political and social challenges. Deteriorated by the growing individualization of work configuration, some practices of mutual help survive their remote past’s heritage [3], yet incorporating new complexities of contemporary urban configuration.
In Brazilian cities, despite the legal effort to make cities accessible [4], these challenges include housing deficit, lack of basic services such as sanitation and electricity, and restricted land access [5]. In the overall neglect of this urban ill by some government officials, it creates a condition that obliges people to find informal ways of occupying the city – usually in configurations such as favelas, and ocupações. In these scenarios of poor infrastructure assistance, climate vulnerability is enhanced, being common phenomena of landslides, extreme rainfall and floods that cause significant dwelling damage and human loss. Yet invisibilized by officials, the segregated people find political and social strength by unification of their voices, knowledge and workforce abilities in a territory that is not assisted by formal governance. They collectively construct housing, infrastructure, and collective spaces in labor that are generally non-remunerated, non-hierarchical, and do not aim for a financial profit. Therefore, the mutirão incorporates a political view of anti-hegemonic activity that is contrary to capitalist work relations [6].
To bring this into practical terms, I share a practice of an informal occupation located in Santa Maria, a city in south of Brazil, that is in a current legislative process for the State to formally allow 53 families to live where they have been for the past seven years – “Vila Resistência” – in direct translation – “Villa of Resistance”. The name coherently suggests their will of power, as 15 of the pioneer families came from a situation of eviction from a past land they occupied, and in the current site, they have already been through at least three direct threats of removal [7]. The disputatious situation introduces other various conflicts these organizations encounter, and their need to urgently resist to be able to livTransformative learning for sustainable transition uses multiple frameworks on various scales that formulate normative goals. In Reader #7 authors bring together concerns, challenges, and take aways from exploring frameworks and policies on the ground, such as UN Sustainable Development Goals, European Union’s Just Transition policies, the Inclusive Design Overlay, to RIBA Plan of Work, and differing universities’ educational structures. How can we translate the expectations raised in legal frameworks, visionary policies, and mechanisms into tangible practices, and how can we learn from our experiences to make real change? While the authors operate in varying interstices between disciplines—municipalities, young people, museums, universities, and an architectural education at the crossroads of defining sustainable design practices locally and breaking away from a colonial educational system—they share the pursuit for building new practices, relations, and ultimately professional identities. The papers describe the complexities of entering unknown territory and being affected by social orders and frameworks. Everything happens in the encounter.
Transformative learning for sustainable transition uses multiple frameworks on various scales that formulate normative goals. In Reader #7 authors bring together concerns, challenges, and take aways from exploring frameworks and policies on the ground, such as UN Sustainable Development Goals, European Union’s Just Transition policies, the Inclusive Design Overlay, to RIBA Plan of Work, and differing universities’ educational structures. How can we translate the expectations raised in legal frameworks, visionary policies, and mechanisms into tangible practices, and how can we learn from our experiences to make real change? While the authors operate in varying interstices between disciplines—municipalities, young people, museums, universities, and an architectural education at the crossroads of defining sustainable design practices locally and breaking away from a colonial educational system—they share the pursuit for building new practices, relations, and ultimately professional identities. The papers describe the complexities of entering unknown territory and being affected by social orders and frameworks. Everything happens in the encounter.
Alexandra Lulache and Ana Maria Elian’s research “Small-town youth in the fractures of the just transition: following a teenage-led urban installation in Prahova, Romania,” is situated in the context of the EU’s Just Transition Mechanism—a financial and governance tool targeted at regions that are expected to lead the process of decarbonization. The mechanism aims, in theory, to allow local policy makers to actively involve communities at risk of being left behind in re-envisioning their futures and communities’ post-transition. One of the targeted stakeholders are the youth, however because of the way local just transition policies are implemented, the opportunities for youth participation in local decision-making are often wasted away. In the case of Urlați, a small city in Romania, Prahova region—known for its oil industry—local policies and decision-makers ignore their young citizens, the civil society landscape is barren, and the formal education system does not encourage active involvement or interpretation of the places they inhabit. Under the Horizon project BOLSTER, Elian and Lulache, over the course of a year, facilitated a civic forum of highschoolers in Urlati, whom they asked to think about their own needs and to develop a community-project that contributes to the well-being of the environment and its community. The co-creation process was challenging and highlighted the absence of an institutional ecosystem of participation, that could have built the foundations of an inclusive and democratic space for the youth. This paper unravels mediation instruments, learnings, and potential leverage points, in an attempt to build bridges between EU policies and youth-led local actions.
Kelly MacKinnon, in “Embedding Inclusivity and Youth Engagement in Architectural Education: A Case Study from Northumbria University,” identifies a marginalisation of diverse user experiences in the architectural profession. She stresses the importance for architects to learn to become more aware, attentive, and skilled towards inclusive design practices. MacKinnon extends this claim to architectural education, which she claims should equip future practitioners to design for diverse communities, as well as to educational approaches engaging young people early on in the design of the built environment. For architecture students this means developing—besides disciplinary skills for communicating designs, such as drawings and models—soft skills such as the ability to listen, observe, and engage, for learning to address a wider audience. She foregrounds the cultural partnership between Northumbria University and Newcastle City Council as a good practice example of a live project which has brought together master students of architecture with children and young people. The programme has embedded the United Nations’ Sustainable Development Goals, the Inclusive Design Charter, and RIBA’s Plan of Work into the studio curriculum. Through excessive workshopping with young people, youth panels were established. Students’ design proposals were developed with public audience and youth engagement in mind, challenging their normal typical presentation formats. A public exhibition in the Farell Centre, co-curated with the architecture students, showcased their input alongside student proposals, inviting families and school groups to reflect on culture and creativity in Newcastle. The case study contributes to current academic discourse on inclusive design and the role of education in fostering civic agency.
Håkan Nilsson, Sofia Wiberg and Loulou Cherinet, in “Exploring interdisciplinary Education for Professionals: Building the Programme Designed Living Environments, Shared Spaces, Interdisciplinary Practices,” reflect upon a new interdisciplinary programme launched as a collaboration between Konstfack – University of Arts, Crafts and Design, and the Department of Art History at Södertörn University, both based in Stockholm. The programme engages practitioners from a broad spectrum of fields related to designed environments, including architecture, urban planning, design, the arts, and real estate, in an exploration of the increasingly complex relationships between the public sphere, spatial planning, and urban development. The programme responds to a common concern: the growing complexity of spatial planning in the face of urgent global challenges, such as climate change, economic inequality, and species extinction. They emphasise that these challenges are not only scientific and technical, but also ethical and political, often requiring practitioners to navigate conflicting goals and values. This collaboration offers deep insights, not only into the institutional complexities of higher education, but also into the very nature of interdisciplinary work itself. The authors point out that it has been striking to recognize how differences shape not only teaching, but also our understanding of how knowledge is transmitted. Some take aways are the understanding of the tension between designing a programme for professionals and the expectation of the academic system, with its difficulty to recognize and value the real-world knowledge practitioners can bring into a university-setting.
Khansa Douardi and Pierre Leclercq, in their paper “Towards an Environmental Framework for Architectural Education: Challenges in Integrating SDGs in Tunisia,” explore the challenges of integrating Sustainable Development Goals into architectural education in Tunisia within the National School of Architecture and Urbanism (ENAU). Their research approaches the issue through two methodologies; at the macro level, it is based on a comprehensive examination of the regulatory framework and architectural accreditation bodies that guide educational programs in Tunisia; at a micro level, empirical observations provide insights into the design process, with a focus on teaching pedagogy, knowledge, skills as well as students’ learning outcomes. Their study reveals that regulatory frameworks and the Accrediting Board for Architects in Tunisia have been influenced by the European context of architectural education—explicitly the School of Fine Arts system with a focus on architectural aesthetics and a neglect of interdisciplinary knowledge. Addressing this gap in knowledge and skills, Dhaouadi and Leclercq argue for a holistic comprehensive revision of the academic curriculum for adapting pedagogical approaches to the evolving demands of the architectural profession.
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