June 10, 2024

In Sustainability and Privilege, Gabriel Arboleda wrestles with the language of social design, sometimes known as social impact design, public interest design or, in my corner of the field, community-engaged design. The disparate language speaks to varied intentions and methodologies of practice among social designers today. Arboleda’s account stands at odds with stories told by the “starchitects” of social design. As indicated by the book’s subtitle, he critiques the role of architects working in (rather than with) underresourced communities and the unpersuasive justifications given for their work, with insufficient recognition of lessons learned. Arboleda ultimately offers a research-based call for a participatory practice that redistributes power in social design processes to better meet local needs. As the field continues to gain prominence, his evaluation of social design practice is useful in centering the well-being of communities.

In a series of five splashy case studies across continents, Arboleda offers a deep examination of the impact of sample social design projects through the lens of community members and his own perspective as a researcher and social design practitioner. The case studies vary by geography and largely center well-documented “high design” projects that boast the Venice Biennale as the signal of success. Resident interviews provide the foundation of his field work and critique.

In his literature review, Arboleda contends with the lenses by which to consider social design. He unpacks the imperialist critique and neocolonial theoretical perspective of humanitarian and social design, particularly the role of outside designers offering “solutions” that supersede listening in places of power imbalance, settling on a broader question of the privilege and positionality of architects that plagues his example projects—even those that have “local” designers at the helm. Another primary point pertains to sustainability, the problematics of the widespread adoption of the term, and the use thereof to wholesale justify social design projects that have a questionable relationship with long-term community impact and resilience.

In addition to showcasing individual projects, Arboleda also highlights state-led “ethnoengineering” work in Ecuador across 31 communities from 2002 to 2010. Here the role of modernism in Indigenous communities and the imposition of traditionalism in architectural form are supported by the state despite local preferences for durability and cost savings. This serves as an example of social design that is part of a larger politicized system with a cost model that relies on unpaid local labor, inexplicably equated to “participation.” The silver lining of this cluster of examples is the work of architect Luis Gallegos, who integrates local feedback to design a compromise between Indigenous forms and modern materials.

How can we as a field embody the lessons from this field work? While I disagree with the author that the sample size allows for generalizations of the field at large (he cites “a large number of social designers [who] do very commendable work with excellent results while still using sustainability as their paradigm” [43] but does not draw lessons from them), he offers resonant takeaways and cautionary tales that are important for the growing field. The dangers of iconicity, experimentation, and early-career amateurism on display in these samples of social design are unprofessional and problematic in positions of power disparity that are too often at play in poor communities. Further, they are unnecessary—projects can be at once structurally sound, beautiful, and locally responsive.

Arboleda offers a discussion of participation and the various forms thereof, acknowledging that “the bar as to what qualifies as participation in a social design project can be very low” (135). This discussion is not firmly situated in literature or like-minded practice, which would be fascinating as his levels of participation are highly reminiscent of the rungs in Sherry Arnstein’s seminal “A Ladder of Citizen Participation.”[i] Nevertheless, this chapter presents an important discussion of the role of participation in social design and calls for a redistribution of power and decision making in social design practice, which is at odds with the design-driven model held close by our profession and long cultivated in our training.

Arboleda proposes a more engaged and responsive role for the architect in a social design process driven by residents rather than design ego. His call for an ethics of social design practice—grounded by listening and learning from project stakeholders and redistributing decision-making power—reflects best practices in community design work in practice and dialog today. As Arboleda contends, communities are multifaceted and cannot be understood as one-dimensional. As such, social designers must embrace conflicting and messy perspectives as part of an effective engagement process. Complexity and uncertainty are part of the work, which must shift in response to local wisdom and needs, often defying preconceived design ideas. This recognition rings true—as a field as we train architects to dwell in complexity but not how to engage in meaningful participation strategies, a skill that can be honed alongside other tools of the profession. This, thankfully, is changing. The last decade in particular has seen a shift in design education and leadership that explicitly includes questions of power, community, and spatial justice.

Arboleda’s discussion of positioning social designers in community contexts may inadvertently signal a power imbalance through the use of the term “beneficiaries.” In community-engaged design, we consider residents as partners with agency and valuable knowledge, rather than receivers of design. This language choice and the positionality embodied therein impacts how we partner with or patronize communities. This also speaks to the importance of being invited into a local design conversation rather than imposing ourselves with an array of subagendas.

I would also be remiss not to note that architecture alone cannot “solve poverty,” as Arboleda claims social design aims to do, nor should it. This is the work of larger systems, in which these case studies operate. Rather, design can do good and enhance quality of life in both process and product, and can in turn contribute to dismantling inequity in the built environment. Arboleda recognizes the need for change at the level of practice as a whole and larger systems still (208).

In his call for a new design model, Arboleda aims to “move [social design] practice out of the realm of high architectural design and its designer-centered values, and instead to explore alternative models of practice that are people-centered” (12). Might we instead redefine design excellence to include responsiveness to local wisdom and needs, and, of course, structural integrity? Beautiful design need not do a disservice to communities. And might we subsequently shift our storytelling to amplify and recognize positive precedents, reinforcing values therein? More models and examples of responsible social design like those posited here are needed. I look forward to a next book on best practices and processes in the field, answering the final question posed: “What can I help with, if my help is even needed?” (232).

Ceara O’Leary, AIA, is community-engaged architect, planner, educator and scholar in Detroit, MI who works with neighborhood partners on design and policy projects at a range of scales.

Notes

[1] Sherry Arnstein, “A Ladder of Citizen Participation,” Journal of the American Planning Association 5:34 (1969): 216–24.

https://doi.org/10.35483/JAEOR.6.10.2024