Walls of Air

Muros de ar Brazilian Pavilion 2018

Walls of air

Muros de ar Commissioner João Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz Fundação Bienal de São Paulo Curators Gabriel Kozlowski Laura González Fierro Marcelo Maia Rosa Sol Camacho Organizer Fundação Bienal de São Paulo with the support of Ministry of Foreign Affairs / Embassy of Brazil in Rome Ministry of Culture / Funarte

support

realization

Brazilian Pavilion 2018

Walls of air

President of the Republic Michel Temer

Ministry of Foreign Affairs

Ministry of Culture

Minister of Foreign Affairs Aloysio Nunes Ferreira

Minister of Culture Sérgio Sá Leitão

Secretary General Ambassador Marcos Bezerra Abbott Galvão

Executive Secretary Mariana Ribas

Undersecretary General for Internacional Cooperation, Trade Promotion and Cultural Themes Ambassador Santiago Irazabal Mourão Director of the Cultural Department Minister Paula Alves de Souza Head of the Division of Cultural Promotion Operations Counsellor Gustavo de Sá Duarte Barboza

Embassy of Brazil in Rome Ambassador Antonio de Aguiar Patriota Minister-Counsellor Fátima Keiko Ishitani Head of the Cultural Sector Secretary Alexandre Siqueira Gonçalves (in memoriam)

director of the department of international promotion Secretary Adam Jayme Muniz

National Foundation for the Arts Funarte Chairman Stepan Nercessian Executive Director Reinaldo Verissimo Visual Arts Center Director Francisco de Assis Chaves Bastos (Xico Chaves)

Fundação Bienal de São Paulo Founder Francisco Matarazzo Sobrinho 1898–1977 · Chairman Emeritus Management Board Tito Enrique da Silva Neto · President Alfredo Egydio Setubal · Vice President Lifetime Members Adolpho Leirner Alex Periscinoto Álvaro Augusto Vidigal Beatriz Pimenta Camargo Beno Suchodolski Carlos Francisco Bandeira Lins Cesar Giobbi Elizabeth Machado Jens Olesen Julio Landmann Marcos Arbaitman Pedro Aranha Corrêa do Lago Pedro Paulo de Sena Madureira Roberto Muylaert Rubens José Mattos Cunha Lima Members Alberto Emmanuel Whitaker Ana Helena Godoy de Almeida Pires Andrea Matarazzo · on leave Antonio Bias Bueno Guillon Antonio Henrique Cunha Bueno Cacilda Teixeira da Costa Camila Appel Carlos Alberto Frederico Carlos Augusto Calil Carlos Jereissati Filho Claudio Thomas Lobo Sonder Danilo Santos de Miranda Daniela Villela Eduardo Saron Emanoel Alves de Araújo Evelyn Ioschpe Fábio Magalhães Fersen Lamas Lambranho Geyze Marchesi Diniz Heitor Martins Horácio Lafer Piva Jackson Schneider Jean-Marc Robert Nogueira Baptista Etlin João Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz Joaquim de Arruda Falcão Neto José Olympio da Veiga Pereira Kelly Pinto de Amorim Lorenzo Mammì Lucio Gomes Machado Luis Terepins

Marcelo Eduardo Martins Marcelo Mattos Araújo · on leave Marcelo Pereira Lopes de Medeiros Maria Ignez Corrêa da Costa Barbosa Marisa Moreira Salles Miguel Wady Chaia Neide Helena de Moraes Paula Regina Depieri Paulo Sérgio Coutinho Galvão Ronaldo Cezar Coelho Sérgio Spinelli Silva Jr. Susana Leirner Steinbruch Victor Pardini Audit Board Carlos Alberto Frederico Carlos Francisco Bandeira Lins Claudio Thomas Lobo Sonder Pedro Aranha Corrêa do Lago International Advisory Board José Olympio da Veiga Pereira · President Susana Leirner Steinbruch · Vice President Barbara Sobel Bill Ford Catherine Petitgas Debora Staley Eduardo Costantini Frances Reynolds Kara Moore Lonti Ebers Mariana Clayton Patricia Phelps de Cisneros Paula e Daniel Weiss Sarina Tang Board João Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz · President Eduardo Saron · 1st Vice President Lidia Goldenstein · 2nd Vice President Flavia Buarque de Almeida João Livi Justo Werlang Renata Mei Hsu Guimarães Ricardo Brito Santos Pereira Rodrigo Bresser Pereira

The 16th International Architecture Exhibition proposes a pertinent reflection about the multiplicity of forms that the concept of Freespace can take in architectural thinking and design.

A knack for proposing current themes, such as the one for this architecture exhibition, and for pondering alternative forms of existence are characteristic of Fundação Bienal de São Paulo and the reason behind its organization of Brazilian participation in the Italian event.

Artistic expression is not the exclusive domain of the visual arts; a huge diversity of fields produce sensitive manifestations of their work. Fundação Bienal finds itself, therefore, in a special position to activate, through the exhibitions and activities it organizes, connections between different fields of human endeavor.

The dovetailing of vocations that motivates the collaboration between the two institutions also extends to other cultural agents, equally committed to the issues of our time, which are a part of a global network cultivated by Fundação Bienal.

Among these partners are the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Ministry of Culture, with whom Fundação Bienal has organized Brazilian participation in the Venice Architecture Exhibition since its 6th edition, in 1996, and in the Venice Art Exhibition since its 32nd edition, in 1964.

We know that Brazil’s participation in the 16th Architecture Exhibition—a truly free space in which to discuss the building of the future of our cities—will be the source of dialogues that will contribute to the sensitive education of emancipated individuals.

João Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz President of Fundação Bienal de São Paulo

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Constructing the proposal for the Brazilian Pavilion at the 16th International Architecture Exhibition at the Venice Biennale

Gabriel Kozlowski, Laura Gonzålez Fierro, Marcelo Maia Rosa, Sol Camacho

This publication summarizes the exercise of exploration, discussion, debate, and exchange conducted among the four curators and hundreds of collaborators to create a project that reaches beyond the exhibition at the pavilion in the Giardini.

Our aim was to use the platform of the Venice Biennale—a moment of intense dedication, when similar questions are simultaneously discussed around the world—to broaden a conversation and its possible repercussions beyond the particular point of the exhibition. This is also why this publication is presented in a format unlike that of the traditional catalog, different from what is displayed on the walls of the pavilion; it rather offers the possibility of an immersion into the theme.

The concept and title Walls of Air was conceived as a response to the theme of Freespace proposed by curators Yvonne Farrell and Shelley McNamara in order to provoke questions about: 1. the different sorts of walls that construct, on multiple scales, the Brazilian territory; 2. the borders of architecture itself in relation to other disciplines.

Therefore, a reflection began on how much Brazilian architecture and its urban developments are, in fact, free. Without the ambition of reaching an answer, but hoping to open the conversation to a large and diverse public, we chose to shed light on processes that often go unnoticed due to their nature or scale. The immaterial barriers built between people or neighborhoods, and the processes of urbanization in Brazil on a continental scale are examples of questions we considered.

To discuss these ideas, it was decided to present existing projects as well as to develop research to create new content. This bilateral structure is also reflected in the spatial occupation of the Brazilian Pavilion, a building designed by architects Mindlin, Palanti, Amaral and Marchesin in 1964.

Francis Alÿs The Leak (São Paulo), 1995 Documentation of an action (São Paulo)

Manoela Medeiros Fronteira [Frontier], 2017 Excavation on wall and coating

First room: Projects

exchanges that are continuously modifying local practice.

The projects were selected through an 02 – Human Flows open call, an unprecedented initiative in We mapped the contemporary movements the history of the Brazilian representations at the Venice Biennale. Since the beginning, of immigration, the search for refuge, and the internal migration in Brazil to we understood the extreme importance spark a conversation about the country’s of this open call because, although widely permeability to this global dynamics. practiced in other countries, it had never occurred here. We saw this process as the 03 – Material Flows first step, within our reach, to democratize Brazil’s national representation at Besides the flow of people, we also sought to this exhibition. understand the movement of commodities, The open call resulted in 289 analyzing the link between the country’s architectural and urban projects, a large infrastructures, the production and satisfactory number. From those, transportation of commodities, as well as the seventeen projects were selected. The scars that these flows leave on the territory. selection aims to present works that allow for an understanding of new and 04 – Fluid Landscape contemporary ways of relating with the To explore the relationship between the city through the intermediation of design— human and natural ecosystems, we traced considering architecture as a tool for a parallel between natural elements harmonizing urban conditions that seem of the landscape—like the geographic incompatible at first. The last chapter of conformation of Latin America, the this publication presents details about humidity of the atmosphere, and the each of the projects selected, including movement of the winds—and the impacts location, architect, and the arguments of the country’s urbanization in order to for selection. encourage architects and urbanists to seek a holistic understanding of the place in which they operate.

Second room: Cartographies 05 – The Map Is Not the Territory The content was created based on We “redrew” Brazil’s immense political the widest possible understanding of borders, relating them to the possibilities of architecture, relating the discipline to the access and to the biomes that cut through various fields and forces that make up the them, in order to show the difficulty of contemporary physical environment. reaching—or even understanding—them We organized the research in ten broad with precision. approaches/lines of study, with the aim of revealing, on different scales, a new 06 – Succession of Edges perspective on the proposition of Freespace We researched the location and foundation from the point of view of the ongoing dates of the 5,570 Brazilian cities, processes of urbanization in Brazil: underscoring the continuous process of the construction of an almost entirely 01 – Crossbreeding urban country.

Beginning at the global scale, we gathered data on Brazilian architects who study 07 – Geography of the Real Estate or work abroad to get a better look at Market & 08 – Inhabiting the House or this expanded territory of contemporary the City? architectural practice; we sought to We analyzed the main dynamics understand the foreign influences and responsible for the configuration of the

How liberating can Pixo be in revealing the city’s power logics?

How unrestrained is the trespassing of limits between disparate urban fabrics?

How generous are the Brazilian housing programs in offering the right to the city?

How unobstructed is the agenda of the real estate market against that of Architecture?

How detached from a cohesive vision of Brazil has the urban formation of the country been?

How unimpeded is the access to the Brazilian border?

How unregulated is the relationship between human and natural ecosystems?

How sensitive is the urban environment to the movement of commodities?

How open is Brazil to the reception of immigrants?

How frank is the exchange of Brazilian architects with the world?

free

above mentioned cities, showing the vast machine of the Brazilian real estate market and the intense impact of the Minha Casa Minha Vida [My House My Life] program, the initiative that built the largest number of low-income dwellings in the country.

09 – Solid Divisions Going down to the scale of the city, we examined the real, physical walls that divide the urban landscape and reinforce Brazil’s socio-spatial segregation.

10 –The Encryption of Power Reaching the scale of the building, we studied the phenomenon of ‘Pixo’—pixo tagging as a tangible representation of the wall as a space of confrontation.

To research each of these approaches— and achieve our goal to involve a larger and more diverse team in the process of constructing the exhibition—we set up a multidisciplinary board and invited various outstanding agents and professionals from different fields to participate on it: filmmakers, historians, real estate developers, activists, artists, businesspeople, geographers, anthropologists, physicians, public managers, mathematicians, lawyers, ‘pixadores’, and data scientists.

With one representative per theme, the multidisciplinary board was tasked with guiding the team throughout the research and point out sources and paths for the use of the data and the development of the ideas. Part of this exchange was recorded in interviews, which are published here. They were planned and edited in collaboration with Coletivo Entre, from Rio de Janeiro, and recorded with the generous support of Arq.Futuro.

In parallel with this, we probed the national scene in search of researchers and professionals with works relevant to these ten approaches, and invited more than twenty specialists to write an essay exploring each of them more in-depth.

Some of them worked alone, others

involved their research groups (academic or private companies) in the task. From Brazil’s North to South, this group of people produced essays that reveal the countless ways of understanding the walls that shape our country, thus reflecting on the meaning of Freespace.

In addition to the consulting and exchange with these professionals, we organized work dynamics involving more than sixty immigrants, a workshop with master’s students from the School of Architecture and Planning of Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), and, above all, the rigorous data mining carried out by our team of young architects: based in São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, New York, and Boston, who dedicated themselves exclusively to lending consistency and precision to the research.

The result of this complex constellation of people, who worked for six months, is presented in the Brazilian Pavilion in the form of ten large-scale cartographic drawings, reproduced in miniature for this publication. Measuring 3 × 3 meters each, they were created specifically for the exhibition Walls of Air, and provide a detailed cartography of the ten approaches that seem relevant to us in the practice of those responsible for constructing the physical environment, whether they are architects or not.

10 scales 10 approaches 10 ways of understanding architecture and relating it with other disciplines The choice of a cartographic language to present this research was one of the most emphatic decisions of our exhibition design. The choice was made in part with the aim of escaping from traditional exhibition models, saturated by realistic images (photographs, renderings, etc.). On the other hand, it also aimed at combining the use of drawing—the architect’s main tool to represent space—with advanced geo-referencing tools.

Marcius Galan Seção diagonal [Diagonal Section], 2008 Installation view of exhibition

Lula Buarque de Hollanda Fragment of the installation OÂ muro [The Wall], 2017

The large-scale format of the panels refers to the immeasurable extension of the Brazilian territory, the fifth largest country in the world, and sheds light on the hundreds of layers that the research reveals. They are narratives within narratives.

At the same time that they offer new ways of understanding the information presented, the drawings bear a carefully articulated aesthetics which, in a certain way, refers to the idea of painting and a relationship with the world of the visual arts, impossible to ignore in the context of the Venice Biennale.

This final link was strengthened by inviting Brazilian and international artists who produce works in Brazil to participate in this publication. The selection of these artists and artworks constitutes a group of people and works that are sensitive to the same themes that concern us at this Biennale. Artistic and documentary photography, video, performance, digital collage, sculpture, and painting are the mediums used to promote a conversation about tangible or invisible barriers; the clashing between nature and construction; the divergences between the policies, planning, and the realities of housing, as well as the wounds resulting from projects carried out according to economic logics distant from the scale of the human being.

These critical works reveal a generation that considers the physical space as being indissociable from their work, and resorts to artistic practices to express their concerns.

Finally, installed at the entrance of the Pavilion, an outdoor piece, by Atelier Marko Brajovic, wraps-up in an even more tangible way the idea of breaching frontiers with the redesign of a city fence into public furniture.

Following the initial decision of Fundação Bienal de São Paulo of having four curators, the guiding principle for the development of this project was the idea of work as a collective effort.

Writing this text just a few weeks before inaugurating the Brazilian Pavilion in Venice, we look at each of the more than

200 people who believed in our idea and are extremely grateful for their confidence, certain that we have taken advantage of this opportunity to unleash a wave of discussion about architecture as an agent for transposing or revealing some of the pressing issues affecting our country and our profession. We hope that this book will be the beginning, and not the end, of the conversation about our Walls of Air.

Cildo Meireles AtravĂŠs [Through], 1983-1989 Installation view

rossbreedings: Brazilian 1. Carchitects abroad Introduction Nicolás Robbio statements Brazilian architects abroad interview Claudio Haddad essays Eduardo Aquino Aquilá (HereThere): the making of another map 58 Ana Luiza Nobre The houses of Brazilians: architectural, migratory and symbolic flows between Brazil and Portugal

32 34

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uman flows: the dilution 2. Hofassimilation barriers through cultural Introduction Rivane Neuenschwander interview Carla and Eliane Caffé statements A reflection on the 9 de Julho Occupation, in São Paulo

essays 92 Ana Carolina Tonetti and Ligia Nobre Counter-conducts: politics of architecture and contemporary slavery 100 Paula Miraglia, Gabriel Zanlorenssi and Rodolfo Almeida Immigration to Brazil in seven graphs 72 74

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Material flows: physical imprint of commodities exchange

110 112 114

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Introduction Melanie Smith Cassio Vasconcellos interview Sérgio Besserman essay Philip Yang and Marcela Ferreira Cities and the trail of commodities

luid landscape: 4. Fencounter between human and natural ecosystems Introduction Carolina Caycedo Helena Wolfenson and Aline Lata interview Antonio Donato Nobre essays Paulo Tavares The floods, the droughts 154 Álvaro Rodrigues dos Santos Architecture, urbanism and geology: an indispensable combination 130 132 136

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he map is not the territory: 5. Ta retraced border Introduction Runo Lagomarsino Paulo Nazareth interview Ailton Krenak essays Gabriel Duarte The horizon is just the beginning: borders, cities and identities 190 Celma Chaves Pont Vidal The multiple Amazon and the meanings of frontier 166 168 172

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uccession of edges: 6. Snarratives on the building of an urban country 202 204

208 212

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Introduction Jonathas de Andrade interviews Luiz Felipe de Alencastro Antonio Risério essay Iris Kantor Imaginary lines, walls and mobility: continental borders in the Luso‑Brazilian cartography

of the real estate Solid divisions: 7. Geography 9. market: controversies borders within the city between the agenda of capital and that of architecture

Introduction Renata Lucas Bárbara Wagner and Benjamin de Burca Mauro Restiffe interview Claudio Bernardes essays Danilo Igliori and Sergio Castelani Space and market: a reflection on the real estate geography and economy of cities 256 Eudoxios Anastassiadis Time for us to tear down this wall

228 230 236 238

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nhabiting the house or 8. Ithe city? the impact of the Minha Casa Minha Vida housing program

Introduction Tuca Vieira Carol Quintanilha interview Drauzio Varella essays Elisabete França Ways of living in the 21st century: my home is my city 292 Raquel Rolnik The urban invisibles and the walls that confine them 298 Marc Angélil and Rainer Hehl Minha casa, nossa cidade: on the micropolitical transformation of housing provision in Brazil 266 268 270

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Introduction Antoni Muntadas Pedro Victor Brandão interview Gilson Rodrigues essays Marcos L. Rosa Contesting urban borders: cultural practices, design and the construction of urban situations 330 Rodrigo Agostinho Bridging and breaking down barriers 338 Bruno Santa Cecília Building free spaces 346 GRU.A + OCO Cutting, filling and boring 308 310 312

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he encryption of power: 10. Tdisobedience and exclusion in the city Introduction Ivan Padovani Pablo López Luz interviews Cripta Djan Kenarik Boujikian essays Paulo Orenstein The probabilities in pixo 392 Victor Carvalho Pinto The city and the law: the role of law in the recovery of lost urbanity 360 362 368

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nsdc installation outside the Brazilian Pavilion Atelier Marko Brajovic

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The edges of objects

Selected projects from the open call 444 Bibliography and image credits 454 General credits

1 Crossbreedings: Brazilian architects abroad How frank is the exchange of Brazilian architects with the world?

In the early 20th century, sociologist Georg Simmel famously defined the social character of the traveler as someone constantly in-between, near and far, whose main quality comes from outside of the place they occupy.1 The traveler is constantly negotiating their identity, caught between the assimilation of the new and the alienation from the familiar.

As designers of space and, increasingly, of connection networks between spaces, the architect-traveler undergoes a kind of “crossbreeding” that raises questions about the permeability of the discipline to new architectural and cultural influences. Which walls are breached once immigration movements become part of a discipline often closed and self-referential?

This chapter looks at the benefits of global practices—which historically are not strange to the profession in Brazil.

From its beginnings, when the profession was being structured in Brazil, local architects and urbanists were highly influenced by “imported” practices. Three moments were of special interest: the large income of foreign professors during the implementation of the first architecture school in 1816 in Rio de Janeiro; the immigration of European professionals to South America during and after the great war years—the German Franz Heep; the Polish Victor Reif; and the Italians Lina Bo Bardi, Giancarlo Palanti and Gian Carlo Gasperini, are examples of this moment; and finally the period after the military dictatorship, when various architects and professors—like Vilanova Artigas—returned from exile bringing with them the most diverse set of references.

The movement of architecture students and professionals abroad, motivated by better opportunities of career development, recently grew in Brazil. At an educational level, federal initiatives fostering study-abroad-programs through institutional partnerships between universities have been one of the main factors stimulating the flow of a skilled portion of the population outside of the country, especially in the past two decades.

Notably, the Ciência sem Fronteiras [Science without Borders] program, created in 2011 and implemented in 2012 as a joint initiative of the Ministry of Science, Technology and Innovation (MCTI) and the Ministry of Education (MEC), aimed to provide scholarships to Brazilian students in different levels of their higher education during a 4-year span.2 Focused on areas of knowledge associated with science and technology, the program’s goals are listed broadly as fostering the exchange of abilities between Brazilian and foreign students and researchers, inserting Brazilian institutions and scholarly production in the international scientific panorama, and attracting highly qualified science personnel to Brazil. More than one hundred thousand scholarships were granted for the duration of the program, of which over 70% went to students completing their undergraduate education. While the focus of the program was not directly related to the study of architecture, it is important to recognize its role in encouraging the enrollment of Brazilians students in institutions overseas. Between 2012 and 2015, Brazilian students went from the 11th to the 6th largest international presence in higher-education institutions in the United States.

While Science without Borders continued to support graduate and postgraduate programs, the cost of its full implementation was said too high for the country, which was swept in an economic recession at the beginning of 2015, as Claudio Haddad remarks in his interview, the program was not completely adjusted to the economic reality of Brazil.

In the context of this global trade of scholarly and cultural outlooks, the theme “Crossbreedings” exposes locales of concentration and absence of such exchange. In that sense, this chapter aims to understand the impact of these policies and trends on architecture and design professionals, presenting a quantified reading of the presence of Brazilian architects in cities around the world. The

information presented is a result of data sourcing within specialized institutions as well as an open data collection platform organized in the website developed for this exhibition.3 The falling GDP, increasing credit restrictions, and spiking inflation that characterized the economy in 2015 had a direct impact on the journey of many “crossbred” architects. In her essay, Ana Luiza Nobre discusses the role of domestic architecture as fundamental to the influx of Brazilians into Portugal. Suggesting a kind of reverse flow to that of the colonial times, or even in recent years when Portuguese architects were looking for work in architecture offices in São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, the architectural reality of Brazilian interiors is taken to Europe through a population that, by switching their places of abode, carry Brazilian domesticity to Portugal, and vice-versa.

With almost ten thousand new graduates per year and the challenges of their insertion in the labor market, the analysis of the “architect-traveller” seemed pertinent for our professional group. The research, illustrated in the map, reveals the inclination of such group towards cities within the United States and Europe— almost 88% of them studying or working in these geographies—demonstrating, besides the ease to access, a matter of preference linked to cultural inspiration and references for Brazilian architects.

As in the subjective borders from Nicolás Robbio’s artwork and in the speculative Americas suggested by Eduardo Aquino’s essay, Brazil is depicted through subjective experiences of different countries, cities, citizenships, cultures, and histories. The lines merge and disappear, at times suggesting the immaterial reality of the borders, at times suggesting alternative geographies. At the end, Brazil also becomes a product of the crossbreeding of experiences.

Ultimately, as the architect-traveler transforms the perception of their place of origin, they carry with them the idea of a “crossbred Brazil”.

THE MAP The Crossbreedings map presents the results from data sourcing within specialized institutions as well as Walls of Air’s open data collection platform. The map privileges the American continent and the Western portions of Europe, where the exchanges have been larger in number.

The spikes in these areas represent the number of Brazilian architecture students received by foreign universities between 1998 and 2016. The data was collected from the main Brazilian governmental agency for international scholarly exchanges (CAPES).

International institutions are also listed along the circumference, where diagrams sort the number of incoming students by year. The year of 2012 is emphasized in red, marking the start of the Science without Borders program.

In the Brazilian territory, each spike represents the number of registered and active architects in Brazilian cities, according to the information provided by the Brazilian National Council of Architecture and Urbanism (CAU). The corresponding diagram shows the ratio between male and female professionals in the 400 cities registering the largest number of professionals.

1. See Simmel, The Stranger.

Available at: www.infoamerica.org/ documentos_pdf/simmel01.pdf.

Accessed on: April 10, 2018.

2. See Ciência sem Fronteiras. Available at: www. cienciasemfronteiras.gov.br/web/ csf/o-programa. Accessed on: April 10, 2018.

3. Available at: www.murosdear. org.br.

Nicolás Robbio Plano expandido (Questões ao traçar uma linha) [Expanded Plane (Questions when Drawing a Line)], 2016 319 pieces of wire

Brazilian architects abroad To make a more sensitive and tangible reading of the ways in which Brazilian architects and urbanists are active abroad, we sought professionals who at some moment (or various) have experienced the practice of the profession outside the country. The contact with outstanding Brazilian architects in other geographies was made through recommendations by the network of collaborators of Walls of Air. The selection focused on professionals who approach the practice on multiple fronts and in a wide range of contexts: architects who are active in North America, Europe, Africa and Asia, in different fields—photography, research, curatorship, art and design. It was requested that they reflect on the question: “How did your personal displacement allowed for another understanding of Brazil and how did this experience defined a new position relative to the research and practice of architecture? “ One highly significant aspect observed in their answer is that the difference between their Brazilian training and the realities they are immersed in abroad does not constitute any sort of barrier or limiting factor. On the contrary, practically all the architects talked about enrichment and opportunities for personal and professional growth. For them, living and working in a place that was different from their origin also allowed them to gain a new scope in their reflections and feelings in relation to Brazil.

Combining this with the knowledge related to their architectural training and their experiences in Brazil, the statements can provide us with insights regarding our role and goals as professionals. With a Brazilian essence that could never be set aside, each one of these collaborators briefly alludes to the significance their Brazilian background has for them. While they are responsible for bringing small pieces of the country abroad, they are also pushed to go beyond the Brazilian specificities. By broadening their horizons, they help lead ours to new corners of the planet.

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“One’s place of birth is the place where life makes sense. Besides our birthplace, there are places we adopt as our own. The privilege of having spent most of my adult life in various places outside Brazil has allowed me to become a citizen not only of one country, but of various cities, including São Paulo, Grenoble, New York, Florence, Tokyo and St. Louis.

As an architect, this is an extraordinary experience. It has allowed me to concretely understand that each society creates its own spaces, the raw material of the architecture and the city. More than another view of Brazil, this humanistic perspective has confirmed values and practices that I learned in my academic background and in my initial professional experiences, which I continued to develop and expand in other countries.

In the last two decades, my professional practice has been concentrated on education, research and artistic practice.

I teach design and history of architecture and the city, I write, design and organize exhibitions. The many years that I have dedicated to researching and writing about the life and work of architect Lina Bo Bardi have been my self-education on Brazil and on the broad significance of architecture as a cultural representation and a place for the practice of daily life.”

“Why work abroad? Firstly, I moved to London in order to study with some of the architects I used to read about in my university library in Belo Horizonte.

Secondly, to my total surprise, I realized that I myself could have an international career in the context of practice, curating and teaching. My experience abroad enabled me to pursue the architecture I wanted to practice—experimental and innovative—while being independent minded. My international experience enabled me to value both what Brazilian architecture is, and what it could be.

In other words, my main lesson from living abroad is perhaps to invest in and investigate the near future despite the acute social problems in my home country.

To dream about alternatives is not a luxury, but a necessity if we want to change our reality today.

For many years I have been inspired both

by Brazilian culture and its environmental challenges. In our current work we have been inspired by Amazonian culture.

One of our ongoing commissions is to design a Forest Research Centre in Bangladesh where we utilize lessons from the Amazonian environmental context translated into the global-warming-affected coast of our project site. If innovation is also an archaeological exercise, I am very happy to borrow a couple of dreams from the Rio Negro. Why not?”

Zeuler Lima, Ricardo de Ostos, Saint Louis, United States London, United Kingdom

“The first months outside Brazil are a “I was raised within the framework of mixture of stupor and incomprehension.

Brazilian modernists, as I was part of the Place onto a plate the icons of modern family of Olavo Redig de Campos, who architecture, add a model of the city exposed me to architecture. always focused on the public environment, In 1974, while studying architecture unhealthy apartments, a good wine, and during the period of Brazil’s oppressive throw in a dash of the inevitable wish military government, I moved to Canada to to disseminate Brazilian architecture continue my studies. There was a freedom (“Hey, European, where I come from the of movement within the social structure and marquees are flooded with landscape!”). in the teaching methodology at the Faculty Since in Europe there is no place for an of Architecture, University of Toronto, ample marquee, the landscape does not which offered a dynamic exploration within invade any space, and few understand the institution. Faculty director George Brazilian architecture, it helps to be from Baird had important connections with a country that “does not go out of fashion.” like‑minded architects and theorists in The doors are opened without needing to New York and London; in effect, it was a show much of a resume; and knowing how borderless cultural environment. to face challenges is part of our pedigree, It was here that I developed a critical which allows us to adapt, to face the theoretical tool I call “Architecture Parallax” economic crises and to switch from one role to examine and interrogate architecture. to another: architect, urbanist, landscape This was applied to my ever-present and designer, translator or photographer. strong connection to Brazil. In 1984, for As it is difficult to explain the power of an example, through an invitation from Lina Oscar [Niemeyer], Lina [Bo Bardi], Paulo B. Bardi to curate an exhibition at Sesc [Mendes da Rocha] or Rino [Levi], few Pompeia in São Paulo, the contact with this people understand what this challenge of disrupted metropolis—the collapse of the returning to the essence of architecture depth of field at its best—has generated means. Within this panorama, the on-going research and work through the photography of architecture that I propose “Parallax” concept. in Europe is strangely melancholic and Developing projects and teaching in solitary. In my work it remains implicit that Toronto, Stuttgart, Guernsey, Barcelona, that leafiness or that concrete from the London, Montreal and São Paulo other side of the Atlantic are unachievable are a critical part of my practice—an in old Europe.” architectonic and social navigation through urban and architectural situations.”

Flavio Coddou, Barcelona, Spain

Alexander Pilis, Montreal, Canada

“Soon after I graduated in architecture “As an architect and urbanist specialized from USP, the crisis of the Fernando Collor in popular housing, informal urbanization, government arose and there was not much urban design and the urbanization of work around here. It was 1991. I decided to favelas, I came to work with inequality move to Japan, which was experiencing in the city, using my knowledge to help its economic bubble. Living in Tokyo, those who have been excluded from I worked for some years in an architecture public policies, to encourage access to a firm. But I liked working with art and dignified dwelling, to quality architecture, slowly left architecture to be an artist. to a residential space where one can begin I stopped designing a physical world, but to live with full citizenship. A pioneering my artworks have always been influenced work with the squatters’ invasions and by architecture and urban planning. The camps that began with the construction main character in my paintings is the of Brasília brought me to Holland and interior settings, buildings and landscapes, then to Guinea‑Bissau, where I began an whether imaginary or real. The years went international career that brought me to by, and to widen my horizons I moved to more than thirty countries. In those years, New York. These personal moves enabled I resided in Holland, Guinea-Bissau, Egypt, me to gain a better understanding of Kenya and Saudi Arabia, and worked Brazil. The distance from my country of with a certain frequency and continuity origin allowed me to reflect on my cultural in countries such as Bulgaria, Moldavia, background and to think about how my Cuba, Bolivia and Brazil, as an international worldview was constructed. I do not regret consultant. My identity and cultural base having left my country as a young man. were fundamental for interacting with a Thanks to the education and the cultural diversity of social, political and economic heritage acquired in Brazil, I had a solid contexts, and to better understand tangible basis for achieving an international career.” and intangible social processes. The foundations constructed in my interaction with the excluded population in Brazilian cities became a comparative advantage in my professional activity in other countries, helping me to contextualize and deepen my search for adequate solutions, in a constant exchange and learning process.”

Oscar Oiwa, New York, United States

Claudio Acioly, Nairobi, Kenya

“I always had the spirit of a traveler and pioneer, which made me leave Brazil in search of new experiences, without imagining that I would wind up developing my career abroad. After a period of four years in London, where I was a postgraduate student at the Architectural Association School of Architecture and worked as an architect in large firms, in 2002 I took up residence in Hong Kong, which I consider the capital of Asia.

It is here that large projects and creativity have been applied to important issues in the big contemporary cities, such as infrastructure, urban mobility and accessibility. A combination of economic power, large investments in infrastructure, demographic pressure and high density have created an environment conducive to urban development and to the appetite for carrying out large projects.

Since then, my fascination for the city and my creative interest have been focused on the realization of projects that incorporate and put to the test a number of principles: the mixture of uses in the districts and blocks, the synergy between buildings and the activities they host, as well as the integration with the city’s transport network. These are the so-called transport oriented mixed-use developments (TODs).

Mauro Resnitzky, Hong Kong, China

Planned and designed with creativity, adapted to the urban context and pertinent to the real estate situation, these developments become true landmarks in the city, attractive destinations for work, leisure, housing and—why not?—urban spontaneity.

I have been active in our firm, Girimun Architects, since 2009, designing projects that promote a blending of scales, requiring solutions of urbanism, urban design, architecture, interiors, graphic design, signage and branding, all in a single design and at the same time.

In recent years, we have been seeking to collaborate on projects in Brazil, understanding that our experience is extremely relevant in the search for ideas and solutions for the large Brazilian urban centers.”

“During an exchange in Porto in 2001, the opportunity to travel and to explore the architecture we had only seen in books and magazines could not be missed by someone who was traveling to Europe. The few days I spent in Holland were impactful: a great period of the SuperDutch!

The freedom and experimentation that guide a large part of the contemporary Dutch production have always been extremely attractive, motivating young foreign architects to explore this thought open to countless design options. For their part, the architectural culture of Brazil and Portugal made us think in a linear way, seeking the best solution, when not the only one! The big dilemma.

The vision of architecture throughout these years of practice – and dilemmas along the way – working in Europe, Asia and America have made me perceive the foundation of my first years of work in Brazil and the years well spent studying in Rio de Janeiro and Porto. Studying the architecture that garnered Brazil worldwide recognition in this field, and understanding, being critical and appreciative of its contemporary production, are the legacy that I have and which allow me to work as a professional in a world where architecture is facing questions of globalization and identity.

For the last 13 years I have been working as an architect at the Mecanoo architectural firm, in the small city of Delft, located 15 minutes from Rotterdam, where I live.”

Rodrigo Louro, Delft, Holland

“Moving away from your own point of reference is an act of rupture in time and space. The very idea of country changes in the memory of your existence in a given place at a given moment. The change in location leads to a distancing in your perspective and allows you to become immersed in new social and professional dynamics. The distancing allowed me, first of all, to observe the value of the social relations in Brazil, characterized by empathy and generosity, but also by inequality and informality – almost like a metaphor for the Brazilian geography and landscape: generous, vast, diverse and contrastive. As I faced new professional paradigms, I could observe the value of the technique and aesthetics in the Brazilian context, characterized by lightness and the generosity of simple but rigorous lines that integrate function and form with economy and expression. The transposition from one country to another takes place through a process of synthesis and adaption. This synthesis, in my professional experience, is a result of these observations about Brazil: a constant search for meaning and for human and social value in the practice of teaching and research in architecture and urbanism. This transforms into a search for lightness and precision, for balance and the rigor of the line and for an understanding of the landscape (and its dynamics) as a natural and a cultural place.

In short, the search for the essential and for the fundamental act of the design.”

Taneha Kuzniecow Bacchin, Delft, Holland

interview: Claudio Haddad

Claudio Haddad (Rio de Janeiro-RJ, 1946) is an engineer and economist.

He holds a degree in mechanical and industrial engineering from Instituto Militar de Engenharia and a PhD in economics from the University of Chicago. He has also served as director of the Banco Central, professor of economics at Fundação Getúlio Vargas, in Rio de Janeiro, and partner at Banco Garantia. He is the founder and chairman of Insper.

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Walls What are the main barriers to a broader exchange of knowledge between Brazil and other countries in terms of university education?

The barrier is the result of various things, starting with people, as a result of the low quality of elementary education.

To get a better idea, only around half of our 18 years-olds have completed their secondary education and, of these, only 10% possess math skills considered minimally adequate by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). Of course Brazil always has people who excel, but given the country’s size, you would expect much more in terms of educational level, academic exchange, scientific research, published works and so on.

Evidences What has the program Ciência sem Fronteiras [Science without Borders] represented for Brazilian academia, for example?

I believe that Ciência sem Fronteiras was a well designed program and had a positive impact. Unfortunately, perhaps it was too ambitious and this held the program back.

However, it was a good idea and should be continued on a more realistic scale.

Side effects What do these educational intersections with other countries mean for the Brazilian economy and culture? What is the effect of breaking down the barriers between disciplines, in a broader context?

In Brazil, our economy is still very closed off. Not only in terms of ideas and exchange, but also international trade.

This exchange of ideas is very important for the country’s development, as well as for the development of people. There

is a lot to do, primarily in university education. Our education is built around silos. People study certain things with little interconnection between the various disciplines and schools. In architecture, more than other disciplines, this is absolutely essential. Architecture cannot focus only on form. It must consider a series of other things: physical and economic feasibility, as well as the cultural, artistic and aesthetic interaction of the project with the rest of the community. This has to form the basis of our schools of architecture, engineering, economics and so on.

At Insper, we started with a clean slate. There are no departments, instead we have programs—in engineering, economics and business administration.

Engineers are involved with projects from the beginning, and theory is taught along the way; it is Project-Based Learning.

Engineers must also worry about not only physical feasibility, but also economic feasibility, and whether the project is of interest and desirable for society and the environment.

Behavior and micro-politics How is knowledge accumulated individually during exchange abroad and disseminated to others? How does individual experience influence the behavior of the community?

Evidence shows that interaction between qualified individuals is fundamental for the dissemination of ideas, knowledge and productive activities. And this occurs in a cumulative manner, through what we call externalities.

Not only does a group of trained professionals create more than the sum of its parts, but this expands into a support network composed of less qualified professionals, which benefits the entire community. Those who do exchanges, when they bring back new knowledge and practices from abroad, serve as a catalyst for this virtuous cycle.

experience in the discipline What strategies do you use to overcome the barriers of social inequality through your work in the Brazilian educational system, at Insper, for example? How is education related to what you call social capital?

Most inequality is the result of problems in education. The overall low level of education is especially advantageous for those who excel and attain a higher level of education, given our regressive system, in which public education is inferior in quality to the education offered by private schools. A student who has money to spend on private education up through secondary school can then enter a public institution, which is free. While people who don’t have this opportunity, with a public education of inferior quality, have to attend and pay for a private institution, although there are programs such as FIES, a student loan program. At Insper we want to be an inclusive school: we have a scholarship fund so that every talented young person who passes our entrance exams can study, regardless of their income or means. This is essential for making us a school not just for the rich, but for all of those who wish to enter. This really makes an impact on the education of competent citizens, not only in terms of knowledge, but in terms of other skills: critical thinking, teamwork and a series of other things.

Content in education is a necessary but insufficient condition, because you have to combine this education with citizenship, resulting in a mixture called social capital.

This is what we try to do at Insper: learning is not just about subjects, but also other competencies and skills and, also, values.

Transformative potential What’s the outlook for public education, given the current investment cutback in the sector? What other intermediation or investments could contribute

to universal access to education, promoting both education in Brazil and educational exchange?

Brazil spends a reasonable amount on education compared to other countries.

The problem is that it spends it badly, since public spending is generally lacking in terms of effectiveness. There are schools that spend little and produce excellent results, and vice versa. It is not spending that will raise educational levels, it is spending better. Education in Brazil is fundamentally a problem of leadership and management—there are various barriers that make it difficult to do so. I’m always in favor of the government working with the private sector. It’s one thing to establish rights in the Constitution which are valid—everyone needs to receive an education. However, it is not necessarily the government that has to supply this good. This can be supplied by the private sector much more efficiently, and of course it must be regulated and monitored. With public-private partnerships, for example. How can this student be better served? It doesn’t matter if it’s the government or the private sector as long as it’s more effective.

A for-profit school can certainly accomplish its educational mission.

Today, in our case, we also want to include research, which is the creation of knowledge. Theory, in a more applied manner, through debates, discussions, seminars, manuscripts. For-profit research is a much more complicated proposition. First, why would you create knowledge for society if you need to generate results for shareholders? Second, you are very much tied to your own budget.

As a nonprofit, we follow the model of private American institutions: we are very involved in raising funds from third parties, we interact a great deal with the community, donors, financiers, people that help us in various ways. Our objective is, 400 years from now—like Harvard, which is now 400 years old—to continue to offer education and create knowledge of the highest possible quality in Brazil.

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map Crossbreedings.

Brazilian architecture students exchange (launch of the mobility program “CiĂŞncia sem Fronteirasâ€? in 2012) 2007 - 2011 2012 - 2016 - students

+ students

Aquilá (HereThere): the making of another map

Eduardo Aquino

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ARCHITECTS HAVE ALWAYS TRAVELED I prefer the world without territories only the accidental relief1 The definition of “local” is being completely transformed, a challenge given the tangled complexity of contemporary urban life. In theory, architecture is the physical expression of a specific location, of a single place. If art and writing are forms that can be identified, apart from locality, because of their reproducibility, architecture is, inversely, always attached to a specific geographic location. The experience of architecture and its territory goes beyond the purely visual and is, by its own nature, less so or even non-transportable. Architects adopt their medium by investing in modes of reciprocity and communication.

What happens when architects move away from their original environments? What processes of transformation occur with transnational architects, dispossessed of a sense of location/roots?

Traditionally, architects have always traveled.

The practice and study of architecture involves traveling and exploration of new places and different cultures. Migration, an act in favor of the dissolution of borders, has been crucial for the experiences of architects, from Le Corbusier to Lina Bo Bardi, from Mies van der Rohe to Zaha Hadid. In architecture, the idea of traveling has always been associated with the evolution of ideas. Alternative modes of investigation and exploratory practices transcend geographic limits.

Research, criticism and teaching of architecture welcome a constant renewal of modes of navigation, in this era of abundant transnational flows.

1. Dora Ribeiro, Olho empírico.

Lisbon: Babel, 2011, p.83.

CONTIGUOUS CIVILIZATION / SINGLE HORIZON

2. Guillermo Gómez-Peña, “Tratado da cultura livre”, in The New World Border: Prophecies, Poems and Loqueras for the End of the Century. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 1996, p.6.

The work of an artist is to force open the framework of reality and introduce unsuspecting possibilities into it. Artists and writers from all over the continent are currently involved in redefining our continental topography. We envision better maps. We envision a map of the Americas without borders, an inverted map or one where the borders are organized organically, by geography, by culture or imagination, and not by the capricious fingers of economic domination.2 Gómez-Peña proposes a redefinition of our continental topography, an issue that is gradually gaining momentum, as the world deconstructs and redefines its borders.

Starting with my own displacement from São Paulo to Winnipeg, some lingering questions: can we consider the identity of the Americas as a whole, as an uninterrupted and continuous territory? Can we consider the territory of the Americas as a contiguous civilization, combining collective expressions, from Patagonia to Nunavut, from Trindade and Martim Vaz to Cape Prince of Wales? Is there a genuine American sense of identity associated with the idea of a New World? Could we use art and architecture as a way to examine this existential contiguity?

Aquilá (HereThere) proposes another map, based on personal experience; an experimental map of the Americas, in which São Paulo is found alongside Manitoba based on an imaginary cartographic folding, a fictitious encounter between South and North, and producing an autobiographical geophysical theme: São Paulo-Manitoba (spmb). The map of the Americas is folded over so that these two places gradually come together, until they dissolve into a single horizon.

THE BUILDING OF ANOTHER MAP

3. Lina Bo Bardi apud Marcelo Ferraz, Lina Bo Bardi (Literary Curriculum). Milan: Charta, 1994, p.12.

What I can say is that there are no Tupiniquins; there are Brazilians. Of course, I said that Brazil is my country of choice and, as such, it is my country twice over. When we’re born, we have no choice, we are born by chance. I wasn’t born here, I chose this place to live. That is why Brazil is my country twice; it is my country of choice, and I feel like I’m a citizen of every city, from Cariri to the Triângulo Mineiro, the cities of the interior and border towns.3 […how does one design a new map? what is the map of the one that went without ever having been? and by going there, has one approximated much more to what it has

always been? here/now, there/then? and space-time, which of the two prevails? which is the best design? and the new map? how can one design a new map of time? how can you design a path that you’ve never been on? …is there an architecture of the present, an architecture that comes from the action of the architect and not the built object? what does the architect do? what is an artist if not the one who translates the world? what is a poet if not the one who is dedicated to space-time? architecture as a poetic gesture, as a return to drawing, by an architecture that returns to the question of space, which lightly touches the earth? an architecture without the built object? an architecture of betweens, an architecture of beyond, immaterial and intangible but present? a geography of flows, a displacement from within through the distance…]

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THE SOUTH, OUR NORTH Our North is the South. There must not be a North for us, except in opposition to our South. That is why we are now turning the map upside down, so we now have a true idea of our position, and not as the rest of the world wishes. From now on, the tip of the Americas insistently points to the South, our North. Our compass too: it will tilt irreversibly and always to the South, toward our pole.

When the ships sail from here, traveling North, they will be traveling downward, unlike before. Because the North is now below us. And when we are face‑to‑face with our South, the east is on our left. This is the adjustment needed so we now know where we are.4 The famous upside-down map of South America by Torres‑García formalized an autonomous-regionalist vision, a position based on an ideology that held South America in supremacy over the peoples of the North. As for the similarity to the Anthropophagic Manifesto, today this dichotomy appears a contradiction, in an age of shocking global cannibalism. The dynamics of power have moved from the local domain to a neoliberal and virtual domain characterized by an ideology of capital. Supported by new globalizing flows and complexities, it promotes the growth of a tangled web that replaces a simple line with two poles.

In a world without maps, the new nomad navigates without leaving home, or the office. It moves continually between the center and the periphery, as a simulator of these new conditions, under which the act of migrating dons ordinary garb. Coming and going is no longer exclusively for immigrants; there is, simultaneously and repeatedly, the coming and going of everyone. When you leave is when you arrive, everywhere is nowhere, etc.

4. Joaquín Torres-García, Historia de mi vida. Barcelona: Páidos, 1990, p.234.

GEOGRAPHIES OF SUBJECTIVITY

5. Dora Ribeiro apud André Luis Batista, Não pergunte: Uma leitura da China poética de Dora Ribeiro.

Juiz de Fora: UFJF, 2017, p.43.

My wanderings I am. And poetry is my fiction. I want to see myself and others as human beings free of nationalities… Travels are opportunities to be immersed in the world, in its apparent diversity; allowing me access to human experience and other languages and cultures.5 The scale of the world is contained in the space between: myself and the other. Geographies of subjectivity are processed by pause, observation, poetry, and architecture is the poetry of place. Both poetry and architecture comment on reality through a relationship with the world (without borders), benefiting a new universalsubjective-collective space. The poet travels to cities around the world (Ribeiro), or remains doggedly in one place (Drummond), repositioning themselves, in this case, through their imagination. The poet searches for universality based on a personal moment—the simultaneous pursuit of what’s between the I and the other, but now without limit. Their motivations point to a more generous question: what is the place of a poet in the world? Travel breaks with disciplinary impediments, indicating new practices. A voluntary distancing, an openness to other subjectivities, other modus operandi.

WORLD-SHELTER

6. Hélio Oiticica apud P. Bachmann, S. Neubauer, A. Valentin, Hélio Oiticica in New York. Bonn: Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG), 2017, p.23.

Here, I know more things about there than you there.6 In 1971, Hélio Oiticica moved to New York, after becoming frustrated with the military regime and the resulting cultural confinement of Brazil. Due to the success of his participation in the exhibition Information, at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), in 1970, he decided, albeit illegally, on a change of surroundings. Immersed in the world of New York counterculture, he witnessed the conflict between capitalist domination and the marginalized. The urban complexity between these two worlds led Oiticica to refer to Manhattan as New Babylon. But his marginal condition kept him in an intense creative isolation. In his apartment on the Lower East Side (Loft 4), he created six different spaces that he called Babylonests: playground, kindergarten, library, laboratory, motel, drug den and cinema. A university campus contained in environmental capsules.

A synthesis of public and private life, according to Waly Salomão, Babylonests erected a WORLD-SHELTER,

“a compact cosmopolitan city” invariably occupied by characters that, paradoxically, experience urban isolation within the collectivity that Oiticica created. It was in the move to New York that the artist created his most intimate, but nonetheless community-oriented, works, protected by the habitual codes of formal art—a world-shelter.

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INTERSECTIONS > PRODUCTION OF LOCALITY The production of locality is a reminder that even the most apparently mechanical forms of social order that seem to function without design, contingency or intentionality, but simply by the force of routine— what we used to call habit—involve large amounts of deliberate attention, effort and labor. Part of that attention, effort and labor is involved in collective ideas of what is possible. Therefore, for the local to have some spatialized embodiment takes an effort which transcends that very spatiality.7 For Michel Serres, knowledge is developed and transmitted through multiple forms of intersection, including what is now called transdisciplinarity. Art and architecture and associated disciplines share scientific analogies. Architects withdraw from the role of the author to come together collaboratively; the architect-author in danger of extinction. Design becomes the common platform on which architects, artists, scientists, activists and politicians gather to find a conceptual terrain before working with the public domain. The opportunity for transformation of the public domain occurs through design efforts, then the need to assess the local, which is only possible through scientific investigation. In the feedback process, evidence of action becomes clearer through critical distance and the adoption of collaborative evaluation methods spanning many disciplines (different visions of the world, different approaches, etc.), to achieve a real possibility of local production as a form of resistance to neoliberal globalizing forces.

PERIPATETIC […] walking culture was a reaction against the speed and the alienation of the industrial revolution. It may be countercultures and subcultures that will continue to walk in resistance to the postindustrial, postmodern loss of space, time and embodiment.

Most of these cultures draw from ancient practices— of peripatetic philosophers, of poets composing

7. Arjun Appadurai, Illusion of Permanence. New Haven: Perspecta, vol. 34, 2003, p.44.

8. Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking. London: Penguin, 2001, p.267.

afoot, of pilgrims and practitioners of Buddhist walking meditation—or old ones, such as hiking and flâneury.8 Aristotle, the peripatetic philosopher, taught while walking. In constant movement, a peripatetic is someone who depends on walking to reflect. The word is derived from the Greek perípatos, a colonnade designed for walking; in this way it is a direct reference to architecture.

Aristotle based his thoughts on facts observed through the experience of life: philosophy as a way of identifying the reason behind things. Driven by this nomadic exposure, the peripatetic architect moves through the world discovering other ways of doing, communicating.

For the peripatetic architect, travel is essential material for his practice. In the embodiment of travel, the peripatetic architect becomes a producer, as a direct result of displacement. To displace is more than just an obligation: it is the survival of a critical-poetic imperative of the process of becoming.

WORLD MAP

9. Eduardo Galeano, De pernas pro ar, trad. Sergio Faraco.

Porto Alegre: L&PM, 1999.

Our translation.

10. Michel Maffesoli, Sobre o nomadismo: vagabundagens pós‑modernas. Rio de Janeiro: Record, 2001, p.70.

The Equator is not the halfway line on the world map, as we learned in school. Over half a century ago, German researcher Arno Peters discovered what everyone had seen but no one understood: the king of geography had no clothes.

The world map they taught us gives two thirds to the north and one third to the south. On the map, Europe is larger than Latin America, but, in truth, Latin America is twice the size of Europe. India appears smaller than Scandinavia, despite being three times larger. On the map, the United States and Canada occupy more space than Africa, although they are only two thirds as large.

The map lies. Traditional geography steals space, as the imperial economy steals wealth, the official history steals memory and the formal culture steals the word.9 As with Deleuze’s fold, the new cartography is imaginary, belonging to all the subjectivities—to those that navigate and to those that decide to remain harbored in just one port. As Michel Maffesoli said, “The dynamism and the spontaneity of nomadism lie in its contempt of borders (state, civilization, ideological, religious) and the real experience of the Universal.”10 In the new world map, redesigned now based on different criteria, everyone lives, everyone stays, everyone is universal.

[fig. 1] Joaquín Torres-García, América Invertida [Inverted America], 1943.

Courtesy of the Estate of Joaquín Torres-García. [fig. 2, 3] Study for Aquilá (HereThere)

ANTI-MAP

11. Guillermo Gómez-Peña, ibid.

Here/there, indigenous people and immigrants share the same space, but are strangers. Here/ there, we are all potentially transborder dwellers and cultural exiles. Everyone has been uprooted to one degree or another and for different reasons, but not all are aware of this. Here/there, the homeless, the transborder culture and deterritorialization are the dominant experiences, not just extravagant academic theories.11 The here (does not) exist, nor does the there. Aquilá (HereThere) is the anti-map, inventing a world of intersections that are geographically impractical but engaged in the phenomena of experience. Without distinction: architects that stay, architects that go. All the migrants, the poets, all the architects are itinerant peripatetics, creating their own maps, maps of the world as real as they are imagined. Another world—a dreamt world that draws itself real.

Eduardo Aquino practices in the interstices of art & architecture under spmb [São Paulo-Manitoba].

In 2014 he completed a PhD at FAUUSP working on a project about beachscapes and was granted a National Urban Design Award from the Royal Architectural Institute of Canada for Jiigew. He is associate professor at the Faculty of Architecture, University of Manitoba, in Winnipeg, Canadá.

The houses Ana Luiza of Brazilians: Nobre architectural, migratory and symbolic flows between Brazil and Portugal

It was a dense dream, a profound ambition.

– Ferreira de Castro, Emigrantes, 1928 The Brazilian architectural world is currently experiencing a generalized hangover after a period of euphoria that lasted only briefly and left more sequelae then legacies. The severe political-economic crisis that the country is going through is notable in the shrinking of the architectural firms and in the slowdown of projects and business linked with civil construction. And the countless paralyzed construction sites—among which that of the Museu da Imagem do Som, in Rio de Janeiro, is probably the most eloquent example1— are the concrete expression of the failure, in architectural terms, of the sequence of international mega-events hosted recently by Brazil. In this context, the same environment of insecurity used as a justification by Temer’s government to announce a politically suspect federal intervention in Rio de Janeiro2 is also pushing Brazilian architects outside the country, in a new migratory cycle.

The desire to take up residence abroad is not a novelty for a social group that has financial resources and invests in the residential space as a distinctive mark, the material representation of a symbolic repertoire associated with the celebration of its social status and way of life. But while for a long time its favorite destination was Florida, in recent years it has become Europe. “Brazilians Swap Miami for Lisbon,” announced the Spanish newspaper El País in May 2016.3 While Brazil was preparing to host the first Olympics in Latin America, Portugal was thus emerging as the dream destination of those who sought a solution, through individual strategies, for a critical state associated with unprecedented levels of corruption, economic crisis, urban criminality and the precariousness of public services.

58

1. The new building of MIS/Museu da Imagem do Som, along the seashore at Copacabana, is the result of a controversial international design competition in 2009, won by the firm Diller Scofidio + Renfro. The museum was conceived to be an architectural icon of Rio de Janeiro, and was to be inaugurated before the Olympics. Due to the financial crisis of the state of Rio de Janeiro, however, the construction works have been paralyzed since 2016, with no resumption in sight.

2. In February 2018, President Michel Temer announced a federal intervention in Rio de Janeiro in response to the chaotic situation in the state’s public safety. This measure, provided for in the 1988 Constitution but never used before, means that the responsibility for public safety is transferred from the state to a military intervener.

This action unleashed a wave of criticism, both for awakening the ghosts of the military dictatorship and for being a dubious political maneuver deployed in a presidential election year. And the situation was intensified one month later, with the assassination of city councilwoman Marielle Franco, a fierce critic of the intervention and the recently nominated rapporteur of the commission created to monitor it.

3. Javier Martí del Barrio, “Brasileiros trocam Miami por Lisboa,” May 8, 2016, in: brasil. elpais.com/brasil/2016/05/05/ economia/1462480348_879062. html. Accessed on March 1, 2018.

4. João Almeida Moreira, “Portugal é a nova Miami para os brasileiros ricos,” April 26, 2017, in: www.dinheirovivo.pt/economia/ portugal-e-a-nova-miami-paraos-brasileiros-ricos/. Accessed on January 2, 2018.

5. In the press of both Brazil and Portugal, it is not rare to find references to Brazilians who have acquired real estate in Portugal, some of whom are widely known, such as minister Gilmar Mendes (Federal Supreme Court Judge and a key figure in Operation Lava Jato [Carwash]), physician Drauzio Varella, various actors, actresses and novela authors linked with Rede Globo (such as Fernanda Montenegro, Fernanda Torres, Cláudia Abreu, Paolla Oliveira, Giovanna Antonelli, Aguinaldo Silva and Glória Perez), as well as visual artists and musicians (including Adriana Varejão and Fafá de Belém).

6. João Almeida Moreira, op.cit.

January 2, 2018.

The other side of the Atlantic offered, after all, security, quality of life, a mild climate, a common language and history, facilities for obtaining a European passport, and low taxes, compared to the rest of Europe. These attractions were coupled with a very active real estate market whose prices still remained lower than those of other European capitals. Despite having risen 46% between 2015 and 2017, the square meter of building space in upscale areas of Lisbon, for example, is currently around 8 thousand euros, while in Paris and London it is around 18 and 27 thousand euros, respectively.4 It is no wonder that, in the growing migratory flow from Brazil to Portugal, the emigrants’ plans nearly always involve the acquisition of a property—a house or apartment—for a personal residence, secondary residence or rental unit.5 The numbers are constantly increasing: between 2014 and 2017, the percentage of Brazilians among the foreigners who most sought real estate properties in Portugal jumped from 6% to 10%. And since 2012, the number of so‑called “golden visas” (Portuguese residence visas obtained by acquiring real estate property worth more than 500,000 euros) granted to citizens of Brazil jumped from 69 to 282 in just two years (between 2015 and 2017).6 This phenomenon is part of a long and convoluted history of architectural, migratory and symbolic flows between Brazil and Portugal, which includes the violent cycle of forced migration from Africa instated in the colonial period, and the hasty move of the Portuguese royal family to the Brazilian colony in 1807–1808. But the reversal of the flow that has taken place in the last three or four years corresponds to a curious coincidence: Brazil has entered into collapse, while Portugal is giving surprising signs of renewed growth. The year 2014 is a landmark in this sense: it simultaneously marks the beginning of Operation Car Wash in Brazil and the end of the troika period in Portugal. That is, the beginning of the investigation of corruption schemes and embezzlement of public funds that triggered the current crisis in which Brazil finds itself—and, in Portugal, the reversal of the austerity measures imposed in 2011 by the triad formed by the European Union, the International Monetary Fund and the European Central Bank.

WAYS OF LIVING In September 2016, the Associação dos Profissionais e Empresas de Mediação Imobiliária de Portugal [Association of Real estate Mediation Professionals and Companies of Portugal] released the results of a study which many considered surprising: Brazilians surpassed the Chinese as the nationality that was buying the most real

nível 5.60 - topo cobertura nível 5.20 - teto cozinha

2.50

divisa

5.60

nível 3.00 - teto sala nível 2.80 - 1º pav. nível 2.50 - teto cozinha

2.80

nível 0.00 - pav. térreo nível -0.40 - teto garagem

2.40

0.40

divisa

5.00

0.30 0.20

2.20

0.40

60

nível -2.80 - pav. inferior

[fig. 1] Sábado magazine cover, Lisbon, June 1, 2017. [fig. 2] Sábado magazine cover, Lisbon, September 15, 2011. [fig. 3] Condominium at Cascais, Bernardes Arquitetura, T2+1 house model (section).

7. Lucas Rohan, “Brasileiros já compram mais casas em Portugal do que os chineses,” September 21, 2016, in: br.sputniknews.com/ sociedade/201609216375095brasileiros-imoveis-portugal/.

Accessed on January 25, 2018.

8. “Segmento de luxo com dinâmica consolidada,” in: Suplemento Imobiliário, Jornal Público, January 21, 2018, p.3.

9. João Batista Jr., “Paulistas compram 50% das unidades de novo condomínio português,” November 26, 2017, in: vejasp.abril. com.br/blog/terraco-paulistano/ paulistanois-mudanca-portugalvalor. Accessed on March 3, 2018.

10. Refer to Porta da Frente Christie’s, which operates in the luxury market in the area of Cascais, Grande Lisboa and Alentejo, and regularly holds editions of the event in Rio de Janeiro and in São Paulo, in partnership with Brazilian real estate and law firms. See www. portadafrente.com. Accessed on March 3, 2018.

11. Ibid.

estate in the country, behind only the French and English.7 Less than two years later, in January 2018, operators of the luxury market were already announcing that the Brazilians were their biggest buyers.8 The demand is so great that some real estate offerings have been launched in cities in the interior of São Paulo State.9 And in Brazil’s two largest cities, since 2015 the event Real estate Investment in Portugal has been held periodically, with support from the Portuguese Chamber of Commerce and organized by a Portuguese real estate firm affiliated with the global network of the famous Christie’s auction house.10 But what are these Brazilians looking for in terms of architecture?

A garage, 24-hour doorman, half-bath, suite, walk-in closet, maid’s room, utility area, elevator and leisure area are systematically demanded by those who do not want to give up the socio-spatial practices typical of Brazil—even though many are practically unthinkable in Europe, especially in the historical centers of cities such as Lisbon or Porto. A gap is thus revealed between the cultural model of origin and the local context, which is passed on to the architects: how to ensure garage spaces in cities where the car is not prioritized or, at least, is forced to exist within more rigorous limits than are normal in Brazil? And if the idea of a maid’s room or utility area—legacies of the slavery introduced by the Portuguese colonization, is out of keeping with European culture, where to find equipment like a household laundry tank, practically indissociable from Brazilian residences but inexistent on the Portuguese market?

Meanwhile, in the streets of Lisbon, Porto, Coimbra or Cascais, showcases full of rendered images of the latest residential releases vie for the most prominent advertizing spaces on downtown streets. The real estate agents—or “mediators,” as they prefer to be called—generally mention the preference of Brazilians for apartments in centenary buildings that have been refurbished and delivered practically finished, with built‑in cupboards and household appliances. This is the case of The Cordon, an 18th-century building in the historical area of Chiado, in Lisbon, which had 42% of its one dozen apartments sold before the refurbishing work started, 80% of the units were snatched up by either Portuguese or Brazilian buyers.11 Or that of Liberdade 203, located on the most elegant avenue in Lisbon. There, the Brazilians are the majority among those who have invested in the luxurious project by Portuguese architect Frederico Valsassina, where the absence of garage space was solved with a tunnel that leads to the basement of a contiguous building.

Even so, wealthier owners often introduce alterations in the designs, aimed at adapting them to their standards of comfort and ways of life. Some buy two apartments and hire an architect to unite them, which in some cases

allows them to have two independent entrances, of which one may eventually serve, even if not admittedly, as a service entrance.

For those who prefer to invest in new buildings there are undertakings like Nouveau Lisboa, a luxury residential building launched in 2016 in Lisbon’s Avenidas Novas zone, with 21 apartments ranging in size from one to three bedrooms. This pompous name coupled with the generalized branding of the renaissance of post-troika Lisbon lends the project a sense of Brazilian comfort. Here, “all the bedrooms have their own bathroom (ensuite) and the social areas have half-baths,” and “all the apartments have two parking spaces”.12 The larger apartments, with three suites, also have a “gourmet balcony”. And the common areas include an outdoor pool and spa. The design is by Brazilian architect Sidney Quintela, based in Salvador.

The general contractor and builder are also Brazilian.

Only 20% of the buyers are Brazilian, however. The rest are Portuguese. Is this a sign that the Portuguese are becoming enamored—once again—with typically Brazilian ways of living? Or will the number of Brazilians wishing to renew their customs abroad be greater than expected?

An agreement signed in 2013 between the Conselho de Arquitetura e Urbanismo do Brasil [Council of Architecture and Urbanism of Brazil] and the Ordem dos Arquitectos de Portugal [Order of Architects of Portugal], authorizing Brazilian urbanists and architects to exercise their profession in Portugal—and vice versa13—opened a decisive door for the presence of Brazilian architects in Portuguese lands. And there was soon a reversal of the flow configured a few years before, when young Portuguese became a frequent presence in Brazilian architectural schools and firms, and news began spreading of “the fantastic life of the Portuguese who went to Brazil” fleeing from the crisis.14 Sidney Quintela, Thiago Bernardes and Paulo Jacobsen are among the Brazilian architects who have developed residential designs in recent years in Portugal. Some were carried out in partnership with local architects. And if the clients are not always Brazilian, the references to Brazil are frequent. The design by Jacobsen Arquitetura for a house in Algarve, for example, presents as one of its main precepts, “applying authentic Brazilian architecture, one of the client’s passions, in Portuguese lands”.15 In terms of image, this was translated into a light and spacious house open to the outside, which incorporates materials and elements charged with symbolism: large planes of glass, a visible wooden framework, the extensive use of brise-soleils and a car in the garage. And it sits on an isolated block that recalls the pattern of gated condominiums in Brazil—an aspect which, not by chance, is also found in the design

62

12. “Brasileiros investem 10 milhões de Euros nas Avenidas Novas,” in: BPI Expresso, July 23, 2016.

13. “Acordo entre Portugal e Brasil permite que arquitetos trabalhem nos dois países,” November 26, 2013, in: www.caubr.gov.br/acordoentre-brasil-e-portugal-permiteque-arquitetos-trabalhem-nosdois-paises/. Accessed on August 20, 2017.

14. See “A vida fantástica dos portugueses que foram para o Brasil,” in: Sábado, September 15, 2011.

15. See “Memorial da Residência RMA,” Jacobsen Arquitetura.

Accessed on March 10, 2018.

16. One of the projects is a house in Lisbon, whose double façade is marked by a curved outline that is strange in the context, but suggests a relationship—conscious or not—with Alvorada Palace, by Oscar Niemeyer, in Brasilia.

by Bernardes Arquitetura for a condominium aimed at the Brazilian financial elite in Cascais.

At least up to now, this production has taken place on the fringe of the most prestigious circuits of contemporary Portuguese architecture, at least in what concerns residential projects. Apart from two projects now underway by the Aires Mateus firm (for Brazilian clients)16 and one by Casa Quelhas (Lisbon, 2010–7), resulting from a collaboration between Paulo Mendes da Rocha and Inês Lobo (for a non-Brazilian client), there is no news of such designs involving the architects who have put Portuguese architectural production into the international limelight today. But there are also various Brazilian architects acting in the area of interiors, such as Chicô Gouvea and Andrea Chicaro. And some Brazilian builders, such as Osborne and Alcon.

BRAZILIANS AND “BRAZILIANS”

17. See Tabner de Moraes (1873), cited in José Carlos Loureiro, Paula Torres Peixoto and Patrícia Mota Santos, Conhecer para preservar: Casas de Brasileiro.

Porto: Afrontamento, 2017, p.174.

18. Interview with architect Domingos Tavares by the author, on February 2, 2018, in Porto.

19. See Jorge F. Alves (1994), cited in José Carlos Loureiro et al. op. cit., p.174.

20. See the profile of the failed emigrant, translated literally in the character Manuel da Bouça,

by Ferreira de Castro, himself a Portuguese emigrant to Brazil, who returned disillusioned to Portugal after living in dire conditions on a rubber tree plantation in the Amazon forest.

Ferreira de Castro, Emigrantes.

Lisboa: Guimaraes, 1935.

As surprising as it may be, the current phenomenon is to a certain extent comparable to another one that took place in the second half of the 19th century and was architecturally translated into the so-called “houses of Brazilians”. In this case, the term “Brazilian” did not mean natives of Brazil, but rather the torna-viagem [“travel returnees”], Portuguese immigrants who, around the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th made a fortune in the former colony, nearly always as merchants or businessmen, and then returned to their country of origin where they built or remodeled houses for the temporary or permanent lodging of their families, seeking to express their social and economic ascension. They were, therefore, individuals known by a sort of double image: in Brazil they were called Portuguese, and in Portugal, Brazilians.17 According to Domingos Tavares,18 these emigrants were predominantly young males, under 18 years old and with little schooling, who left rural areas and emigrated alone, driven by the promise of social ascension and their desire to escape from military service. Most of them began their life in Brazil in unskilled positions.

Most of those who returned spent little time in Brazil— around a decade, if that long.19 And although the number who returned to their native land without a fortune is probably much higher than those who became wealthy,20 they were pegged in the popular mindset as nouveau riche, a stereotype fueled by writers such as Camilo Castelo Branco, Julio Dinis and Ramalho Ortigão. This “Brazilian” was ridiculed in political cartoons and literary narratives as a badly dressed, fat, ambitious lout with very poor taste, who sought to compensate for his background by publicly displaying honorific titles such as the order of

64

[fig. 4] ”Brazilian house” at Avanca.

Photo: Álvaro Domingues. [fig. 5] ”Brazilian house” at Póvoa de Lanhoso. Photo: Álvaro Domingues.

21. The probably most notorious— and scandalous—case is that of Joaquim Ferreira dos Santos (Porto, 1782–1866), Count Ferreira. The son of farm workers, he emigrated to Brazil around 1800, made a fortune in businesses that included slave trading, returned to his native land, and is celebrated until today for his philanthropic works in Brazil and Portugal, including the founding of hospitals, churches and 800 public schools in the North and South of Portugal. See Jorge Fernando Alves, “Percursos de um brasileiro do Porto: o Conde de Ferreira,” in: Revista da Faculdade de Letras: História, II série, vol. 9, 1992, pp.199–214.

22. Camilo Castelo Branco, Eusébio Macário. Porto: Livraria Chardron, n. d., pp.37–38.

23. Ibid., p.53.

24. Fundamentally in Minho, in Douro-Litoral and in Beiras and in the north of Mondego/Serra da Estrela, regions where the emigration to Brazil was most intense and where there is the greatest number of “houses of Brazilians.” José Carlos Loureiro, op. cit.

25. Cited in José Carlos Loureiro et al., op. cit, p.179.

26. In an interview with the author on February 4, 2018, architect Álvaro Siza said that he had been born in the group of houses called Sete Casas [Seven Houses], on Rua Brito Capelo, in Matosinhos – a group that still exists and which was built, according to him, by a “Brazilian” in the early 20th century as rental property.

27. Domingos Tavares, Casas de brasileiro. Porto: Dafne, 2015.

commander, and constructing, besides his own house, buildings with important civic and representative functions such as hospitals, schools, churches, theaters and even factories. Whether for charity, vanity or to cover a past of activities that were not always noble or licit in Brazil,21 the architecture produced on the philanthropic initiative of these “Brazilians” was part of the process of legitimating their social ascension and symbolically signifying their return, whilst opening possibilities for transformations in the surrounding urban spaces.

Concerning this social type, Camilo Castelo Branco wrote: “there are so many Brazilians around… This year, in Vizela, they were as numerous as the plague, they went barefoot, in white trousers, with gold chains full of things, very fat, some real big shots”.22 The same author describes the typical house of this emigrant as “a mansion of ceramic tiles the color of egg yolk, with a terrace on the roof for four statues symbolizing the seasons of the year, and, down below, two bronze dogs, atop each side of the iron gate with a cast metal coat-of-arms and arrogant prominences, between the two mastiffs with their razorsharp teeth, menacing, like all the animals of heraldry”.23 For as much as these narratives configured a stereotype that was already being combated at that time by writers such as Eça de Queiroz and Luís de Magalhães, they contributed to the visibility of an architecture reassessed today as heritage. An architecture that arises in areas of peripheral urbanity located above all in the north of Portugal.24 In Porto, so many of these houses were built that Magalhães Godinho referred to a “Brazilian district” as one of the three zones making up that city, in 1868.25 And we also find them in the childhood memories of architect Álvaro Siza, born in a set of houses built by a “Brazilian” in Matosinhos.26 In their extreme variety, these houses point to an eclecticism seasoned by elements considered exotic which, also according to Domingos Tavares, constitutes a variant little explored by European architectural romanticism.27 It is moreover a variant which that author considers modern, for involving innovations in relation to the standards then prevailing in Portugal. In general, the distinctive features of this architecture—which in Brazil would easily fall into the most generic category of eclecticism—are considered broad façades with many openings, a volumetry intercut into various parts, the use of vibrant colors and, often, ceramic tiles on the façades, coupled with verandas, imposing staircases leading up to the entrance door, balconies, iron gates and grills, a great variety of decorative elements and materials (earthenware vases and statuettes, faience borders, stained-glass windows), skylights, widow’s walks and turrets. And a leafy garden with arbors, ponds and artificial caves, palm

trees and other tropical species. Their interiors left no room for empty space: the richly ornamented furniture was generally complemented by stuccoed ceilings, crystal chandeliers, embroideries and glass with the owner’s coat of arms, as well as walls lined with velvet fabrics or covered with ornamental paintings.

In terms of their implantation, these houses tend to stand out from their surroundings, almost always located on elevations or along roadsides.28 Their interior layouts were characterized by divisions and spatial arrangements that introduced “a ‘Brazilian’ way of life in a bourgeois house”29—including larger rooms than those of the urban residential houses that preceded them in Portugal.30 In regard to these, the “houses of Brazilians” were distinguished also by a spatial distribution that revealed the hierarchical structures of the Brazilian social context—like the frequent location of the service facilities and lodging for slaves on the lower levels, sometimes half underground, problematizing the idea of the modernity associated with these houses.

If we observe the urban houses constructed by Portuguese in the same period in Brazil, we will find a continuous process of influences and intercrossings, in which it is difficult to identify a point of origin.31 Even the ceramic tiles used in so many façades of “houses of Brazilians” were reintroduced in Portugal by their owners after having been brought to Brazil by the Portuguese and adapted there to the covering of the façades, back in the 18th century.32 But the interesting consideration here is how much the architecture of the “Brazilians” conveys the Portuguese mindset about Brazil at a time when the economic depression in Portugal was combined with the perspective of development and progress represented by the former colony, leading to a transatlantic migratory movement that was intensified after the abolition of slavery (1888) and which reached its apex in the years leading up to World War I. In that period, the campaign was so intense that in 1890 an advertisement in the newspaper of Cantanhede, a city in the district of Coimbra, announced free passage to Brazil “to all single people between the ages of 18 and 45”.33 But if the architecture of the “Brazilians” marked the cityscape of places like Porto with signs of modernity, what marks on the urban architecture have been made in recent years, or will be made, by real Brazilians?

What transformations are already visible, and what can be expected from the transposition now underway, to Portugal, in regard to the typical habits and ways of life of the Brazilian elite?

It is too early to reach any conclusions. But if this architecture bears relation to a new migratory cycle, we must also consider the already existing or future impacts

66 28. José Carlos Loureiro et al., op. cit.

29. Miguel Monteiro, “Representações materiais do ‘brasileiro’ e construção simbólica do retorno,” in: Neide Marcondes e Manoel Belloto (eds.), Turbulência cultural em cenários de transição.

O século XIX ibero-americano.

São Paulo: Edusp, 2005, p.176.

30. I am referring to the vertical urban houses, which in a certain way lend continuity to the urban houses of medieval times with commerce on the ground floor and living quarters on the upper levels, their interiors divided into alcoves, and with narrow façades and few openings, aligned with the street and contiguous with the neighboring buildings. See Miguel Monteiro, op. cit.

31. Compare, for example, the “house of the Brazilian” built alongside the national highway in Avanca and the manor house of Chácara do Viegas (1860-1), in Santa Teresa, Rio de Janeiro. Or the castle of D. Xica (1915), in Braga, and the Castelinho Valentim (1879), also in Santa Teresa, Rio de Janeiro.

32. See: Santos Simões, cited in José Carlos Loureiro et al., op. cit., pp.183–4.

33. “All single people, between 18 and 45 years of age, who wish to go for free to Brazil will be furnished with fares on any of the steamboats of the Mala Real Portugueza, Mala Real Ingleza, and the Pacifico company lines. They will prepare documents to obtain passports, also for free. They will grant any amount necessary to offset the 6% interest. The agent in this district is Francisco Gonçalves Salvador, from Oliveiros, parish of Cadima.

Those who want passage should contact the announcer, or the announcer’s agent in Cantanhede – the consultant José Fernandes Monteiro. (Jornal de Cantanhede, n. 69, October 11, 1890, p.4).

34. “Ligação China-Portugal é a nova rota aérea da seda do século XXI,” in: observador. pt/2017/07/26/ligacao-chinaportugal-e-a-nova-rota-aerea-daseda-do-seculo-xxi/. Accessed on 14/01/2017.

35. The controversy around the railroad project mostly involved its social environmental impact, since it would cross indigenous territories and preservation areas in the Amazon forest. See Gerardo Lissardy, “A polêmica ferrovia que a China quer construir na América do Sul,” May 19, 2015, in: www.bbc.com/portuguese/ noticias/2015/05/150518_ferrovia_ transoceanica_construcao_lgb.

Accessed on January 14, 2018.

additional references –– Domingues, Álvaro, A rua da estrada. Porto: Dafne, 2009.

–– Figueira, Jorge, Arquitectanic. Os dias da Troika. Lisbon: Note, 2016.

–– Leite, Carolina; Villanova, Roselyne de and Raposo, Isabel, Casas de sonhos: emigrantes construtores no norte de Portugal.

Lisbon: Salamandra, 1995.

–– Monteiro, Miguel, “Representações materiais do ‘brasileiro’ e construção simbólica do retorno,” in: Neide Marcondes e Manoel Belloto (eds.), Turbulência cultural em cenários de transição. O século XIX ibero-americano. São Paulo: Edusp, 2005, pp.165-189.

–– Peixoto, Paula Torres, Palacetes de brasileiros no Porto (1850– 1930). Do estereótipo à realidade.

Porto: Afrontamento, 2013.

–– Tavares, Domingos. Palacete Marques Gomes. Porto: Dafne, 2015.

–– Tavares, Domingos. Casas de Brasileiro. Porto: Dafne, 2015.

of the flows that have arisen due to the increasingly globalized commerce, within which Brazil and Portugal assume strategic positions, as does also China. It is not surprising, in any case, that one of the stockholders of the international airport of Rio de Janeiro is the same Chinese group (HNA) that in recent years also became a stockholder of two of the largest airline companies of Portugal and Brazil (TAP and Azul). The recent and simultaneous investments by China in the airport sector of the two countries indicates that a path is being constructed between Asia and South America via Europe, a sort of new silk route, now aerial and transoceanic.34 In this sense, the geographic position of Portugal—and its historical relation with China, via Macau, a Portuguese colony for more than four centuries—must be considered. Especially since this opens an alternative to the controversial transcontinental railway connection proposed in 2015 in an agreement between Brazil, China and Peru, which would link the Atlantic and Pacific oceans with a line stretching from Porto do Açu, in Rio de Janeiro, to the Peruvian coast, crossing through the Amazon forest and the Andes Mountains.35 But this will be another cartography, of architectural flows that are still undreamt of.

Ana Luiza Nobre (Rio de Janeiro, 1964) is an architect and architecture critic and historian. She is a professor at the Department of Architecture and Urbanism of the Pontifícia Universidade Católica do Rio de Janeiro (PUC-Rio), where she coordinates Là – Laboratório de Análises Arquitetônicas [Laboratory of Architectural Analysis].

2 Human flows: the dilution of barriers through cultural assimilation How open is Brazil to the reception of immigrants?

“Human Flows” approaches the theme Walls of Air through a socio-spatial analysis of the Brazilian territory in order to measure how open towards immigrants Brazil has been in the last century, and how viable is the dissolution of social, cultural, and political barriers inherent to the movement of people.

Brazilian culture has historically been marked by the miscegenation of foreigners and locals. From the country’s foundation to the development of its international policy, political opening accelerated the inevitable urbanization of the territory and the convolution of external and internal dynamics.

In contemporary Brazil, the concept of the urban immigrant is increasingly present in the quotidian of cities due to the rapid domestic migratory movement. New tendencies for such movement have arisen as a response to economic recessions and social crisis that the country underwent in the last 20 years, resulting in an unprecedented flow of people both between metropolises and between rural and urban areas.

“Human Flows” traces the routes of millions of humans in order to question the structures that produced waves of immigration among countries and states, as well as the events that caused them. This approach aims at visualizing and understanding the scale of these waves of displacement that make ever more complex the composition of the social and urban panoramas of Brazil.

The many origin myths of the Brazilian people almost invariably tell the story of the miscegenation of three so-called “racial matrixes”—the approximately three million indigenous native people that inhabited the country before 1500, the European colonizer that settled in the land in the 16th century, and the African population forced into the country through slave trade thereafter. And while admitting a fourth group encompassing other nationalities present in the processes of early formation of the country, these tales do not encompass the country’s five centuries of immigration history. Today, although legal immigrants make up less than one percent of the Brazilian population, these groups point at important cultural ties, historical events, and technological possibilities surrounding the

consolidation of Brazil but also of the global landscape as we know it.

The intimate relationship between the intensified exchange of goods in the mercantilist era and the establishment of the modern nation-state is further expressed in the influx of nationalities such as Spanish, Italian, Japanese, French, and Dutch in the first couple of centuries after the arrival of the Portuguese in Brazil. Shortly after the crisis of succession in Portugal and the consequent formation of the Iberian Union in 1580, the then Portuguese possessions in South America were violently contested by the Netherlands and France. Both nations sought to rival the Iberian power in trading sugar and African slaves. During the 17th century, about twenty thousand Dutch immigrants lived in northeast Brazil.

From the 18th to the 20th century, as later stages of capital exchange developed alongside communication technologies, war conflicts, and systemic economic crisis, Brazil remained attractive to immigrants from European countries suffering from economic recessions and shortage of employment, such as Germany after its unification in 1870. In fact, the country actively sought the presence of Europeans to serve as cheap farm labor as well as to “whiten” the sizable population of African slaves - especially after 1888, when the Golden Law (Lei Áurea) abolished slave work and granted their civil freedom. The national government’s immigration policy financed immigrants’ transportation costs, and its the expenditure almost doubled from 1867 to 1872. During this period, most immigrants arriving to the country were Italian and Japanese - the latter arriving after the Italian government reacted to the precarious conditions of life reported by Italians in Brazil with a 1902 decree that prohibited subsidized immigration to the country.

Today, immigration to Brazil follows patterns of displacement motivated by similar issues than those of a century ago. Leaving their native countries for reasons related to wars, persecution, or simply dreams and hopes of a better life, millions of men and women wish—consciously or not—to be a part of the country. It is worth noting

that, increasingly, the influx of immigrants originates in the American continent itself, and that new trends of movement have arisen as a response to economic and social crisis the country underwent in the last 20 years.

This condition triggered an unprecedented flow of people between metropolises but also between rural and urban areas.

These new narratives of immigration are the main subject of this section, which aims to visualize and understand the scale of these waves of displacement that make ever more complex the composition of the social and urban panoramas of Brazil. This way, it exposes the immigrant as a force that successfully challenges the walls represented by traditionally defined geographic limits.

Yet, it also shows barriers further imposed to the free circulation of people, narrated by immigrant groups as an antagonistic attitude expressed in frustrated expectations, prejudice, language adjustments, and overly bureaucratic processes.

While a spatial and historical consideration of immigration demonstrates the impact of the flow of people in and out of Brazil in the social, economic, and political panorama of the country, the hardships narrated by immigrant groups—which we had contact through a workshop organized by the Caffé sisters, reveals the human scale of these trajectories.

Carla and Eliane Caffé, filmmakers present evidences of systemic segregation as witnessed during the production of their film Era o Hotel Cambridge (The Cambridge Squatter). The title references the name of an abandoned hotel in the center of São Paulo where more than 150 homeless and refugee families live. The directors reveal the presence of the physical body as the ultimate space in which segregation occurs, reinforcing the multiplicity of scales in which immigration can be read as a political act. That is to say that many of these bodies, although having successfully crossed geographic borders, still live at the margin of a society that estranges them with other walls.

While the work of Carla and Eliane Caffe documents and speculates on a marginal space where this dynamics of power takes place, Ana C. Tonetti and Ligia Nobre,

reference Felicity Scott’s work—Outlaw Territories: Environments of Insecurity/ Architectures of Counter-Insurgency—to describe near-slave labor conditions in which population from rural areas end up finding themselves when moving to urban concentrations. Finally, as these groups of “others” continue to search for opportunities and find space within the margins of Brazilian society, the walls they have breached start to compose a new landscape in the country.

As shown in the photographs of Rivane Neuenschwander, sites like the old Cambridge Hotel—and others, in their reference to geographical locations outside the political borders of Brazil—depict how immigrants and the global economy has an impact in local Brazilian society. In the end, even in the most simple towns, one finds the desire to belong to a global culture.

THE MAP In order to map recent trends in the movement of people in the Brazilian territory, the map summarizes migratory flows of over a million people during the period between 2000 and 2016. Dividing them in incoming flux of refugees, incoming flux of international immigrants, and domestic migration flows, the graphics indicate the direction and intensity of this movement. Additionally, the timeline accompanying the map allows the visualization of the total absolute number of people immigrating, according to their country of origin. In this same section, the increase or decrease in the flows is also visible, represented in a yearly basis.

Finally, after a workshop specifically organized to construct this map, with the help of Eliane and Carla Caffé, the journeys of 23 individuals and their families are narrated, delineating the path they travelled from their home to São Paulo. Some of them migrated for work opportunity, others immigrated or sought asylum looking to improve their life conditions. Their paths are enumerated, and joined with their personal stories describing feelings and obstacles while crossing different kinds of borders until their arrival in Brazil.

Rivane Neuenschwander Mapa-Múndi BR (Postal) [World‑Map BR (Postal)], 2007 Postcards and wood shelves

interview: Carla Caffé Eliane Caffé

Eliane Caffé earned her degree in psychology from PUC-SP in 1988.

She studied cinema in Cuba and the aesthetics of art in Spain. As director and screenwriter, her first feature film, Kenoma (1997), was shown at the 56th Venice Biennale.

Carla Caffé earned her degree in architecture from FAU-USP at the start of the 1990s. She works in the fields of art and design direction.

She is a professor at the school of architecture and urbanism at Escola da Cidade and teaches workshops at Sesc Pompeia.

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Walls What appear to be the main barriers that immigrants encounter in their struggle for access to housing?

Carla Caffé: Housing involves closely held customs. This cultural shock comes in the form of simple things. Something common for a Brazilian family, such as children sleeping in their parent’s bedroom, is unthinkable for the Congolese. These differences appear in a very violent way in a universe of conflict zones.

Eliane Caffé: When you experience the problem, you can see how far we are from being able to articulate in a discussion what we face today. It is really harsh and intense. We really do not understand. They carefully select what they tell us. We don’t know where the line is of what is permitted to talk about, we do not understand their cultural codes.

Evidence What physical evidence of this segregation is revealed by the occupations and movements for housing?

CC: Physical presence.

EC: The level of disease that exists in these bodies and the enormous suffering. It’s an open wound. These are vulnerable people and, in their desperation, they get involved with drug trafficking.

CC: When we speak about refugees, we think in the abstract. These are very different worlds and there is an enormous segregation between them, as well as among us. The world of refugees is a diverse one, but we lump them all into a single category.

EC: Perhaps this is one of the bricks that build this wall. When a wall is finally torn down, we see that there is another behind it. Our system is reaching a very high level of cruelty; everything revolves around capital and forms of exploitation. The word is no longer “exploit” but rather expropriate.

Exploitation occurs on every level: social networks, biennials, festivals, universities.

What does it mean to continue repeating it?

The consequence is enriching a few while leaving many in abject poverty. Behind the wars that resulted in these searches for refuge, there are human beings that coordinate them. If we believe that war is part of human nature, we become used to the building of walls.

CC: Walls are these bubbles in which we live. With social networks we are becoming more inward-looking, discussing issues only amongst our own groups. We forget the presence of the body. It is the body that leaves the comfort zone; we are able to perceive others only when we pass over these walls.

We’ve changed a lot since June 2013, when we learned what is a corporeal presence in a public space and the political force that it has. We can see the importance of this through Carnival, when we rid ourselves of all borders, exposing ourselves in a way that does not happen the rest of the year.

Experience in the discipline How is the subjectivity of the immigrant and low-income population—the social categories most impacted by difficulties in accessing housing—affected during this process of struggle? What type of collective body arises from this meeting of a context of vulnerability and struggle for a common roof?

EC: We perceive a clear change in this subjectivity, above all with Africans, and in their understanding of what is a collective activity. In many of their vocabularies there is no record of the term “social movement.”

There is no reference to unite people to fight for their rights. We perceive this difficulty when doing grassroots work with the immigrants there in the occupation.

Gathered in a big circle for a talk, no one speaks; but when it’s done, we see parallel communications emerge. We perceive that they are afraid to express themselves and they don’t believe that we can resolve things collectively that we are not able to individually.

CC: These are people who live in conflict zones and are stripped of their right to housing. During the film we use play to help get beyond the language barrier. It was through games that the collective could get along.

EC: An example of this is that children from different nationalities find no difficulty playing together.

Behavior and micro-politics What experience in crossing divides did you gain from contact with the movements struggling for housing?

What role can cinema and docufiction play in this discussion?

CC: The film Era o Hotel Cambridge was able to create an understanding between various nationalities, among six languages.

The relationship between architecture and cinema was interesting and very fertile.

It was decided that the scenography for the film would be used to improve the building’s facilities. The setting of an Internet café, for example, was transformed into the library of the Cambridge.

EC: Since the script required the building of film sets, Carla’s idea was to take advantage of the opportunity to transform the place according to their needs. At this moment the powerful counterpart begins and through it we were able to access that territory. At the same time we were asking for something, we were also offering something.

A kind of reciprocity and affection developed between the parties, who recognized that they needed each other for that to happen.

When we are present, our tools are our senses. We read about a subject, but when we deal with it in person we capture other levels of the problem. Physical presence is indispensable.

CC: In the first calls to form a collective for the film, no adults came, only children.

They were the ones who brought the adults, little by little, to the theater workshops. I would never have thought of, considered or imagined this work method. It was the result of being present.

EC: Children take the subject matter into the home and the family opens up to us.

This is one of the methods that emerged.

Transformative potential What type of power and new uses for urban space can you see emerging from the relationship between Brazilian cultural diversity and contemporary immigrants?

EC: There is no public policy to assimilate these immigrants into society. They tend to isolate themselves in ghettos with those with similar backgrounds. This creates a closed system of codes that drives prejudice. The housing movements are perhaps a way of facing this problem head-on, but we are far from resolving it.

It is impossible to do anything effective if we don’t change the way we organize ourselves in the Western world. As long as we are marked by the hegemonic presence of capital, of the marketplace, which permeate everything, it will not be possible. A concrete example is that, in just a few days, newly arrived migrants become slaves of the factories in the neighborhood of Bom Retiro. They are hired by construction companies to lay marble but they are not paid. The vast majority are being enslaved. And they can’t fight for their rights because they have no documents, just a protocol slip.

They can’t call the police. If they try to escape this system, they are automatically co-opted by drug traffickers. We will not be able to implement a policy of assimilation while there is still hunger.

As long as this system exists, everything we discuss—through films, architecture biennials, books and other ways—in order to make a better world, will be an exercise in futility.

CC: A refugee is already the result of an exploitative relationship. This idea that Brazilians are generous and open to new cultures is not true. Miscegenation, which is the imprint of our society, is bigoted and dangerous.

EC: The system protects itself by creating masks that make us accept circumstances as something normal. Everyone criticizes the government, but no one talks about the companies. Those of us who put on festivals and biennials are born into this context and are unable to see that it is a system that exploits and profits. We’re not talking just about Brazil: In 2017, 82% of global generated wealth went to the richest 1% of the world population.

With an experimental narrative that moves back and forth between reality and fiction, the films by the director and screenwriter Eliane Caffé explore “real conflict zones,” both in the context of rural Brazil and large urban centers. Artist and art director Carla Caffé conducts research on design, cartography and mapping as ways of representing the urban landscape.

A partnership between the sisters culminated in the film Era o Hotel Cambridge [The Cambridge Squatter] (2016), whose backdrop was a building occupied by the Frente de Luta por Moradia [Struggle for Housing Front (FML)] from São Paulo. The film was directed by Eliane Caffé and featured the building’s inhabitants, who acted and blended in seamlessly with professional actors. Art direction was provided

by Carla Caffé, in partnership with a group of students from Escola da Cidade.

A reflection on the 9 de Julho Occupation, in São Paulo

One of the layers of the map featured in this chapter retraces the steps taken by families that have recently come from other states and countries and settled in São Paulo. To create it, a collective mapping event was organized in partnership with the homeless group Movimento Sem Teto do Centro, which fights for access to housing in São Paulo. The work was organized around a lunch at the 9 de Julho Occupation,1 in January 2018. The meeting brought together more than a hundred people, including organizers, guests, cooks and other stakeholders, with participation from 23 families of migrants, immigrants and refugees—some of them residents in this occupied building.

Their 23 stories intersect in the city of São Paulo, but they are different in many ways. We got to know these families that hail not only from other regions of Brazil but also from the Congo, Angola, Ghana, Peru, Paraguay, Venezuela and Haiti. In addition to access to housing, they mentioned financial difficulties, the search for work, inadequate public services—such as transportation and healthcare—the Portuguese language, inflexibility of the bureaucracy, illegal status, racism, isolation and fear of death as some of the main problems faced in this metropolis of 20 million people.

The journeys of these families also show the tangible and intangible borders that mark our territories, whether they be in the

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air, land or water. One of the families made the journey between Bahia and São Paulo six times—an example of the intense flows of people today. Their many stories evoke strong emotions and point to some of the challenges in observing human rights in Brazil.

In addition to the adversities experienced by these families, it is evident, in our opinion, that dialogue and contact can help to build new ways forward. Predatory mining in the Democratic Republic of the Congo also affects the building of experiential meaning in the city of São Paulo. These points of discourse need to be developed and understood, since they can illuminate new paths for contemporary cities.

1. Former headquarters for the Instituto Nacional de Seguro Social (INSS) in the center of São Paulo, occupied since 2016 by movements that demand housing and refugees, migrants and immigrants.

Metropolitana de Belém

Norte maranhense Metropolitana de Fortaleza

Leste potiguar

Mata paraibana Metropolitana de Recife

Leste alagoano

Leste sergipano

Metropolitana de Salvador

Central espírito-santense

Metropolitana do Rio de Janeiro Metropolitana de São Paulo

Metropolitana de Curitiba

Grande Florianópolis

Metropolitana de Porto Alegre

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map Human Flows.

Migration flows for work and study by mesoregion Total population Migration: to different City Migration: to different State Roads/Railways Ports/Airports

Counterconducts: politics of architecture and contemporary slavery

Ana Carolina Tonetti and Ligia Nobre

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MIGRATION, OUTSOURCING, AND CONTEMPORARY SLAVE LABOR June 2013 has been remembered as a turning point in Brazil, standing between the period of optimism and consolidation of democracy and its reflux. After the protests in São Paulo (initially against a R$0.20 cent increase in bus fare) began to take to the streets of several Brazilian cities, with an expansion and diffusion of their demands—poor public services, corruption, and police violence, among many others—the signs of exhaustion of this last cycle of Brazilian economic growth came to light, exposing all of its contradictions.

At the same moment, in the city of Petrolândia, in Pernambuco, cars with loudspeakers drove around the city offering work opportunities in São Paulo. Those interested would have to pay a fee to cover travel expenses, having as a guarantee a job placement when they reached their destination: the construction site of Terminal 3 at Guarulhos International Airport.

Guarulhos International Airport—or GRU Airport, as it was rebranded due to its privatization and leasing to the GRUpar1 consortium—serves the country’s largest metropolitan region with 21 million inhabitants. The construction work of Terminal 3, under the responsibility of the OAS building contractor, was one of many great works which, at that time, was part of the Regime Diferenciado de Contratação [Special Contracts Regime], an exception law to ease bidding processes and the hiring of contractors, expanding the already delicate dynamics of convergence between the State and private companies.

Upon arriving at the large construction site, workers from Pernambuco joined other workers from various parts of the country. As Tomás Chiaverini puts it in his

1. Guarulhos Airport was privatized in 2012 with a twenty-year lease to the GRUPar consortium, receiving a new name and brand, GRU Airport—as a sign of the “modernization” of Brazilian infrastructure and part of a larger international insertion strategy. The NEC.USP, a research group based at the Instituto de Arquitetura e Urbanismo of USP São Carlos, shows us via diagrams the new stock configuration between the State (Infraero), private Brazilian companies (INVEPAR, which includes OAS) and a South African company, as well as Brazilian workers’ pension funds (PREVI, FUNCEF, PETROS).

These project diagrams clearly show the systemic relationship between contractors and the State. They are basically the same actors in both situations. David Sperling and Fábio Lopes (eds.), GRU-111. Contracartografias. São Carlos: IAU/USP, 2017, pp.139-145.

journalistic investigation “Cimento, lama e poder: Um breve panorama da construção civil no país da Lava Jato” [Cement, Mud and Power: A Brief Overview of Civil Construction in the Country of Lava Jato], these workers underwent an admissions medical examination and were instructed to wait for the company to get in touch. After a few days, only part of the group was hired and there was no forecast for new hires:

2. Tomás Chiaverini, “Cimento, lama e poder: um breve panorama da construção civil no país da Lava Jato”, in Ana Carolina Tonetti, Ligia V.Nobre, Gilberto Mariotti and Joana Barossi (eds.), Contracondutas: Ação político-pedagógica. São Paulo: Editora da Cidade, 2017, pp.533524. The three books used as bibliography for the preparation of this text were published by the Projeto Contracondutas and are distributed free of charge and can be accessed at: www.ct-escoladacidade.org/ contracondutas/publicacoes/

3. Sabrina Duran, Contracondutas: Por trás do tapume. São Paulo: Editora da Cidade, 2017, p.99.

4. Anália Maria M. de Carvalho Amorim, “Sobre o ato de projetar e construir”, in Tonetti, Nobre, Mariotti, Barossi (eds.), op. cit., p.272.

5. TAC is a repressive legal instrument, whereby the sued company undertakes promptly to comply with the laws and reimburse those involved. In some cases, as with the Ministério Público do Trabalho, a fine is applied that is reverted to Fundos de Amparo ao Trabalhador [Workers’ Aid Funds] and institutions that can develop projects related to the eradication of work analogous to slavery.

Thirty-eight men would have to live in a property with three bedrooms and only one bathroom. There were no furniture, beds, or mattresses […] Every two days there was no water […] There was little or nothing to eat […] As there was no work and no salary, many asked for food in the neighborhood or got into debt.2 Brought to the state of São Paulo by enticers to serve outsourced companies, a common phenomenon in construction, these itinerant workers enlarge the reserve armies and cause a reduction in negotiated wages. At a site like Terminal 3, they are employed to carry out smaller services, such as the loading of cement bags and rubble.

Such a building site, focused on productivity and profit, does not contribute to the formation of the workforce, does not care about its working or health conditions, and does not consider that a constructive matrix could be devised that takes the human being and its activity as a guiding element of the project.

According to the journalist Sabrina Duran, outsourcing, which makes oversight and the attribution of responsibilities difficult, pulverizes hirings that are already based on low sums negotiated between principal and subcontracted contractors, in a chain effect that makes it impossible to comply with legal obligations and allows for abuses and violations.3 Still, “about eight million Brazilians, or about ten percent of Brazil’s labor force, are civil construction workers. Most are functional illiterates, and much of this large contingent ‘sails’ through the national territory in search of work.”4 The Ministério Público do Trabalho [Public Prosecutor’s Office for Labor] rescued one hundred and eleven workers during an inspection in Guarulhos. This flagrant operation, which involved the Guarulhos construction workers’ union—barred from entering the construction site at Terminal 3—and complaints arising from the misunderstanding between enticers serving different subcontractors, triggered one of the largest judicial agreements concerning slave labor in Brazilian history, a Termo de Ajuste de Conduta [Term of Adjustment of Conduct] (TAC) 5 in which the construction company OAS agreed to review its conduct and pay a fine for

compensation. This action is also the result of serious work done in Brazil since 1995, when the federal government recognized the existence of slave labor in the country.

According to public data, 47 thousand people have already been rescued from slavery in Brazil by actions of NGOs, civil society entities, and especially the Ministério do Trabalho e Emprego [Ministry of Labor and Employment], which works hard, although with few enforcement agents.

The conditions analogous to slavery presented in this case are not an exception, but a recurrent situation on the global scale of the contemporary civil construction industry. In Brazil, these degrading labor conditions also reverberate the continuity of slavery, insofar as the majority of the Brazilian population remains excluded from social and political rights, as the historian Rodrigo Bonciani points out. Slavery is a form of exploitation that occurred and still occurs through internal or “out” of the country displacement—either forced or by grooming—, resulting in desocialization and depersonalization. In the system of social relations in Brazil, Bonciani says that the abyss remains deep between the practice of “kinship, clientele, and slave relations” and the norm of “the fiction of the Rule of Law—the foundation of national sovereignty— accessible according to the socio-racial place occupied by the individual or group”,6 and the State’s commitment to private interests, turn out to be systemic.

Another historical factor that pervades this question is the atavistic convergence between State and private enterprise, structural in the Brazilian urban development that consolidated with the country’s large-scale public works of infrastructure, starting with the construction of Brasilia, between the 1950s and 1970s. This developmentalist bias, which informs and reverberates in the current situation, also includes works such as the Rio-Niterói Bridge (RJ), the Transamazônica (AM), the Jupiá (MS) and Itaipu (PR) hydroelectric plants, among many others that marked these decades, as an impetus for “modernization” and “developmentalism”, “by intensifying the exploitation of the labor force” and the “degradation of nature”.7 COUNTER-CONDUCTS: MAKING A STAND This story, which gives rise to the Projeto Contracondutas [Counter-Conducts Project], is inserted in a national and global context, in which architecture becomes intertwined with the political, economic, legal, and cultural forces of the civil construction sector.

If the case of the TAC happened in 2013, on the eve of the 2014 World Cup, the Projeto Contracondutas began in 2016, concomitant with the impeachment of the democratically

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6. Rodrigo Bonciani, “Escravidão, tráfico de pessoas e trabalho forçado: costumes e direitos na história”, in Tonetti, Nobre, Mariotti, Barossi (eds.), op. cit., p.113.

7. Guilherme Petrella e Carolina Heldt D’Almeida, “Produção de grandes obras públicas no Brasil: Das cenas dos anos 19501970 para uma reflexão sobre o contemporâneo”, in Tonetti, Nobre, Mariotti, Barossi (eds.), op. cit., pp.371-382.

8. In the context of the GRU-111: counter-cartographies project, the sociologist Cibele Rizek points out that it was no coincidence that the 2015-2016 crisis in Brazil (with the impeachment and dismantling of labour laws) exposed the close ties between large contractors and the economic agencies of the Brazilian State, already present for decades, from the military dictatorship to the recent “neo‑developmentalism” of the Lula era. As a recent development, Rizek points out that the economic slump triggered a crisis of political and institutional legitimacy, culminating in “the dismantling of citizens’ and labour rights”, and “praise for the intensification of flexibilization and even more severe radicalization of the removal of rights, transformed into a postimpeachment agenda”. Cibele Rizek, “Trabalho, desigualdade, dominação, escravidão”, in David Sperling and Fábio Lopes (eds.), op. cit., p.136.

9. See: Mauricio Pelegrini, “Foucault e a sociedade neoliberal: O trabalhador como ‘empresário de si’”, in Tonetti, Nobre, Mariotti, Barossi (eds.), op. cit., pp.97-108.

elected president and the 2016 Olympic Games, and was concluded in 2017, in the midst of a series of labor reforms, led by the federal executive and legislative powers. These reforms suppress historic social achievements obtained over the last thirty years, articulating the full outsourcing of middle and end business activities, as well as the extension of working hours, in a total entanglement between private and public dimensions.8 The political-pedagogical project Counter-Conducts was developed by the Associação Escola da Cidade— Faculdade de Arquitetura e Urbanismo, in São Paulo and Guarulhos, as a platform designed to establish dialogues and to make visible the implications of slave labor in contemporary times, with focus on construction and infrastructure works in Brazil. The Associação Escola da Cidade was one of the civil entities chosen by the Ministério Público [Public Prosecutor’s Office] to receive part of the fine imposed on OAS, taking responsibility for preparing an educational project. Seminars, workshops, studies, reports, a documentary, public artistic interventions, lectures, editorials, essays, and publications, were inserted in the curricular structure of the Escola in order to amplify its already remarkable stand in the public sphere. Contracondutas approached different publics, collaborators, and institutions focused on teaching and culture, bringing together more than 250 participants— from multiple practices and fields of knowledge—into heterogeneous constellations, which allowed crossovers between academia and society, architecture and politicoaesthetic practices.

The choice of title, Contracondutas [Counter-Conducts], came from a critical and reflective position on the term conduct, as developed by Michel Foucault,9 to refer to the techniques and procedures that work for the conduction of a set of individuals. We were interested in the ambivalent character of the term, emphasized by Foucault, since a particular conduct also implies the way we allow ourselves to be conducted, and how we behave under the effect of the conductive act.

The Counter-Conducts project potentializes taking a stand in the face of about the vision of the contemporary labor statute and its implications for architecture and civil construction within the current Brazilian socio-political context and within the globalized structural context of capital. The project’s strength also lies in the questions that guided it, on how to elaborate new insertions and practices in architecture.

What is the role of the architect and the architectural project in reducing (or increasing) violence at the construction site? How does the production and consumption of the neoliberal city impact on civil construction’s degrading type

contrac slavE labor

work analogous to slavery, according to article 149 of is characterized by four scenarios that may occur simultane conditions that are degrading and incompatible with human dig characterized by excessive effort or work overload, that da labor forced through geographical isolation or threats workers subject to debt bondage.

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for a non-fascist

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“consumption is fundamental to contemporary capitalism. the men [rescued] from slave-like labor [at terminal 3] had cell phones and participated in the world of consumption. this ambiguity of the enslaved worker interests capitalism—from the most absolute exploitation of his work to his status as a consumer who helps make the wheel go round. the enslaved laborer [in civil construction] will also buy the nike made with slave labor elsewhere. we are living in a very violent moment of capitalist exploitation.” rodrigo bonciani in Escravos de ontem e de hoje: nexos entre trabalhadores no canteiro colonial e contemporâneo [Slaves of yesterday and today: links between workers in colonial and contemporary construction sites], jornalistic report 2, sabrina duran

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Escola da cidadE the associação Escola da cidade—arquitetura e urbanismo (aEc) is a non-profit civil entity with democratic governance and financial autonomy. created in 1996, it resulted from the union of architects, intellectuals, artists and technical experts committed to improving brazilian reality. the group, on the basis of its teaching experience, research (theoretical and applied), as well as professional and academic practice, has as its fundamental purpose the creation of a privileged locus for freedom of reflection and proposal.

e drawing and the construction site that is lations of civil construction finds powerful demic community. architecture schools teach the collective labor at construction sites—much installed there—, which would be fundamental ct to visualize at least minimally where, under whose hands his drawing will materialize.” projeto e a execução: o papel do arquiteto o) da violência no canteiro de obras [Between he role of the architect in diminishing (or the construction site], journalistic report 3

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“slavery and freedom are the fundamental indices for the qualification of power: slavery establishes despotic power and tyranny, while freedom establishes political power and public authority. sovereignty in the americas is incomplete because the private or seigneurial power of the colonists over native peoples and africans weakened political authority. this contradiction was intensified because the king constructed his legitimacy by legalizing, regulating, and controlling slavery and forms of forced labor. this is a structural element in the confusion between public and private spheres in american history.” rodrigo bonciani in Escravo, forro e livre: O antigo regime e o Brasil atual [Slave, unfettered and free: The old regime and Brazil today], article in História e Escravidão [History and Slavery]

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Jônatas andrade – in Terminal 3 Documentary, Papel social

thE third sErvitudE in brazil

“the world cup needed a series of emergency decrees in order to be built. that is: [these construction sites] operate under a regime in which both the rights of nature and of humans must be diminished or violated. it is very interesting to work on this: the construction site as a space where the exception is the rule.”

Paulo tavares in Precarização e lucro: trabalho degradante na construção civil e a produção e consumo da cidade neoliberal [Precarization and profit: degrading work in civil construction and the production and consumption of the neoliberal city], journalistic report 5, sabrina duran

architEcturE as a Political tEchnology

of labor? How to confront the great infrastructure works that consume the environment and destroy ways of life? How do these regional realities fit into a globalized world?

All these questions were precisely synthesized by a rhetorical image proposed by the journalist Sabrina Duran: If the hoarding that surround and hide the building sites of large-scale constructions were removed, what would a passer-by see? […] They would certainly not see the macro relations of production and labor that make the building site of a large-scale construction one of the main fields for profit-extraction through the overexploitation of manual labor in civil construction.10

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10. Sabrina Duran, op. cit., p.13.

ARCHITECTURE AND POLITICS The cost of the architectural project corresponds on average to 1% of the total value of the construction, however, it is only through the technical project, in all its complexity and with the due technical responsibilities in place, that one can correctly plan the construction, with the dimensioning of the work fronts, material specifications, and the final cost outline. In relation to a public work, the executive project is even more important, says Anália Amorim in her text “Sobre o ato de projetar e construir” [On Design and Construction]. “As the essential piece for any conscious act of transformation, the project is the document that guarantees the transparency of resource management. With numerous social reverberations, the project is the first element to be attacked by outside interests, bargaining, and by lobbies that seek to compromise its technical and ethical coherence.”11 In addition to this planned dismantling process, there is the dismembering of public technical teams—capable of planning and supervising the big investments—, the distancing of the architect from the construction site, and the controversial Law nr. 8666, which passes on to the managers the role of developing the executive project and guaranteeing the compatibility of complementary projects. This law confiscates from the architects the conception and control over the whole, further weakening the transparency of bidding processes subject to the pressures of the politico-financial scenario. Architecture is thus also implicated in this precarious labor system, with the outsourcing of contracts, partial work regimes, absence of employment contracts, and exhaustive days, in an unequal equation between the profits of the managers and exposure to risk by the architects.

The possibilities for design intervention in construction of site work relations represent an important dimension

11. Anália Maria M. de Carvalho Amorim, op. cit., p.284.

12. Felicity Scott (Columbia University) participated in the international seminar “Políticas da arquitetura e escravidão na contemporaneidade” where she presented the conference “Arquitetura como uma tecnologia política” in which she discussed her most recent book Outlaw Territories: Environments of Insecurity/Architectures of Counter-Insurgency. Her lecture also resulted in a text published in the book Contracondutas. Ação político-pedagógica.

Counter-Conducts Diagram.

The artist Vitor Cesar appropriated pre-existing visual schemes, associated with the notion of the public sphere to create diagrams that document the process of the Counter-Conducts project. In this way, he sought to make visible the sharing of contents and expressions through compositions that reveal the forces at play that ran through the project. This diagram was based on the centrality of the relationship between architecture and labour in order to name artistic interventions and academic studies, understood as a politico-pedagogical process, and thus to relate the parts highlighting essential definitions and quotations.

for resuming the capacity of “architecture as a political technology”. This term, coined by Felicity Scott,12 exposes the ambivalent relations between control and care inherent to architecture that, on the one hand, turns to social, environmental, populational, and cultural questions, but, on the other, inserts itself into complex systemic processes, with layers of opacity, subject to constantly having their intentions captured by the inversions of signs.

The discussions raised here reverberated together with the projects and mappings present in this Brazilian pavilion for the 16th International Architecture Exhibition - Venice Biennial, and seek to contribute to a necessary critical moment in which reflection on the changes of direction in the professional and educational activities is informing new and different ways of thinking, acting and producing collectively, and thus expanding what architecture can establish.

Ana Carolina Tonetti (São Paulo-sp, 1974) Is an architect, Master of Arts, and PhD student in Design, Space and Culture at FAU-USP. She is a teacher at the Escola da Cidade, where she coordinates the sequence of disciplines focused on means of expression and drawing. She articulates different action strategies, bringing together art and architecture. She is part of O Grupo Inteiro.

Ligia Nobre (São Paulo-sp, 1973) Is a researcher, architect, and curator.

She works at the crossroads between art and architecture. She holds a Masters degree in Histories and Theories from the Architectural Association School of Architecture (London) and a PhD in Aesthetics and Art History at PGEHA-USP. She was involved in the curatorship of several projects, including the X Biennial of Architecture in São Paulo. She is currently a teacher at the Escola da Cidade in the Expression Media Sequence, and is part of O Grupo Inteiro.

Immigration to Brazil in seven graphs

Paula Miraglia, Gabriel Zanlorenssi and Rodolfo Almeida, reporting for Nexo Jornal

FOREIGN POPULATION FLOWS ARE AN IMPORTANT PART OF BRAZILIAN HISTORY. A RECENT WAVE OF IMMIGRATION GENERATES POLITICAL, INSTITUTIONAL AND CULTURAL DEBATE Since colonial times, the arrival of immigrants has been an important issue for Brazil, which has already seen a significant portion of its population composed of foreigners. Today, however, the scenario is different.

We are talking about an estimated 700,000 immigrants among more than 200 million Brazilians. This is not very much when compared to countries like the United States, which has the largest absolute number of immigrants in its population, or countries recognized for specific policies to attract foreigners, like Canada and Australia.

These graphs present a compilation of data that allows us to see immigration throughout Brazilian history. The different migratory waves have helped shape the country’s demographics, had important economic and cultural impact and are an essential part of the construction of the national identity.

In the updated version, the flow of foreigners takes on new dimensions, but also raises old questions. Is Brazil ready and willing to welcome these people? How should the country control their entry and regulate their permanence? What are the effects, from a social and cultural standpoint? Up until now, the investment appears to have been greater in the legal and institutional context. Since May 2017, the country has had a new Immigration Law, which replaced the Statute of Foreigners, originally formulated during the military dictatorship, in 1980. Efforts in terms of documentation and regularization of this population are underway.

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But how do we evaluate the impact that this diversity of cultures has on the daily life of many Brazilian cities?

We are faced with new urban dynamics, many times with entire neighborhoods transformed into veritable ethnic territories, capable of mobilizing, among other things, the economy, housing market, public services, in addition to promoting new cultural experiences.

The data show a new pattern of migration, with different countries of origin, reflecting local crises and global geopolitical issues. Over 50% of the individuals that arrive in Brazil today are aged between 19 and 30 years old. In other words, they are in the prime of their productive lives.

The Brazilian southeast is by far the most sought after region. The category “student” appears frequently among the occupations. This combination suggests that we are talking about individuals that will have an opportunity to “make a life for themselves” in the country. At the same time, it is clear that we are faced with a new cycle of cultural negotiations in which the possibilities of exchange will have, as in other times, huge implications for Brazilian identity.

Paula Miraglia (São Paulo-sp) is co-founder and general manager of Nexo Jornal. She has a bachelor’s degree in social sciences from the University of São Paulo (USP) and holds a master and a doctorate in social anthropology from the same institution. She has worked as director of international organizations and consultant to the World Bank and Inter-American Development Bank.

Gabriel Zanlorenssi (Guarapuava-PR) is data scientist at Nexo Jornal. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Social Sciences and is a master candidate in Political Science, both at University of São Paulo (USP). As a researcher, he is a member of the Center for Studies in Politics and Economics in the Public Sector of Fundação Getúlio Vargas (FGV-SP) and the Center of Comparative and International Studies (NECI) of the University of São Paulo.

Rodolfo Almeida (São Paulo-SP) is an infographics designer of Nexo Jornal. As a visual journalist with a degree in journalism from the Pontifical Catholic University (PUC-SP), he has worked with video production in O Estado de S. Paulo newspaper and develops projects in data visualization and information design.

Portuguese immigration to Brazil

Between 1500 and 1991, according to estimates by IBGE 0 1500 − 1580

100.000

200.000

300.000

400.000

portuguese immigrants

500.000

600.000

estimated total for the period

1581 − 1640

1641 − 1700 1701 − 1760

the periods of the estimates are not continuous

1808 − 1817

1881 − 1900 1901 − 1930 1931 − 1950 1981 − 1991 Source: "Brasil: 500 anos de povoamento" [Brazil: 500 years of settlement], IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics).

Nationality of immigrants that arrived in Brazil

Between 1884 and 1959, according to estimates by IBGE as % of total immigrants 100%

OTHERS

TURKS AND ARABS*

GERMAN

SPANISH

JAPANESE 50%

ITALIAN

PORTUGUESE

0

1884 − 1893

1894 − 1903

1904 − 1913

1914 − 1923

IN 9-YEAR INTERVALS

1924 − 1933

1945 − 1949

1950 − 1954

1955 − 1959

IN 4-YEAR INTERVALS

* Includes immigrants that came from territories belonging to the Ottoman empire, such as the Turks, Syrians and Libanese.

Source: "Brasil: 500 anos de povoamento" [Brazil: 500 years of settlement], IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics).

Gender of immigrants

Of those who immigrated between 2000 and 2016, according to data from the Federal Police 66%

34%

MALE

FEMALE

Source: Sincre 2016 (National System for Registration and Recording of Foreigners), Federal Police.

Age of immigrants when they arrived in Brazil

Of those who immigrated between 2000 and 2016, according to data from the Federal Police immigrants

40.000

30.000

20.000

10.000

0 0 10 20 AGE UPON IMMIGRATING

30

40

50

60

70

80

90

Source: Sincre 2016 (National System for Registration and Recording of Foreigners), Federal Police.

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Origin and destination of those who immigrated to Brazil Of the main nationalities that immigrated between 2000 and 2016, according to data from the Federal Police ARRIVED FROM

DEPARTED TO

Bolivia 106.000

Haiti 81.500

Southeast

306.200

USA 72.200 Argentina 54.100

South

China 49.400

87.700

Colombia 42.800

Northeast

37.000

North

Portugal 42.800

24.600

Midwest

Peru 35.000

22.600

Source: Sincre 2016 (National System for Registration and Recording of Foreigners), Federal Police.

Nationality of immigrants who arrived in Brazil

Between 2000 and 2016, according to data from the Federal Police as % of total foreigners 100%

ARGENTINEAN BOLIVIAN COLOMBIAN CHINESE AMERICAN

HAITIAN

PERUVIAN

PORTUGUESE

50%

OTHERS

0

2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011

2012 2013

2014 2015 2016

Source: Sincre 2016 (National System for Registration and Recording of Foreigners), Federal Police.

Professions of immigrants upon arrival in Brazil

Of the main nationalities that migrated between 2000 and 2016, according to data from the Federal Police*, as a % of total immigrants from each country

NO PROFESSION

STUDENT

HOUSEWIFE

OTHERS

China DOCTOR

SEAMAN

NO PROFESSION

Colombia

CLERGYMAN

BAKER

BRICKLAYER

SEAMSTRESS

USA

STUDENT

OTHERS

SALESMAN

ENGINEER

SALESMAN

OTHERS

DIRECTOR/ OWNER

STUDENT

OTHERS

STUDENT

STUDENT

ENGINEER

HOUSEWIFE

RETIREE

Haiti ENGINEER

Peru SEAMAN

Portugal

DIRECTOR/ OWNER

SALESMAN STUDENT

OTHERS

OTHERS

SEAMSTRESS

MINOR

HOUSEKEEPING

STUDENT

DIRECTOR/ OWNER

OTHERS

NO PROFESSION

STUDENT

TEACHER

Argentina ENGINEER

Bolivia

The names of the professions come from Federal Police records and were adapted to improve comprehension.

For example, salesman includes: sales clerk, shopkeeper, traveling salesman, door-to-door salesman, newspaper salesman and similar professions.

Seamstress includes: decorator, tailor, dressmaker, furrier, tapestry maker and similar professions. Bricklayer includes: bricklayer assistant, tilelayer, plasterer, glazier and similar professions. Seaman includes: pilot, engineer, sailor and worker on a river/sea vessel.

Source: Sincre 2016 (National System for Registration and Recording of Foreigners), Federal Police.

3 Material flows: physical imprint of commodities exchange How sensitive is the urban environment to the movement of commodities?

Around the globe, the development of cities is intrinsically linked to the primary production: agriculture, livestock raising and the extractive industries. Since the first civilizations, humans have always chosen to settle in places where their subsistence was possible. Over the course of history, however, with the rise of technological mechanisms and the idea of an external market, the primary production began to generate continuous surpluses; more than subsistence, it became wealth. The development of a worldwide system around this production added particularities to what is generically called today the commodities market. This term defines products with less value added by industrial processes, but necessary for a wide range of economies and societies.

As an essentially agricultural and exporting country, with a history marked by large cycles (sugar, gold, coffee), Brazil has developed a significant role in the global production of primary products. It ranks among the 25 largest exporters worldwide, selling mainly soybeans, iron ore, sugar, petroleum and chicken meat.

But why deal with an economic and rural theme, if we are talking about architecture and urbanism? As an historical example we can consider the coffee cycle, where the production of the Paraná Valley region in the interior of the states of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro was shipped mainly to the Port of Santos for export. To cover such distances, the São Paulo Railway was inaugurated in 1867, the first railroad in the state. The city of São Paulo, which was neither a producer nor a port city became a strategic point along the way and hosted the financial infrastructure of the business. Coffee production, even though it was hundreds of kilometers away, was essential for the urban development and consolidation of the city of São Paulo.

Although the large tracts of land involved in primary production are far from the large cities, the main destination for their products, yet today, is the Brazilian coast.

The vast territory, with an area greater than 8 million square kilometers, and the

geographic distribution of the production sites and export facilities requires the creation of a complex network. Historically, this infrastructure was implemented in a disconnected way, without integrated planning and, as pointed out by Sergio Besserman in his interview, without economic rationale. The result was the predominance of a transportation model by diesel-powered trucks, without prominent railroads or river barge routes (in a country with one of the largest potentials for waterways in the world). In a scenario of global policies of reduction in carbon emissions, Brazil began from a backward position, with a slow, burdensome system of considerable environmental impact.

There are other questions linked to this distribution. Since a large part of the Brazilian primary production originates in the continental portion of the country, especially in the Central-West, and the export facilities are, invariably, on the East Coast, an enormous flow of heavy trucks must pass through areas of greater population density and urbanization—the large metropolises. Therefore, regions where public transport and mobility are already complex questions find themselves obliged to also think about urban networks for the circulation of merchandise.

The externalities of this circulation in the intra-urban context are a theme of discussion in a wide range of places.

As photographer Cássio Vasconcellos illustrates in the composition Ceasa, logistics has become one of the biggest problems requiring a solution in the large Brazilian cities. Where to situate the arteries—referring to the urban metabolism mentioned by Philip Yang, who writes in this chapter—and the supply depots are key questions in the planning and management of Brazilian cities.

Relating origin and destination in the primary production requires a reflection on which cities and populations are being formed at these poles. Cities like Fordlândia (Pará), portrayed by artist Melanie Smith in the pages of this book were entirely constructed around

agriculture, livestock raising, and the extractive industries. Rather than being designed for the lives of their residents, they were materialized as a response to the needs of determined products. Areas of shipping and export facilities also wind up developing their structure according to their role as the site of depots. Focused on their ports, airports or railways, like the large primary producers, they become cities of a single function.

While the point of production becomes more fragile in the generation of jobs, income and living conditions, something different takes place in the cities that are along the way between sources and destinations. In general, judging by the example of São Paulo, their economy become more energized, generating new job opportunities. A systemic understanding is thus necessary: the relation of the material flows through the Brazilian territory is not uniform, and the productive sources constitute a nearly invisible wall of social inequality.

In general, the producer cities have a less dynamic economy and offer fewer social opportunities. In contrast to this, cities that are further away from this production tend to exploit other economic activities that are more specialized and diversified; they are what Yang calls “machine cities”: those that are not producing commodities, but are essential for their commercialization.

The main issue at stake in this chapter, besides the environmental degradation that is the theme of the next chapter, “Fluid Landscape,” is how a deeper understanding of the material flows in the territory can help in the design of projects for regional development. This would allow the relations between the regions Southeast/South and CentralWest/North/Northeast to move away from dependency, and structure joint actions suited to the Brazilian urban reality at large.

Such understanding would also permit the rural-urban duality to be seen as a relation of complementary parts that can foster new local and regional opportunities and development.

The Map The map essentially considers the landscape created by the impact of primary production in Brazil. Four questions are highlighted: the specialization of the commodities—mining (especially iron), agriculture and livestock raising (soybeans, chicken meat), petroleum and wood; how they circulate through the country; the composition of the trade balance; and the urban layers that are related to these dynamics. The aim is to reveal the scale of this production which, although it is one of the main economic sources of the country, the power is not translated into progress for the social issues related to it.

The map relied on various collaborations, especially that of Pedro Camargo, the developer of the project AequilibraE., an specialized tool for QGIS. He was in charge of the processing of the consolidated data regarding the movement of commodities throughout the territory.

The national information of the logistics companies was transformed into a network of links and nodes—representing, respectively, the circulation of merchandise between the Brazilian microregions and their central points. Four main categories were considered in these flows: general bulk, liquid bulk, solid agricultural bulk and nonagricultural solid bulk. The information on imports are represented at the left, exports at the right, according to products, countries and distribution centers.

Lastly, in a social layer, the map shows the population density in the Brazilian cities compared to their amount of petroleum extraction—a commodity that is used more in areas far from where it is processed—suggesting the inequalities arising from flows of material through the Brazilian territory.

Melanie Smith Stills from Fordlândia, 2014 HD 30’

Cรกssio Vasconcellos CEASA, 2012 Photograph

interview: Sérgio Besserman

Sérgio Besserman Vianna (Rio de Janeiro-RJ, 1957) is an ecologist and economist. He holds a degree in economic sciences and a master’s in economics from PUCRio. He has served as the director of planning for the Banco Nacional de Desenvolvimento Econômico e Social [Brazilian Development Bank – BNDES]; president of the Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics – IBGE]; president of Instituto Pereira Passos (IPP) of the City of Rio de Janeiro and its Technical Chamber of Sustainable Development; and professor of history at UFF. He is a member of the board for the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), professor of economics at PUC Rio and president of the Instituto de Pesquisa Jardim Botânico do Rio de Janeiro.

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Walls What are the greatest logistical and economic obstacles to the flow of goods in Brazil?

The infrastructure that enables and organizes this flow was built without any economic rationale. We have never had a government capable of long-term planning and we have difficulty in developing collective solutions. As a consequence, today we have infrastructure that suffers from low productivity: a country, continental in size, that uses diesel trucks to transport freight. In an era that could be defined by a transition to low carbon, we have very little coastal navigation, few waterways considering our potential.

In Brazil, only now have we begun to develop governance that is sophisticated and complex enough to make collective low‑carbon solutions feasible.

Evidence Is there a disassociation, by design or effect, between economic planning and urban/land planning?

It’s chaotic, completely disconnected.

There is neither planning nor control over the use of land in cities, which results in unnecessary risks and impacts on the environment and the health and well-being of people. We are experiencing a problem that is not unique to Brazil: mining, or any activity with high short-term economic returns, always attracts lots of people.

When the activity ends, because the resource is exhausted, we have people left in squalid conditions and a degraded environment. Today, municipalities and large and medium-sized companies are aware of this, so some very interesting experiments are beginning to happen.

There are large companies supporting quilombolas, helping them to generate income from a company-related activity— eucalyptus honey, for example. This integration of science, technology and production with traditional populations

is an important step toward resolving the lack of economic and social development after the enterprise has already peaked or simply shut down.

resilient, but it needs connections. Animals, plants and fungi need to circulate between natural environments.

Behavior and micro-politics

Side effects What are the most critical socioeconomic and environmental impacts from the production and transportation of goods around Brazil? How does one balance the high demand from foreign markets, like China, and development on a local scale?

From a socioeconomic standpoint, the most critical impact is from the inefficiency of our infrastructure. This reduces our competitiveness in relation to other countries, raises the “Brazil cost” and generates less income and fewer jobs. The environmental impact could be huge, for two main reasons: first, risks are not always well managed; second, because of climate change. The World Bank predicts that this could potentially wipe out all the progress made on poverty over the last 20 to 30 years. It is a terrible threat that will result in wars, genocides, perverse suffering.

Temperatures will rise 2ºC or more by the end of the century, even if we do everything that has to be done.

The greatest impact of selling commodities to the entire world tends to be the enterprise itself, even more so than its transportation. Cattle raising causes deforestation and emits greenhouse gases; agriculture causes deforestation and reduces biodiversity. But for all of this there is a solution, based on scientific and indigenous knowledge. Farming cannot continue to use the same amount of nitrogen and phosphorus. We know that when it rains, these chemicals are carried by streams to rivers and end up creating dead zones in oceans, a problem even bigger than that of plastic. We can farm and protect reserves, by paying close attention to the connections between biomes. Alone, we cannot help nature deal with the climate change that we have created. Nature is extraordinary and very

How is the production of commodities in Brazil related to the different consumption patterns of Brazilians?

How does a growth development model affect individual lifestyles?

First, Brazil is an unjust country and the most effective way to deal with poverty generated by huge inequality is to grow, grow, grow. So we are hostage to growthat-any-cost developmentalism. We have to discover how to grow with fewer impacts. Brazilian society has a hierarchy based on conspicuous consumption, an unconscionable, perverse consumption.

Encouraging superfluous consumption is really bad, but I don’t think it’s ethical to tell a poor family to consume less.

Another interesting topic is conscientious consumption, where products must have labels that warn us if they are responsible for polluting, warming the planet, reducing biodiversity or promoting deforestation.

Experience in the discipline Based on your involvement with the Instituto de Pesquisa Jardim Botânico do Rio de Janeiro, what is the outlook for the sustainable development of Brazilian tropical forests? And how could alternative models to predatory extractivism transform our energy grid?

To do this, you have to increase governance and engage everyone. An important tool for this is the Cadastro Ambiental Rural [Rural Environmental Registry – CAR] which georeferences the properties and allows any citizen to monitor for possible deforestation. We need to improve monitoring efficiency and punish those who deforest, but also create opportunities for surrounding populations and value prevention and sustainable management.

Brazil has more forest area in need of restoration than any other. We could feed the world with our degraded pastures alone. This would make a big difference in the fight against climate change. It’s not just a matter of interrupting deforestation, it is a matter of sequestering carbon with agriculture, with forestry, with biomass used for as yet unimagined things.

Except for our hydroelectric network, our infrastructure is from the fossil fuel age. This is a huge problem, but it is also an opportunity. If we make the transition to low-carbon infrastructure, the competitive advantages for Brazil will be extraordinary.

We can supply food, energy, materials, based on biotechnology and synthetic biology, all of it with almost zero carbon.

Transformative potential Which economic or land planning mechanisms can be associated with the production and shipping of commodities to ensure conservation and prevent environmental crimes like the Rio Doce case? And what is the importance of redesigning freight transportation infrastructure in Brazil, in terms of parameters for sustainable development?

Improving the quality of democracy in Brazil is the best way of avoiding disaster. The greatest challenge in Brazilian infrastructure is to reorganize it more efficiently, which depends mainly on governance, and the ability to find collective solutions. The specificities of each region need to be studied. In the Amazon, you may think that a road is a cheaper solution, but a road promotes deforestation. With the railroad, you have to go to the station, where you can control whether the timber is under management or is illegally logged. And there are also the waterways. But all of this must take into consideration that a low carbon economy will one day be a component in the price of everything, especially commodities.

Supplying the cheapest and most

competitive commodities in the world, with low environmental impact, is within reach.

It’s just a matter of engagement and the application of knowledge.

VENEZUELA MEXICO U N I T E D STAT E S C A N A DA G U YA N A C O LO M B I A

PERU

BOLIVIA

PA R AG U AY

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map Material Flows.

U RU G UAY

P O RT U G A L S PA I N IRELAND UNITED KINGDOM FRANCE B E LG I U M N E T H E R L A N DS

Brazilian soy Municipal production volume Trade flow Ports

GERMANY S LOV E N I A DENMARK L AT V I A LITHUANIA N O R WAY FINLAND

GHANA EGY P T G R E EC E TURKEY ISRAEL G EO RG I A R USS I A

S E N EG A L M A RO C C O A LG E R I A TUNISIA I TA LY RO M A N I A POLAND

C A M E RO O N ANGOLA CONGO SAUDI ARABIA OMAN IRAN PA K I STA N

INDIA M YA N M A R VIETNAM CAMBODIA THAILAND CHINA

M A L AYS I A INDONESIA PHILLIPINES N O RT H KO R E A S O U T H KO R E A JA PA N

SOUTH AFRICA M OZ A M B I Q U E M A DAG A S C A R A UST R A L I A NEW ZEALAND

Cities and the trail of commodities

Philip Yang and Marcela Ferreira

The awareness that cities are the largest and most complex artifacts ever created by civilizations has inspired urban studies in different fields of knowledge that go far beyond the classic discipline of urbanism. As a result, several metaphors have emerged to represent the city, revealing the new outlooks and distinct analytical and methodological perspectives brought about by this expanded range of approaches.

Semiotics and social psychology, for example, interpret the city as a sign1. In life sciences it is viewed as a living organism and its physical networks are described as tissues,2 in an allusion to the sets of cells that make up animals and plants. A metaphor derived from biochemistry, urban metabolism3 is used to describe the energy, water, food and waste processes of cities.

The ubiquitous presence in urban environments of commodities, understood as general products intended for commercial use, instigates the creation of yet another metaphor, derived from mechanics: the city as a machine, consumer and processor of such products. Albeit less seductive than the figures of speech derived from genetics, quantum physics or the digital world, the allegory of the machine city seems apt for contributing to an analysis that fosters a better understanding (1) of the role of a city vis-à-vis others; (2) of the functions of specific parts of a city’s territory, at the peripheral level, in relation to others; (3) of the historical path covered by certain cities; and, perchance, (4) of their future paths and vocations in this historical moment in which several cities are transitioning from industrial to postindustrial centers.

As we know, the prefix “post” is used to designate periods which, despite succeeding something that has recognizably ended, still lack clearly defined traits.

Therefore, given the ubiquity of commodities in cities,

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1. See the interesting article by Nikita A. Kharlamov, “The City as a Sign: A DevelopmentalExperiential Approach to Spatial Life,” in Jaan Valsiner (edit.), The Oxford Handbook of Culture and Psychology. New York: Oxford Library of Psychology, 2012.

2. See the studies of urban morphology and references to the urban tissue in Saverio Muratori, Studi per una operante storia urbana di Venezia, I. Roma: Istituto poligrafico dello Stato, Libreria dello Stato, 1960.

3. See, for example, the lines of research developed by Delft University of Technology.

Available at: urbanmetabolism. weblog.tudelft.nl/what-is-urbanmetabolism/. Accessed on: March 20, 2018.

4. Historically, extractive cities that did not diversify their economies, such as Ojuela in Mexico, Sewell in West Virginia (US), or Copperfield in Queensland (Australia), became ghost towns following depletion of the extraction resource. In a closer Brazilian example, Rio de Janeiro experienced wealth and fiscal and social collapse with the rise and fall of oil prices, the main source of royalties sustaining the city’s vigor.

an analysis of the urban territory as a machine for their consumption, manufacturing and distribution may unveil trends and possibilities, positive or negative, about their future.

Economics defines commodities as a set of products of a generic, basic and highly fungible nature, i.e., without much apparent differentiation among them, so much so that their origin or producer is irrelevant to those who consume them. Among many possible categorizations, commodities may be ranked as extractive (iron, copper, zinc, aluminum), energy or fossil (gas, coal, oil) and agricultural (soy, rice, wheat). Given the broad process of commoditization of industrialized goods, one may also affirm that industrial commodities forcibly emerge as a fourth and necessary category of analysis.

The different relationships each urban environment establishes with commodities make it possible to tentatively classify them into five categories of machine cities: producer, consumer, trader, value adder and value‑adder trader.

Cities such as Gillette, in Wyoming, or Araxá, in Minas Gerais, are prominent for being large producers of commodities, coal and niobium, respectively. They have poorly diversified economies and small markets, and therefore do not stand out as machines in the other categories. We might think of both cities as belonging to a subtype characterized by intensive extraction of non-fossil commodities and by equally intensive consumption of fossil commodities.4 Venice and other cities of the Hanseatic League or located along the Silk Road were prominent traders of goods. Throughout history, trading cities have played a key role in the transfer of goods and exchange of ideas between different parts of the world. As a side effect, trade brought wealth and capital accumulation, which made it possible to improve industrial processes such as printing and the manufacture of glass and paper, as well as promote the advancement of medicine, philosophy, astronomy and agriculture.

Chicago stands out among big cities for hosting the world’s largest commodity trading platform. The trade of basic goods on the Chicago Mercantile Exchange is worth one quadrillion dollars per year, although the city itself has no physical facilities associated with these transactions, which relate mainly to virtual operations performed over the entire planet.

Large metropolises such as Shanghai, São Paulo and London operate as urban machines in the five above mentioned categories, with more or less emphasis on each of their defining characteristics. Levels of operation, such as value adder, are certainly higher in more mature

cities with greater material and intellectual resources.

And while such a correlation is intuitively obvious, the nuances that may be inferred from more in-depth quantitative studies are potentially revealing of less obvious social and economic causes and effects, even pulling in opposite directions.

Machine cities functioning as value adders and value‑adder traders perform the function of de‑commoditization. In their role as value adders, they aim to make goods that are fungible—or undifferentiated— acquire traits of differentiation. Such differentiation necessarily occurs in the field of innovation: enhancement of goods, branding and marketing, and the supply of services associated with them.

In a more constrained movement, but representative of new trends, several mature cities in the developed world whose production of commodities is currently close to zero are striving to implement agricultural production in urban areas. At the same time, many consumers in these cities have started favoring commodities with certificates of origin, and therefore differentiated, refuting the very concept of commodities, which is non-differentiation.

Non-genetically modified corn, free-range eggs, organic vegetables and antibiotic-free meat are just a few examples of products offered to consumers interested in traceability (and therefore differentiation) of commodities.

In another example, potentially larger in scale, enhancement of 3D printing will allow, in the near future, the production of industrial commodities, currently restricted to peri-urban areas, in urban and even domestic environments. Auto parts, footwear, integrated circuits and chips are part of this new world of commodity production of increasingly non-rural and non‑industrial origin.

The different examples listed in the sparse and disorderly inventory above suggest that forms of treatment and consumption of commodities in urban environments are lively indicators of various economic and social trends in cities. Commodities and the “commoditization” of industrial goods are associated with traditional sectors of the economy, while the search for product differentiation is related to the so-called new economy, dominated by the knowledge-intensive services sector. On the demand level, comparison of consumption rates between different types of commodities may indicate the shortcomings and virtues of each urban machine and suggest a course of action for certain sectors.

One may conclude from these rambling ideas that the systematization in the machine city of an input-output framework focused on commodities may potentially generate a set of indicators capable of guiding urban

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5. Saskia Sassen, The global city: New York, London, Tokyo. New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 2001.

agents regarding (1) the sustainability of their processes; (2) their positioning in relation to new paradigms of production emerging in the digital era; (3) how prepared their populations are as to the possibilities of production and consumption of higher value-added goods; and, lastly, (4) their possible repositioning in the international division of labor which, as we know, is strongly hierarchical.

Although they are less attractive to the marketplace of ideas than metaphors derived from emerging disciplines, the lines of research that advance in this approach— addressing the city-as-a-commodity-processingmachine—seem therefore worthy of the current agenda.

This is especially true if we recall that the global economic restructuring initiated in the 1970s was also accompanied by a spatial restructuring of cities, which thereafter took on different roles. While some of them have become centers of command in the global economy, concentrating management roles,5 others remained linked to production activities. Within this economic and territorial hierarchy, the most prominent cities are those capable of managing their territories in order to induce their transformation into new innovation-producing machine cities.

Philip Yang (São Paulo, 1962) holds a master’s degree in public administration from the J. F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University and is the founder of the Instituto de Urbanismo e Estudos para a Metrópole (URBEM).

Marcela Ferreira (São Paulo, 1989) has a bachelor’s degree in architecture and urbanism from the Universidade de São Paulo (USP) and a master’s degree in management and public policies from Fundação Getúlio Vargas (FGV-SP). She is projects coordinator at URBEM and develops research in urban dynamics and regulation.

4 Fluid landscape: encounter between human and natural ecosystems How unregulated is the relationship between human and natural ecosystems?

When we analyze the human impact within the geographical space we note that the territorial borders are not limiting factors.

Ecosystems do not respect geopolitical borders. The analysis of an ecosystem— concept that presupposes the relation between beings and physicochemical factors of the determined environments—does not involve, therefore, only visible questions.

In the common definition, an ecosystem is a natural environment, without anthropic transformations. Here, however, it involves the human being and his or her interactions with the surroundings, influenced by natural, economic, cultural and social variables. How can an ecosystem be impacted by man and vice versa? What role do geographic borders have in this?

The analysis of territories such as Brazil and South America helps to understand these questions. The country is seeing this conflict grow each day in its forests, which make up about 55% of its territory, with its urban dwellers surpassing 80% of the total population and impacting the natural landscapes either directly or through the externalities of consumption.

On the scale of the city, the conflicts between man and ecosystem are constant, often linked to social factors. The rapid process of Brazilian urbanization resulted in cities where planning could not catch up to speed to the informal growth. Industrial labor, without access to good-quality of dwellings, settled in areas without infrastructure, on the fringes of the urban centers, often in environmental protection areas. Houses built with cheap, scrap and improper materials, without technical finishing, compose residential clusters far from the urban centers, with unhealthy conditions and subject to situations of high risk, as shown by geologist Álvaro Rodrigues dos Santos in this chapter. In 2000, only 33% of the Brazilian dwellings were considered adequate.

In 2008, the Technical Assistance Law was passed,1 which guarantees low-income families (earing three times the minimum wage or less, in urban or rural areas) technical plans and accompaniment in the construction of a dwelling. Encompassing questions of

aesthetics, structure, environmental comfort and upgrading of the building, the law understands the housing object as part of a more complex environment. Although it is an important and entirely new endeavor, the law is not without its flaws: the target families are unaware of it, and because of the scarce dialogue between architects and urbanists, engineers, geologists and health technicians, it does not produce significant results.

Conflicts of an environmental order are not limited to the scale of cities only.

To reach a deep understanding of our ecosystem it is necessary to consider the positive or negative externalities, in multiple scales simultaneously.

In recent years, there has been a significant reduction of the Brazilian forests, especially in Amazonia. The 325-millionhectare territory of the country’s North shrinks by about 800,000 hectare per year—nearly one and a half federal districts— due to the expansion of the agricultural, livestock raising and extractive industries.

The rampant deforestation is related, on one hand, with considerable gains in exportation, and, on the other, represents a significant loss of natural ecosystems fundamental for maintaining the Brazilian and South American bio-climatic balance.

As we are reminded by Antonio Donato Nobre in his interview, the location of South America in relation to the equator ensures the continent relatively mild temperatures, which has allowed for the establishment of a significant equatorial flora, of high humidity, thanks to the vapors from the transpiration of plant life. The coastal winds push these vapors toward the Pacific Ocean, causing rain in the equatorial region; then, upon running up against the Andes Mountains, the humidity heads toward the interior of the country, reaching Brazil’s Central, South and Southeast and arriving in Argentina.

Both Nobre as well as Paulo Tavares underscore that the agricultural, livestock raising and extractive industries should enter into harmony with the system of the Amazon forest, since its demise would have considerable impacts on the rain cycle in Brazil and in other South American

lands. If primary production is not reduced, its shipping and consumption will also create great environmental impacts. The construction of infrastructure for the distribution of these products devastates green lands with paved highways that aggravate the problem of soil impermeability.

On the urban sphere, the increase of the population and of activities linked to industry and services generate new demands for power.2 In recent years there has been a considerable increase in the number of hydroelectric plants in the Amazon and Pantanal basins and in the cerrado [Brazilian tropical savanna] regions.3 Two of them, Itaipu and Belo Monte, are in A gente Rio—Be Dammed, published here. In this work, artist Carolina Caycedo investigates ideas of flow, assimilation, resistance, representation, control, nature and culture, with a critical look at the developmentalist infrastructural projects.4 Effects of a systemic order show that the externalities are not necessarily logical or direct. A global analysis that considers everything from the local to regional scale is necessary to ensure that the perception of degradation processes does not remain only in the collective imagination. The barriers should stop being invisible and reach the tangible field of everyone who works in shaping the Brazilian urban space.

Works like those of photographers Helena Wolfenson and Aline Lata, who document the bursting of the Bento Rodrigues dam in Mariana (MG), shed light on the conflict between the natural and human ecosystems and raise awareness about the impacts on human life. There is an ever-growing need to develop consciousness and mechanisms to prevent scenes like these to become increasingly frequent in Brazil.

More knowledge is needed about the cycles of nature and our impact in them. Instead of being an unknown wall for the urban territory, they should be understood holistically by all the agents building the Brazilian cities: from the owners of the means of production and large tracts of land, to real estate promoters, the public power, social groups, and, not least, architects and urbanists.

the MAP Fluid Landscape constructs its narrative based on natural elements overlaid to the topographical charts of South America.

Instead of geopolitical borders, the map emphasizes the physical natural barriers of significant impact.

Carbon emissions from biomass loss are represented in red and yellow tones.

The darker the area, the more intense the emissions. When in balance, the equatorial vegetation absorbs significant rates of carbon through photosynthesis, offsetting releases by decomposition. When it is cut down or substituted by agriculture, for example, the carbon concentration levels in the atmosphere increases, contributing to global warming.

This scenario is complemented by the accumulation of vapor in the air and the winds that transport them, thus regulating the rain cycle in South America.

By highlighting natural elements distant from the urban environment but with significant impact on them, the map encourages architects and urbanists to developed a more global understanding of their territory of action.

1. Law 11.888/2008. Available at: www.planalto.gov.br/ccivil_03/_ Ato2007-2010/2008/Lei/L11888. htm. Retrieved on: April 20, 2018.

2. It should mentioned that the primary production is also essential for industry, even influencing civil construction—which in 2015 represented more than 5% of the Brazilian GDP and accounted for more than 8% of the employment in the country (CBIC, 2015), including architects and urbanists.

3. In the basins of the Amazon, Tocantins/Araguaia and Paragua Rivers, six were inaugurated after 2000. In 2014 alone, more than 15 hydroelectric plants were in the planning stage in the region (Agência Nacional de Águas, 2014).

4. This work was executed for the 32nd Bienal de São Paulo – Incerteza Viva (2016).

Carolina Caycedo A Gente Xingú, A Gente Doce, A Gente Paraná [The People Xingú, The People Doce, The People Paraná], 2016 From the series A Gente Rio – Be Dammed [The People River–Be Dammed] Satellite photographs

Helena Wolfenson ParacatĂş de Baixo, 2015 Marlon, Bento Rodrigues, 2015 From the series Rastro de lama [Mud Trail] Photograph

Aline Lata Bento Rodrigues, Mariana – Brasil, 2015 From the series Rastro de lama [Mud Trail] Photograph

interview: Antonio Donato Nobre

Antonio Donato Nobre (Santo André-SP, 1958) studied agronomy at Universidade de São Paulo, earned a master’s degree in tropical biology from Instituto Nacional de Pesquisas da Amazônia and holds a PhD in Earth Systems Sciences from the University of New Hampshire (1994). He was a member of the Scientific Steering Committee for the Global Carbon Project and rapporteur for the Forest Code. He is a senior researcher at the Centro de Ciência do Sistema Terrestre, at the Instituto Nacional de Pesquisas da Amazônia [National Institute of Amazonian Research - INPa], where he works on the agenda for technological innovation and studies the phenomena of flying rivers in the Amazon. He is deeply involved in disseminating and popularizing science and with the agenda for sustainable development of the Amazon.

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Walls What characteristics of Western culture appear responsible for the stark segregation between natural and manmade landscapes?

Westerners are enchanted with analytical capacity, abstract reasoning, fostered by the development of the left hemisphere of the brain, the only functional structure in nature that is exclusive to human beings.

Culturally, by cultivating this structure we separate ourselves from our own body and, in this way, from the environment, because the body does not exist outside of it. We have this detachment, while the native peoples of the Amazon, ancient peoples of Asia, are more playful and less rational. They maintain their roots because the playful side is completely linked with the hypothalamus, to the animal brain, emotional and sensitive to what connects us to the environment.

Evidence What are the best examples of this segregation on a global scale? And how does this take shape in the Brazilian context?

Today, in the geological epoch of the Anthropocene, this disconnect with the environment leads humanity to modify the entire system, following a logic of positive feedback, powerfully multiplying the number of human beings on planet Earth.

Technology allows us to equal geological forces. On Earth, mankind has produced, in a very short period of time, the same stratigraphic markers as left by the impact of a massive meteor or processes that take millions of years.

Indigenous people believe in spirits, and have no problem with what they cannot see. They don’t see what’s happening in the forest, but were taught that something very complex happens there, which must be respected. The society exported from Europe lost the word “veneration”, in the sense of “I respect something because

it is far behind my comprehension”. The indigenous people view the forest, animals, the jaguar, with great respect. We have lost this, especially due to the influence of science and rationalism.

Side effects What links the Amazon, in the north, and the cities of the south and southeast of Brazil? How are the so-called flying rivers affected by the progress heralded by agribusiness, by the exploration of nonrenewable natural resources (fossil and mineral) and by drastic interventions in the natural landscape, such as the building of hydroelectric plants?

The Amazon is located in the equatorial zone, which generates an enormous amount of heat and water vapor. The equatorial zone is the motor that generates, while the polar and temperate zones serve as the planet’s radiator. We are very concerned about global warming and the emission of carbon, but there is little emphasis on the protection of forests.

More important than carbon is controlling water vapor and its atmospheric flows, the phenomena that we call flying rivers. These “rivers” carry moisture from the ocean, desalinated by the sun, to the continents, producing an incredible amount of water vapor. The water, however, can only get to the continents because of the forests, which act as a biotic pump. The Amazon forest, with its trees, puts around 20 billion tons of water into the atmosphere on a daily basis—which is more water than the Amazon River. The vapor returns from the atmosphere in the form of rain, spreading throughout the interior of the continent.

With deforestation, the forest is already undergoing a process of terminal decline.

We are breaking the biotic pump for atmospheric moisture. The invasion of the Amazon is part of the mentality I referred to previously: we cannot see the vapor, just as we cannot understand its importance. So, if I plant soybeans, it’s of no concern. The European disaster is being repeated here.

Even with proof, linear reasoning will not regard what it cannot see. In the discussion of the forest code, our academic group and SBPC explained the situation to the politicians. Years later, the Supreme Court partially conceded our point. But the European memes are very active in the minds of Blairo Maggi, Kátia Abreu and the entire Brazilian ruralist caucus. A backward oligarchy determines how things will be.

They are only an insignificant fraction of society, since the times of colonial Brazil.

We say: you are destroying the goose that lays the golden eggs, agriculture depends umbilically on the forest… Remove the forest, agriculture will end, we cannot farm the desert.

Behavior and micro-politics Is there some relationship between the current economic and political crisis in Brazil and the way we treat the environment? How does climate change currently influence disputes over urban and rural land and those inhabited or claimed by indigenous peoples?

Mining pervades our national ethos, for example. Renca, a national reserve, has been opened to mining. It was the last reserve connected to the ocean left intact, which enables the flying rivers to reach the interior. If the vapor transport chain is interrupted, the interior will dry up. And President Michel Temer removed protection from precisely this area.

The company Icomi mined manganese in Serra do Navio, in the state of Amapá, for 50 years, removing 37 billion tons of the mineral; 85% went to the United States and Europe. Today manganese costs 2,000 USD/ton. Brazil received as royalties, for 50 years, the equivalent of 0.07 USD/ton. Icomi paid 12% of their net profits to Brazil, the highest rate of royalties ever paid. Today, the highest rate for mining royalties is 3%, paid by Vale and BHP Billiton, the two companies that destroyed the Doce River.

They were exempt from paying the ICMS tax, so the State earned nothing despite paying

for all the infrastructure. What’s left? Huge holes, pollution and deforestation, since the roads that they created provide access to those who deforest.

When a mineral is taken from here and enters a developed economy, it is infinitely recycled. There scrap iron generates more money than those who possessed the original wealth. Traders are the ones who make the most from commodities, not Brazil or farmers or agribusiness. Just like the times in which Europeans came and traded a mirror to indigenous people in exchange for gold. The wealth of the Amazon is being squandered for 0.07 USD/ ton. If Brazil earned what these minerals were worth on the market, there would be no economic problems. The country would be on top if the rules enforced here were the same rules followed by the countries that colonized us. Our problem is not poverty in the Amazon. It is the poverty in wealth, the mental poverty of the elites.

produces pioneering fibers from plants.

People from the department of materials engineering at Universidade Federal de São Carlos, inspired by the project, have used this fiber to develop plastic wood.

Wood created from fragments of embaúba as a component of a sheet pressed with cement. Where there is degradation, we can produce fibers and create a composition of fast and slow cycles. We will regenerate forests in the Amazon like the ancient peoples did. It is the future.

Transformative potential

Do you believe that the environmental crisis can bring about a more holistic understanding of the earth and transform the borders that exist between men and between mankind and nature?

There are huge distances between us. Perhaps between the agribusiness lobby and myself—since I am an environmentalist—there is more distance Experience in the discipline between us than the ends of the universe.

It’s unbridgeable. “They taught me, from What practices have you and your very early on, that I should plant soybeans research groups developed at the Centro to rid the world of hunger.” Actually, the de Ciência do Sistema Terrestre [Earth soybeans are grown to feed pigs, chickens System Science Center] to promote a and cows in China. This generates a more balanced relationship between kind of cultural autism, to the point that human and nonhuman ecosystems, with someone says we do not need the Amazon a view to the sustainable development forest, we need soybeans. The cultural of Brazil? autism that rules society is reminiscent I developed a project called Fênix of a phenomenon in oncology: when a Amazônico [Amazon Phoenix] (a reference cell stops working within the system, to the region’s extraordinary capacity for and begins to defend only exuberance. rebirth), in which I created an ecosystem Adjectives like “exuberant economy”, of sustainable enterprises in an area of timber production. I used knowledge that I “vigorous growth”, “unlimited growth” show this individualistic, cancerous obtained militating in forestry engineering and planting to recuperate degraded areas. mentality that governs Wall Street, the If an earthquake destroys a city, you rebuild London Stock Exchange, Bovespa.

Egotism introduces a disintegrating it with bricks, concrete and steel. If the factor—this is finally appearing in biology. same happens with a forest, all you have to Today we’re back to square one and say do is toss in some seeds and it will rebuild that natural selection is a very important itself—and we don’t stop and take a minute supporting actor, but the leading actor to respect and venerate the technological is collaboration. The Amazon forest only dimension of a seed. Using forest functions because of collaboration. technology, we propose a system that

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23°26’S Why isn’t the southeast of Brazil arid as the other regions in the tropics?

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map Fluid Landscape.

Land cover Forests Arid and Semiarid Tropical Rainforests Tropical Deserts

The floods, the droughts

Paulo Tavares

In June 2013, while the Brazilian government rushed to finish the construction of lavish football stadiums and urban projects to host the 2014 FIFA World Cup—an event supposed to showcase the much heralded “global emergence” of South America’s largest economy—a multitude of popular protests flooded hundreds of cities throughout the country, converging in mass demonstrations not witnessed since the movements for democratic reforms that brought an end to twenty years of military dictatorship in the 1980s. People took to the streets demanding better health, education and urban services; social networks were bubbling with the hashtags #nãovaitercopa and #semdireitossemcopa [“there will be no cup”, “no rights no cup”] and rioters attacked government headquarters, banks, and other symbols of political and economic power.

Fearing that social mayhem could escalate and jeopardize the event, security forces imposed a swift crackdown. In the city centers the military police contained the protests with tear-gas, rubber-bullets and arbitrary detentions; in the peripheries, where the projects of the World Cup and the 2016 Olympics in Rio de Janeiro left a legacy of widespread evictions,1 they deployed the usual means of repression utilized against the poor, terrorizing the population with curfews, armoured vehicles, and extrajudicial killings.

Although attracting much less attention from the mainstream press, the “Journeys of June” were anticipated by a series of rebellions in remote frontier-zones of the Amazon, far away from the major urban centres and the public view. On 15 March 2011, the construction sites of the Complexo Hidrelétrico do Rio Madeira [Madeira River Hydropower Complex] became the stage for the largest worker uprising in the recent history of Brazil, triggering

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1. “Articulação Nacional dos Comitês Populares da Copa e Olimpíadas”. In Dossie Megaeventos e violações dos direitos humanos no Brasil, 2014.

Available at comitepopulario.files. wordpress.com/2014/11/ancop_ dossie2014_web.pdf. Accessed on: April 6, 2018.

2. Instituto Humanitas Unisinos, Conjuntura da Semana. A rebelião de Jirau, n/d; Raul Zibechi, Rebellion in the Brazilian Amazon, CIP Americas, April, 2011.

3. Interview with a worker in Belo Monte, published on April 18, 2013.

Available at: www.youtube.com/ watch?v=XcmcO7KkkiQ. Accessed on: April 6, 2018.

4. See: R7 Notícias, Mais de 1.500 cidades do Nordeste estão em situação de emergência por causa da seca, February 11, 2014; Folha de S.Paulo, Uma em cada dez cidades brasileiras já tem epidemia de dengue, April 19, 2015.

5. UOL, Mais de 82 mil estão desabrigados com cheias dos rios Madeira e Acre, March 14, 2014; O Estado de São Paulo, Cheia do Rio Madeira atinge novo recorde na região amazônica, April 3, 2014

6. Lúcio Flávio Pinto, Os Rios enchem como nunca, o rodoviarismo chega ao fim, Amazonia Real, April 12, 2014.

a wave of revolts that quickly spread to several other mega-construction sites in the Amazon. The first item in the workers’ list of demands was “ending the truculence of guards and supervisors, physical and psychological harassment, and the use of private imprisonment”.2 Two years later, a ten-day-long strike at the construction site of the Belo Monte Dam on the Xingu River exposed a similarly oppressive labour regime, revealing that migrant workers lived in a situation of “confinement” under constant police surveillance and aggressions.3 Like the projects built for the World Cup and the Olympics in the cities, dams and other mega‑developments that are being installed in the Amazonian hinterlands became social battlegrounds for conflicts over rights.

Massive popular protests across the nation—and the incomprehensible 7×1 defeat to Germany by in the semi‑finals—were not the only seismic historical events that shook Brazil in 2013–2014. As striking as the political convulsions were the extremely harsh droughts that hit the country in these months. And as the droughts progressively worsened, the government started to realize that social unrest was not the only problem menacing the FIFA World Cup, but that it would also have to deal with the destabilizing effects of climate change.

By the beginning of 2014 thousands of cities in the drought-prone northeast declared a state of emergency, and in the southeast the hydroelectric reservoirs that supply the metropolitan areas of Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo were pushed to the brink of collapse, prompting alarm that water shortages and energy blackouts could disrupt key services and cripple the games.4 Meanwhile, a disastrous “once in a century” flood in the Amazon was swallowing vast tracts of forests, farms, towns and entire riverbank villages, leading to the displacement of thousands of people. Main roads and communication networks were disrupted and large regions were completely cut off for months, causing food and medicine shortages, impeding the access of humanitarian operations and leading to outbreaks of leptospirosis.5 The impacts of what has been called a “tsunami on land” in the Amazon were so massive that they were indirectly felt as far away as the metropolitan region of São Paulo.

The flooding forced the suspension of operations at the Santo Antônio and the Jirau power stations in the Madeira River Hydropower Complex, two recently built dams intended to meet the growing energy demand of Brazil’s economic powerhouse in the southeast, where, at that same moment, an equally catastrophic extreme weather front was drying out major hydroelectric reservoirs.6

— Besides the temporal coincidence, there is apparently no correlation between these exceptional historical events. Social turbulence and climatic extremes were perceived and analysed as unrelated episodes pertaining to separate domains. Whereas the former was located in socio-political history, the latter was treated as a de-historicized phenomenon resulting from natural disturbances, being placed outside the realm of social conflicts that shape history.

Once observed from a broader perspective, however, the simultaneous political storms, floods and droughts that swept over the Brazilian territory appear to be interdependent events on many different levels, drawing the contours of a complex environmental-political terrain in which social and natural forces are interrelated by manifold interactions that operate across different scales and temporalities.

Recent scientific studies demonstrate that the Amazon is responsible for supplying most of the rainfall across South America, principally to the modernized core-regions of the continent’s southeast. Wind currents periodically carry the moisture released by the forest trees in the atmosphere through the interior of the basin towards the Andes, and as the giant mountain barrier deflects the gyre, the vapours migrate across the landmass to the south, nourishing vast agricultural fields and replenishing numerous hydroelectric reservoirs along the way.

In the region of São Paulo, where the mega-drought of 2013–2014 was most severe, as much as 70% of the rainfall during the wet season is derived from the waters produced by the Amazon, and therefore the climate of this region is structurally dependent on the sustainability of the rainforest, without which it would be an inhospitable desert-like ecosystem.7 The historic floods in the Madeira River in 2014, the latest in a string of exceptional floods and droughts recorded in the Amazon over the past decade, was further strong evidence that the rainforest’s water-producing engines are rapidly changing and fracturing, a condition which in the context of global warming is likely to intensify exponentially, causing more frequent extreme floods in the western portion of the basin and at the same time an incremental process of “savannization” in the southern and eastern areas.

Rather than simply a natural phenomena, this ongoing climatic destabilization of the rainforest is the environmental product of development projects implemented during the late twentieth century, when the military dictatorships of South America, seeing themselves as a force of modernization, sought to

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7. Philip M. Fearnside, A água de São Paulo e a floresta amazônica, in Ciência hoje, April, 2014.

transform the entire basin into a global machine of resource extraction and commodity export. The occupation of the forest hinterlands with a series of mega-developments—continental highways, dams, agribusiness plantations, oil and mineral extraction complexes—triggered massive deforestation in a short period of time, severely damaging the biophysical structure and ecological resilience of the Amazon. This project was imposed on local populations by means of pervasive repression and violence, particularly against indigenous peoples, who were systematically displaced and targeted by vicious colonial policies of cultural and physical extermination.

The political convulsions recently witnessed in the Amazon were directed against similar planning schemes devised by the military government to “develop” the Amazon during the resource rush of the global Cold War. Their implementation on the ground has also been marked by widespread rights violations of local communities who are opposing this project.

8. Hilton S. Pinto and Eduardo D. Assad, Global Warming and the new geography of agricultural production in Brazil, Brasília: British Embassy, 2008.

— The numerous ongoing and planned projects to drill and mine the rainforest, plus the hundreds of megaschemes planned to re-engineer its free-floating rivers, will contribute to enhancing deforestation and global warming, which in a feedback loop will disrupt the ecological resilience of the forest and engender a much less biodiverse and much less fertile environment across the entire Latin American continent. Regional habitats will be disrupted, aggravating conflicts over land and water and so fuelling frontier violence, driving the further encroachment into indigenous territories and ecological reserves, and pushing environmental degradation deeper.

Increasing water deficits will compromise the soil of the most important grain producing regions throughout Latin America, dramatically reducing the area suitable for export crops such as coffee, maize and, chiefly, soya. “We will witness a migration of plants to regions they are not native to in search of better climatic conditions,” according to scientists of the Agência Brasileira de Pesquisa em Agricultura [Brazilian Agricultural Research Agency],8 thus accelerating the expansion of the agricultural frontier towards the hinterlands of the Amazon.

Climate-induced displacement of plants will be accompanied by migratory waves of populations of urban and rural poor whose livelihoods will be equally disrupted by water shortages and droughts. As with what happened during the decades of the dictatorship, when the generals enforced the massive displacement of peasants from the drought-prone northeast regions in oreder to colonize the

forest hinterlands, “we are about to witness a new exodus to the Amazon,” scientists claim, as a grand contingent will be forced to “flee from the greatest water crisis that our history has ever registered”.9 Due to migration influx deforestation tends to increase, and insofar as the Amazon exports huge quantities of rainfall to the southeast, the loss of forest areas will further aggravate water shortages and dry spells in the core modern regions around Buenos Aires and São Paulo, thereby uprooting more climate refugees and increasing the pressure on indigenous territories and ecological reserves.

— The ensuing environmental impacts of this neo‑colonial/neodevelopmentalist strategy will exacerbate deforestation and ecological fragmentation, intensifying the effects of climate change in the Amazon and further disrupting its waterproducing capability, thereby jeopardizing the supply of rainfall to South America and inevitably engendering extreme droughts in the populous regions of southeast Brazil.

Experts argue that in São Paulo, the largest urban agglomeration of the continent, a drastic reduction in water supply is practically certain to happen in the near future. As reservoirs and pipelines run dry, water will become one of the main factors over which urban conflicts will be fought. Indirectly catalysed by deforestation in the Amazon, the coming Journeys of June will be ignited by riots and rebellions over common natural resources, both in the cities and the hinterlands, while the devastating social effects of climate change are turning into a question of national security that will be contained with the characteristic state repression and violence that rules in urban peripheries and forest frontiers of Brazil.

The Amazon, the most biodiverse territory on Earth, is currently one of the world’s deadliest territories for land defenders and environmental activists. Indigenous peoples and peasant communities are being forced to abandon their homelands to open space for transport and energy infrastructures, corporate extraction enclaves and industrial plantations and ranches. The people who are at the frontlines of the battle to protect the environment in these contested territories are being systematically murdered, harassed, and persecuted as terrorists.

Strengthening the land and human rights of forest peoples, guaranteeing the integrity of their territories and providing support for the sustainable practices of environmental management developed over centuries, are therefore forms of strengthening the resilience of the Amazon’s forest-ocean mechanism and acting upon the dynamics of the Earth System, helping to balance

152 9. Id., Ibid.

the global carbon cycle, keeping the planet cooler and preserving the hydrological regime of the entire South American continent.

The combined effects of tough forms of resource extraction, increasing environmental depletion, shrinking natural reserves and climate change are not only driving the constitution of a radically new ecological order, but also a political one, inscribing the borders, partitions, enclosures and divisions that are defining a new geography of global conflicts. In the post-climate change geopolitical condition, environmental factors will be decisive in shaping conflicts, inasmuch as power— and resistance—have turned into “geophysical forces”, coextensive and consequential with the life-shaping processes that make the Earth System.

Compiled from a draft written in 2015.

Paulo Tavares (Campinas-SP, 1980) is an architect based in Brasília, where he currently holds an adjunct professor position at the Faculdade de Arquitetura e Urbanismo, Universidade de Brasília. He has published and lectured widely in different contexts and locations, including ETH Zurich, Haus der Kulturen der Welt, Ireland Biennale, Mercosul Biennale, and Bienal de São Paulo. Prior to that, Tavares taught Design Studio and Spatial Theory at the School of Architecture of the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Ecuador in Quito, and at the Centre for Research Architecture, Goldsmiths. He runs the agency autonoma, a platform dedicated to spatial research and intervention, and is a long-term collaborator with Forensic Architecture.

Architecture, urbanism and geology: an indispensable combination

Álvaro Rodrigues dos Santos

Nature, to be commanded, must be obeyed.

– Francis Bacon, 1620 THE COMMON DISSOCIATION BETWEEN ARCHITECTURE, URBANISM AND GEOLOGY It is highly important to consider that the guiding concepts of how the relationships between an enterprise and the natural environment in which it will interfere are defined, primarily and originally, in the architectural concept proposed. It is this conception, determinant in the spatial placement and in the adjustment of the enterprise to the terrain, which will influence, as a result, the choice of the construction procedures and future rules of operation and maintenance, all essential elements in interrelations with the natural environment.

In this way, it will be the initial architectural concept that will determine the success or failure of an enterprise, regarding the relations of mutual interference that it establishes with the geological and geotechnical environment in which it is installed.

Notwithstanding this conceptual premise, serious and costly geological and geotechnical problems, such as erosion/silting, flooding, sliding of natural and landfill slopes, soil settlement or consolidation, massive production of high risk areas, deterioration of installed infrastructure, etc., commonly including the loss of many human lives, have been the result of obvious mismatches between urban and architectural projects and the natural characteristics of the terrains on which they are built.

This shows the absence or insufficiency of collaboration between architects and geologists.

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[Fig. 1] A radically inadequate concept for the natural shape of the terrain.

[Fig. 2] Steep slopes, naturally predisposed to mudslides, should never be the object of urban occupation.

[Fig. 3] Occupation of shorelines subject to seasonal rises in sea level: disaster foretold.

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[Fig. 4] The low-income population is compelled to occupy potentially high risk land.

Some practical examples serve to clarify. By insisting on the creation of flat areas using extensive earthworking methods, for example, the architectural projects associated with urban expansion—whether intended for residential or commercial construction—and built on areas of accentuated relief, subscribe to a culture of flattened earth. Earthworking services are obsessively used to produce flat plateaus. Result: creation of areas at risk of mudslides; exposure of deeper soils, which are extremely susceptible to erosion; intense erosion processes in excavations, landfills and dumps; destruction of existing infrastructure; silting of drainage channels; and increased flooding. An urban and architectural concept guided by areas of accentuated relief would avoid, from the outset, all these problems. [fig. 1, 2, 3] When intending to occupy strips of shoreline seasonally subject (in the scope of geological time) to the action of the sea, architectural projects associated with private tourism or business enterprises have resulted, in many cases, in clamorous failures, with the destruction or structural impairment of the facilities. The protection measures for the facilities normally adopted in these cases are characterized by the same ignorance of the dynamics of natural geological and marine processes, and end up compromising local enterprises even more, not to mention those situated in adjacent regions.

In summary, in the absence of technically sound urban planning, land is occupied that, because of its high natural susceptibility to destructive geological events, should never be. Even in areas of low natural risk, with more favorable conditions, which could actually be occupied, projects are so technically inadequate that they end up generating situations of high geotechnical risk.

Various other examples could be given, all of them witness to the urgent need for architecture and urbanism to incorporate practices that take into account the geological, geotechnical and hydrological characteristics of the terrains that they use. This new culture would automatically result in a closer collaboration between architecture and geology, in this case, engineering geology, a professional specialty that focuses on the technical mastery of the interface between man and nature.

CHALLENGE As a concise guideline, we believe that Brazilian architecture faces the following challenge: taking the bold and creative step to adjust projects to nature instead of, bureaucratically, trying to adjust nature to their projects.

COMPARTIMENTOS GRUPOS

tipo

Áreas não ocupáveis non edificandi

Geotecnia

PROBLEMAS EXISTENTES OU ESPERADOS

ESPECIFICAÇÕES TÉCNICAS OBRIGATÓRIAS PARA A ÁREA

PARA O LOTE/CONSTRUÇÃO

Áreas de platô, topografia suave em maciço cristalino.

Solos profundos. Solos superficiais mais resistentes à erosão e de melhor comportamento geotécnico.

Solos residuais mais profundos com grande suscetibilidade à erosão. Boa qualidade para fundações.

Erosões, uma vez removida Impedir terminantemente que Atender exigências do Código a camada de solos águas servidas ou pluviais de Obras para áreas de superficiais (~3 m). sejam lançadas para encosta topografia suave. a jusante sem proteção adequada.

Solos rasos (~2,0 m), em sua maior parte coluvionares.

iv

Encostas predominantemente retilíneas com inclinação entre 20° e 30°.

Franca possibilidade de deslizamentos a qualquer ação de corte, sobrecarregamento ou recebimento de fluxo de drenagem concentrado originado de montante.

Área de urbanização desaconselhada, somente podendo receber infraestruturas leves associadas a atividades educacionais de lazer/ ecoturismo.

Solos rasos (~1,0 m) coluvionares podendo haver exposições rochosas.

Normalmente trincas, fissuras e solos fofos logo abaixo da ruptura de declive superior.

Grande suscetibilidade a deslizamentos translacionais rasos.

Grande vulnerabilidade a intervenções antrópicas.

Restrição absoluta a qualquer tipo de urbanização e uso físico da área. Eventuais ocupações existentes deverão ser removidas. Setores desmatados deverão ser reflorestados.

—

v

Segmentos de encosta com declividades superiores a 30°.

Faixas de risco situadas na crista ou na base de encostas definidas como suscetíveis a deslizamentos.

Solos profundos, podendo haver acúmulo de material escorregado.

Topografia suave.

Grande probabilidade de ser atingida ou por descalçamento (crista) ou por material escorregado (sopé).

Restrição absoluta a qualquer tipo de urbanização e uso físico da área. Eventuais ocupações existentes ou deverão ser removidas, ou se uma análise custo/benefício sugerir, protegidas por obras geotécnicas.

—

i

Áreas passíveis de ocupação

CARACTERÍSTICAS DO MEIO FÍSICO Geomorfologia

ii iii Terminantemente proibida a execução de cortes na encosta. Cuidar para que as águas pluviais e recebidas de montante não sejam lançadas para a encosta jusante sem a proteção adequada.

vi vii

viii

[Fig. 5] The Geotechnical Map of the hills of the cities of Santos and São Vicente (SP, Brazil) identifies the different geological and geotechnical compartments and the options for urbanization and construction for a safe occupation of these areas.

[Fig. 6] A typical Risk Map indicating the compartments with different levels of risk of an area already occupied and affected by instability events. The Map is accompanied by instructions on emergency and corrective measures for each level of risk.

SOCIAL FACTOR In Brazil, as in most poor tropical and subtropical countries, aggravating social circumstances lend a tragic quality to this technological mismatch. In these regions, a low-income family can only afford to build—or rent—a dwelling that fits their meager budget if they accept some combination of the six following conditions: consirable distance from urban centers, lack of safety, unhealthy conditions, environmental discomfort, unsafe construction and illegal land use. This situation leads the poor population, inexorably, toward three types of housing: slums, tenement-houses or outlying urban zones. Especially in the latter, the very low-income population has played a major active and passive role, in the serious widespread tragedy of areas of risk that occur on terrains of higher relief, low-lying flood-prone areas and along the banks of streams. [fig. 4] STRUCTURAL SOLUTIONS If the objective is the radical interruption of the installation of new areas of risk (which requires a preventive approach) and the elimination of existing areas of risk (which requires a corrective approach), four essential structural measures are necessary: –– Sensible planning of urban growth, in order to stop the occupation of areas that are highly susceptible to destructive geological events, and the adoption of urban plans and sound building techniques in the occupation of geologically urbanizable land.

–– Implementation of housing programs that meet the needs of the low-income public for home ownership, reducing pressure on the occupation of land inappropriate for urbanization.

–– Evacuation of existing high-risk areas on land that is highly susceptible to destructive geological events, and relocation of residents to new housing that is both safe and decent.

–– Urban and geotechnical consolidation of existing high, medium and low risk areas on geologically urbanizable land.

TWO VALUABLE TOOLS Two cartographic documents stand out as highly effective tools to guide preventive and corrective actions: the Geotechnical Map and Risk Map, respectively.

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The Geotechnical Map is a cartographic document that shows the behavior of different homogenous geological and geomorphological compartments of an area, according to typical requests for a certain type of intervention, such as urbanization. It also indicates the best technical options to carry out a technically and economically successful intervention.

The Geotechnical Map stands out, therefore, as a tool for prevention and planning. It provides public administrators, architects and urbanists the necessary and essential information to avoid occupying areas naturally disposed to destructive geotechnical and hydrological events, and uses the most appropriate urban concepts and construction techniques to occupy areas with geological restrictions, but which are potentially urbanizable.

The Risk Map delimits, in an area or region already occupied, the zones or compartments subject to a certain type of occurrence (for example, landslides) in a given type of occupation (for example, urban), defining different levels of risk (with four internationally established levels: Low, Medium, High and Very High) and the necessary measures that need to be taken for each one. The Risk Map applies, therefore, to situations with already detected or ongoing problems, and is a tool for emergency actions by Civil Defense or for the correction of existing risks. [fig. 5, 6]

The present essay had the collaboration of the geologists Cássio Roberto da Silva (Serviço Geológico do Brasil – CPRM), Eduardo Soares de Macedo (Instituto de Pesquisas Tecnologicas – IPT), Lídia Keiko Tominaga (Instituto Geológico – IG) and the architect Cristina Boggi da Silva Rafaelli (Instituto Geológico – IG).

Álvaro Rodrigues dos Santos (Batatais-SP, 1942) has a degree in geology from the University of São Paulo (USP) and is a senior researcher at the Instituto de Pesquisas Tecnológicas (IPT). He is specialized in engineering geology, geotechnics and environment and has authored several technical papers and books. He won the Ernesto Pichler Award for Brazilian Engineering Geology. He is CEO of ARS Geologia Ltda.

5 The map is not the territory: a retraced border How unimpeded is access to the Brazilian border?

The term territory was introduced by botany and zoology as a synonym of the area wherein a determined species is dominant.

With the development of the human sciences, it was incorporated into various areas of knowledge, taking on distinct senses. The concept of human and urban geography is the key for understanding its use in studies of architecture and urbanism in Brazil. Territory is related to a socioeconomic formation: a population in a determined space,1 as well as to other variants that present important political aspects for the discussion of the territoriality of border areas.2 In the conception of geographer Friedrich Ratzel, a territory is submitted to the activity of a state, which exercises the role of defense. For Stuart Elden, professor of political theory and geography, territory is a political technology.

Thus, a territory necessarily implies a matter of limits and borders.

A territory, however, is not automatically bound to the physical characteristics of a place, but rather to the political dynamics between it and countries, states and cities.

As stated by Celma Chaves Pont Vidal in her essay, the borders pass over the physical environment, bearing relation to deeper symbolic and subjective questions.

How to understand these concepts in light of the vast Brazilian continental political border is a topic explored in this chapter. The political border of Brazil with its neighboring South American countries is from the order of 16,886 kilometers long, and was constructed by the Portuguese and the Spanish in the years of colonization without taking into account the dynamics and spatial flows of this land’s native inhabitants.

Involved with political aims, the border was shaped according to interests, especially commercial ones, and was guided by physical limits or obstacles on the ground, in total disregard for the existing societies already established there. All of this took place as though the map were found already made, as exemplified in the work by Runo Lagomarsino, who finds cracks similar to the map of South America in the concrete of the marquee in Ibirapuera Park.

Between the establishment of the border and the conception of the Brazilian territory and that of its neighbors, it is necessary to consider the socioeconomic dynamics of these areas. Approached by Vidal and Gabriel Duarte, this aspect presents what Ailton Krenak calls a fluid border—that which does not concern the physical world but rather the culture of a society. The physical institution of territorial limits does not definitively reflect the social relations of those spaces, which undergo constant modification.

Fundamental for the understanding of the border areas, the so-called twin or triplet border cities are those where populations from different origins, cultures and economies come together, creating plural realities. As pointed out by Krenak, we need to understand them as areas of the interaction of flows, based on the indigenous experience of exchange, rather than on experiences of the capture of identity. The line, more than a physical limiter, can be a place of concentration and irradiation of activities; or, as stated by Duarte, not an edge, but a core.

Beyond the conceptual barriers, establishing border territories as units of larger cultural spheres requires a profound understanding of these locations. There is a need to deal with distinct historical evolutions. In some older contexts, confrontations resulted in the construction of physical elements of territorial protection, such as forts and walls. Others places are recent territories: isolated cities and “company towns,” disconnected from their larger context. Colonization, productive bases and infrastructure, among other factors, impact their organizational, political and morphological structure.3 There are 558 border cities in Brazil, or more than 10% of all cities in the country.4 They are different in terms of their role in relation to Brazil and to South America, with which we lack interconnectivity and common knowledge.

If the territories are in constant transformation, they can be seen as flows and, therefore, they should be treated as such through dynamic proposals and

collective values. Maybe, then, these the border regions could become enriching moments for those who are in them or connected to them. As stated by geographer Marcel Roncayolo, the city “is a particular territory or a combination of territories.”5 the MAP The Map Is Not the Territory overlays the political borders of Brazil to the real limits that define the perception of this territory.

It is thus structured based on two types of limits—the instituted and the perceived— illustrating the layers that compose the border and defining the zones of contraction and dilation in this separation.

Rotating the map 90 degrees reinforces the image of the border as a wall and distances the observer from the traditional image of the South American territory.

Traced in red, the possible paths along the border include highways, rivers and aerial stretches. The administrative divisions of the countries give way to the subdivisions that in fact define the experience of these spaces: the intersection between the biomes, the freshwater ecoregions, customs control points, the cities and the urban agglomerations, indigenous reservations and environmental preservation areas, rivers and bodies of water, the memories of the Jesuit missions, the special border army squads in the Amazon, the seaports and airports.

The main points are accompanied by data about the proportions of inhabitants (men and women, rural and urban, foreigners, active architects) and visually convey the intensity of the relations in the different stretches of the border, revealing various levels of permeability and interaction from the country’s North to South. While in Chuí (RS), the twin Uruguayan and Brazilian cities pulsate together, linked by an avenue built due to the relations of exchange between the two countries, in Oiapoque (AP) the access of Brazilians to French Guiana—by a 378-meter-long bridge completed in 2011 but opened to traffic only in 2017—still depends on special permission.

1. Definition used by Brazilian geographer Milton Santos from the 1970s onward. See Antonio Carlos Robert Moraes, “Território,” in Revista Orientação, n. 5. São Paulo: Instituto de Geografia da Universidade de São Paulo, 1984 2. The Portuguese word for border, fronteira comes from the Latin frons or frontis and can also signify in fronte, “in front.” See Maria Lucia Torrecilha, “A gestão compartilhada como espaço de integração na fronteira Ponta Porã (Brasil) e Pedro Juan Caballero (Paraguai).” Doctoral thesis, Universidade de São Paulo, 2013.

3. IPEA DATA. Banco de Dados, 2017. Available at: <www.ipeadata. gov.br/Default.aspx>. Retrieved on: April 18, 2017. Maria Lucia Torrecilha, “Na linha da fronteira,” Colóquio Internacional Sobre o Comércio e Cidade: uma relação de origem, 2015. Available at: www. labcom.fau.usp.br/wp-content/ uploads/2015/05/1_cincci/041.pdf.

Retrieved on: April 18, 2018.

4. Ministry of National Integration.

Proposta de Reestruturação do Programa de Desenvolvimento da Faixa de Fronteira. Bases para uma Política Integrada de Desenvolvimento Regional para a Faixa de Fronteira. Brasília, 2005.

Available at: <www.retis.igeo.ufrj. br/wp-content/uploads/2005livro-PDFF.pdf>. Retrieved on: April 18, 2018.

5. Regina Maria Prosperi Meyer.

“O urbanismo: entre a cidade e o território,” in Cienc. Cult. [online], vol. 58, n. 1, pp.38–41, 2006.

Runo Lagomarsino ContraTiempos [Setbacks], 2010 Dia projection loop, 27 original images in a Kodak slide projection carousel with timer

Paulo Nazareth Premium Bananas/Mapa Guarani [Premium Bananas/Guarani Map], 2012 Sewing and mixed media on tissue

interview: Ailton Krenak

Ailton Krenak (Rio Doce-MG, 1953) is a historic leader of the indigenous movement. Since the 1980s he has dedicated himself to this work, having played a crucial role in achieving indigenous rights in the Constituent Assembly of 1988. He participated in the founding of the União das Nações Indígenas [Union of Indigenous Nations - UNI] and the Aliança dos Povos da Floresta [Alliance of the Peoples of the Forest], and conceived the Festival de Dança e Cultura Indígena [Festival of Indigenous Dance and Culture] in Serra do Cipó (MG). In 2016, he received the title professor honoris causa from Universidade Federal de Juiz de Fora (UFJF), where he teaches Culture and History of indigenous peoples.

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Walls What are the main borders in dispute today in Brazil?

Borders in Brazil are always shifting, demarcating or suggesting boundaries between worlds, which could be identified as worlds at war. It is a war in which we see an insistence on handing modernity over to what is archaic. At some point, disputing this territory we call Brazil, primarily from the 20th century up until now, we became comfortable with the idea that we have a stable plan for the country. This is fiction.

These borders have never stabilized.

Indigenous people are the ones who suffer most from this arrangement of internal borders in Brazil. When we think about the reality of 300 ethnic groups, peoples, experiencing a conflict of identity and rights, all these borders hinge on the idea of a culturally diverse world. And not only thinking of borders as conflict, but also as the possibility of interpenetration of worlds, constantly interacting.

Evidence What is characteristic about indigenous occupations that straddle international borders, and how does this line organize the space where the indigenous people live?

We have transborder peoples who cross back and forth, lending an autonomy and fluidity to these relationships, protected

by Convention 169, an international accord on indigenous and tribal populations that protects freedom of movement for people who live on borders between nations. The principle of freedom of movement for communities who do not have passports is very creative. We should think more about international instruments that can ensure this fluidity between peoples, so we can gradually move away from this archaic standard that the colonizers brought to the Americasâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;a throwback to the times of castles, peoples suffering from the plague, from war. Borders are a medieval

thing. If we want a world of peace, we have to create a world where borders are not barriers. The idea of an imposed border, such as the demarcation of indigenous lands, is an aggression against the original peoples of the Americas. We call for the demarcation of indigenous lands by the Brazilian government, as if it were a lesser evil. Since we live in a culture in which borders indicate domain, our call for a border is more for an external rather than internal interpretation.

Side effects What type of border does economic development based on the extraction of primary materials, such as mining, represent for the existence of indigenous reserves?

It represents a constant threat and imminent risk of disaster. Extractivism, primarily when backed by financial capital, establishes an active and invasive border in different places, ecologies and territories. The Amazon lies inside the borders of Brazil, but the environment is not in the souls, hearts and minds of people who plan public policies.

Our Ministry of the Environment is much more concerned with the management of urban ills, neglecting the great wealth we have. We need to call attention to the great importance of the Amazon, to the cultural complexity of the peoples who still live autonomously in this region. Because these peoples are not hostages to the market or the food industry, they are capable of self-sustained food security. In addition to invasion by predatory extractivism, there is the encroachment by cattle raising and monocultures, which conflict with traditional farming practices. These borders are constantly moving horizontally and vertically. Today, in southern Brazil, there is a serious threat to the Guarani Aquifer, one of the largest fresh water reserves in the world. Transnational corporations want to appropriate and sell off the aquifer, and the current Brazilian government is very susceptible to this type of pressure.

Behavior and micro-politics What do indigenous people understand by borders or limits?

Once, I heard a story about a Kaiapó chief, from Xingu, who was speaking with a Guarani, from coastal São Paulo: “My relative, I’m very grateful to you. You spent 200 years on the coast enduring the presence of the white man while we were protected from this invasion in Xingu. They arrived on our land only in the 20th century, in the 1940s; and on your land, they arrived over 300 years ago. You have sustained great losses, protecting our border.

Because of the siege of white culture, many of you no longer speak the mother tongue, and have lost important traditions from your ancestral culture.” It is a fluid border; it is not physical, it is cultural. Habits change completely with this interaction between cultures. There are people who believe that it is a natural tendency for all of us to form a type of global community, where differences are diluted. I see this dilution as a type of autophagy. It is a joint body of self-impoverishment. We are experiencing global impoverishment: that which appeared to be positive was actually a loss of quality of life for the peoples and the landscape.

Experience in the discipline What other territories are drawn up through collaboration between indigenous peoples, as in the case of the União das Nações Indígenas [Union of Indigenous Nations – UNI] and the Aliança dos Povos da Floresta [Alliance of the Peoples of the Forest]? How are these interactions related to the idea of the Brazilian nation?

There is an idea out there that all types of diversity—people, genders, of everything— have their place guaranteed. If we were to extend this idea to borders, in a world with all this mobility, what would this place be like? A hologram? A place in a constant state of reconfiguration? In the

1980s, we thought of the Aliança dos Povos da Floresta as an affective alliance, as a way of allowing the flow and presence of each culture in different places. When discussions began on the European Union in the 1990s, they tried to dilute the hardness of internal borders and create a flow that benefited the economy. Suddenly, the economy became more important than the sharing of culture. I believe it is difficult for us to provoke creative flows of relationships; it is difficult for us to relate to the fluidity of borders between our peoples. The Guarani are in Bolivia, in Paraguay, in Argentina, which creates misunderstandings, like the notion they come from Paraguay. This was always a shared territory.

Transformative potential What attempts have been made to create a region of cooperation between Brazil and other countries of the Amazon region?

There was an experiment that coincided with the initiative of the Amazon Cooperation Treaty (ACT), at the end of the 1970s, which would’ve been marvelous if it had been developed. Then president of Venezuela, Carlos Andrés Pérez, perhaps inspired by Unesco programs, proposed the creation of an Amazon biosphere reserve, to be shared between Brazil and Venezuela. This region includes the Yanomâmi territory (11 million hectares), which at the time suffered greatly from an invasion of illegal mining operations. It would serve as a mechanism to maintain the autonomy of these peoples and safeguard their immense territory. This progressive idea received a primal response from then president of Brazil José Sarney: a project called Calha Norte, the occupation of the border with military barracks. Today, in the midst of a very serious socioeconomic crisis, this dream became a nightmare and what we are having to deal with is a migratory crisis between the two countries.

These fixed narratives of the world, whether from Trump or Kim Jong-un, plant walls inside our heads, inside our hearts.

Instead of becoming bogged down in this, we could consider interchangeable worlds. The Ticuna, for example, live on the border between Brazil and Columbia, on the Solimões River. They hunt, live and trade with people without asking who is Columbian or who is Brazilian. They are able to live on the border without it limiting their relationships. The best way to reduce conflict is by flows interacting, which is very different than integrating. Integration is when an active agent captures the identities of others; interaction is when everyone can exchange, when there is mutuality. I think this occurs in the indigenous territories, because there is no such thing as private property.

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map The Map is not the Territory.

Amazon biome Potential carbon gain Indigenous territory Natural protected areas - inhabitants

BRAZIL

+ inhabitants

The horizon is just the beginning: borders, cities and identities

Gabriel Duarte

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REGERE FINES, OR THE IMPOSITION OF LIMITS Yo no sé de dónde soy, mi casa está en la frontera Y las fronteras se mueven, como las banderas.

– Jorge Drexler, Frontera, 19991 In the song Frontera (Border), by Uruguayan composer Jorge Drexler, the fleeting nature of the South American borderlands is praised as the ethos of very particular identities: one of the border itself, imprecise and blurred; and that of the border dweller, nomadic and deterritorialized.2 This dual quality of the South American borderlands is unique and can be traced back from the meticulously planned and violent clashes between pre-Columbian civilizations and European colonizers, to the independence projects of regional governments. From the imprecise definition of the initial colonial occupations of South America to the oscillation of territorial control due to military and economic interventions, distinctive types of territorial in-betweens (transition zones) emerged.3 As national borders are not as impermeable as governments wish, their rigidity overlooks the way numerous social, economic and cultural practices inadvertently disregard constraints set by borderland control policies. The border is more than just a geopolitical fact. It represents a forced sociocultural rupture, one that can be illustrated by the analogy with the Latin expression regere fines, which literally means the tracing of lines that limit something, define the end. In the Catholic Church, regere fines is a ritual carried out by priests before the construction of temples, defining clear boundaries to sacred and non-sacred spaces.4 These religious procedures and the marking of national borders

1. I don’t know where I’m from, my home is on the border / And borders move, like flags.

2. Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity.

Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990.

3. Brasil, Ministério da Integração Nacional. Proposta de Reestruturação do Programa de Desenvolvimento da Faixa de Fronteira. Brasília: Ministério da Integração Nacional, 2005.

4. Claude Raffestin, “A ordem e a desordem, ou os paradoxos da fronteira”, in Tito Carlos Machado de Oliveira (ed.), Território sem limites: estudos sobre fronteiras. Campo Grande: Ed. UFMS, 2005, p.10.

5. Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984.

6. Néstor García Canclini, Hybrid Cultures: Strategies for Entering and Leaving Modernity.

Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2005.

7. [The notion of limit is in itself artificial, a creation of civilization, of mankind. (…) There is not a strong border, no matter which natural conditions or military defenses are in place, for a weak nation, without principles.] Oswaldo Aranha, Fronteiras e limites (a política do Brasil). Rio de Janeiro: Imprensa Nacional, 1940, p.43.

in Latin America share more procedural coincidences.

National sovereignty is enforced through the definition of limits, the clear difference between inside and outside, between us and them, between order and chaos.

However, the manifestations of regere fines in South American borders create short-circuits with preexisting contexts, where transgressions are inevitable. This condition is particularly visible throughout the borders of South America, whose legacies of territorial occupation (urban, rural and everything between the two) do not necessarily abide by international agreements in their everyday practices.5 Today, as South American governments struggle with troublesome integration processes, their borderlands offer alternative modes of urbanism (both “aboriginal” and “foreign”) and unique hybrid cultures that are seldom accounted for. The ways life in these regions bypasses imposed geopolitical limits and control mechanisms are formidable examples of how—sometimes—the ‘bottom-up’ prevails.

As these regions were generated out of the shifting territorial limits of colonies in the continent, many specific territorial systems and networks evolved amidst geopolitical inaccuracies. Be it the Neutral Territories (Campos Neutrales) of the pampas, the networks of the Jesuit Missions (Misiones), the rubber extraction zones of the Amazon (seringais), the mining compounds in Potosi and Jujuy, among others, all evolved into cohesive territorial systems with common cultures that persist today. Their identities became highly hybridized and hard to categorize.6 The alternation of power in these contexts created urbanized transition points, fundamental to the resilience of local economic systems.

Such points appear in the form of twin—sometimes triple—border cities where different powers and interests converge. In the current troubled political scenario for South American regional integration, the recognition, and identification of how borderlands and their cities fuel regional networks are crucial. This argument motivated the making of an alternative cartography of the border, one where it is not the edge, but its core. This essay narrates the making of this map and the conceptual challenges that permeated it.

THE MAP AND THE REWRITING OF BORDERS A noção de limite é em si própria artificial, a criação de civilização, da humanidade. […] Não há fronteira forte, não importa quais condições naturais ou defesas militares existam, para uma nação fraca, sem princípios.

– Oswaldo Aranha7

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[fig.â&#x20AC;&#x160;1] The border should not limit, but radiate. Image: Gabriel Duarte and Barbara Graeff, 2018.

The cartographic exercise that dialogues with this essay is titled “The Map is not the Territory” and set in motion two empiric investigations on how one can visualize the dichotomy between the lived (experienced) dimension of the South American borderlands and their institutionally defined boundaries. The first aimed at pragmatically identifying continuous spatial features that cross borders and are bisected by them. The ones that more commonly exemplified this condition were, of course, natural. The continuities of biomes, watersheds, aquifers, forests, relief, among others, express the lived/ defined dichotomy of the border. They exist and are continuous, but never perceived or represented entirely.

The second traced an imagined (but verisimilar) journey along the western international border of Brazil. This itinerary suggests real possibilities for a hypothetical trip throughout the landscapes that were revealed by the first investigation.

The first step on this was essentially procedural. The map had to be drawn from a spine, the borders, from the inside out. The border, in this case, should not limit but radiate [fig. 1]. This challenges traditional drawing methods, where boundaries are drawn first and contents added later (a lot like traditional maps, whose main borders are drafted as the framework for the marking of subdivisions and locations). In this case, the border plays the role of a “catalytic threshold”, which highlights the spatial components that should be added to the map. This method uses the border not only as a mapping reference but embeds it with a gravitational quality, one that directs looks and attention.

In practical terms, this alternative map of the borderlands would mainly be a collaged patchwork of different geographic databases. In principle, the making of this map does not offer necessarily original content. What it actually does is offer a new perspective (a new frame) to territorial realities that are currently disassociated. Despite the seemingly simple task, this collage involved the complex synchronization of cartographic datasets from completely independent international sources. The merging of different geographic surveys that actually depict the same continuous landscapes revealed astonishing conditions that are, most of the time, only partially seen [fig. 2].

Different landscapes that keep on being understood as separate entities, when reality shows otherwise.

The hypothetical itinerary that interweaves the entire map pragmatically demonstrates the possibilities and difficulties for one to effectively engage the borderlands as a spatial entity [fig. 3]. Even though the map reveals a series of continuities, most of the time those are hardly

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[fig.â&#x20AC;&#x160;2] The continuity of trans-border landscapes. Image: Gabriel Duarte and Barbara Graeff, 2018. [fig.â&#x20AC;&#x160;3] The hypothetical itinerary weaving the border through actual paths. Image: Gabriel Duarte and Barbara Graeff, 2018.

accessed (except for very localized populations). This makes evident the ethos in the wordplay in the title of the map: the discord between the lived and sensed reality and that represented through political cartography. To a certain extent, this was a very cynical experiment, where cartography showed its limitation by exposing them using its own terms, a map.

TERRA LIMITANEA, THE CASE OF THE SOUTHERN BORDERLANDS

8. M. C. Castro; Lia Osorio Machado; Rebeca Steiman; Letícia Parente; Paulo Peiter; André Reyes Novaes; Cristiane Adiala; Flavia Lins de Barros; Maurício Martins; Pedro Fernandes Neto; João Sousa Lima; Lucimar Arararuna, Terra limitanea. Atlas da fronteira continental do Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: UFRJ/CNPq, 2002.

9. Néstor García Canclini, op. cit. p.xxv.

Among the relationships that the map reveals, the emergence of urbanity is particularly important to address. Beyond the evident continuities that are overlooked by the artificial limits of the borders, twin border cities offer the opportunity to be specifically understood from design and planning perspectives to re-encounter a locally lost agency in territorial scales.

Having historically relied on their complementarities, such cities (precisely identified in the map) continue to play the role of gateways toward larger territorial systems that bypass regimental borders. Such heritage is still apparent today in their everyday lives and in the implementation of international treaties and policies.

The intermediary positions that they assumed are still valid and (loosely) officially recognized. Comparable to the border transition zones created by the Romans in Britain, the terra limitanea,8 where locals and the families of the military could settle down in less controlled zones, South American twin border cities thicken the frontier lines, creating networked regions whose articulation depends on them. In order to describe, document and analyze them it is necessary to rethink the traditional lexicons of urbanism and architecture to better accommodate their hybrid features. The basis for this analytical challenge stems from the concept of “hybridity”

by Argentinean anthropologist, Nestor García Canclini. In his words, hybridizations are “socio-cultural processes in which discrete structures or practices, previously existing in separate form, are combined to generate new structures, objects, and practices”.9 The hybrid conditions found in twin border cities are particularly identifiable in the southern borders among Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay, where the occupation patterns of the pampas landscape evolved into a highly networked system of intensive agriculture and cattle raising. This region is one of the most (if not the most) neglected and disputed regions in South America. Its political shape was subject to numerous negotiations and fierce battles between the Portuguese and the Spanish.

[fig. 4] Gaucho boy training for a rodeo in Santana do Livramento (Brazil). Photography: Gabriel Duarte, 2013. [fig. 5] Cattle raising field in the pampas landscape close to the border towns of Monte Caseros (Argentina) and Bella Unión (Uruguay). Photography: Gabriel Duarte, 2013. [fig. 6] Pampas landascape in Rio Grande do Sul (Brazil). Photography: Gabriel Duarte, 2013. [fig. 7] Gauchos in typical attire attending festivities of the Farroupilha Revolution in the twin border town of Rivera (Uruguay) and Santana do Livramento (Brazil).

Photography: Gabriel Duarte, 2013.

Unlike in other parts of South America, the Spanish occupation in the pampas—the vast plains that stretch over the south of Brazil (in the State of Rio Grande do Sul), most of Uruguay and Argentina (in the Provinces of Buenos Aires, La Pampa, Santa Fe, Entre Ríos and Córdoba)—was extremely rarefied until the 16th Century if compared to many regions in the Andes. The pampas, and the rivers La Plata and Paraná were regarded as gateways to other regions where rare mineral extraction was thriving.

This condition resulted in an intensive oscillation of territorial power in the region. The striking vagueness of political control in the region came to the point of forcing the official creation of portions of land that belonged to no one, the Neutral Fields (Campos Neutrales). These strips of uninhabited land that stretched from the Taim marshlands to the Chuy creek, were formed to avoid direct confrontations between Portuguese and Spanish settlers and were created by the Treaty of San Ildefonso, signed by both empires through the mediation of Pope Pius VI. Former military from both Spain and Portugal later occupied them.

Curiously, such lack of political rule did not foster a hub of anarchy in the region but created the opportunity for a seamless culture to emerge, one that, from the beginning, was not constrained by artificial limits, creating a whole culture out of ephemerality.

Today, the remnants of this era still persist in the mythic culture of the gaucho, the South American equivalent to a cowboy [fig. 4, 5]. The monotonous regularity and anonymous extension of the pampas are not disadvantages, but the very condition that allows it to be understood and function as one [fig. 6, 7]. Political borders are nothing but a virtual limit to the networked systems that live through it. And the twin cities that pinch its surface are not isolated occupations. They are the outposts, or moments of intensification, of a larger territorial logic, one that relies on the legacy of the everyday nomadism of the gaucho. The metonymic of the gaucho exemplifies this notion perfectly, one of being constantly in motion and not belonging to any place.

It is possible to assume that the emergence of the urban in the pampas is also embedded with this same transient quality, one that cannot be understood in isolation. Among the cities that permeate this landscape, the ones located on national borders stand out due to their common feature of occupying intermediary positions in regional commercial and agricultural processes that dwell on the remains of historical networks. These cities do not have a logic in themselves but depend on external polarities.

The border here is seen as the threshold that provides an impulse, not impermeability.

Today, especially considering the integration challenges proposed in the last decades by initiatives throughout South America, it is possible to foresee the benefits that discussing the adaptable urbanisms of twin border cities can offer in this scenario. The current events on the South American geopolitical stageâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;with the implementation of infrastructural projects in transportation, energy, and telecommunicationsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;point towards the need for radical changes in how the region marks its position in the global market as a cohesive community. How can one think of complementary international planning and design actions that consider the transient and hybrid qualities of border territories? How should the role of border cities be rethought to merge efforts that take advantage of their conditions? How are the currently proposed shifts in infrastructure in the continent going to transform local cultures and economies?

Those are not easy questions. And in the same way that the operational logic behind South American borderlands and their twin cities depends on movements and transitions, this issue requires similar modes of understanding. The imagined itinerary traced through the landscapes identified in the map demonstrates that the context of operations present in the borderlands does not require punctual studies. To truly grasp the complexity of this, a continuous and transnational approach must be used. One that is not necessarily governed by virtual, institutional limits, but by the way these landscapes have fostered different types of regional networks throughout history.

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Additional references –– ABINZANO, Roberto Carlos. Las regiones de frontera: espacios complejos de la resistencia global. in OLIVEIRA, Tito Carlos Machado de (ed.). Território sem Limites: Estudos sobre Fronteiras. Campo Grande: Ed. UFMS, 2005, pp.113-130.

–– BRASIL, Ministério da Integração Nacional. Proposta de Reestruturação do Programa de Desenvolvimento da Faixa de Fronteira. Brasília: Ministério da Integração Nacional, 2005.

–– CASTRO, M. C.; MACHADO, Lia Osorio; STEIMAN, Rebeca; PARENTE, Letícia; PEITER, Paulo; NOVAES, André Reyes; ADIALA, Cristiane; BARROS, Flavia Lins de; MARTINS, Maurício; FERNANDES NETO, Pedro; LIMA, João Sousa; ARARARUNA, Lucimar. Terra Limitanea. Atlas da Fronteira Continental do Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: UFRJ/CNPq, 2002.

–– CLEMENCEAU, Georges. Notes de voyage dans l’Amérique du Sud, Argentine, Uruguay et Brésil. Paris, Hachette et Cie, 1911.

–– GARCIA, Fernando Cacciatore. Fronteira iluminada: História do povoamento, conquista e limites do Rio Grande do Sul a Partir do Tratado de Tordesilhas 1420‑1920. Porto Alegre: Editora Sulina, 2012.

–– GIDDENS, Anthony. The Consequences of Modernity.

Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990.

–– LEJEUNE, Jean-François (ed.). Cruelty and Utopia: Cities and Landscapes in Latin America. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2005.

–– MACHADO, Lia Osório. Cidades na fronteira internacional: Conceitos e Tipologia. In NUÑEZ, A.; PADOIN, M. M.; OLIVEIRA, T. C. M. de (ed.). Dilemas e diálogos plantinos.

Fronteiras. Dourados, Ed. UFGD, 2010, pp.59-72.

–– GRAZIANO, Manzio. What is a Border? Stanford, CA. Stanford University Press, 2018.

–– MOOG, Vianna. Bandeirantes e pioneiros: Paralelo entre duas culturas. Rio de Janeiro: José Olympio, 2011.

–– OLIVEIRA, Márcio Gimene de. A formação das cidades-gêmeas Ponta Porã-Pedro Juan Caballero, II Simpósio Nacional de Geografia Política, Território e Poder—I Simpósio Internacional de Geografia Política e Territórios Transfronteiriços. Foz do Iguaçú: 2011.

Gabriel Duarte (Niterói-RJ, 1979) is Director of Urbanism at Bernardes Architecture, and a Professor at the Department of Architecture and Urbanism of PUC‑Rio (Brazil). He was one of the founders of CAMPO (2008‑2016) when he co-created the New Cartographies group, which researches new methods for collaborative mapping. He is also an Associate Researcher at the Institute for Landscape Architecture at Leibniz University Hannover (Germany). He has been a Visiting Professor at the Architectural Association, MIT, Harvard, among others, and was the Lemann Visiting Scholar at the David Rockefeller Center for Latin American Studies at Harvard (DRCLAS). He was educated as an architect and urban designer at UFRJ (Brazil), and at Delft University of Technology (Netherlands).

The multiple Amazon and the meanings of frontier

Celma Chaves Pont Vidal

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THE HISTORICITY OF THE AMAZON FRONTIER AND ITS VARIOUS MEANINGS The term “frontier” has different meanings in the various areas of knowledge, which go beyond its usual conceptions and meanings. Trindade Jr.1 promotes a relevant dialogue between studies that compare different perspectives on the theme. The author presents the general definition of the word in the light of Ramoneda’s thought: Frontiers define the inside and the outside, them and us. There are frontiers of many types: physical, political, cultural, and also psychological. A frontier creates an interior space that pretends to be homogeneous and deliberately differentiated from the outside.

However, frontiers are also invisible barriers that are interposed between men, as well as within their personal relationships.2 During the last few centuries in the history of the Amazon, this term has crossed semantic variations and gained a wide spectrum of meanings. It is not a matter here of relating all these meanings, or of categorizing the concept exhaustively. What we are interested in is to define two dimensions of frontier that are relevant in the context of the Brazilian Amazon. The first is the objective dimension that defines the Amazon: its physical, political, demographic, economic aspects, modes of production, etc. The second dimension lies in the scope of the intangible, of the impalpable, but which is absolutely visible through subjective and psychological, individual and collective, perceptions.3

1. Saint-Clair Cordeiro Trindade Jr., “Pensando a noção de fronteira: Um olhar a partir da ciência geográfica”, in Durbens Martins Nascimento (ed.), Amazônia e defesa: Dos fortes às novas conflitualidades. Belém: NAEA/ UFPA: 2010, pp.100-123.

2. Ramoneda, 2006, p.6, apud SaintClair Cordeiro da Trindade Júnior, “Pensando a noção de fronteira: Um olhar a partir da ciência geográfica”, in Durrens Marins Nascimento (ed.), Amazônia e defesa: Dos fortes às novas conflitualidades. Belém: NAEPA/UFPA, 2010, p.102.

3. Saint-Clair Cordeiro Trindade Jr., “Cidades na floresta: os ‘grandes objetos’ como expressões do meio técnico-científico informacional no espaço amazônico”, in Revista do Instituto de Estudos Brasileiros – IEB, São Paulo, nr.51, mar./sep.

2010, pp.113-137.

4. Philippe Lená e Adélia Engrácia de Oliveira (eds.), Amazônia: a fronteira agrícola 20 anos depois [Amazon: the agricultural frontier 20 years later]. Belém: Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi, 1991, p.10.

5. Antônio Cláudio Rabello, “Amazônia: uma fronteira volátil”, em Estudos Avançados, v. 27, n. 78, 2013, pp.213-235.

6. John O. Browder, Brian J. Godfrey, Cidades na floresta.

Urbanização, desenvolvimento e globalização na Amazônia Brasileira. Manaus: Editora da Universidade Federal do Amazonas (EDUA), 2006, p.105.

7. Id., ibid.

8. Id., ibid.

Frontiers can be conceived and interpreted based on the different ways of occupying and urbanizing the Amazonian space. One cannot fail to consider that there is “a complexity of phenomena covered by the concept of ‘frontier’ when applied to the Amazon.”4 The frontier as a differentiated phenomenon in this region began to be discussed mainly after the occupation and colonization development projects initiated in the 20th century.5 Some discussions aimed to understand the dynamics of frontier expansion from the perception of the incorporation of the Amazon, analysing the political, economic, and socio-cultural disputes from a perspective related to the characteristics or the daily life at the frontier.

Conceptual structures have been developed to account for the plurality of the frontier in the Amazon region. New analytical categories have emerged to try to offer a better understanding of the phenomenon: expansion frontier, economic frontier, agrarian frontier, urban frontier, military frontier, corporate frontier, etc. The frontier is almost always seen as an area of settlement expansion and economic incorporation to the center of the country. It presents a network of cities, a settlement system, but also a fragile institutional system, which usually results in a disjointed urbanization trend at the regional level.6 It is possible to identify the configuration of these frontiers at different moments. In the first one, roughly between 1880 and 1910, at the height of the rubber extraction activity, an extractivist or populist, agrarian frontier became evident.7 The introduction of a tool‑lending [aviamento] system in the Amazonian rubber plantations of the 19th century, through socalled “tool‑lenders” [aviadores], explains one of the first separations between social and cultural groups in the region: the workers and the owners of the rubber plantations. The system of tool-lending, which coexisted with the currency, constitutes a moment in which the extraction frontier happened to exist in parallel with the urban frontier in the main capitals of the Amazon. The frontier stopped being an abstract space8 to become a place of transformation of labor and capital relationships, altering the appropriation and access to places, creating a wall sometimes visible, with the expansion of the great properties, and sometimes invisible, through cultural differences, both individual and collective.

In the 1940s, Getúlio Vargas’s National State spread the idea of modernization, which had as an important vector the occupation of the Amazon in the so-called march West. However, the Amazon would remain on the fringes of national policies until President Juscelino Kubitschek’s development drive in the 1950s. The inauguration of the Belém-Brasília motorway in 1960, and the policies of

disorderly colonization along its route, promoted another type of occupation, leading to the materialization of a new frontier: between the new urban spaces, along the roads, and the traditional riverside occupation. The bounds between the new and the traditional would configure unprecedented separations.

The insertion of the Amazon into the capitalist free trade system, through the implantation of the great extractivist mining projects of the 1960s and 1970s, promoted the disordered occupation of the space, with new planned urban centers— the “company towns”. Thus, other frontiers would materialize: those that separated and separate the traditional riverside cities and the new cities of the great mining projects. New frontiers were created, within the Amazon and between the region and other Brazilian regions.

In the Amazon today, areas characterized by settlements of diverse groups— small farmers, gold miners, merchants— are opposed to expansion fronts dominated by capital, which generate popular and corporate frontiers, the latter dominated by national and transnational capital enterprises.9 The map of the occupation and insertion of the Amazon into world capitalism contrasts with a fragmented and asymmetric territory, marked by sociocultural and land conflicts.

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9. Id., ibid.

FROM THE FORTIFIED TERRITORY TO THE CURRENT INTERNATIONAL FRONTIERS The northern frontier of Brazil can be understood in its urban, economic, political, military and subjective senses.

The military presence in the frontier towns of the Amazon region dates back to the first Portuguese fortifications, built between 1616 and 1776. The geopolitics embodied in these fortifications, from 1616, coincides with the first settlements, which became the towns and cities of the Amazon. Subsequently, this embodiment followed the European settlement as recorded by the Westphalian Order of 1648, and contextualized the demarcation of cross-border spaces subsequent to the Treaty of Madrid (1750). In this sense, cartography, architecture, history, and international relations are linked in the examination of the role of frontiers in the Amazon.

Historically, the frontier areas of the Brazilian Amazon— which is part of the Pan-Amazon region— became loci of skirmishes, massacres, battles and even revolution. The Lusitanian expansion, when going beyond the Treaty of Tordesillas (1494), required the construction of numerous small-forts, forts and fortresses, during the 17th century,10 with the fortress of Macapá (AP) and the forts of Rio

10. Ligia Terezinha Lopes Simonian, Márcia Pires Saraiva, “Fronteiras em construção: Índios, mocambeiros e as disputas colonialistas no rio Araguari, Amapá”, in Ligia Terezinha Lopes Simonian (ed.), Políticas públicas, desenvolvimento, unidades de conservação e outras questões socioambientais no Amapá.

Belém: NAEA/UFPA; Macapá: MPEAP, 2010, pp.51-90.

11. Christiane Figueiredo Pagano de Mello, “Amazônia colonial: fronteiras e forças militares (segunda metade do século XVIII)”, in Anais do XVI Encontro regional de história ANPUH. Rio de Janeiro: 2014.

Branco (RR ) and Costa Marques (RO) being the main ones.

The presence of the military was important in the region, especially in the second half of the 18th century, when the Portuguese occupation was consolidated.11 Today, there are many inhabited areas that have conflicts along the international frontiers of the Amazon.

From the North to the West, urban nuclei, small towns, and cities polarize these areas. Indigenous and maroon villages are also found along this immense frontier. The frontier between Brazil and French Guiana, where there are social status disparities among the inhabitants, is still driven by tensions, as in Oiapoque, in Amapá, where conflicts with gold miners are constant.

Opposingly, several situations created along these frontiers speak of a peaceful coexistence. Bridges linking the country to Bolivia and Peru were built a few years ago, several cultural and sports festivals have taken place, and different indigenous peoples share knowledge based on biodiversity. Tensions, however, remain, as in the case of the 2014 World Cup, when both Brazilians and Colombians were prevented from crossing the local border.

CITIES AS FRONTIERS: SPACES OF COHABITATION OR SEPARATION?

12. Bertha Becker, Amazônia. São Paulo: Ática, 1990.

13. Rosélia Piquet, Cidade-empresa: Presença na paisagem urbana brasileira. Rio de Janeiro: Jorge Zahar, 1998.

A different materiality and frontier dynamics are observed in the case of the Amazon “company towns”.

Characterized by the isolation and the idealization of a space with a supposed quality of life, these cities were created to house workers of companies in charge of the implantation of large projects, institutional employees, and workers of outsourced companies. The insertion of these cities, planned by the owner companies, triggered a process of socio-spatial reorganization, changes in local ways of life, predatory use of nature, and depletion of mineral resources. These nuclei present themselves as a new spatiality, both within the physical and imaginary frontiers, thus composing a new Amazonian scenario.

This typology of city was established in several states.

In Pará, the first one was Fordlândia (1927), a project by the industrialist Henry Ford that aimed to recover the cultivation of hevea brasiliensis. Subsequently, similar cities were built to support mining projects: Belterra, in the 1930s; Porto Trombetas, in the 1970s; Monte Dourado (1968); Nova Marabá (1976); and Vila dos Cabanos, Vila Permanente de Tucuruí and the Urban Nucleus of Carajás, all in the 1980s. In Amapá, Serra do Navio Village (1957) and Vila Amazonas (1957) emerged.

“Company towns,”12“city-enterprises”13 or “cities in the forest,” are denominations of the urbanizing process that

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[fig. 1] Amazon’s company towns. [fig. 2] First Portuguese fortifications in the Amazon.

14. Maria Isabel Sobral Escada et al, “Processos de ocupação nas novas fronteiras da Amazônia: O interflúvio do Xingu/Iriri”, in Revista de Estudos Avançados.

São Paulo, v. 19, nr. 54, 2005.

15. Saint-Clair Cordeiro Trindade Jr., “Cidades na floresta: os ‘grandes objetos’ como expressões do meio técnico-científico informacional no espaço amazônico”, in Revista do Instituto de Estudos Brasileiros – IEB, São Paulo, nr. 51, mar./sep.

2010, pp.113-137.

16. Id., ibid.

17. Rosa Moura, “Fronteiras invisíveis: o território e seus limites”, in Revista Território, Rio de Janeiro, year V, nr. 9, jul./dec., 2000, pp.85-101.

configured the Amazon region through the understanding that this potential territory should be integrated with the country’s growth process, especially between the 1960s and 1970s. Following the vision of the then president [Humberto de Alencar] Castelo Branco that it was necessary to “integrate so as not to give away”; the migratory process toward the region began in 1966 with the creation of the Superintendência do Desenvolvimento da Amazônia [Superintendence for the Development of the Amazon – SUDAM]. The activities of the “company towns” had a high level of capitalist production, playing an important role in the land ownership scenario,14 since they allowed for the insertion of their owners into the base of the political-administrative structure of possible future municipalities. This is a characteristic process of frontier regions.

By incorporating the Amazon into the emerging economic scenario of the 20th century, the “company towns” established new territorial dynamics, which resulted in the intense generation of cultural, social and political assets. The construction model adopted for city-enterprises emphasizes this. Set up according to an architectural and urban pattern, they became technicalscientific hubs:15 in addition to facilities such as schools, hospitals, clubs and cinema-theaters, they had water and sewage treatment, which would guarantee residents a high standard of living. However, only a few of them—the skilled manpower—enjoyed these services. Social isolation was thus promoted, in the form of an internal frontier, an invisible wall among the residents.

Besides this separation within the “company towns”, there were also divergences between them and the settlements that emerged on their peripheries, which bring to light the other side of the great projects intended for the Amazon,16 such as poverty and segregation. They also make clear the imbalance between the city-enterprise and its surroundings, since the former does not expand its facilities and services, serving the local population only in a residual and exclusive way, and fomenting barriers that, whether they are transparent or fenced in, express the exercise of domination and authority by a people, an airfrontier between peoples.17 FRONTIERS IN THE AMAZON: CONFLICTS AND SEPARATION IN CONTEMPORARY TIMES In today’s Amazon, where different spaces and temporalities overlap, the external and internal frontiers continue to define forms of cohabitation or separation within spaces. What today is identified as the Amazonian

frontier, however, cannot be defined in a univocal way. The frontier is a place of encounters between differences and, at the same time, of divergences, by virtue of the historical situation of social conflict that defines it.18 More than a divergence of otherness, the challenge of the frontier is that it puts into perspective a divergence of historical temporalities.19 Therefore, the frontier, and especially in the Amazon: can no longer be thought exclusively as fringes of the map in whose image the spatial, demographic, and economic limits of a certain social formation are translated. A new definition of the broader frontier becomes necessary, capable of capturing its specificity—as an exceptionally dynamic and contradictory space—and its relation to the whole of which it belongs.20 To think of frontiers in the Amazon today means to establish links with the dimensions that make up the various spatial scales of urban and rural, collective and subjective values, economic activities and policies, forms of insertion for national and transnational corporations, and with the policies of defending international borders.

The commitment should be, above all, with the groups that live and construct their stories in the real territory of the Amazon region, rather than with the lines, planes, and outlines that make up the maps of their representations.

196 18. José de Souza Martins, Fronteira: A degradação do outro nos limites do humano. São Paulo: Hucitec, 1997.

19. Id., ibid.

20. Bertha Becker, “Significância contemporânea da fronteira: Uma interpretação geopolítica a partir da Amazônia brasileira”.

In C. Aubertin (ed.), Fronteiras.

Brasília: Ed. UnB, 1988, pp.60-89.

Additional references –– COSTA, Graciete Guerra da. “Fortes portugueses na Amazônia brasileira”, final postdoctoral studies essay. Brasília: IREL/UNB, 2014.

–– LIMA, José Júlio. “A tentativa urbanista da Companhia Ford na Amazônia ou a primeira geração de company towns na floresta”, 2011.

Available at: fauufpa.org/2011/12/14/a-tentativaurbanista-da-companhia-ford-na-amazonia-ou-aprimeira-geracao-de-company-towns-na-florestapor-jo…. Downloaded: February 20, 2018.

–– SANTOS, Milton. O trabalho do geógrafo no 3º mundo, trans. Sandra Lencine. São Paulo: HUCITEC, 1986.

–– PIQUET, Rosélia. “Pensando a noção de fronteira: um olhar a partir da ciência geográfica”, in Durbens Martins Nascimento (ed.), Amazônia e defesa: dos fortes às novas conflitualidades. Belém: NAEA/UFPA, 2010, 267, pp.101-123.

–– LIMA, Soeli Regina da S. “Capital transnacional, company town e a produção do espaço urbano”, in Revista Caminhos de Geografia, v.9, nr.25, 2008.

–– CONCEIÇÃO, Suellen. “ICOMI e suas company towns no meio da Floresta Amazônica”, 2011. Available at: www.thegreenclub.com.br/projetos-urbanos/ icomi-e-suas-company-towns-no-meio-dafloresta-amazonica/. Downloaded: 27/02/2018.

Celma Chaves Pont Vidal is an architect and urbanist, with a doctorate from Escola Tècnica Superior d’Arquitectura de Barcelona/Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya (2005) and a post-doctorate from the same institution (2016). She is a lecturer for the undergraduate and graduate programs in architecture and urbanism of Universidade Federal do Pará (UFPA), where she coordinates the Laboratory of Architectural Historiography and Culture (LAHCA).

She was responsible for the research, coordination and structuring of the final draft of this article.

Contributors: Graciete Guerra da Costa, architect and urbanist, with a post-doctorate from the Institute of International Relations at Universidade de Brasília (UnB) and coordinator of the architecture and urbanism program at Universidade Federal de Roraima (UFRR); Ligia Terezinha Simonian Lopes, PhD in anthropology with a post-doctorate from City University of New York, full professor and researcher at Núcleo de Altos Estudos Amazônicos (NAEA) at UFPA; Bernadeth Beltrão Rosas Bentes and Rodrigo Augusto de Lima Rodrigues, graduate students at UFPA; George Bruno de Araújo Lima, Rebeca Barbosa Dias Rodrigues, Luciane Santos de Oliveira, Stephany Aylla de Nazaré Carvalho Pereira and Glenda de Souza Santos, undergraduate students at UFPA.

6 Succession of edges: narratives on the building of an urban country How detached from a cohesive vision of Brazil has the urban formation of the country been?

5,570 municipalities and 208,846,175 inhabitants. This is the composition of the Brazilian territory, constructed by the original population, and, from 1500 onward, by the Portuguese settlers of Terra Brasilis.

Here, they found a vast territory and three million indigenous people, distributed mainly along the fertile coastline. This population consisted of various groups— Tupis, Guaranis, Tupinambás, Tupiniquins, Tamoios, Tupinaés, Temiminos, Kaetés, Potiguares, Tabajaras—with different cultures and social constructions. Already in the first years of colonization, they began to be decimated and, in less than seventy years, their numbers had dropped by onehalf. As stated by Iris Kantor in her essay in this chapter, upon receiving Europeans in their lands, the Indians became reduced to the status of vassals, to the point where their mother tongue was prohibited.

Later, the first sites for agricultural production in Brazil, for the growing of sugarcane, were also established along the coast of Brazil’s Northeast. With the colonizer came the system of slavery and the first contingents of Africans, who arrived in Brazil mainly from Angola and the Ivory Coast.

In this period, the Brazilian territory underwent modifications due to actions not only by the Portuguese, but also by Spanish, French and Dutch colonizers of neighboring lands. The borders as we know them today were only configured in 1903 with the annexation of the state of Acre.

Wars and territorial disputes marked the shaping of the country’s South, North and West; Rio Grande do Sul was disputed between the Portuguese and the Spanish; Maranhão, between the French and the Portuguese.

The various production cycles—from sugarcane to gold and coffee—intensified the slavery in the South and Southeast.

Between 1531 and 1855, more than 4 million slaves entered Brazil. The importance of this contingent is highly significant: blacks and mixed-race Afro-Brazilians constitute more than 50% of the Brazilian population today, something which, as pointed out by Luiz

Felipe de Alencastro in his interview, not even the black movement itself is aware of.

With the abolition of slavery, the government of the young republic established international agreements for procuring labor. In Europe, conflicts and unification processes drove a significant number of immigrants to Brazil, seen as a promising country, with good living conditions. This wave of immigration, especially intense between 1884 and 1939, brought more than 4 million immigrants from various countries. As stated by Antonio Risério, the (timid) urban Brazilian environment became the scenario where property owners, free slaves and foreigners lived together and, in this mix, intrinsic cultural differences were added together to compose the new urban population.

This period was also one of intense densification and consolidation of cities in Brazil. Not by chance, the first demographic census of an urban character was conducted in 1940, when the rural population (69%) was much greater than the urban (31%). Small villages became metropolises: the population of São Paulo leapt from 240,000 inhabitants at the end of the 19th century to 3.5 million in the second half of the 20th.

The transition from an agrarian-rural colony to a modern, urban, capitalist republic posed challenges in everything from sanitary to bureaucratic concerns.

How to organize these cities? What resources would they have? One of the administrative responses was the creation of new municipalities. Between 1945 and 1964, in the so-called Populist Republic, marked by decentralization, the creation of municipalities was encouraged by state governments, as the federal resources were proportional to the number of administrative units. Between 1940 and 1970, the number of municipalities in Brazil rose from 1,671 to more than 4 thousand, while the urban population mushroomed to more than 50 million.

The extreme political centralization of the military regime was reflected in the Federal Constitution of 1967, which

imposed a series of conditions on the creation of municipalities. The parameters ranged from the populational census to the municipal tax revenues. At the end of the dictatorship, in 1985, Brazil had gained a little less than 500 new municipalities.

At the turn of the 20th century to the st 21 , the number of municipalities in Brazil had increased to more than 5,500, and the number of inhabitants to more than 160 million. 81% of them already lived in cities, municipalities, urban agglomerations and metropolitan regions, which were consolidated as tools for the analysis of the territory and had gained a significant role in the national economy.

The transition to the urban was not uniform. Knowingly, the initial densification of the population occurred along the coast.

As Kantor states, the integration with the interior regions did not see significant advances until the 18th century, with the gold mining boom in Minas Gerais. And, after this, it was not to be strengthened until 1960, with the creation of Brasília— which, besides radically moving the headquarters of the three branches of government, was the engine of a new and complex population boom in the Central West, giving rise to the satellite cities around the newly installed capital.

In a society constructed in an exclusionary way, the urban consolidation was marked by inequality. The population that arrived in the city coming from the countryside, and, above all, the black people faced the greatest difficulty in finding adequate housing, study and work.

This situation finds its metaphor in the scenes depicted by Jonathas de Andrade where horse-drawn carts in Recife, now prohibited in the urban center, reinforce the view of an urbanized country which does not allow itself to remember its rural roots, of extreme importance in its early moments of consolidation. It is an unequal Brazil, in which poor and black populations have no voice. A Brazil that forgets its indigenous origins, the paths taken, and the processes that brought us here. Or, as stated by Risério, a Brazil in which the

urban public space does not reflect social characteristics so much as disputes.

The conflictive history raises the question of how seemingly distinct and independent processes can significantly impact a large portion of the population; a portion is found captive of the historical walls that have constructed this urban country.

THE MAP The Succession of borders map first presents the foundation moments of Brazilian cities in order to graphically enable the distinction between the years in which such events occurred most. Thus, it intends to enable a reading of the periods with the greatest urban expansions. The graphical counter position of the location of the 5570 Brazilian cities and their dates of foundation creates a large timeline and a map in which the territorial divisions are no longer relevant.

The map, then, presents the history of the expansion and definition of the country’s borders. Taking the Treaty of Tordesilhas (1494) as a startingpoint, drawings resulting from each reordering of the territory are revealed, from the state borders to the national ones, up to the current geopolitical configuration.

One other layer presents human elements of the social construction of the country. The map points to the origins of the main contingents of foreigners, from the first Portuguese settlers to the last maritime voyages, and the variation of the indigenous population over the years.

Lastly, a series of historical events allow for a more global understanding of other aspects that have impacted the Brazilian sociocultural reality and the history of the urbanization of the country. Structural events of the evolution of colonial Brazil until 2017 are, then, separated into nine categories—architecture; conflicts and wars; culture; economy; country; international; landscape; politics; and society—to allow for cross-referencing with the other timelines of the map.

Jonathas de Andrade 1a Corrida de Carroças do Centro do Recife / O levante [1st Horse-Drawn Cart Race of Downtown Recife / The Uprising], 2012 Photographic documentation and video

interview: Luiz Felipe de Alencastro

Luiz Felipe de Alencastro (Itajaí-SC, 1946) is an historian and political scientist. Holds a degree from the Institut d’Etudes Politiques d’Aix-en-Provence, and a Phd in modern and contemporary history from Université de Paris Nanterre.

He is a professor emeritus at Université Paris-Sorbonne, member of History and Archeology area at the European Academy, coordinator of Centro de Estudos do Atlântico Sul and professor of Escola de Economia [School of Economics] at FGV, São Paulo.

Author and coauthor of several books, among them O trato dos Viventes: Formação do Brasil no Atlântico Sul (2000).

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Walls How did Brazilian slavery’s historical condition generate a legacy of social and racial boundaries in the cities of our country?

Brazil presented a very significant urban slavery. In 1850, 42% of Rio de Janeiro population consisted of slaves: 110 thousand slaves out of 266 thousand inhabitants, the greatest urban concentration of slaves since the end of the Roman Empire. The massive presence of free black people merged with a population of still enslaved blacks led the former to live in a situation of inferior citizenship. Some fleeing slaves would go to Floresta da Tijuca quilombo, others would remain in the city, mixing with free blacks.

Wearing shoes meant a black person was free, for slaves were not allowed to do so.

Neither were they supposed to walk alone in the streets after 9 in the evening without their owner’s order and could be questioned by the police any time. This situation caused a deep-rooted contempt in relation to free blacks, creating a pattern of disrespect toward black people well before the abolition of the slavery in 1888.

Evidence How does social and racial segregation, perpetuated since colonization, show up today in urban space?

In São Paulo, the result appears in the profile of those clubs that intend/purport to be elegant, dating from the 1920s. They excluded the presence of blacks in internal regulations, rejected black members without any explanation—because not to be written in was part of Brazilian racism.

This implemented such a real model of segregation, up to the point, for instance, of allowing black fellows to be violently questioned by the police for their black skin, and for being in a car. In slaughters, such as the one at Carandiru Penitentiary, in 1992, most of the dead are always black.

The bullet knows its target when the police fires.

Today, these clubs keep invading central public zones without paying property taxes, such as the Jóquei de São Paulo race track, which the former mayor Fernando Haddad tried to transform into a public park. People are proud to say that São Paulo is the city with the greatest amount of heliports in the world, showing the lack of regulation that favors privileged people. There would be much more heliports in New York, London and Paris if the legislation allowed building them no matter where. It is forbidden, because they respect their population.

Behavior and micro-politics How does slave-holding culture affect public life in Brazilian cities?

The following data produced by Elza Berquó and other demographers is interesting: infant mortality of illiterate mothers increases in color gradation from white to mulatto and to black. In neighborhoods where black people live, there are fewer hospitals, less prenatal care. Infant mortality in Brazil declined by half between 2000 and 2015, from 39 to 19 per thousand people, in a huge effort.

However, this figure carries enormous perpetuating disparities. Obviously there is no written discrimination, but the apartheid is evident.

Side effects How does land reform, demaned

by Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra [Landless Workers’ Movement – MST], for example, relate to slavery? And which other disputes date back to our slavery legacy?

There have always been two interpretations of Brazilian left-wing and reformist politics in regards to the legacy of slavery in the countryside. Part is for land reform; the other interpretation, represented by Caio Prado Júnior, which I follow, states that there wasn’t a strong peasant tradition in Brazil. In Mexico or Bolivia, land reform was

attached to the demands of a community with a well‑established peasant tradition, without land ownership, something similar to Europe in the 18th century, before the French Revolution. Instead, in Brazil, the rural worker was a slave or immigrant.

This reformist and left-wing trend fought for better working conditions in the countryside and for trade union rights, and thought that concentrating the whole struggle in land reform was a strategic mistake. History evolves in this sense: the MST doesn’t find great activism to ask for land any more. It stands much more as a producer of ecological farming, up to the point of being the largest organic rice producer in Brazil. MST’s struggling conception itself is in progress. And Bolsa Família1 reduced the human impact of drought in the Northeast, which was always tragic, as a thousand water cisterns were built during this period, enabling a basic water reserve to form.

Experience in the discipline Considering your experience in the United States, which are the main differences related to racial segregation vis-à-vis to Brazil?

While, in the 1950s in the US, more than half of the states still forbade mixed marriages, in Brazil it was never forbidden. Marriage here has always been asymmetrical, reproducing a pattern in which women are part of the dominated community and the husband, of the dominating one. The mixed-racial feature, always presented as a positive (Brazilian) attribute, doesn’t mean equality, or respect. While, from the postwar era up to the year 2000, the US evolved significantly towards affirmative action through civil struggle and mobilization— they even had a black president—, Brazil stuck to the idea that no affirmative action was needed, for racism was inexistent.

This presumption was shot down by a historical decision in the Supreme Court (STF) in 2012, which unanimously upheld as constitutional the quota policy in federal

universities. A decision of the utmost importance, since it implies the idea that racism exists and that there is no racial democracy in the country.

Transformative potential Which affirmative racial actions can you see emerging in the Brazilian context? Which other measures contributed to the dissolution of the racial gap?

It’s necessary to recall slavery’s legacy and observe that it’s not about the struggle of a minority. The Black movement itself loses sight of the fact that black people are demographically the majority, as shown by the census of 2010. Affirmative actions are necessary in democracy, not only to guarantee the right of a community—such as the indigenous peoples, which need to have their ancestral lands—, but also to guarantee the right of the majority. A different struggle strategy is as follows: “Blacks are the majority of the population There is no democracy if the social majority is not represented”.

Achievements are being annulled by this reactionary government, which arbitrarily changed the high school curriculum by provisional measure (MP), taking away the obligation of teaching, for example, History and Geography. This threatens the idea of Afro-Brazilian history.

But we must think about the future.

An African immigration to Brazil is already taking place, and will increase.

According to a recent UN census, sub‑Saharan Africa is going through a demographic boom. Nigeria will surpass the USA and will be the third largest world population. At the end of the 21st century, the Portuguese language will be more widely spoken in Africa than in Brazil and Portugal, strongly impacted by the Brazilian variant, due to soap operas and missionary priests or ministers. In the beginning of the 20th century, there was an attempt to forget this continent and

pretend blacks had faded away, the notion of mixed races was to turn people white.

But blacks became the majority. And the African immigration is on it’s way. We have a new convergence with Africa.

1. A social welfare program of financial aid to low income families, established by the Brazilian government in 2003, as part of Fome Zero [zero hunger] the policy. [Ed.]

interview: Antonio Risério

Antonio Risério (Salvador-ba, 1953) is a historian, anthropologist, translator, poet, essayist and novel writer. He graduated in Sociology, with specialization in Anthropology at UFBA (1995).

Regarding public policies, he worked as a special advisor at the Ministry of Culture during Gilberto Gil’s administration, under Lula’s government; implemented a educative television channel in Bahia; worked with the architect João Filgueiras Lima (Lelé) in the foundation of Sarah Kubitschek hospital, in Salvador; and set the general project to establish the Museu da Língua Portuguesa, in São Paulo. In the 2000s, he baceme engaged in political marketing, integrating the creative and strategic core of Lula da Silva and Dilma Rousseff’s presidential campaigns. Published several books, amongst them Textos e tribos: poéticas extraocidentais nos trópicos brasileiros (1993), Oriki Orixá (1996), Uma história da cidade da Bahia (2004), A utopia brasileira e os movimentos negros (2007), A cidade no Brasil (2012), Mulher, casa e cidade (2015) and Que você é esse? (2017).

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Walls You refer to the trio expansionsegregation-exclusion within Brazilian urbanization; how does it articulate politically and materialize within the city space?

In Brazil, this trio marked the transition from a rural country to an urban one, undergoing several and diverse political regimes—from populist democracy to military dictatorship—, to consolidate in governments that claimed to be left wing.

The baroque and slave holding city was not specially segregating. Land owners and slaves co-shared domestic and urban spaces. Segregation really happened with the modern capitalist city, and became systematic with urban modernization. Over the past decades, the bourgeoisie of civil engineering assumed the leadership of this process, regardless of the political regime.

That’s why social housing programs such as those from dictatorship era and Minha Casa Minha Vida [My House My Life] are essentially similar: not only were they born to provide a strong cash injection directly into the business community at a moment of crisis, but also to deliver, to this private initiative, control over urban policies. The sector of civil engineering is in charge of deciding what to build in the city and where: a new luxury neighborhood here, a mall there, a social housing program elsewhere. Our governments lag behind.

Evidence How does the notion of Brazilian cultural syncretism, opposed to US multiculturalism, manifest in our urban space? How do you see the issue regarding the tension between African, Indigenous and European cultures in the construction of our cities?

Despite the cruelties of slavery, things were deeply merged in Brazilian cities. Yet, New York, for example, is a multicultural city. We never had Italian, Irish and Jewish ghettos in Rio; New York is a mosaic of

differences that look at each other, but do not merge spontaneously. Multiculturalism as an ideology objects to cultural interpenetrations, standing up for the separate development of communities.

Brazilian cities were not islands, as in the United States, nor internally detached, as in Hispanic America. They were promiscuous cities. While the Spanish first built the city, only to let the Indians enter afterwards, the Portuguese recruited the indigenous workforce to raise them. The Spanish customized the grid and distributed the population within, according to social hierarchy. The power was set at plaza mayor. Indigenous and then black people were set just outside the urban center: Spanish city, afro-indigenous suburbs. The Spanish segregated so as to remove the risks of mixing races and favoring syncretism—the opposite of the Brazilian scene. Specifically, the central zone of a baroque-slavery city was the working and living place of both slave owners and slaves. Asymmetrical, yet shuffled lives. Our unruly urban designs expressed an unruly coexistence. They were urban cores tending to aggregate, confuse, blend, giving each other visibility, enabling genetic and symbolic merges.

Side effects How does the peripherization of low-income housing relate to the consolidation of urban boundaries?

And how has market logic been organizing urban land nowadays?

There is a specific problem that compromises the perspective of city organization: the private market of urban land. Municipal land heritage does not grow; urban land is strictly limited, with no replacement. Brazilian urban land is entirely divided amongst a selected group of land owners. If businessmen own the city soil, they lead urban policies. These people select strips of land to extract high profits from it, locating their investment according to social class criteria. They send

social housing paid by the government to distant and dismantled steep slopes. That’s why Minha Casa Minha Vida is said to be a program that aims at building, today, the shantytowns of tomorrow. In order to control urban policies, the government would need to trigger effective mechanisms of land usage control. It would be enough to enforce the law, following the principle of the city’s social function and urban property.

Behavior and micro-politics How does the history of State violence, from colonial times until today—from the slavery era to security policies and forced removal in shantytowns—affect Brazilian subjectivity and its relationship with the public space?

The specific Brazilian case must be analyzed in comparative terms. Generally speaking, our process (colonization, slavery) was very similar to the one in the US and Argentina. Maybe less severe, since black people were practically removed from the Argentinean demographic map. In the US, in addition to forced local removals, black people were almost sent in blocks back to Africa, as abolitionist president Abraham Lincoln wanted. How did this history of violence affect US subjectivity and its relation to public space? As in Argentina and in the US, the show of diversity in public spaces is responsible for fulfilling our cities within their essential quality. Everywhere in the world, public space is an outlook of games and disputes, always subjected to moving and multiple interpretations.

Experience in the discipline Considering your experience with presidential campaigns, how is narrative construction able to transform the self-image of a people? And how does this ordinary narrative, manipulated by political marketing, relate to collective memory?

It is more substantial to think about the great national narratives, of which the marginal marketing narratives are only a spiritually impoverished chapter. Take as an example the case of Casa-grande & senzala, the cultural mixture affirmation discourse by Gilberto Freyre, published in the same year as the Nazis won in Germany. The great ideologies of identity, although deriving from common sense representations and visible behaviors, can produce a feedback effect, affecting social existence. They spread within the society, they begin to structure discourses and behaviors. An identity discourse can possibly describe not what we are, but what we would like to be—and, therefore, we try to walk in that direction, as an orixá, as a behavioral archetype to be followed, redesigning practices and gestures of those symbolically considered their sons.

Transformative potential Observing the present Brazilian political scene, which are the prospects of reinvention and democratization of the country, from the point of view of urban land use?

We’ve said that our governors are accomplices of businessmen in the transportation, car and civil engineering sectors. The Ministry of Cities, created in response to social demands, was quickly disfigured. The Ministry renounced its mission of formulating and coordinating a national strategy of recovering, enabling and advancing towards building eco-social friendly cities. Dilma Rousseff, unlike promised in her campaign, did not lead the Ministry to its original goal. It’s up to society, to activist movements, to fight on the frontline. Once again, Brazil must happen over the heads of the State. The demonstrations of 2013 were born from the Ministry of Cities early ruins, from a disastrous failure of Lula’s government, which, instead of investing in public transportation, began to subsidize the car industry, and therefore the production and

consumption of private cars. This triggered the protest in 2013—speaking about urban mobility, the right to the city. To face the present reality, social movements for the cities need to find a common narrative and bet on social self-organization. Two of the greatest protests of 2013—refusing party politics and fighting for the right to the city—were not deleted. They will return to the streets, heated, sometime soon. Let’s see where it will lead us.

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30.6 (y-axys) population in million (x-axys) year by census data This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map Succession of Edges.

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Urbanization in Brazil Rural

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29.8

Imaginary Iris Kantor lines, walls and mobility: continental borders in the Luso-Brazilian cartography

Since the beginning of the colonization, the land that was to become the territory of Brazil was depicted

by European chroniclers and cosmographers as a space of continental dimensions, separated from the Hispano-American domains by a fluvial dividing line that connected the Amazon and Río de la Plata river basins. At the junction of the two basins, the cosmographers of the Old World situated a large interior lake, from which, they believed, the two large rivers were born. Located in the heart of the biome of the great swamps of the Upper Rio Paraguai and at the intersection between Brazil, Paraguay, Argentina and Bolivia, this lake—variably named Eupana, Ilha-Brasil or, more commonly, Xarayés—would have configured the Brazilian space as a cohesive and contiguous unit. This perception was crystallized not only in the Portuguese cartography, but was also disseminated in numerous Jesuit, Dutch, Venetian and English maps for more than two centuries.1 Although the instruments of astronomical observation and topographical mapping would not be introduced until the 1730s, the first European conquistadors and the Jesuit missionaries transmitted to their contemporaries plausible information about the physical geography of South America. Curiously, even though there was no direct interconnection between the basins of the Paraguai and Amazon rivers, we now know, thanks to today’s satellite imagery, that during the high-water season of the Pantanal region a large lake is visible, which disappears each year during the dry season, between June and September. Considered together with the Tordesilhas Meridian—the famous imaginary line never demarcated on the ground—this reinforced the geographic motivation for establishing

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1. Jaime Cortesão, O Brasil nos Velhos Mapas. Lisboa: Imprensa Nacional, vol.1, 2009, p.383; Sérgio Buarque de Holanda, “Um mito geopolítico: A ilha Brasil”, In Tentativa de Mitologia. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 1979; Maria de Fátima Costa, “De Xarayes ao Pantanal: A cartografia de um mito geográfico”, Revista do Instituto de Estudos Brasileiros – IEB, 2007.

2. Letter sent by T. J. Corte Real to Governor Rolim de Moura on August 22, 1758. See Marcos Carneiro de Mendonça, Rios Guaporé e Paraguai: primeiras fronteiras definitivas do Brasil.

Rio de Janeiro: Xerox, 1985, p.9.

the border between the two empires. The maps suggest a true natural wall, dotted by a system of low-altitude mountain ranges.

In 1773, Luís de Albuquerque de Melo Pereira e Cáceres, governor of the captaincy of Mato Grosso, set forth a plan to open a 5.2-kilometer-long canal between the Rio Alegre (a tributary of the Amazon) and the Rio Aguapey (a tributary of the Rio Paraguai), with the aim of connecting the two basins and facilitating the direct communications between Cuiabá and Belém.

Until the discovery of the gold mines of Cuiabá and Mato Grosso, in the 1730s, the effective presence of the Portuguese metropolitan government in that region was scarce. The founding of Vila Real do Senhor do Bom Jesus de Cuiabá, in 1727, was aimed at barring the expansion of the Jesuits coming from the province of Paraguai and from the Chiquitos and Moxos indigenous missions. For their part, these Jesuits had established a network of settlements where they acted with a reasonable degree of autonomy, until being expelled from the Spanish Empire, in 1767. In the Portuguese Empire, the expulsion of the Jesuits had occurred eight years earlier, in 1759, under the allegation that the Ignatian priests had sabotaged the expeditions for the demarcation of the Treaty of Madrid, signed between the Iberian crowns in 1750.

According to the correspondence of a high counselor to the governor of the captaincy of Mato Grosso, in 1758, “the clergy always waged, and continue to wage, a tough war on the borders of those hinterlands, for us to turn away from them; for this reason we did not penetrate into the secrets of their colonies or hinder the progress of their conquests.” He wrote that the king should put a general end to this violence or, in ten years, “there will be no more Brazil.”2 It is important to note that the extinction of the Society of Jesus in Portuguese America aimed to sedentarize, urbanize and directly control the indigenous labor force, especially in the missionary regions, as was the case of the Upper Rio Paraguai and the Amazon, mainly along the border with the English, Dutch and French Guianas.

The Treaty of Madrid established that the right to territorial sovereignty should derive from the principle of uti possidetis, that is, an effective occupation, prolonged in time. Thus, the Portuguese crown began the process of territorial reordering, mandatorily displacing indigenous populations to the controversial zones, transforming their villages into true muralhas do sertão [walls of the hinterlands], as they were frequently called in the colonial archives. Between 1750 and 1808 a

network of 95 villages and numerous forts, warehouses and prisons were created, evidencing the strategic planning ability of the Portuguese crown in regard to the preservation of their conquests.

Between 1755 and 1758, the enlightened indigenous policy elevated the status of the indigenous subjects, making them useful vassals, whether for the construction of forts or for service in the regular troops that safeguarded the military expeditions.3 The Directory of Indians stipulated that all the missionary settlements (from then on transformed into villages with a council hall) should adopt names of Portuguese cities. The assigning of these names was up to the governors of each captaincy. The new urban toponymy was therefore supposed to mimic the seigniory nomenclature of Portugal, at a moment when the hereditary donatories were becoming extinct in the American territories. The Directory also prohibited the use of the general language and obliged the indigenous people to speak Portuguese and to adopt Lusitanian first names and last names. The policy of giving plots of land (sesmarias) to the new indigenous villages ignited landownership tensions and conflicts with the large farmers and landowners, who saw their landholding privileges threatened.

It is known that at the time of the signing of the Treaty of Madrid there was a great deal of uncertainty in regard to the use of the toponyms of the geographic features in the different localities. The treaty’s text admitted the fluidity of the nomenclatures, and the demarcation expeditions were told to prepare maps precisely indicating the different names of the places, in common agreement between the commissioners of both crowns.

It was recommended that the copies be authenticated onsite: “so there will not be the slightest doubt, the above-mentioned commissioners will put the commonagreement name on the rivers and mountains that did not have them, and will label everything on the map as specific as possible.”

The militarization of the external borders took place through the construction of a line of forts in the interior of the continent, with financial resources from the Companhia Geral de Comércio do Grão Pará e Maranhão [General Company of Commerce of Grão Pará and Maranhão], established in 1755. Whether by regular commerce or by military detachments in the forts/trading-posts, the Portuguese crown managed to set its territorial sovereignty, at least in regard to the other powers.

The territorial reordering also led to the opening of new internal routes of communication and in the

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3. José Roberto Amaral Lapa, Economia colonial. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 1973, pp.31–36; Renata Malcher Araújo, A urbanização do Mato Grosso no século XVIII, discurso e método, PhD. thesis, Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 2000; Luiz Felipe de Alencastro, “O Rio de Janeiro e o Atlântico”, in Lorelai Kury and Heloisa Gesteira (eds.), Ensaios das ciências no Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: UERJ, 2012.

4. See Luiz Felipe de Alencastro and Marcos Carneiro de Mendonça, op. cit.

prohibition of old roads, used by local merchants and those with thorough knowledge of the hinterland.

The authorities wished to restrict the smuggling of merchandise and precious metals, which is why they forbade the economic use of certain routes, such as the fluvial route between the Arinos and Tapajós rivers. The process of defining the external borders also affected the way in which different colonial regions were linked to one another. In the captaincy of Minas Gerais, gold mining had been an important factor in spatial and economic integration since the early 18th century. For their part, the demarcation expeditions promoted the militarization of society and the internal expansion of the colonial frontier.

The successive Spanish invasions of the captaincy of Rio Grande do Sul, the taking of Colônia do Sacramento, and the occupation of Santa Catarina, in the period between 1763 in 1777, obliged the crown to reinforce the defense in the far West and North.

The strategy of alliances with the indigenous leaders and the policy of forced resettlement of the local populations strengthened the control over territories that otherwise belonged to the vice kingdoms of Peru and Nova Granada. The geographic reconnoitering expeditions interiorized the occupation along a 2,400-kilometer stretch of the Amazon.

The 1777 Treaty of Santo Idelfonso gave to Portugal the exclusive right to navigate along the Amazon from its junction with the Rio Japurá to its mouth, at the Atlantic Ocean. Navigation rights on the next stretch, going upriver, from the junction with the Rio Japurá to the junction with the Rio Javari—an extension of about 400 km—would be shared by the two crowns. From Fort Tabatinga upward the river would belong to the Spanish crown. The mediums of exchange in those parts were salt, iron, tools and slaves. Along the Rio Jauru, the Spanish and indigenous traders bartered in bulls and mules, as well as some silver. From 1770 onward, the Portuguese crown began to concede privileges to the merchants of the Companhia do Comércio do Grão Pará for the sale of merchandise in Spanish lands, with part of the profits going to gifts made to the Spanish authorities. The Companhia do Grão Pará also obtained from the Portuguese crown a tax exemption on the sale of African slaves from the slave-trading post in Guinea-Bissau to the merchants in Mato Grosso.4 Thus, as can be seen, the Portuguese deployed a military, commercial and cartographic practice in order to materially and symbolically effectuate their presence in those regions of unconsolidated sovereignty.

The Treaty of Santo Idelfonso also stipulated that the governors of the border regions between the empires should enter into an agreement about the recurring problem of escaped African slaves, “without which, for passing through a diverse realm, they obtain their freedom”. There are numerous reports of military personnel and merchants who were concerned about slaves escaping through the forest, including along the narrow forest waterways known as igarapés.

In a letter to the court in Madrid, the Spanish engineer and governor Francisco Requeña complained that the Portuguese were relocating Indians from the Spanish settlements, founding Portuguese settlements in areas that were otherwise Spanish and intentionally erasing the traces of the previous ownership of the lands they were aiming to take over. Without the cooperation of the indigenous people, however, it was not possible to penetrate into the heart of the forest. The attraction, alliance and violent co-opting of the populations was decisive, as evidenced by the reports of the demarcators as well as the watercolors and cartography produced in that context of forced interaction.

The map entitled Nova Lusitânia presents us with a projection of the territoriality the colonial administration was aiming for in the late 18th century. On it, the interregional urban, road and fluvial networks are hyperbolized inorder to evidence a fluidity and territorial contiguity that did not always exist. The cartographic work aimed to show the integration between the different parts of the colonial mosaic, depicting it as more than an archipelago of conquests. An overall analysis will note the emphasis given to the interregional and macro-scale flows of communication.

The perception of the geopolitical unity of Portuguese America that is projected in the cartography of that era is thus the result of a process of accumulation of experiences acquired during the demarcation expeditions in the regions where Iberian sovereignty was not a local reality.

The product of an enlightened reformism, this cartography illustrates the axioms of the liberal economy (alienable property, taxes per head, exemption from customs tariffs and revocation of the commercial monopolies), while projecting the image of a reasonably uniform and homogenous territory, eliminating the colonial enclaves where quilombos or maroon communities were located—which were sometimes efemeral, not always stable—representing it as a dense and cohesive network of settlements.

Thinking about the territory in its everyday uses requires that we progressively reconstitute the past material infrastructures, imagining the terrestrial and

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fluvial routes, the means of transportation utilized, the difference between traveling in canoes, ox carts, on mule back, or on foot for days on end. Ultimately, what maps reveal to us are the projections of a sovereignty that is being sought after, rather than one that has already been achieved, as taught by geographer Antonio Carlos Robert de Moraes.

Iris Kantor is a professor of Iberian history at the University of São Paulo. She coordinates the Laboratory of Historical Cartography Studies of the Jaime Cortesão Chair and of the Institute of Brazilian Studies (IEB-USP). Visiting lecturer at Stanford University and the Centre de Recherches sur le Brésil Colonial et Contemporain of the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris. She is the author of Esquecidos & renascidos: historiografia acadêmica lusoamericana, 2004. Member of the Brazilian Historical and Geographical Institute and of the Iberian‑American history of cartography network.

7 Geography of the real estate market: controversies between the agenda of capital and that of architecture How unobstructed is the agenda of the real estate market against that of architecture?

In discussing the Brazilian cities it is indispensable to address the real estate market.1 The built mass in cities and its negative spaces—voids—involve, in one way or another, real estate production on every scale and in any location. Bringing together investors, brokers, builders, incorporators, advertising agencies, banks, urbanists, architects, engineers, consumers and the public power, the real estate market is the main force shaping the physical environment of cities.

To understand the practices of the real estate market and that of the urbanists and architects, it is necessary to understand the core by which the academic and professional bases of each are defined.

Although architecture courses have existed since the beginning of the 19th century, and courses in urbanism have been taught since the 1920s onward,2 their academic structure has gone through significant alterations; in 1969 the disciplines merged. This merging formalized the joining of the aspects relative to buildings and to cities, and strengthened the ideas of multidisciplinarity, generality and complexity.3 The guidelines for structuring courses of architecture and urbanism establish that they should offer understanding in the fields of anthropology, sociology, economics, the environment, techniques of construction and management, history and methodology.

Although the importance of this global knowledge is emphasized for the student to later take part in a competitive market, no attention is given to questions relative to the operations of the real estate market.4 Architectural and urbanistic practices usually take place in the direct relation with an individual client and his or her individual desires—normally of small scale—or it is linked to the public construction of the social, urban space. Little consideration is given to the largest mass of the built environment, the one driven by pure capital logic. Likewise, the perspective presented by Claudio Bernardes in this chapter is another one that have been widely

disregarded; the perspective that there is a clear dissociation between the architectural product and the product of the market.

In one hand, the corporate clients, inserted in a marketing logic, are complex.

In part because their final objectives are intrinsically linked to the generation of profit but also because they move comfortably within an economic and financial system for which the architect has not been prepared to. On the other hand, although they are connected to the economy of the cities—a point discussed in this chapter by Danilo Igliori and Sergio Castelani—they do not necessarily consider the sociological and anthropological impacts their decisions may have in the territory.

Nevertheless, the relation between architecture-urbanism and the real estate market is strangely mutual. There are differences that are simplified as of pragmatic or sensitive nature but that do not necessarily have right answers. Should it be dwellings, commercial centers, shopping centers or factory buildings?

Horizontal or vertical? Permeable or fenced off? Structured in concrete, iron or wood?

With natural or mechanical ventilation?

Commercialized, rented or donated?

Financeable or not? Located in central, peripheral or detached areas? The list of variables is extensive, and understanding the effects of these choices in the economy and in the dynamics of the city requires that the two sides listen to each other.

The urgent need to bring together architects and real estate investors to construct points of common interest— towards a less unequal society—is not unknown to both parts. Nevertheless, the mutual incomprehension of the possibilities of action in the construction of the cities has led to disagreements between these agents. It is necessary to understand that their relationship should not involve rivalry or a game of right and wrong, rather, there is the need to arrive at a shared vision of what the city could be.

From this angle, the work by artist Renata Lucas turns the spectator to the views from Masp toward Avenida 9 de Julho to make

them ask themselves: was there a project for the city here that was not executed?

This clashing between the two disciplines needs to be seen as an unexplored opportunity for the construction of an urban space with more shared social experiences, more possibilities and alternatives for the population and, why not, better financial conditions for the private and public agents and users. the MAP In drawing up the map of the geography of the real estate investments, the territorial deformation reveals the different levels of investment from region to region. The markings of latitude and longitude were altered according to the GDP of each city: larger GDP indexes are represented by larger quadrants. This makes it clear how São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, by themselves, have a weight of an entire Brazil.

Following a similar logic, urban areas are assigned their monetary value, redrawing the country based on its price of land. Populational concentrations and a larger number of dwellings are inversely proportional to the concentration of income—another indication of inequality.

To give more weight to the analysis, the urban infrastructural networks were added, with highways and railways, indicating that they also are significant variables in the determination of the values attributed to the real estate properties. In short, the greater the price of land, the higher the summits and the darker the color.

Adjacent to the cities and based on data related to civil construction and to the architectural and urbanistic practice, bar graphs were added to represent the quantity of companies and workers of each sector. In this summary, the divergence between the numbers relative to the construction industry and those to the field of architecture illustrate the wall that still separates the two activities.

The last item of the quantitative analysis focuses on real estate actions directed

to culture and leisure, with data on shopping centers (quantity, target public by social class, and types of offerings and facilities, such as cinemas and theaters) in comparison with the quantity of public cultural equipment by municipality.

1. In Brazil, it involves horizontal and vertical residential properties; corporate and logistic facilities; shopping centers and hotels.

2. The first course of architecture in Brazil was proposed in 1816, by King João VI, amidst the French Artistic Mission. The Escola Real de Ciências, Artes e Ofícios (later the Escola de Belas Artes) trained masters of Brazilian architecture such as Lucio Costa, Oscar Niemeyer and Roberto Burle Marx.

The first course in urbanism was founded in 1935, in Rio de Janeiro.

3. In the definition of the Ministry of Education, “the pedagogical proposal for the undergraduate courses in architecture and urbanism should ensure the training of generalist professionals, able to understand and translate the needs of individuals, social groups and community, with relation to the design, organization and construction of the interior and exterior space, encompassing urbanism, building, and landscaping, as well as the preservation of the built heritage, the protection of the balance of the natural environment and the rational use of resources.”

4. “One thing I consider important is for us to understand that in the capitalist world everything requires capital. There is not a single architect, who fights in an area of such large investments, who thinks that because he is handsome, has good eyes or makes a more curved gesture, the capital will come and ask him to help it. No. You need to be concerned, architects, in understanding in what way you are going to achieve an association with capital.” Joaquim Guedes. Available at: http://www. vitruvius.com.br/revistas/read/ arquitextos/14.163/4986. Retrieved on: April 20, 2018.

Renata Lucas aqui havia um projeto de cidade [here, there was a project for city], 2018

Bárbara Wagner and Benjamin de Burca desenho/canteiro [plan/plat], 2014 Video collage, HD, color, sound, 12’12”

Mauro Restiffe Itaquerão #2, 2014 Estacionamento Oficina [Oficina Parking Lot], 2014 São Paulo – Viaduto Antártica, 2014 Photograph

interview: Claudio Bernardes

Claudio Bernardes (São Paulo-SP, 1954) is a construction executive.

He studied civil engineering at Escola de Engenharia Mauá, holds a master’s in engineering from the University of Sheffield and specialized in industrial engineering for construction at Fundação Vanzolini/USP. He has worked as a real estate executive for over 40 years, focusing on the field of urban development in the capital and interior of the state of São Paulo. He is the CEO of Ingaí Incorporadora S/A, chairman of the advisory board at Secovi-SP, where he has been a and member since 1985, and chairman of the management board for the Department of Urbanism and Licensing of the City of São Paulo. He is a professor of urban development on the MBA program in Real Estate Business Management at Escola Superior de Propaganda e Marketing (ESPM), a columnist for the newspaper Folha de S.Paulo and author of the books Plano diretor estratégico, lei de zoneamento e atividade imobiliária em São Paulo (2005) and Qualidade e o custo das não-conformidades em obras de construção civil (1988).

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Walls What are the conflicts that distance the practice of architecture from urban planning and the real estate market?

The greatest barrier is academia, because it disassociates the product “architecture” from the product “market.” The product of architecture, as an academic entity, has its value, but oftentimes, when placed on the market, from a practical standpoint, has no value at all. It is important to understand that a project will only get off the drawing board if there is a market for it. Even famous architects only find space in the market for their projects if they work in a niche where there is an economic and financial balance that is receptive to their ideas.

There shouldn’t be any distance at all, but sometimes there is due to market issues.

Normally, although people don’t believe it, the real estate entrepreneur serves a social function of balancing supply and demand.

For this to occur, he has to make products that people want for a price they can pay. It is a complex and difficult issue to resolve.

Sometimes, the product is not exactly what a good architect or urban planner would put out there. There is this confrontation between the public sector, responsible for the planning and growth of the city, and the real estate sector, which needs to create a link between the consumer and regulation.

When they say “a particular regulation will benefit the real estate sector”, what it actually means is that the rule will make property more affordable for the consumer.

Of course there have been excesses; in the end, there are sectors of the market that want to maximize profit. But always in a way that allows the market to function.

Evidence What type of city does the segregation between architects and construction executives produce?

We have to understand that the real estate market is a vehicle for transforming and building the city. It can only do this by

following the regulations established by those who create urban policy. The industry has recently begun to understand that it must participate in the process of discussing the city and the master plan, to show urban managers what will work and what will not.

Within the regulations, there is a certain amount of flexibility. Promoting an awareness in the real estate industry that maximizing profit is not the only priority, but rather earning enough, while letting the city breathe a little, with more green areas, is a concept that is gradually gaining acceptance. This means that the regulations have to be extremely detailed. The basic mechanisms that guide urban development should be contained in the regulations. And there has to be an awareness that the city is for everyone, to provide space for people.

Side effects Where is the space for the low-income population in the real estate market of São Paulo?

Some years ago there was practically no place for them. We see so many slums precisely because there is no housing policy to provide alternatives. We talk about not maximizing profit, but the market has to have some profit that keeps companies alive, to pay their employees.

The Minha Casa Minha Vida [My Home My Life] program is interesting but presents a series of problems and errors from an urban planning standpoint.

Crowding people together in a distant location, because the land is cheap, means that it will be much more expensive to provide infrastructure. The merit of the program was to create the conditions necessary for the market to begin to serve this population, which was only possible because of subsidies from the government itself. A large part of the population of Brazil has an income so low that it is not able to buy anything available on the market. This subsidy made it possible to serve the so-called “bracket one” families, the lowest income group. In a short period

of time 3 million units were produced.

Despite all the urban problems, it is still better than living in a slum alongside a sewage-filled stream. But, without subsidies, the only way you can do this is to make the economy grow so people can earn more, since the income gap is extremely wide. As citizens, we need to work toward narrowing this gap.

Behavior and micro-politics Who is responsible for the house imagery of the middle and upper classes? What does the Brazilian middle class desire in a house today?

The market creates products based on consumer demand, or is it the other way around? It’s actually a mix of these two things. There are lots of things that consumers don’t know they want until it is presented to them. Quantitative and qualitative studies are done to understand what the consumer wants and there is also the creativity of the architect and the businessman to understand what an interesting product would be. Perhaps the function of the architect is to create interesting ideas that will be filtered by the developer and the consumer, so we have a palatable product for the market Experience in the discipline How does Secovi-SP do its work given the conflicting interests of government, private initiative and the public?

Considering, for example, the Nova Luz project.

The Nova Luz project was, first of all, proposed by the municipal government.

They wanted participation from private enterprise, but this was not economically viable in the way that it was presented to us. With some changes, we thought we could create an important nucleus in the center of town and that this could unlock a process of development that, in addition to revitalizing the center of town,

would create an interesting market. Many people would like to live in the center of town, which possesses good infrastructure, despite the security issues. We envisioned a project that would combine public and private interests and the interests of the people who would live there, but the project was very poorly marketed. There were adverse reactions, such as from the people in neighboring Santa EfigĂŞnia. The project would have completely made over this street and transformed it into the largest center for electrical and electronic goods in South America, without displacing anyone.

But rumors circulated that properties were going to be expropriated, unleashing a series of misunderstandings. It was not possible to move forward with the project, but some regulations were brought forward, such as the urban concession, which is an interesting instrument.

Transformative potential What are your expectations for urban development and housing based on a model of public-private partnerships (PPPs)? What kind of government is capable of regulating these partnerships and ensuring the social function of urban land?

PPPs are a very interesting alternative for the economic environment in which we live, since the crisis is very deep and government budgets are tight. These partnerships should involve issues of interest to the government and the people and also provide profit for the investor. I think it would be interesting, for example, if the government took areas that are completely run-down and offered them to the private sector for terms of 30 years.

The company would probably invest to transform the region and make the area appreciate in value, returning it to the government with a higher property tax base.

If the government has an asset that can be put on the table and if it can regulate this matter, I think that this is a winning model.

Instead of discarding it, we have to fight to make it better.

S Ă&#x192;O PA U LO

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map Geography of the Real Estate Market.

Airbnb and the city Number of households Number of residents Airbnb number of rentals Airbnb average daily rate Median household income

R I O D E JA N E I RO

Space and market: a reflection on the real estate geography and economy of cities

Danilo Igliori and Sergio Castelani

The decision-making process that is cause and consequence of the real estate geographies we observe—buying, selling, renting, financing, building, incorporating—is directly connected with issues relating to the functioning of the city’s economy. Some are of a macroeconomic nature, but others have a microeconomic character.

Examples: how far can prices fall during a crisis? When is the ideal time to buy or sell? When selling a property, should I look at interest rates? Only in Brazil, or also in the US? Should inflation and GDP growth expectations be considered when buying a property? Or would it be more important to map the potential changes in the city’s master plan? Does the construction of more buildings in the neighbourhood value or devalue my property? And what about the creation of a new shopping mall, or a school? Should we think of a property as a consumer good or as a financial asset? Is it better to sell my apartment, invest the money, and pay rent instead? Why, in some places, do prices fall while others rise? What is the risk of a quiet neighbourhood becoming a shopping area, or of a low-valued area becoming more attractive? Will traffic congestion increase or decrease in order to access my neighbourhood? After all, what are the determinants of real estate prices?

The above list, while extensive, is far from exhaustive.

However, it is clear that in order to understand the real estate economy, it is necessary to combine a large set of factors in a particular and complex way. In this sense, three characteristics of the sector are essential.

First and foremost, real estate is a commodity of enormous value, often higher than the monthly income of the vast majority of people. This makes the real estate market depend on the availability of credit, and, on the fact

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that the decisions to buy, sell, or finance will need to take into account extended timelines.

Secondly, real estate takes a few years to build (and the cost of demolition is very high). This leads to strong constraints on adjusting real estate supply to economic changes—which in turn facilitates the formation of sharp price cycles or the generation of bubbles.

Finally, real estate has an address. And, with that, it is subject to the dynamics of the cities, neighbourhoods, and streets where it is located. Here we need to understand the relationships between agglomeration economies and congestion effects that, together with the presence of amenities, shape and transform economic landscapes, not to mention the physical characteristics of the properties themselves—size, number of rooms, parking spaces, balcony, suites etc.—which obviously are also very relevant in price formation.

It can be seen, then, that in fact real estate decisions have temporal (when), spatial (where) and structural (what) dimensions. Together, all of these elements make the geography of the sector encompass numerous economic connections, both macro and micro, which characterize the economies of cities and present important challenges for citizens, businesses, and governments.

A central question in the geography of the real estate market naturally refers to the variation of prices within space: why do properties with similar physical attributes, but at different addresses, vary so much in price? The answer to this question may seem simple or even obvious: price variation stems from the qualities—or lack thereof—that make one place more attractive than another. But what attracts people to a particular place?

A little reflection indicates that the list of locational attributes can be long and again involves factors that explain the economy of cities.

In general, we can say that what happens in the localities is the result of the clash between a set of positive forces, which increase the local attractiveness, and another of negative forces, which reduce it. These forces are created inside and outside the markets in which individuals interact, because they are close to each other.

These interactions can occur within the economic sphere— proximity to work, customers, suppliers, competitors, and shopping areas—or outside it—proximity to friends, family, leisure, and entertainment areas. In addition, the spatial characteristics, natural or built, count a lot.

From an economic perspective, localities should be thought of as small, open spaces. Regardless of their size, they tend to be subject to the free movement of capital and labour. In an open economy context, people and firms make location choices and “vote with their feet.” In this

way, the attractiveness of cities and their neighbourhoods and streets can be seen through their labour markets and real estate assets. Their incentives and restrictions follow the supply and demand structures of these markets.

Labour and real estate markets are also connected, as real estate prices and wages influence each other.

On a slightly more macro scale, we realize that cities are not isolated entities either. They connect to form networks or systems. Urban systems take on different forms and structures. Municipalities have diverse sizes and also distinguish themselves in a variety of aspects. Most importantly, these urban systems are dynamic. People and companies move across space over time, redesigning geography, impacting on its economic functions and transforming its real estate markets.

To understand the economy of cities it is essential to draw on two fundamental concepts: increasing returns to scale and externalities. For better or for worse, it is the many manifestations of the relationship between these two concepts are what lies behind much of what we see happening in our cities. We say that a technology exhibits increasing returns when, by increasing the raw material used, we achieve more than proportional gains in increased productivity. However, externalities are the unintended impacts, positive or negative, that we cause on our neighbours.

The best-known cases of increasing returns are technological characteristics of productive and managerial processes. Common examples are what occurs in many factories, power plants, or hospitals, when they grow. On the other hand, pollution – air, water, or noise – and traffic congestion are classic examples of negative externalities.

Mixing the two concepts, the increasing external returns to scale are found in labour markets, value chains, and the generation and dissemination of knowledge. A dynamic local economy does not explain everything, but it certainly is important to understand real estate prices in the surrounding area. An ocean view will always be worth something, but if it can be close to good jobs, then the potential will be enormous.

It is true that the dynamics of the housing market go far beyond the city boundaries. This was more than evident after the biggest global crisis since the depression of the 1930s began exactly in the US housing market, followed by a period of intense appreciation.

Could the real estate market in Brazil suffer something like this? Part of the answer is immediate. The Brazilian real estate market is very different from the American.

In particular, we have only just begun the development of financial instruments that bundle various real estate assets into marketable securities—so-called

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securitization. And the abuse of these instruments was a major cause of what happened in the US. In fact, the securitization of real estate assets is part of the natural maturation of the financial markets, and this development is certainly welcome in Brazil. But on the other hand, in the absence of adequate regulation, securitization can be used to hide the real risks involved in the financing that gives it structure and that allows it to dramatically expand investors’ leverage.

In addition, despite the last decade’s significant growth, real estate financing volumes are still modest in Brazil, if compared to other countries. Especially considering that the vast majority of those who contract a loan here do this to acquire their first property. However, unfortunately, these differences were not enough to produce a smooth adjustment in the Brazilian real estate market during the last recession—far from it.

The severity of the economic situation triggered objective and subjective factors that played very strongly against the health of the sector. In objective terms, we had the association of the deterioration of the labour market—more unemployment, less real income—with more restrictive credit conditions (higher interest rates, less risk acceptance). Subjectively, low confidence and renewed uncertainties drowned out decisions involving long-term payments. To complete the scenario, we cannot fail to mention that, on the supply side, many developers came out of a period of heavy investments and suffered serious difficulties with the slower pace, without considering the increase in cancellations, which made this scenario much worse.

The interaction between the macroeconomic context and the spatial factors creates the incentive systems that are reflected in the patterns of land occupation and the geographies of the real estate market. As in all countries, the distribution of population, wealth, and economic activity in space is very uneven in Brazil. We can look at these inequalities in different ways. On the one hand, we know that the Southeast region concentrates a disproportionately large share of the product and population. But on the other hand, it is also true that a large part of the population already lives in large cities across the country. And from a third angle, we know that many of the economic activities are concentrated near the Atlantic coast.

If these findings are true, there is no guarantee that they will remain so. What is perceived is that there have been deconcentration processes during the last decades. Other regions of Brazil have accelerated their growth, surpassing the rates presented by the Southeast. On the other hand, we witness the accelerated growth of a group of medium-

sized cities scattered throughout the country. Finally, we also witnessed the internalization of development, with the expansion of Brasília, Minas Gerais, and the interior of São Paulo, among other regions.

The structure of our urban system and the internal configurations of our cities are the result of developments that have taken place over the centuries—sometimes domestic, but sometimes global. Our cities are the result of migrations from all continents, voluntary or otherwise, as well as internal migratory flows. What would São Paulo be like without the Northeasterners? What would the Amazon be like without the Southerners? However, in general, we can say that the process of urbanization over the last decades has produced in Brazil a marked urban sprawl, associated above all with the tendency toward private occupation of space. Larger distances between work, leisure, services, and housing not only undermined public resources inefficiently, due to the need to expand the urban infrastructure networks, but also reduced opportunities for interaction in public spaces.

More recently, however, we have observed movements in the opposite direction. In some cities, there are indications that a growing group of people has been choosing and valuing an occupation of space that prioritizes public facilities and interaction with the city. The impacts of these changes on real estate geography are evident: the construction of more compact housing, revalorization of central areas, an increase in population density, and the encouragement of mixed uses of space. There are a number of positive points, such as allowing greater interaction between firms and individuals, and rationalizing infrastructure investments. But of course there are also challenges: to expand access to public transport is essential, and improving rules for cohabitation in higher densities is urgent.

Finally, in spite of this incipient process of revitalization of central areas, it is important to remember that a significant part of Brazilian real estate geography and economy remains on the outskirts of major cities. These territories, marked by poor infrastructure, poor housing, and informal land use often coexist with social indicators comparable to those of poorer countries or even nations in conflict. Differences within the built environment, between rich and poor regions of large cities, are possibly equal to the worst dimensions of inequality within the country.

Planning for urban development is by no means trivial.

However, the cost of not having a good strategy for our cities is high. Urban capital is a public good and everyone loses without it. And in this sense, understanding the interfaces between space and market as materialized in the functioning of cities, could not be a more central task.

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Danilo C. Igliori (São Paulo-sp, 1970) is a professor at the Department of Economics of USP and chairman of DataZAP Inteligência Imobiliária. He holds a PhD from the University of Cambridge, where he taught at the Department of Land Economy and received the Adam Smith Fellowship in Political Economy of Pembroke College. He is co-editor of Spatial Economic Analysis and has worked in the private and public sectors and international organizations.

Sergio André Castelani (São Paulo-sp, 1983) holds a PhD in economic theory from the School of Economics, Administration and Accounting of the Universidade de São Paulo (2014). A specialist in econometrics, space economics and urban economics, he is a lecturer on the Urban Economy course of the Continuing Education Program of the Polytechnic School of USP. He is chief economist at DataZap Inteligência Imobiliária.

Time for us to tear down this wall

Eudoxios Anastassiadis

muro mura a rua a rua mura o muro muro a rua mura morte ao muro arquitetura é rua1 There is a wall that separates architecture from the Brazilian real estate market. An invisible, impenetrable wall shrouded in a dense fog, as heavy as lead. This wall separates two cultures, two atmospheres. In no other country in the world is there a wall that is as high or thick, one that stands out as a monument to separatism.

Most architects stick to one side of the wall, with their own language, their influences, their culture. On the other side, there are the property developers, with their own rationales and culture. Without an open channel of communication, the two sides have been waging a silent war for over 40 years. The city suffers. The public suffers.

On both sides there are timid initiatives for peace and coexistence. Analysts of the confrontation are split: some say that there’s no way out, that the war has condemned both sides to stagnation and decadence, that there will never be peace. While others say the only way out for architects and property developers is to reunite the two sides and that it is possible to tear down the wall that divides what was, until the 1960s, a united and prosperous community. Who’s got it right? What does the future hold for these two groups?

Just as walls separate properties from streets, people from other people, the streets from people, people from cultures and so on and so forth, this invisible wall separates architects, on one side, and the designing of houses, buildings, housing, shopping malls and hotels,

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1. [the wall encloses the street / the street encloses the wall / the street enclosed by the wall / death to the wall / architecture is street].

on the other. Architects limit themselves to working on public projects that are socially relevant, and a small number of family homes for well-heeled, aesthetically conscious clients who worship their convictions. They see themselves as fair, collaborative and socially engaged with the citizenry and the city. Socialist ideology runs deep through the group, which clings to outdated worldviews, founded on the differences between left and right and on the modernist paradigms of the 1950s, long ago put to rest and studied as part of the history of world architecture.

They fight the property developers on the other side of the wall, who are seen as capitalists that destroy architectural culture with buildings of no cultural value and of dubious quality in any sense.

Architects who one day cross from one side of the wall to the other are practically outcast, accused of having sold out, considered a felony offense. As soon as they cross over, the dissidents are automatically downgradede, to a lower realm. They become pariahs of Brazilian architectural society. Few of their counterparts will speak to them, architectural journals thumb their noses at their designs, they are not invited to biennials, award ceremonies or lectures at universities. And, if they make some money, they are harassed and discriminated against. These isolated “traitors” are embraced by property developers who need their work, but they quickly conform to their culture. Poor dissident architect: he will be fed and domesticated as a pet by a race of beings who have little respect for the art and culture of architecture.

Property developers are the last group of people for whom they would like to work. They are greedy, pretentious, old‑fashioned, money-grabbing; and generally know little about design, history, nature, proportion and beauty.

Conversely, but with the same intensity, property developers want to work with yielding architects, focused on getting the most out of the land and building, who are good at layouts and understand legislation, and who are market‑oriented and able to accept direction from sales and advertising companies. If they can also innovate, as long as it doesn’t cost too much, better still; but it is not a prerequisite. Normally, property developers are good businessmen with domineering personalities, who want their will to prevail. In the end, it is their capital at stake, and the preservation of capital and the profit of the enterprise are the main objectives. They have studied engineering, economics, finance, law, administration, but very few are architects. Nothing could be more capitalist, right? The architect is just another service provider for their industry of creating and selling cubic meters at some profit. The architect is an input, like cement and steel. He should be treated with respect, but he is not the leading

man in this field. Not even as a market strategy is the status of the architect appropriately used; today, interior decorators (many of them excellent architects, by the way) receive more attention, not to mention the ever-present decorated apartments.

The basic formula for property development has changed little over the last 20 years: uninteresting buildings, with outdated and cheap spaces and façades; large, well-equipped common areas, flexible layouts, which please most clients and finishings that are either of low quality or absent. In this country, architects of buildings go largely unrecognized, absent in marketing efforts for developments, and even from building permits displayed at construction sites. Property developers see people on the other side of the wall as idealistic dreamers with strong cultural backgrounds who are of little worth in today’s business world. Ideological differences limit the dialogue between the two, because architects don’t know how to keep accounts and don’t prioritize profits.

So, although property developers need architects, they restrict themselves to consulting and working with the dissidents of that community, while completely ignoring the other side of the wall.

How and why did this division begin? And what was life like for these two groups before? In his recent work São Paulo nas alturas [São Paulo on the Heights], the journalist Raul Juste Lores provides a detailed account of this history. Elegantly, the author demonstrates that the architects actively participated, as vectors, or were themselves property developers on most projects undertaken in the São Paulo of the 1940s, 1950s and early 1960s. Real partnerships that promoted the growth and progress of the city were forged, with names like Franz Heep, Henrique Mindlin, the brothers Roberto and Artacho Jurado, Oscar Niemeyer, Rino Levi, Luciano Korngold, Gregori Warchavchik, Maria Bardelli and Ermanno Siffredi, Jacques Pilon, Giancarlo Gasperini, Francisco Beck, Alfredo Duntuch, David Libeskind, Samuel and João Kon, Israel Galman and Giancarlo Palanti, etc., resulting in the design and building of developments, that were popular and still are adored today by the architectural community. Buildings that combined good design and fine, modern finishings, appropriate for a Brazil full of optimism and expectations for growth. With the end of the “golden years” of the JK era, and the rampant inflation generated by the construction of Brasília, many property developers went bankrupt and many architects and property developers became impoverished. Shortly thereafter, starting in 1964, the brutal repression of the military dictatorship finished off the architectural community and its business aspirations. Many architects

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2. Research and documentation in Brazil state that this building was designed by a group led by Lucio Costa (Affonso Eduardo Reidy, Carlos Leão, Ernani Vasconcellos, Jorge Machado Moreira and Oscar Niemeyer), with Le Corbusier as a consultant. See, among others, Elizabeth D. Harris, Le Corbusier – Riscos brasileiros. São Paulo: Nobel, 1987; e Guilherme Wisnik, Lucio Costa. São Paulo: Cosac Naify, 2001. [n.e]

supported the Brazilian Communist Party, including Vilanova Artigas and Oscar Niemeyer, for example. Many were not only persecuted, but also marginalized from the new housing projects launched by the government, which were doled out to businessmen from many different backgrounds. The creation of the Banco Nacional de Habitação [National Housing Bank – BNH] and the rationalization of the processes took away the space needed to develop ideas. Architects hunkered down in the few available trenches: in universities, in some civil service jobs and in projects for homes for clients and admirers with considerable purchasing power, who were interested in buying something of prestige and quality. That was the breaking point; in the words of Lores, the divorce between architecture and property development.

We know that divorces are generally painful, and tend to create gaps and resentment. Unfortunately, this is what happened in our country. For example, you can count on your fingers the number of commercial and residential building projects designed by Brazil’s greatest living architect, Paulo Mendes da Rocha, winner of the Pritzker Architecture Prize and Golden Lion at the Venice Architecture Biennale. The same can be said about Oscar Niemeyer after 1964. In a city like São Paulo, with over 20,000 buildings built over the last six decades, why are there so few projects by the two most important representatives of Brazilian architecture? Perhaps it is a matter of ideological differences; obviously not a lack of talent. The thinking of leaders like these has a huge influence on new generations of architects.

The import substitution policy, defended by the military dictatorship for various sectors in the 1970s, was convenient for Brazilian architects. This model allowed them to design and build without any competition from abroad and created a xenophobic attitude: since then, no foreign architect has been welcomed. Instead of being treated as influences and disseminators of new technology, they were viewed as the enemy. The Instituto dos Arquitetos do Brasil (Institute of Architects of Brazil – IAB) pursued policies that fell in line with the usual mantra: closed economy, Brazil for Brazilians. It was a mindset that ended any chance of foreign architects working in Brazil. Just the opposite of what happened when the Swiss architect Le Corbusier came to Rio de Janeiro to design the Ministry of Education building, in 1936.2 It is unnecessary to mention the great influence that this project had on Brazilian architecture and modernism. In this complex cauldron, part of the wall was thus formed.

The same occurred on the other side of the wall. After the end of the era of the property developer-architects, others took their place and quickly introduced new ways

of building, based more on the fundamentals of industrial engineering and finance than on architectural principles.

The Brazil of the 1970s was growing again, forming a new cast of successful and confident businessmen, in a scenario where production, money and companies were valued. Architecture became an input; increasingly, it was annihilated as a driving force behind the sector. The side of the property developers ended up with lots of work and lots of risk, but adapted quickly to the economic game, despite the pitfalls and some frightening failures.

The architecture of the buildings was no longer a priority, giving way to cost, supply and demand, real estate financing and sectoral policies. The dialogue between aesthetics, design, layout and trends became irrelevant.

The market became the grand master and conductor of the entire machine. The result, unfortunately, is plainly visible in cities: from 1960 up until today, after the wall began to be built, the quality of architecture produced by the Brazilian real estate sector fell dramatically. Property developers, most of whom lacked the cultural repertoire to hold such an important position, just made things worse.

With their certainties, based on commercial results, and their conceptual shortcomings, combined with the power and influence of money, they added to the width and the height of the wall.

The results of this separation—and the consequent decline of the parties involved—are devastating. To cite some examples: (1) no leading school of architecture in Brazil consistently offers courses associated with property development. The same happens, with regard to architecture, on bachelor’s and master’s degree programs in property development. (2) There is practically no dialogue between the two sides of the wall, which is avoided at all cost; when it does occur, the discussion is difficult, and interspersed with hard feelings and accusations. (3) In our cities today we witness bizarre sights, such as buildings in the Mediterranean or neoclassical style (which dominated local real estate production for decades), the direct result of lack of discussion, dialogue and architectural culture. (4) If we compare this to what was produced around the world over the last 20 years, Brazil, which was at the forefront of architecture and urbanism in the 1950s, has become one of the most outdated and irrelevant markets on the world architectural scene. (5) There are almost no projects by important foreign architects, and the degree of internationalization and openness of Brazilian architecture is the lowest of the world’s largest 20 economies.

It is time for us to tear down this wall. And reunify something that should never have been separated. We need to create a dialogue and establish a culture in line

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with the highest values from around the world without delay. Architects and property developers need to adapt, become collaborative, expand their knowledge and share it quickly and generously, healing the wounds and sitting at the table to build a new pact. We need to quickly improve real estate market conditions, to create a fair and collaborative environment, a vector for technology and innovation. Schools and universities need to include these sciences in their curriculums. We need to overcome our fears and prepare ourselves to evolve on a global scale. We need to remove politics from the professional debate that holds us back and separates us.

Tearing down this wall will free us from the backwardness, discrimination and hurt.

Death to the wall.

Architecture is the street.

Eudoxios Stefanos Anastassiadis (SĂŁo Pauloâ&#x20AC;&#x201C;SP, 1975)is a property developer, administrator and architect at heart. He has been a partner at Anastassiadis Arquitetos since 1993 and founder and CEO of Alfa Realty since 2002.

8 Inhabiting the house or the city? the impact of the Minha Casa Minha Vida housing program How generous are the Brazilian housing programs in offering the right to the city?

The design of housing has been, historically, one of the main tasks of architecture. In the complexity of the current Brazilian housing demand, however, the architect and urbanist has had little space in which to act in this sector. There is a true wall, especially in what concerns low-income housing—whether because of the structure of governmental programs, the lack of alignment with the real estate market, or even because of self-construction.

This chapter discusses one of the most recent processes for the production of housing in the country, the Minha Casa Minha Vida [My House My Life] program (MCMV). As explained by Elisabete França and Rainer Hehl, it is not the first Brazilian experience with housing programs nor is it the only one with doubtful outcomes for the cities.

Launched in 2009, in the administration of then-President Luís Inácio Lula da Silva, the program fundamentally consisted of a federal macro-policy, implemented in municipalities all over Brazil up to 2015.1 The goal, described in law, was to subsidize the acquisition of new dwellings by lower-income populations. The political proposal was to create more than solely a financial instrument, but a means to ensure conditions for better housing. Not only furnishing roofs, the program attended to populations which, excluded from the large centers by the high cost of land, live in a precarious way, in areas without infrastructure around the peripheries of the Brazilian cities.

Like any product inserted in the logic of the real estate production, the MCMV program was conceived basically with an eye to profitability, seeking the most economic solutions possible, through standardized, quick and cheap processes, as described by Raquel Rolnik in her essay.

In terms of architecture, little consideration was given to the way of life of these populations, leading to issues in the adaptation of the residents.

Reports about scenarios encountered after the occupation of the projects indicates a series of modifications in

the original designs,2 ranging from the internal space to the outer walls. The construction of large walls around the single-story houses indicates how deeply ingrained the wall is in Brazilian culture.

The design of the interior settings did not consider ergonometric factors or familial differences: the same units were occupied by two people, as well as by much larger families. The images by Carol Quintanilha published here show the diverse ways in which the same spaces were appropriated.

The MCMV projects involve further questions. Among Brazilian dwellings, the houses facing the street still predominate; in the 2010 census, less than 13% of Brazilians lived in apartments or condominiums. Life in a walled community is not, therefore, natural for a large part of the population. Moreover, the families served by the program were not used to paying condominium fees or being charged for water and light. The new life style often outstripped their budget, pushing them into debt.

As stated by Marc Angélil and Rainer Hehl, considerations like these were ignored by the macropolitical field, even though there is an economic apparatus in place for maintaining the program. There was a lack of planning that considered the people that would become the residents of these places, as well as a lack of qualified professionals for programing this, such as architects.

From the urban perspective, consisting mainly of large monofunctional housing projects, the MCMV designs result in low interaction with their surroundings, while being, in their majority, detached from the commercial and cultural areas of the city.

This is shown in the photographic series by Tuca Vieira. Generally walled, they distance their residents from basic urban services (health, education, supply), depriving them of a healthier shared urban experience. It is nearly as though, in fact, the life of the residents was restricted to their house — my house, my life, in deed.

More than a strictly social program, however, the MCMV program represented, in the Brazilian macropolitical perspective, an opportunity to reactivate sectors affected by

the 2008 worldwide economic crisis, such as civil construction. The program generated more than 5 million jobs and produced more than 4 million housing units, which requires work and skill.

Although merits are evident in the MCMV program, the key point discussed in this chapter is eminently quantitative character of this initiative. In terms of quality, its inconsistencies range from the units themselves to all the social and urban relations established by this housing blocks. The scale and pace of production were prioritized in detriment to aspects such as materiality, spatiality, comfort and urbanity. The result was therefore a program established for sheltering the population but devoid of further reflection on what it means to live in society and the role of housing in this context. the MAP Prepared in collaboration with LabCidade of FAU-USP and the Federal Institute of Technology of Zürich (ETH), these maps analyze the scope and consequences of the MCMV program in Brazil in four aspects: Territory, City, Neighborhood and Dwelling.

A timeline about the production of housing in Brazil interrelates socioeconomic aspects with political events to shed light on generally imperceptible correlations.

The axes are structure in federal macro- and micropolitical developments since the 1930s, highlighting data such as housing deficit, GDP, population and amount of investments.

A map of Brazil highlights scale of the production of the MCMV program in each municipality and its respective demographic segment of users. Structured based on the noteworthy support of Rede Cidade e Moradia—a network of autonomous teams from one private and six public universities and two nongovernmental organizations that have studied the MCMV program since 2012— maps of five selected cities show the units produced for each demographic segment in each census sector, colored according

to the average income per household. This reveals the inequality of the production within the urban perimeters and the distance of the housing projects from the economic centers.

Cases in Ceará, Amazonas, Pará, Rio Grande do Norte, São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro serve as a basis for analysis of the different types of housing projects in respect to their insertion in the urban context. Finally, floor plans and axonometric drawings detail the different unit configurations and types of houses, duplexes and buildings, showing the clear rigidity of the architectural model applied.

1. Of the housing units contracted for the program, 5.51% were in Brazil’s North region, 24.3% in the Northeast; 38.70% in the Southeast; 19.38% in the South; and 12.02% in the Central-West. See Câmara Brasileira da Indústria da Construção—CBIC, Perenidade dos Programas Habitacionais. PMCMV: sua importância e impactos de eventual descontinuidade. Brasília, 2016. Available at: https://cbic.org. br/wp-content/uploads/2017/11/ Perenidade_dos_Programas_ Habitacionais_2016.pdf. Accessed on April 22, 2018.

2. Rafael Garbin; Andréia Saugo; Dustin Ferrari; Gisele Loli; Luciana Cristina Klein; Monique Danielli Xavier, Avaliação pós ocupação dos primeiros empreendimento do Programa Minha Casa Minha Vida, faixa 1 e 2 na cidade de Erechim-RS. Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul, 2016. Simone Barbosa Villa; Rita de Cássia Pereira Saramago; Lucianne Casasanta Garcia, Desenvolvimento de metodologia de avaliação pósocupação do Programa Minha Casa Minha Vida: Aspectos funcionais, comportamentais e ambientais. Instituto de Pesquisa Econômica Aplicada (IPEA), 2016.

Available at: http://www.ipea. gov.br/portal/images/stories/ PDFs/TDs/07102016td_2234.pdf.

Accessed on: April 22, 2018.

Tuca Vieira Marabá, 2013 From the series Viagem ao Brasil [Voyage to Brazil] Photograph

Carol Quintanilha concreto armado [reinforced concrete], 2014 Photographs

interview: Drauzio Varella

Drauzio Varella (São Paulo-sp, 1943) is a physician, cancer specialist and author. He studied at Universidade de São Paulo (USP), worked as a volunteer in prisons, such as the now-defunct Carandiru, in São Paulo. He was one of the founders of Curso Objetivo and one of the pioneers in AIDS treatment research in Brazil. He has become a constant presence in the media, talking about health to the public on TV and radio programs. His various books, including Estação Carandiru (1999), illustrate the breadth of his knowledge, which spans from Amazon forest medicines to the Brazilian prison system.

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Walls What are the greatest challenges facing national public healthcare regarding the urban development of Brazilian cities?

Brazil experienced a very rapid and massive process of urbanization. We are still dealing with the consequences. During World War II, 70% to 80% of the population lived in rural areas; today that ratio is inverted.

This urbanization occurred without any planning, with cities expanding from the center to the periphery. In the 1950s and 1960s there was a huge boom in the São Paulo real estate market; many people came from the Northeast and were able to find work immediately.

When I was a resident at Hospital das Clínicas, I saw the consequence of this uncontrolled urbanization: extremely high infant mortality. During a twelve-hour shift, we lost four children or more. Before the Sistema Único de Saúde [Unified Health System – SUS] was established by the Constitution of 1988, people who weren’t formally employed had no right to healthcare, they were considered indigent.

SUS was a revolution, it brought healthcare to the entire country. Brazil is the only country in the world with over 100 million inhabitants that was bold enough to offer free medical care to the entire population.

We have made a lot of progress, but with this urbanization it is very difficult to meet the needs of everyone. The size of the country represents the biggest challenge.

We have problems with organization and lack of management.

Evidence How does deficient housing and infrastructure in slums and outlying areas affect the public health system?

Because urban fringe areas grow without any planning, it is difficult to provide water and basic sanitation. How did we double life expectancy in the 20th century? Basic sanitation, vaccines and antibiotics, the three great advances in public health

for the century. Over half of the Brazilian population, the portion that lives on the urban fringe, still has no access to basic sanitation. So we have diseases caused by infant diarrhea, complications from infections. The health system requires great organizational complexity to meet these two types of needs: chronic diseases and serious and contagious diseases.

Side effects What are the effects of social segregation between the center and outskirts and the long commutes between home and work on the physical and mental health of the low‑income population?

For a long time much of the population encountered great difficulty in finding enough to eat; today the greatest problem is obesity. There are now many obese men and women on the outskirts of town. First, because carbohydrates are cheaper than protein. Second, because many lead lives that leave no time for exercise. They catch the train, two hours to get to work, two and a half hours to get home; they arrive at 9:30 in the evening and go to sleep. The following day they get up early to go to work. On their Sunday off, the men sleep, because they’re tired, and the women clean the house. This schedule is very unhealthy, because there is no extra time to take care of one’s own health. People only have weekends off, and that’s when the health clinics are closed. If something becomes more chronic, like high blood pressure, it is difficult to schedule an appointment during the week, for fear of missing work and losing one’s job. People end up neglecting their health, which leads to more serious complications down the road.

Behavior and micro-politics What is the connection between housing conditions and urban crime? How does a lack of job opportunities on the outskirts

of town affect the crime rate in major Brazilian cities?

The main problem is that the poorer you are, the more children you have. Today, many women have children when they are thirty or thirty-something, pushing the limit of fertility, because they want to have a career. It is the opposite of what happens on the outskirts of town. At the women’s penitentiary in São Paulo, I see 30-year-old women who already have seven or eight children. They start getting pregnant at thirteen and have one child after another.

There are 28-year-old women who are grandmothers; there are 40-year-old women with three great-grandchildren.

You would also sell drugs under these circumstances. What’s the alternative? You stopped going to school. Men disappear completely. In homes on the outskirts of town, typically we see a 50-year-old woman who looks eighty, one or two daughters and grandchildren. The woman’s pension supports the family. What kind of future do these children have? The mother works, spends all day out, and arrives home at 10 o’clock in the evening. The children spend their time in the street.

There are three risk factors, scientifically proven, with regard to urban crime: first, abuse or lack of affection during childhood; second, an adolescence without limits or discipline; third, living with violent parents. This is the norm on the outskirts of town, and it’s a wonder that Brazil isn’t more violent.

We find crime in every social bracket, but in the poorest brackets crime takes on epidemic proportions—this is what we’re seeing now. In Brazil, 25% of young people between 18 and 25 years of age do not study or have a job. These kids spend their time talking on street corners, smoking marijuana. If you listen to their conversations, they only talk about jeans, girls, motorcycles, sunglasses, this is their world. Young people that come from poor families with lots of siblings are raw material for organized crime. All the ingredients needed for an explosion of crime are there.

Experience in the discipline Considering your experience in the correctional system, how is the overcrowding of prisons related to life on the outskirts of town and the war on drugs policy?

The main cause of crime is a lack of prospects. Overpopulation is directly associated with the war on drugs. In the women’s penitentiary, 60% or 70% of the 1,200 women were arrested for drug trafficking. Trafficking is a way to improve prospects, you can raise your children right, give them what they ask for. Today organized crime controls the prisons; these women leave prison better connected. In prison, people from different places meet who would not otherwise, and this fosters the formation of a criminal organization. When they get out, most of the ex-convicts return to drug trafficking, since no one gets a job after spending time in prison. We have no serious programs for social rehabilitation.

Those who have been able to save some money open a small business, buy a cart or a small bar. But this cannot compare with the money that you can make from drugs.

Transformative potential How can public housing and health programs be integrated to promote better quality of life in cities and fight crime?

Housing programs appear to limit themselves to taking an area of the city and building small houses or buildings and that’s it. When you travel by plane or car you see those small identical houses, without a single square. Providing a house is not enough. What are the minimum conditions necessary for housing? Having a house, a place for leisure, near schools— so that children don’t have to travel into the city—health clinics, health programs, basic sanitation. All of this has to come together. It’s the minimum amount of public infrastructure necessary. Housing has to be part of a larger project, and not an end in itself.

559 KM

315 KM

STAT E O F S Ă&#x192;O PA U LO

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map Inhabiting the House or the City?

Social housing landscape Cities with 100,000 or more inhabitants Number of housing units MCMV Social vulnerability Non urban area SĂŁo Paulo city

Ways of living in the 21st century: my home is my city

Elisabete França

Large-scale housing production became a social issue at the end of the 19th century, primarily in response to the unsanitary conditions of industrialized European cities—to which rural populations flocked in search of employment and better opportunities. This was the unprecedented first wave of migration to modern cities.

In the second decade of the 20th century, Europe faced World War I, which divided the old empires and decimated cities and populations; World War II broke out just two decades later, which transformed the continent into a battlefield and displaced millions of people from their regions of origin. At the end of this troubled period, and as a consequence of the destruction that devastated the large European cities, the postwar governments had to find solutions to produce housing on an industrial scale.

Many of these experiences serve as a guide today, most importantly those in which housing, considered vital to rebuilding the city, was integrated with services to meet the needs of residents. Scale production was based on the assumption that quality designs would meet the housing needs of modern society.

In contrast to the good practices that were developed mainly in European cities, other projects failed, primarily as a result of low quality construction, the proliferation of standardized, faceless designs, and the locations selected on the outskirts of cities, which resulted in long commutes for residents.

The experiments conducted in European countries in the two postwar periods, with ramifications in the United States, allowed the creation of a platform of knowledge and expertise known as “good and bad practices”. If, on one hand, the initial European experiences in large‑scale building showed it was possible to insert social housing into the urban environment in an integrated way with

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1. Charles Jencks, The Language of Post-modern Architecture.

New York: Rizzoli, 1984.

a series of public services, on the other, the housing projects that proliferated in Soviet bloc cities, as well as projects built in various US cities, resulted in the formation of isolated enclaves, separated from the city by real and imaginary divides, along social and racial lines. The housing concentrated in these projects was not integrated with services essential for city life, most importantly access to health and education. As a consequence, they were stigmatized as not being part of the city, or as representing a danger.

In general, these housing projects followed patterns defined by the modern movement: large residential blocks interspersed with greens and other public spaces. Over time, forgotten by the government, they began to deteriorate, especially those built with low quality materials; and then crime rates and alcohol and drug use began to rise, primarily among young people and adolescents.

The result of the experience of the large urban housing projects was clearly illustrated when the American architect Charles Jencks announced that “modern architecture died in St Louis, Missouri, on July 15, 1972, at 3:32pm”,1 at the exact moment of the implosion of the 33 towers of the Pruitt-Igoe housing project. It was believed that this model—so dear to architects who subscribed to the concepts of the first International Congresses of Modern Architecture (CIAMs), influenced by the ideas of Le Corbusier—could be replaced by new ways of producing housing, especially when designed for low‑income families.

Unfortunately, Jencks’ prediction did not come to pass and, even in the 21st century, many countries continue to reproduce the “bad practices” of the past. In Brazil, where the modern tradition had and continues to have a strong influence, the first large housing projects, built in the 1950s, revealed a desire by architects to apply the best standards of the modernist tradition to their projects.

Among various examples, the Pedregulho Housing Project, built by the Department of Popular Housing of the Federal District, under the direction of engineer Carmen Portinho, and designed by the architect Affonso Eduardo Reidy in 1947, is the most notable example, and stands out for the elements that distinguish Brazilian modern architecture internationally.

This sequence of good housing projects, which was only getting started, was interrupted when the military took power in 1964. The creation of the Banco Nacional da Habitação [National Housing Bank], which proposed transforming “the dream of home ownership” into a reality for those in medium and low-income brackets, was one of the central strategies of the new government, designed

to garner support from certain sectors of society for their authoritarian project.

This period resulted in mass construction of housing complexes that were generally of low quality, and that reproduced inappropriate typologies for the land on which they were built, while ignoring specific local conditions, such as climate, or the need for materials appropriate for each region. At the time, it was believed that the dream of home ownership would strengthen the economy, through investment in construction and the creation of thousands of jobs.

Job creation and infinite resources: the same myths surrounding huge engineering projects had been perpetuated during the construction of Brasília. Inflation, corruption and the displacement of people, sub-products of the myth of grandiose projects as the solution for the country’s ills, still haunt us today.

During the almost 20 years of the BNH, over one million homes were delivered to low-income families, most of them rapidly integrated into the enclaves and thus isolated from the city. Living far from central areas, families have no choice but to make exhausting journeys—long daily commutes on public and informal transportation—to get to their jobs or to public equipment like schools and health clinics. Still under the influence of the modernist tradition, the BNH housing projects intended to fulfill only the function espoused by the Athens Charter: a place to live. In this way, no provisions were made for commerce and services, which resulted in residents having to travel to do their daily shopping or in the establishment of informal local markets and service providers, which proliferated by the thousand in the empty spaces of the condominiums.

In a short period of time, the BNH housing projects were transformed into pens of symbolic exclusion so common to Brazilian cities: a part of the urban territory that is not considered as such.

Once again, a number of lessons could be extracted from the results of adopting this approach to producing housing. The same model, centered on the same solution, for the entire country: housing projects built on cheap land, in regions far from city centers, in opposition to the existing city. In the model adopted by the BNH, the principle of integrating housing with the city was not a guideline; the project focused only on the mass construction of housing units.

Some of the housing projects produced manu militari have come to represent the mistakes made during this period: Cidade de Deus and Vila Kennedy, in Rio de Janeiro, and Cidade Tiradentes, in São Paulo. Each of these complexes was inhabited by thousands of people,

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who were forced to travel for hours on a daily basis for any of the advantages offered by the city: employment, health and education services, and activities associated with daily life, such as commerce and leisure.

In contrast with the solution found for Pritt-Igoe, the housing projects produced during the BNH period, over time, saw an increase in population, crime and isolation from urban life. The residents, in their own way, sought to reduce the deficiencies of these enclaves by seeking out alternatives that would transform these places into something resembling a city. They began by expanding their houses—often occupying the entire lot—whenever space was needed for a shop or local service. Next, they envisioned the possibility of verticalization, by building one, two or three new floors above the original structure—to house growing families or new families that had emerged, or to generate extra income through the rental market.

To a certain extent, these neighborhoods have remained isolated from the city, as a consequence of the unreliability of public services; the absence from city land records is not unusual for these areas. One of the most dramatic consequences of this way of producing housing was the exponential growth in urban crime, coinciding with reduced access to quality education and opportunities for employment.

With few exceptions, the housing production of this time—a sad moment in Brazilian history—only expanded the imaginary barriers that separate rich from poor, who are still striving to integrate with the city. And, although the results are plain, once again, no lessons were learned.

In contrast to what the strategists of the military government envisioned, the growth of the cities continued to occur on a progressive scale, accompanied by urban sprawl. While the propaganda claimed access to the dream of home ownership by the poorest segment of the population, the reality is that housing production financed with resources from the BNH served only a tiny portion of the population.

The dream quickly devolved into a nightmare of neverending debt, due to the inflation and various economic crises of the 1970s and 1980s, in tandem with the decay of the housing projects. The nightmare would extend to the group of cities that saw the number of slums grow within their limits, which were classified in official discourse as “subnormal,” “spontaneous,” “uncontrolled,” “informal” or “marginal”. This was the type of land occupation encountered by populations that were migrating to the cities, and who began to compose the Brazilian urban landscape, as a stark portrait of a non‑inclusive process of urbanization, inattentive to the needs of the poorest.

21ST CENTURY: NEW TAKES ON OLD PRACTICES And this is the urban environment that we find in the 21st century. Brazil has had a democratic government since the start of the 1980s, with a new Constitution in place since 1988. The urban population has risen to 80% of the country’s total. Metropolitan regions are home to millions of people, with São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro with populations of over 10 million, followed by Belo Horizonte, Brasília and others. All with impossible demands to be met in the short and medium term, all with accumulated deficits in infrastructure and public equipment.

In this process of urban expansion, the areas occupied by the low-income population extend into environmentally vulnerable terrain, such as conservation reserves along streams, hillsides with accentuated slopes and tracts with protected vegetation and natural springs. In addition to the fragile state of these settlements, the lack of sewer systems aggravates the conditions, resulting in high rates of urban water pollution.

It was this state of fragility and growing precariousness that prompted the Brazilian government, in 2009, to reinstate the BNH model, concentrating efforts and resources on the mass production of housing projects which became the Minha Casa Minha Vida [My Home My Life] program. The name already indicated the strategy adopted in the configuration of the project: produce housing on a large scale, with a view to meeting the needs of low-income families, with high subsidies funded through the federal budget—but primarily through the Fundo de Garantia do Tempo de Serviço [Government Severance Indemnity Fund - FGTS]—while also attracting public support for a political platform of the party chosen to govern the country in 2002, and its political allies.

Similar to the projects implemented by the BNH, the same formula is repeated in the making of the new official program: building housing projects in areas far from city centers, as a consequence of the shortage of low-cost land in more central zones; construction quality that does not stand the test of time; and the adoption of typologies that are not always suited to local conditions.

As a result, the problems continue, both with regard to the quality of the buildings and the deficits in public equipment and mobility that the municipalities have inherited, with no financial means to correct them. In February 2017, the Ministry of Transparency published a study that found construction problems in 48.9% of the program’s “bracket one” houses, set aside for families that earn up to two minimum salaries. There were also problems found with regard to the lack of community

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equipment, as well as deficiencies in drainage, sewer systems, sidewalks and public lighting.

In addition to the construction problems, residents face the same old issues related to urban mobility: access to public equipment and jobs requires long daily commutes.

In many cases, the new houses are abandoned and the families return to their old neighborhoods, oftentimes slums, that tend to be closer to basic urban services.

According to the propaganda for the program, it is the largest in the history of the Republic, with around US$120 billion invested between 2009 and 2017. It is important to note that only 21.4% of this amount was set aside for lowincome families, the so-called “bracket one” group. Once again, the country invested in a single housing program, whose return on investment will be a deficit in services and problems for cities.

Like the BNH, the Minha Casa Minha Vida program was not sustainable as a model to meet the demand for new housing, nor reduce the country’s housing shortfall.

Nor did it contribute to reducing the number of slums or families living in situations of risk. More recent numbers show the growth of verticalization in existing slums, as another perverse effect of the economic crisis that began in the mid 2010s.

Over a period of 50 years of our history, government administrations twice decided for the mass production of housing projects as a way of attracting sectors of society, especially low-income families, to the dream of home ownership, always supported by segments that are benefited by this policy and dependent on the significant investment of financial resources. Both times, society saw its dream transformed into a reversal of fortune that can be illustrated by the daily reality of these areas detached from the city: a case of generalized shortcomings, aggravated by the spiraling violence, almost always associated with drug trafficking.

BREAKING DOWN BARRIERS: NEW WAYS OF PRODUCING HOUSING AND CITIES In the last two decades, Brazilian cities have seen an increase in inequality that has resulted in areas marked by undesirable social segregation. To face the challenge of transforming excluded areas, we have to courageously break with the single solution approach so often seen in government policies.

The city of the new century, the one we know and in which we achieved our best desires, was built, in part, using these official parameters. Another sliver of the same city, however, was erected by the residents

themselves, who, lacking in mechanisms to access official housing, built their own houses in areas that were not of interest to the official city. Gradually, and through collective efforts, they built the necessary infrastructure to serve their immediate needs; only afterward did the government begin to heed the priority concerns of these poor neighborhoods.

An example to be followed in the search for housing solutions can be found in the social networks that the residents establish, which help them to endure the difficulties of their daily lives. For these neighborhoods and their residents, every effort should be made to build a participative approach to public policy-making for housing, unlike those used in the past. A long-term policy that recognizes the diversity of our urban problems and composed of various solutions, capable of resolving each issue identified in the cities; that reactivates the programs for urbanization of the slums, associated with the production of new housing for families in situations of risk; that invests in the use of existing housing in central areas, as well as encouraging the production of housing in this region; that prioritizes the legalization of these neighborhoods, by including them in official land records.

The imaginary walls will only disappear against a backdrop of diversity and belief in the collective building of solutions that respect the diversity that exists in the various territories that compose the richness of each of our cities.

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Elisabete França (Curitiba-pr, 1956) has a PhD in architecture.

For the past three decades she has coordinated housing, environmental and urban development programs in the city and state of São Paulo. Among other works she has published Arquitetura em retrospectiva: 10 Bienais de São Paulo [Architecture in Retrospect: 10 São Paulo Biennials –2017], a research project originating in 2002 when she was curator of the Brazilian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale.

The urban invisibles and the walls that confine them

Raquel Rolnik

August 2016. In the middle of the vote to impeach President Dilma Roussef, Caixa, the public bank tasked with operating the Minha Casa Minha Vida [My Home My Life – MCMV] program, announced that, over the previous seven years, it had contracted 4.5 million houses and delivered 3 million units in 96% of Brazil’s 5,570 municipalities.1 Over 1,000 houses a day spread throughout the urban and rural areas of Brazil, in a program focused on low-income families, with subsidies as high as 96% of the price of the properties. Never before, in the history of Brazil, has a program achieved this scale or speed. In seven years, more housing units were produced than in the 22-year history of the Banco Nacional de Habitação [National Housing Bank – BNH], an agency established during the military dictatorship. Moreover, the housing for the Minha Casa Minha Vida program was focused on lower‑income brackets than housing policies of the past.

January 2013. Cristine, a resident of Vivenda das Patativas, a Minha Casa Minha Vida complex located on the Estrada do Campinho, in the western zone of Rio de Janeiro, ended up losing her job in a market in Nova Iguaçu after moving to the complex: “They [the employers] thought that the bus fare would be too expensive. To get there, I would have to take three buses.

My husband works in the Barra, and has to take a bus to Campo Grande and then another from Campo Grande to his place of work.” Carolina, another resident, adds: “Buses around here run only until 11:30pm. After that, there are only vans.”2 In the introduction to a book that consolidated the work of 11 research groups from different regions of the country, organized by Rede Cidade e Moradia, the Minha Casa

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1. “Minha Casa Minha Vida vai ultrapassar a marca dos 3 milhões de unidades entregues”, Agência Caixa de Notícias. Accessed on: 01/08/2016. Available at: www20.caixa.gov.br/Paginas/ Noticias/Noticia/Default. aspx?newsID=3943, Accessed on 13/03/2018.

2. Alessandra Duarte and Carolina Benevide, “Sem transporte para Minha Casa Minha Vida”, O Globo, 07/01/2013. Available at: oglobo.globo.com/brasil/semtransporte-para-minha-casaminha-vida-7224679. Accessed on 13/03/2018.

3. Caio Santo Amore, “Minha Casa Minha Vida para iniciantes,” in Caio Santo Amore, Lúcia Zanin Simbo, Maria Beatriz Cruz Rufino (eds.), Minha Casa… e a cidade?

Avaliação do programa Minha Casa Minha Vida em seis estados brasileiros. Rio de Janeiro: Letra Capital, 2015.

Minha Vida program was presented in the following terms

by Caio Santo Amore:3 Let’s suppose a Brazilian had lived through the years of struggle against the military dictatorship, witnessing rapid and concentrated urbanization and the emergence of urban social movements.

A Brazilian who had accompanied the road building policy that encouraged horizontal urban growth and sprawl, the authoritarian housing policy of the BNH, which broadly benefited the middle classes and built public housing complexes of low quality on the outskirts of cities, and the “real” housing policies that relegated lower-income populations to slums and precarious settlements. Let’s suppose that this Brazilian had fallen into a coma in 1986, isolating him, therefore, from any news from Brazil or the world, and that he had emerged from that coma in mid-2014.

Upon waking he would receive an avalanche of news: he would learn of the constituent process and the Citizen Constitution; the first directly elected president after more than two decades, who would have to, in the middle of his term, step down from office after strong popular protests; of his successors, who would all serve two terms in office: the sociology professor, the blue-collar worker who led strikes in the 1980s, and the militant of the armed struggle during the years of dictatorship.

He would be informed of changes in the currency, of years of recession, alarming levels of unemployment at the start of the 1990s, which led to a dramatic increase in crime in the slums, of controlled and runaway inflation, and of the resumption of growth. He would probably be shocked to learn that 83% of our population is now living in cities, and that urban problems have only gotten worse: traffic, crime, pollution, occupation of environmental protection areas, precariousness and lack of housing. He would be informed that, in his “absence,” BNH was closed down, urban and housing policy was handed back to states and municipalities and only after 17 years was a ministry established to address the problems of cities.

They would tell him that a housing program launched in 2009 achieved a scale and speed never before seen, and that housing production was carried out on an industrial scale. […]

Perhaps, after the initial shock, after imagining that an urban revolution had taken place in Brazil or that, finally, a socio-territorial pact of inclusion for workers had finally been accomplished, if

our Brazilian friend were to visit our cities and, in particular, the outskirts of the cities, he would perhaps question to what extent any of this had actually happened. […]4 An analysis and understanding of a housing program the size of Minha Casa Minha Vida requires a broad and careful look at its political and financial design and its indelible impacts on cities, which go beyond a more immediate analysis of numbers or urban and architectural appearances of the housing projects.

Minha Casa Minha Vida is, above all else, a “brand,” under which is organized a series of subprograms, types, funds, lines of credit, housing typologies, agents and methods of accessing the product “home ownership,” this being the characteristic that unifies the different experiences.

Minha Casa Minha Vida is, at its origins, an economic program. It was conceived by the Ministry of Finance and the Casa Civil [Chief of Staff], in dialogue with the real estate and construction industries, and launched as a Provisional Measure (MP 459) in March 2009, as a way of countering the so-called mortgage finance crisis that had just resulted in the collapse of banks and impacted the world’s financial economy.

At this time, the Ministry of Cities played a relatively minor role. Since 2003, the ministry had been taking a more measured approach to building policy for a system of cities and housing of social interest. It had tried to implement the National System of Housing of Social Interest (SNHIS) and the National Fund of Housing of Social Interest (FNHIS)—conceived in the first bill of popular initiative, presented to the national Congress in 1991 and passed in 2005—and conducted a participatory process of drafting a National Housing Plan. But the administration decided on the proposal from the construction industry, which, threatened by crisis, had already, by going public, entered the global financial market, betting on the economic potential of producing mass housing.

This anti‑cyclical move was predicted to create jobs in a sector capable of mobilizing other associated sectors, including the mining industry, producers of basic construction materials and the furniture and home appliance industry, which is activated as soon as the keys change hands. […]5 The official presentations that accompanied the launch of the program used quantitative data on the housing shortage—at the time calculated to be 7.2 million units, 90% of them concentrated in the income brackets of three minimum salaries or less,

294 4. Id., pp.11-12.

5. Id., p.15.

6. Id., p.17.

7. Lúcia Zanin Shimbo, Habitação social de mercado: A confluência entre Estado, empresas construtoras e capital financeiro.

Belo Horizonte: C/Arte, 2012.

8. Id., p.211.

70% in the southeast and northeast, almost 30% in metropolitan regions—to show that MCMV would reduce this deficit by 14%. Of the one million units initially promised, 400,000 (40% of the target) were to be set aside for families with incomes of up to three minimum salaries, which would be made possible by an investment of 16 billion BRL in federal funding (70% of the entire investment).

The program took a simplistic view of the housing problem, reducing the policy to the production of new units, with private builders in charge, who, upon compliance with the minimum requirements, were tasked with purchasing the land and developing the housing projects.6 The government would guarantee buyers for the construction companies, and since the future residents could get financing and subsidies, there was no risk associated with the business. The program assigned decision-making power regarding project location and design to private agents. However, the only criterion guiding the decision-making of these agents was profitability. Given that the ceiling for prices and the dimensions of the units are pre-established, the profit for the builder is based on the cost savings achieved during the production process. These savings are obtained through standardization, scale (number of units produced), speed of approval and construction, and the cheapest possible land.7 The result of this financial equation is the construction of large standardized projects in the city’s worst locations, that is, where the land is cheapest. The standardization of the housing typologies is closely related to the standardization of the production process, which involves the standardization of measurements, materials and components as well as methods of execution and management of the construction sites. This explains, for example, how a company could have produced “40,000 units in one year, using only three housing typologies in over 70 Brazilian cities”.8 The standardization, both in the size of the units and their internal arrangements, results in a mismatch with family size and, more importantly, an inflexible layout, which, throughout the family cycle, does not allow for the incorporation of economic activities or accommodation of relatives.

The theme of location, in turn, is directly related to the effects that easy credit and income growth had on land prices, primarily in big cities. Given that, in most Brazilian cities, jobs, services and economic and cultural opportunities are concentrated in small portions of the middle and high-rent areas, these locations saw their prices skyrocket. For this reason, housing projects

for “bracket one” families are clearly spread around the outskirts of cities, in places not only distant from central areas, but also homogenous from a social perspective. If the program was able to reach a segment of the population that historically went unserved by federal housing initiatives, it did not change the traditional pattern of placing them on the city’s outskirts.

It is a concentration of large housing projects, with standardized typologies, focused on a specific income bracket and inserted in a monotonous urban fabric, with little diversity of use—although, now, there is a minimum of basic equipment and services in the surrounding or neighboring areas.

If, on an urban scale, the location hides the presence of poor people, by blocking access to the city, on a neighborhood scale the shape of a closed and walled condominium, required for vertical projects of the program, reproduces fortified enclaves in the urban fabric of the consolidated outskirts. This fabric, which was created in a fragmented and disconnected manner, is not transformed or revitalized by this policy.

On the other hand, a walled condominium requires residents to pay a monthly maintenance fee. Interviews with residents of MCMV in cities in the state of São Paulo show that, although the mortgage payment is not seen as burdensome, when the condominium fee is added, the total jumps to almost 40% of income for “bracket one” families. In many of the projects studied, residents in arrears with condominium fees and conflicts resulting from maintenance problems, the responsibility of residents/owners, foreshadow a possible collapse in the maintenance of the projects within just a few years.

The cost burden on residents is even greater if we consider charges for water, electricity and gas. This impact primarily affects resettled families, who have suffered forced removal, since the new residence brings with it expenses that many of them did not have before, because they benefited from clandestine connections for water and electricity, for example, and certainly because they did not have to pay condominium fees.9 This issue brings us to another side effect of the program: the availability of an instrument to resettle families removed because they inhabited areas of risk or were in the way of large projects. The program enabled removal policies on a massive scale, resettling residents of various slums into large complexes on the outskirts of cities. In this case, the displacements contributed clearly to “adjusting” the value of land, removing the low-income families from more central locations and resettling them in homogeneously very low-income household regions.

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9. Raquel Rolnik, Guerra dos lugares: a colonização da terra e da moradia na era das finanças.

São Paulo: Boitempo, 2015.

Since the times of the First Republic, slums have been seen as unregulated, lawless places and, therefore, the appropriate place for disorder, crooks and criminals. This idea ends up justifying, for example, the destruction, shootings and victims left behind by police when they enter slum residences. This idea feeds another, and has been repeated for at least 50 years in Brazil: that housing policies should remove residents from these places and relocate them in walled housing projects, formalized, legalized and ruled by the market, with little or no dialogue with those involved, based on a model that reaffirms exclusion and confinement. In this way, despite the huge investment of public resources, set aside for those who need it most, the walls that define the pattern of socio-spatial segregation of Brazilian cities are reaffirmed and updated by the program.

This text is based on a study on the program Minha Casa Minha Vida [My Home My Life –MCMV] carried out by a network of independent teams, who analyzed different aspects based on a research project approved by Conselho Nacional de Desenvolvimento Científico e Tecnológico (CNPq) and the Ministry of Cities, in a public notice announced in 2012. Rede Cidade e Moradia [City and Housing Network] included, in addition to the specific objectives for each group, a common subject of analysis: the urban insertion of housing projects. The following groups took part: LABCAM FAU-UFPA (RM Belém and southeastern Pará); LEHAB DAU-UFC (RM Fortaleza); LaHabitat DARQ – UFRN (RM Natal); Praxis Escola de Arquitetura –UFMG (RM Belo Horizonte); IPPUR-UFRJ (RM Rio de Janeiro); CiHaBe PROURB-UFRJ (RM Rio de Janeiro); Polis-SP; NEMOS – CEDEPE – PUC-SP (RM São Paulo / Osasco); LabCidade FAUUSP (RM São Paulo and RM Campinas); IAU-USP São Carlos + PEABIRU (RM São Paulo); IAU-USP São Carlos (Administrative regions of São Carlos and Ribeirão Preto).

Raquel Rolnik (São Paulo–SP, 1966) is an urbanist, professor of urban planning at FAU-USP and coordinator of LabCidade. She is a lecturer and full professor at FAU-USP with a doctorate from New York University, and has served as coordinator of urbanism at Instituto Pólis, director of urban planning for the City of São Paulo, secretary of urban programs for the Ministry of Cities and special rapporteur for the UN for the right to adequate housing. She is the author of the books O que é a Cidade, A Cidade e a Lei, São Paulo: história conflito e território and Urban Warfare: Housing and Cities in the Age of Finance, also available in portuguese and in spanish.

Minha casa, Marc Angélil, nossa cidade: Rainer Hehl on the micropolitical transformation of housing provision in Brazil MINHA CASA MINHA VIDA With the slogan “My House My Life” the Brazilian federal government launched in 2009 one of the world’s largest social housing programs—Minha Casa Minha Vida was introduced, on the one hand, to address the housing shortage most acute for low-income families, and on the other, as an anti-cyclical policy in the climate of international financial crisis. Though the program has been successful in terms of quantitative output and has been instrumental in staving off the deep impact of the 2008 global financial crisis on the Brazilian economy, the spatial quality and social equity engendered by resulting housing developments are widely perceived to have fallen short.

The ambitious project stands for the contradictions between economic performance and social agendas and illustrates how urban resilience and the sustainable development of cities can only be achieved through the integration of micro-political movements. Most of the 3.64 million units (IBGE, November 2017) that have been delivered since the program was started were developed top-down by state institutions and large-scale construction companies without consideration of specific local needs, resulting in mono-functional commuter settlements that were poorly built on the basis of standardized models.

Consequently Minha Casa Minha Vida schemes have been implemented throughout the whole country in a generic way without considering urban services and in remote locations where land is cheap. Even though the goal to turn low-income populations into homeowners significantly reduced the housing shortage in Brazil, Minha Casa Minha Vida ultimately fostered urban fragmentation and social divide. The promise to change the life of Brazilians by giving them a house neglected the fact that

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houses inevitably constitute cities and the way we organize social relations and collective life. What is more, the case of the program also shows in an exemplary way how housing provision is instrumentalized by macro-political players in order to prioritize individual interests and undermine micro-political movements.

As a matter of fact, the micro-political dimension of housing production is of particular significance as it concerns the private home, the most intimate place for the production of subjectivity. But, at the same time, the individual housing unit is also constitutive for the public sphere reflecting macro-political conditions. The housing question therefore always has to be approached from two anglesâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;from the top-down perspective of governmental institutions and policies as well as from bottom-up appropriation and popular production. In Brazil, the dichotomy of micro- and macro-politics is most explicit in the contrast between the self-produced living environment of the favela and the standardized units of state-led housing programs. Whereas popular production mirrors the aspirations and negotiations of the people on the ground, large-scale housing provision by the state rather follows current modalities of capital flows and corporate interests. How do these seemingly opposing models impact the production of livelihoods? How do they determine the relationship between individual and collective and how do they influence our subjectivity? How do macro-political conditions control the way we inhabit the city and how far we can conceive micro-political action as a counter project to the dominating logic of capitalist production?

The premise that the house determines the way we conceive the society as a whole is double fold. New urban realities that have been established through quantitative models in order to subordinate individuals under the logic of capitalism do not necessarily reflect the production of subjectivities by the people. An inclusive approach that would enable the co-existence of a diversity of social entities therefore would depend on intensive interactions between top-down governance and bottom-up actors. Is the proliferation of invisible walls and the urban divide due to the fact that macro- and micro-politics are disconnected?

CIDADE DE DEUS If we look at the history of housing development in Brazil, we realize that macro-political forces and micro-political impacts have always been strongly entangled. The case of Cidade de Deus [City of God] in Rio de Janeiro is exemplary in this respect. Due to the book by Paulo Lins, a former resident of the area, and the internationally

renowned movie, the neighborhood became stigmatized as a ghetto—as a typical Brazilian favela dominated by criminal factions and social decay. In reality, Cidade de Deus did not begin as a favela at all, but was rather a new town modeled as proto-suburb and built in the mid-1960s on the western periphery of Rio, more or less in the same way as the Minha Casa Minha Vida schemes would be developed half a century later.

The model for the settlement originated in the United States and was brought to Brazil under the Alliance for Progress, a program introduced by President John F. Kennedy in 1961 to establish economic cooperation between the US and Latin American countries. There was a geopolitical objective here, not least of which was to stem the tide of Communism in the region and promote political and economic reform across the continent. The program promoted the spread of capitalism by encouraging homeownership and providing decent living conditions as a means of boosting the middle-class, an agenda identified by historian Gerald Haines as the “Americanization of Brazil”.1 The neighborhood was conceived to accommodate roughly 10,000 people, manifesting a formal solution to remove favela dwellers from the city center and concentrate the poor in a remote location requiring long commutes to places of work downtown.

To house those displaced, two standard models were brought in, the typical free-standing, one-story, single-family house stamped out side by side, and five-story, walk-up apartment blocks, or conjuntos, with 35-square meter units.

Over time, more and more settlers moved in and ongoing urban to rural migration further exacerbated the dilemma of an already overcrowded Cidade de Deus. Illegal building activities soon ensued to make room for those displaced, setting off an explosion of unregulated, ad hoc solutions to expand on existing building types. In-between spaces were filled, porches added, impromptu stores and workshops inserted, and extra floors built on top of original houses, all of which gradually created an ingenious bricolage of autoconstruction that basically removed the gloss of modernist planning to reassert the popular culture of the informal.

Cidade de Deus degenerated into a crime- and drugridden hellhole in the 1980s after the fall of the military regime, becoming a full-fledged favela run by an alliance of organized crime and corrupt police. In response to the spiral of criminal action that was haunting the place, a solution was sought in the late 2000s by deploying special police units formed to pacify the troubled community and win over residents traumatized by decades of violence: the Unidade de Polícia Pacificadora [Peacekeeping Police Unit - UPP]. The tactic worked and produced during a certain time a popular neighborhood that in turn offered a potential

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1. See Gerald K. Haines, Americanization of Brazil: A Study of U.S. Cold War Diplomacy in the Third World, 1945-1954.

Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1997.

model of self-empowerment and urban rehabilitation. But, according to recent reports, the transformation of Cidade de Deus into a peaceful precinct was short-lived. Due to budget cuts and the weakening of the UPP, the neighborhood is gradually sliding back into its previous conditions.

DÉJÀ-VU? It seems like déjà-vu when it comes to the comparison between the history of Cidade de Deus and those of the Minha Casa Minha Vida settlements. Laid out in a similar manner, either with suburban single-family houses, or 5 story condominiums, most of the newly built settlements have already started to degenerate after only a couple of years. It is also striking to see how the program was equally fueled by foreign capital in order to boost investment and produce an emerging consumer middle-class for the expansion of the capitalist market. Are we now witnessing the repetition of the Cidade de Deus debacle multiplied by millions of units and distributed nationwide?

The comparison might not match all the various manifestations of Minha Casa Minha Vida settlements that have recently been built on the outskirts of the Brazilian cities. But a closer look between the political conditions back then and now actually reveals another uncanny resemblance. Whereas the implementation of mass housing schemes in the periphery of the cities in the 1960s has to be read in the context of the coup d’État by the military and the installment of an oppressive regime, we are now facing another kind of take-over by the elites of industrial and financial capital, which largely outpaces the scale and the impact of corporate power relations. What is striking is not only the quantity of the ongoing production of mass housing compared to the output half a century before, but also the way in which power is exercised and consolidated, following now perfidious strategies that go far beyond the direct and violent oppression characteristic of the dictatorship during the military regime. With the installment of Michel Temer as president after the impeachment of Dilma Rousseff, the political agenda was radically geared towards the interests of large scale market players and international investment capital. While an alliance between corrupt politicians, jurists, the financial elite and the media is cementing their power by changing the Constitution and removing opposition politicians through dubious scandals and criminal investigations, social agendas and democratic institutions are systematically dismantled.

The turn toward an autocratic system that just follows corporate interests is not only undoing the achievements stemming from decades of bottom-up mobilizations and

social struggles. According to psychoanalyst and culture critic Suely Rolnik, the new strategy of the financial elite also consists in directly influencing and manipulating the way subjectivity is produced.

While (in the wake of the second phase of the coup d’État) the macro-political operation of dismantling the Constitution and the national economy is intensifying, the micro-political operation of production of subjectivities by manipulating the desires of the people is also intensifying. With this double-fold operation of two facets that cannot be dissociated, another third and ultimate phase of the coup d’État is about to be prepared: the complete takeover of political and economic power by globalized capitalism.”2 It is not surprising that the standardized units of Minha Casa Minha Vida are matching the housing types as they were developed in the early phase of mass housing in Brazil. Conceived as a tool to promote and consolidate capitalist production, housing provision was ultimately established in order to direct and control the reproduction of life itself. It is also clear that this strategy is far from aligning with the goal of producing sustainable and equitable urban environments.

While the outlook for a change in dominating macro‑political constellations seems hopeless at the moment, the focus on micro-political transformation might be more promising. With the mobilization of bottom-up strategies and civic engagement the people themselves can again take control over the way their livelihoods are produced. But, as the case of Cidade de Deus also illustrates, if popular production takes over and appropriates standardized models provided by the market, it still remains uncertain whether informality and popular appropriation can lead to more inclusive and sustainable environments. What sort of micro-political counter‑model, would truly allow the production of sustainable and equitable cities?

TOWARD COOPERATIVE PRACTICE It seems ironic that the same program that was producing urban fragmentation and a social divide also bears a potential solution for the dilemma of standardized social housing provision dominated by market interests. As Minha Casa Minha Vida was introduced under the leftist government of President Lula da Silva, it also factored in the promotion of self-management and auto-construction by communities and non-governmental organizations. The idea to create a special branch of the program dedicated

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2. Rolnik, Suely, A nova modalidade de golpe de Estado: Um seriado em três temporadas. Avaiable at www.outraspalavras.net/ brasil/666381. Accessed on March 16, 2018. Translation by the author.

to self-organizing entities was based on the mutirão [joint effort] model developed by the municipal government of São Paulo under mayor Luisa Erundina between 1989 and 1992. With the introduction of public housing policies that encouraged cooperative development, assisted auto-construction cooperative associations were given autonomy in the management, financing and design of the project, which also led to an increase of operating entities and offices for technical assistance. The experience of the Municipality of São Paulo triggered similar housing developments in other cities, and subsequently, the State Government of São Paulo established guidelines and state regulations for the promotion of housing cooperatives.

Accordingly, knowledge gained in São Paulo left its mark on federal programs, such as the Crédito Solidário [Solidarity Credit] initiative introduced in 2005, and finally within the framework of the Minha Casa Minha Vida program.

Even though only 5% of the overall budget was dedicated to Minha Casa Minha Vida – Entidades [Entities], it enabled local organizations to build-up capacities for housing models that are adapted to the needs of the inhabitants and to the specific conditions of the local context. The Entidades program is standing for the attempt to integrate bottom-up organization within the framework of top-down institutional practice and it can be considered a first step towards inclusive housing provision empowering micropolitical mobilization within the macro-political scale.

There still might be a long way to go until cooperative and participative practice will be considered an integral component of sustainable urban development. While dominating macro-political power constellations are increasingly threatening the production of inclusive and equitable cities, the lesson from the social housing history in Brazil shows us that the next urban revolution will depend on cooperation and micro-political empowerment.

Marc Angélil (Alexandria, Egypt, 1954) is Professor at the Department of Architecture of ETH Zurich.

His research focuses on social and spatial developments of large metropolitan regions world wide. He is the author or editor of several books, including Cidade de Deus! on informal mass housing in Rio de Janeiro, Indizien on the political economy of contemporary urban territories, and Cities of Change Addis Ababa on urban transformation in developing countries. He practices architecture at agps, an architectural firm with ateliers in Los Angeles and Zurich. Marc Angélil is a member of the Board of the LafargeHolcim Foundation for Sustainable Construction.

Rainer Hehl (Rottweil, Germany, 1973) is an architect/urban designer and is currently guest professor at the TU Berlin and visiting professor at Yokohama National University, Graduate School of Architecture. Between 2010 and 2013 he directed the Master of Advanced Studies in Urban Design at the ETH Zürich conducting research and design projects on urban developments in emerging territories with a focus on Brazil. In addition to having lectured widely on urban informality, popular architecture, and hybrid urbanities, Hehl was advisor for the development of new guidelines for the mass housing program Minha Casa Minha Vida. Rainer Hehl holds a PhD from the ETH, Zürich, on urbanization strategies for informal settlements, focusing on case studies in Rio de Janeiro.

9 Solid divisions: borders within the city How unrestrained is the trespassing of limits between disparate urban fabrics?

The chapter Solid divisions explores the theme Walls of air from the urban scale, a subject familiar not just to architects and urbanists, but also to anyone who lives in a city. Although the themes in previous chapters all have repercussions on the urban environment, here the purpose is to discuss the barriers that physically exist in neighborhoods and between buildings.

Barriers that are easily perceived by its inhabitants.

In Brazil, over 160 million people live in urban environments, a group that is larger than the total population of countries like Japan, Mexico or Germany. Urban dwellers are distributed over 100,000 km2 and the building of Brazilian cities to accommodate this contingent was characterized by inequality and segregation on local and regional scales. As Rodrigo Agostinho writes in his essay, the population did not arrange itself in the urban space in the best possible manner, but rather as best it could.

Although the majority of the Brazilian population live in cities, the urban population increase has not always meant higher densities. Instead of concentrating in central areas, the population is distributed in an irregular manner. The old urban centers were not able to host the new inhabitants, who came from other countries or regions in Brazil, and they ended up settling in distant neighborhoods with less infrastructure and amenities. The population dispersion is widespread in Brazilian cities and, at the same time, is not restricted to the less privileged parcel of the society.

Even with the denser areas of cities being seen as places of entertainment, culture and work, urban problems such as pollution and insecurity—which escalated between the 1970s and 1980s—began to affect the daily lives of the inhabitants, encouraging people with higher income to move to non-central areas. Added to this fact are models of urbanization imported from the United States and England, a constellation of suburban neighborhoods is being created at a time when the urban fabric is spreading.

The promise of better family life, away from congestion and guided by the use of

individual transportation, has transformed closed condominiums into a frequent scenario in Brazil. The urban centers, in turn, due to the lack of housing policies for the low- and middle-income population and the centrifugal movement described above, were increasingly being emptied and homogenizing their functions.

As the Brazilian metropolises are seeding—or failing to fight against—these expansion movements, several externalities of the lack of planning become common to all of them: insufficient infrastructure; channeled and polluted rivers; lack of green areas and public spaces of coexistence; excess of highways without efficient public transport, etc. Gradually the urban territory is fragmented into disconnected pieces and the wall, a misplaced solution for the mediation of spaces, becomes the protagonist of this landscape, now divided and monitored. Life is less and less public and shared only among people from the same social groups, inside controlled enclaves.

Although the history of the urbanization of Brazilian cities has praiseworthy proposals to overcome barriers in cities and rethink their spatial configurations, it is noticeable how many times the destruction of a barrier ends up with the construction of a new one, as pointed out by the groups GRU.A and OCO in their essay. The Flamengo Park, in Rio de Janeiro, for example, spectacular from a technical standpoint and as a public space, hides social, economic and environmental issues, which are contradictory to its original proposal.

Infrastructure that, instead of connecting parts of the city, create physical barriers, are also common elements in the urban landscape. This is a recurring theme in work by the Spanish artist Antoni Muntadas, represented here. Drawing parallels between large transportation works and public monuments, he criticizes the transformations in the urban landscape that result in technical or economic progress only in detriment of local identity.

Against this challenging backdrop, there are also those experiments that present opportunities and possibilities

for change. The essay by Bruno Santa Cecília refers to notable results created by architectural projects such as the Copan building and Ibirapuera Park. In addition to governments, he reminds us, the private enterprise also plays a fundamental role in the creation of qualified urban experiences.

Alternatives for reinventing the collective space are also the theme of reflections

by Marcos Rosa. Why not look at streets, avenues and highways as possibilities?

The opening of emblematic roadways such as Paulista Avenue to pedestrians, on weekends, and the public demonstrations held on the streets of large Brazilian cities are ways of confronting urban barriers.

Reversing the logic of segregation that has been created in Brazilian cities is not a simple task. Unlike the right to collective urban space, the privatized physical wall is regulated by the Civil Code.1 A new approach to think about cities is needed for the building of a less unequal society, as Gilson Rodrigues proposes in his interview. The will and necessity of resistance to the diffusion of these patterns of exclusion is not minor, and is represented here in brief records on the 2013 protests in Rio de Janeiro through the eyes of Pedro Victor Brandão.

To conclude, this chapter is closely connected with the projects selected in the public call and presented in the final section of this book. If here walls are identified, there proposals for how to breach them are presented. Ideas such as the walkway by the architects Sauermartins + Metropolitano or the Escola sem muros [School without walls] by Sem Muros Arquitetura Integrada, are solutions capable of bridging the adverse conditions that surround them.

Farol da Maré [Maré Lighthouse], by Pedro Évora, and the project by the group Gru.a and Pedro Varella are fine examples of the possibility of overcoming physical barriers by opening new views from which to reflect about the city. Each of the seventeen projects fight in a specific way against the conditions of impediments imposed by their contexts, not restricting themselves to the present limitations but imagining alternative possibilities. They remember, as the

geographer Milton Santos put it, that “[…]

The world is a set of possibilities and not just a set of realities […] other worlds can be created from the same materials”.

The map The map proposed to draw attention to the problem of intra-urban borders, brings a selection of 30 Brazilian cities, distributed among the five regions of the country.

Each of them presents the overlap of topography and road infrastructure to create their background. This information is, however, treated with a graphic abstraction that omits markings of coastal line, water, green areas or any other elements conventionally used to represent cities. On this resulting canvas, urban barriers are drawn.

Large ruptures in the urban fabric and stark contrasts in the built morphology of cities, which suggest moments of division, are identified from the rich database developed by QUAPÁ (Quadro do Paisagismo no Brasil), a research developed at FAU-USP since 1994 that examines the main structures of the urban form and the systems of free space of Brazilian cities This research is the source from which the different types of physical divisions were extracted to be displayed on the map. Of the 23 categories surveyed by QUAPÁ, 10 were considered barriers to be shown in the Solid Divisions map.

To these categories colors were applied— to differentiate them from each other—over satellite images—to show the reality on the ground. The resulting mosaic becomes a mixture of painting and map, with the beginning and the end of each city not clearly marked, where the fragments of the extracted divisions construct a patchwork of real moments of urban separation.

1. ” See Brazil, Law no.10.406, January 10, 2002: Código Civil [Civil Code]. Available at: http:// www.planalto.gov.br/ccivil_03/ leis/2002/l10406.htm. Accessed on: 24/04/2018.

Antoni Muntadas in collaboration with Paula Santoro On Translation: Comemorações urbanas, 1998-2002, São Paulo Bronze plaque, postcard, and website

Pedro Victor Brandão From the series Mitigação sem impacto (Convite à pintura) [Mitigation Without Impact (Invitation to Painting)], 2013 Inkjet print on cotton paper

interview: Gilson Rodrigues

Gilson Rodrigues (Bahia, 1984) is a community leader in Paraisópolis, a favela in the south region of the city of São Paulo. He was president of the Paraisópolis Residents Union and one of the creators of Instituto Escola do Povo [IEP – People’s School Institute]. He is one of the main forces behind the Nova Paraisópolis project, created in 1994 to enhance life in the community through several local initiatives.

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Walls What are the main social and political divides separating Paraisópolis from the rest of the city of São Paulo, especially the so-called “formal” city?

The main divide is social inequality.

The more one advocates the separation between our rich neighbor [Morumbi] and Paraisópolis, the wider the gap between us.

What has recently changed in Paraisópolis is that the rich families, who have lived in Morumbi for many years and exploited the workforce of the favela, have come to understand that we need opportunities to be equal. Paraisópolis today has doctors, administrators, educators.

Today what separates a rich person in Paraisópolis from a rich person in Morumbi? I believe that once we pull down the “walls” in our minds and create opportunities for this population to get ahead, our country will make greater progress. What will unite us, and already does, is not money, but knowledge, access to art and culture. These walls tend to shrink when people realize their potential.

Evidence What physical barriers enhance the divide? And what are the dynamics of their construction and destruction over time, considering how fast the community is changing?

The main barrier is the state. Paraisópolis is in a special situation, since the government decided it would be completely removed one day. The idea was to oppress more and invest less, increasing the violence until people couldn’t handle it anymore. Then the state would intervene to repossess the land and remove people. However, the community started organizing itself and resisting.

Few neighborhoods in Brazil have clear boundaries of where they start and end. In Paraisópolis, when you cross the street

you know you’re in Morumbi, especially because of the mansions. There is a clear boundary, but there’s no wall stopping access to the other side.

In this sense, the last thing the inhabitants of Paraisópolis wanted was an avenue cutting across the favela. When Paulo Maluf was mayor (1993-96), there was a plan to open an avenue called Itapaúna. We were for it, but running outside the neighborhood. So we started “rerouting” it towards more vacant areas, so fewer people would be removed, which resulted in the current Hebe Camargo Avenue. The community’s concern was to avoid the avenue becoming a scar inside the neighborhood, which shows our desire for integration.

Side effects

When we created the “Paraisópolis das Artes” [Artistic Paraisópolis] project, our goal with the cultural activities was to change the way people viewed the favela, to make them think of its good points. To think of (projects like) Gaudí, Berbela,2the Orchestra (Paraisópolis Philharmonic) and not of violence, crime or poverty. To talk about walls today is a hindrance, especially those that don’t exist. The main tool to spread our ideas is cultural action, attracting people who imagine they will come up against a wall and showing them instead an open door. People naturally ask me about my background. One aspect that has favored good interaction is seeking relationships that do not limit or overpower us. We were able to establish relationships that strengthened Nova Paraisópolis and have shown that a community can achieve what it wants by organizing itself.

There is still much to be done, but we want to finish what we have started and pass on our beliefs and desires to the new generation we are educating.

What are the greatest side effects of such segregation for the city of São Paulo?

Situations such as that of Paraisópolis, the Antonico stream or the Grotão area1 affect human development.

Behavior and micropolitics Today, Morumbi faces the issue of street funk parties. Youngsters from Morumbi come to Paraisópolis to enjoy these dances, Do you believe there is resistance to such change within Paraisópolis itself? which used to be exclusively frequented The divide emerges when we start by locals. This affects the region, and addressing political issues. At the current the government’s failure to regulate moment in Brazil, when everything is these events reverberates throughout branded as corruption, someone might say the city. The same has happened in other that what we are doing is wrong. As in Brazil, neighborhoods. People pay attention to in Paraisópolis there are also different lines what goes on in the most famous favelas, of thought, but we are always seeking to like Paraisópolis and Heliópolis, and that build something that is common to all. has an impact, both positive and negative.

So our duty is to set an example to We built Nova Paraisópolis with a other communities. campaign called “All United for a New Paraisópolis”. And what is Paraisopólis?

A neighborhood. Regardless of political Experience in the discipline views, skin color or religion, we all want paved streets. That’s how we move forward, What barriers do you strive to overcome seeking consensus. We need to work with your “Nova Paraisópolis” [New for people to have the opportunity to be Paraisópolis] project? How can your whatever they wish to be. experience (as community leader) Paraisópolis harbors the outskirts of contribute to pulling down walls and how the outskirts. When the private sector can it be passed on to other people? and governments invested in urbanizing

Paraisópolis, some families were able to improve their living conditions. It is a very enterprising community: initially there were three organizations, today there are 62. Educational and cultural opportunities have expanded significantly. Nevertheless, some families have been unable to respond to these opportunities, especially those suffering greater impact from issues such as drugs or violence.

Today in Brazil there are 25 million illiterate people and it is in the interest of certain classes that they continue being unable to read and write. This has an important impact, both economically and socially.

While some had every opportunity possible in life, others had none.

Transformative potential What potential for change do community initiatives have? To what extent can we apply such lessons on a metropolitan scale?

People are impressed by how much has been done in Paraisópolis and the extent of the community’s commitment to and mobilization for change. Ten years ago it was all wooden shacks, fires and removal threats.

As we struggled to improve the streets, people started renovating their houses, the community became more agreeable, local businesses were regularized and new ones were attracted.

Recently we have suffered a setback due to politics, with occupations, widespread fires and landslides. This is an example of what happens when investment is discontinued and we lose a few million reais because works are interrupted.

In some neighborhoods of São Paulo one sees no people in the streets, they are isolated behind walls. And one good thing about Brazil is life itself—so it’s a good thing when people can make contact, relate, exchange experiences. Paraisópolis provides that, but such exchanges can generate both good and bad experiences. So we are preparing a generation with greater opportunities. It’s an ongoing process. I believe Paraisópolis is the greatest example

of an informal space that wishes to be formalized. However, it may not be possible to fit into existing rules, we must develop new processes.

1. Areas marked by high-density occupation, precarious housing and frequent flooding – in the case of Antonico – and landslides – in the case of Grotão.

2. Estevão “Gaudí” Conceição adorned his house with stones and other ceramic artifacts bought over the years. The nickname comes from the similarity with the Spanish architect’s work. Edinaldo “Berbela” da Silva, mechanic, uses automotive parts for the construction of handmade sculptures.

City center

ParaisĂłpolis: the most populous slum in SĂŁo Paulo

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map Solid Divisions.

Educational attainment Undergraduate/graduate degrees High school Basic education Incomplete basic education

S Ă&#x192;O PA U LO U R B A N A R E A

Contesting Marcos urban borders: L. Rosa cultural practices, design and the construction of urban situations

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PRELUDE: FLYOVER SÃO PAULO A helicopter flies over central São Paulo. From above, one peeks a homogeneous verticalized city sprawled over its topography. Away from its very center, road arteries cut through the territory, fragmenting large plots of land, characterized by uniformly built neighborhoods of one to three-story buildings, eventually interrupted by clusters of high-rises, other lower buildings enclosed in gated communities, business districts, shopping malls and other commercial enclaves, some more sparse mono-familiar housing neighborhoods and favelas.

At a newspaper stand, postcards exhibit a panoramic view, showing an extensive landscape of high-rises. That image “allows one, as they say, to capture the city at a glance”.1 However, that panoramic image does not match the multitude of images produced by urban life on the ground. In an exercise and effort of approximation to the lived city, the apprehension of the city from (a distant) bird’s‑eye‑view becomes problematic as it reveals the fact that the virtual, “branded” image has been separated from the real city, that of everyday experience.

A closer look at that territory demands a gaze at particular issues and the local scale: it demands an approximation with different agents and their perspectives.

At first glance, one might not see the city of the relationships. But the acknowledgement of several ways through which different actors collaborate in making place throws light on forms of co-production of the city.

That point of view questions the boundaries that enclaves and a car-oriented urbanism have imposed on urban design, indicating forms of experimenting in the planning and operation of collective space, resulting in innovative practices that overcome those same limitations.

1. In “Paris: Invisible City”, Philosopher and Anthropologist Bruno Latour takes a critical view on the panoramic vista used to represent a city, due to its distance and simplification of the real city. In that work, the static “virtual” image of Paris is later deconstructed based on processes that are unpacked on the local scale. See: Bruno Latour, Emilie Hermant, Paris, Invisible City. Paris: [n.d.], 2006, p.6.

In order to learn from the different actors, their questions, their demands and their agency, one ought to observe, to listen, to read, to question what one sees, to learn how to look at things from diverse perspectives; thus unveiling layers of the coproduction of the city beyond those designed by the architects or legislated for by policy makers. To unveil these “others” from a more palpable and complex perspective, a series of processes of mediation are unpacked: the structures, the relationships, and the operations behind the “static picture”.

ON THE GROUND At ground level, the image of sequential high-rises in postcards sold at newspaper stands makes little sense.

On the ground, life is busy and streetscapes are often not homogeneous, including sociability and cultural multiplicity. Buildings occupy the plots differently: from one-story houses to two to three story buildings, with doors by the sidewalk; from attached units to detached high-rises, set back on the lot and eventually isolated by walls and fences. In front of those buildings, to the side of them, behind them, across from them, what could be a hard frontier often makes space for a negotiation zone.

Everyday life unfolds in public space: self-made paving on sidewalks host chairs and tables; a barbecue stand and an improvised bench; a sarau, an evening reading session, overflows onto the street; an open air cinema is installed by the curb; a theater piece from the windows of a building attracts an audience sitting in car lanes; street food vans; pixo and street art covering façades; cardboard pickers” carts parked by the curb; plants cultivated on the sidewalk, a dinner on the footpath, doorsteps used as benches; piled up plastic chairs await to be put outside later at night.

Unlike a space where everyday life follows a pre‑established script, life unfolds in unexpected ways in urban space, brimming over, blurring and re-defining the preset walls, borders and limits. The observation of those traces reveals social and cultural practices that have been offering innovative insights about how to re-define borders, rethinking our relationship with collective space, the politics of use, the management and the making of urban space.

Despite the lack of awareness about the operational intelligence embedded in those situations, those are everyday urban practices that offer insight into the possibilities of reinvention of the site: from the experience of the space, to proactive participation in the operation of sites, collaboration in the making of place and in policy‑making and the development of innovative design processes.

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A CITY OF OPEN BORDERS? São Paulo has often been described as a fragmented city, appearing to be not the result of order, but of chaos.

The industrialization boom that began at the end of the nineteenth century and that has demanded successive migratory inflows to supply the city with a workforce, led the twentieth century to experience an increase in population of 7200 percent: from 239,820 (1900) to almost 20 million inhabitants (2011).2 Another reading of that phenomenon depicts the city as an agglomeration of buildings and people, built by the free exploitation of land (targeting profit), in which “urban space does not exist and has never existed, [what exists is] just a process of juxtapositions, discontinuities and fragmentation, one that does not stop and that transforms the entire city into an autophagic movement of value production and segregation”.3 The idea of a fragmented city is demonstrated in “borders” that today have been materialized into physical barriers such as walls, fences and surveillance cabins; examples are the gated communities, the shopping malls, business centers and even the slums, promoting life confined within controlled areas, protected and vulnerable, of high or low income. This fragmented space is an anticity with new forms of urbanity based on the denial of contact with the other.4 The confirmation of this fragmented territory— discouraging social interaction— contrasts with a São Paulo of open borders, perceived in the wealth of its ethnic formation (based on miscegenation, particularly in the last century): “[A city] that opened up the concrete possibility of individual and collective human development through the intensity of trade and social interactions”.5” Furthermore, it contrasts with a city that has recently experienced an intense cultural remix and resulting transformation of urban life. In Brazilian cities, this can be observed in “countless unpredictable events [that] establish temporalities, allowing for the emergence of situations, places and relationships otherwise never imagined”.6 The observation of São Paulo opens up the possibility to value and recognize its cultural diversity and its social groups, aligned with practices that impact the city’s urban culture as well as the experience of space in this contemporary city. A constellation of small-scale urban situations—triggered by a new attitude towards the use of urban space—relates to the production of urban culture and the reinvention of collective space.

That phenomenon reveals the effervescence in the production of space in that city—both by architects and

2. Marcos L. Rosa, From Large Scale Utility Infrastructures to Operational Networks: The Qualification of Local Space at Existing Large Scale Utility Infrastructure: A Method for Reading Community-driven initiatives, The Case of São Paulo.

Munich: Technische Universität München, 2015, p.334.

3. Leandro Mendrano, Luiz Recamán, “Espaços públicos na região central da cidade de São Paulo. O Telecentro Elevado Costa e Silva”, in Vitruvius Arquitextos, São Paulo, n. 07.075, August 2006, p.1. Avaiable at: www. vitruvius.com.br/revistas/read/ arquitextos/07.075/326. Accessed on: March 3, 2018.

4. Raquel Rolnik, São Paulo. São Paulo: Publifolha, 2001, p.77.

5. Id., ibid.

6. Wellington Cançado, “Utopias recreativas”, in Piseagrama, Belo Horizonte, n. 6, 2011, pp.43-48.

7. The Observatory of the 11th São Paulo Architecture Biennial has been set as an archive in process of construction, to support and guide the curatorial work of that edition of the event. It compiled an archive exhibited in different supports with hundreds of initiatives. See: Marcos L. Rosa et al, Catalogue: 11th São Paulo Architecture Biennial. São Paulo: Meli-melo, 2018, p.270.

non-architects—, and offers new voices that contribute to the understanding of practical collaboration and a notion of collectiveness shared in the coproduction and operation of the urban (space), thought as a place to encounter, to inhabit and to live together.

Through the organization of an Observatory, from 2016 to 2018, we have identified and documented urban practices with focus on São Paulo, and in relation to other initiatives in Brazil and the world.7 The compiled cases became an archive in construction that focused on the “operational relationship” of people with the city, contesting its fractures and fragmented spaces at various levels through a vast array of methods: –– The production of another imaginary of the city— present in cartographies, urban walks, photo essays, audio-visual material, performances, literature, devices for listening, signalization, guides, experimental acts etc.—; revealing, traversing and subverting invisible walls; –– New experimental practices—including temporary constructions, prototyping, test-actions, act drafts, gaming, mockups, place making, retrofitting etc.—; acting provocatively on urban scars previously produced in the city; –– Social innovation and technology applied to the urban context—found in slum upgrade programs, social housing policies, strategies for the improvement of urban settlements, manuals, open source projects, apps targeting collaborative management etc.—; exploring ways to overcome invisible walls present in an unequal social geography; –– Architectural practices that allow for one to rethink the impact of design in the urban space—initiatives that focus on the acknowledgement of forms of use and occupation of urban spaces, capable of informing legislation—; thus proposing a design practice that supports the real city and its urban culture, rather than one that fractures and discourages diverse forms of expression in the city.

The nature of urban design can be re-thought based on this observation of our contemporary cities. Design practiced at different fronts—such as the ones listed above—and forging diverse levels of collaboration, may generate structures that are open for life to unfold, thus transforming its initial framework. Perhaps these should be conceived as an open and unfinished membrane, rather than impermeable barriers that discourage encounters.

In light of a contemporary urban culture, design might be employed to define the city as a structure that is open to

different temporalities, constantly establishing new codes in the physical space. As in the Theory of Moments,8 design would conceptualize the space to host situations, using the idea of “play” as a subversive strategy to change the modern, spectacle city, turned into a city full of (ludic) possibilities.

THE REINVENTION OF URBAN SPACE “Space, itself, is social.”9 The political nature of the social act, of participating in the reinvention of the place, offers chances to operate with the goal of convening the collective into a common project. “The space, as agent and product of social action, is a cultural record. It records in its inhabited morphology the site as it was, the action that built it and the possibilities for its reinvention.”10 In spite of that, to a great extent, the design of our urban spaces fails to respond to the demands observed in the use of space itself. It is there, that social relations and cultural manifestations collide with their spatial materialization.

The forms of contestation of the spatial limitations acting as borders—from the wall to the road artery— carried out by architecture and cultural practices, situate alternatives to reinvent common space.

The proposed dive, from the bird’s‑eye view to the eye-level perspective, suggests an approximation of architectural practice to other knowledge, with the goal of revealing forms of contestation of the barriers and walls built in the city, materialized in interventions in the urban space.

This study of design in relationship to life in urban spaces supports a direct criticism of the correspondence between content and form, materialized in the modern discourse, and questions the universalization in design proposed by the implementation of that idea. In doing so, it alludes to the possibilities of manipulation and intervention by people and the design practice that could be offered by those spaces, as an alternative to the normative discipline and prescriptive character of the functional city, which, as described by Cançado11 still determines a controlled city that keeps trying to overrule the drifts and derivations, typical of the urban nature.

Eventually the “wall”—in the various ways it presents itself—serves as an architectural support for human action, or provokes its own transgression, leading to the construction of situations and “places”.12 It is then re-codified as meeting points, from which one apprehends its own quotidian in a transformed way, repurposing the relationship with the neighborhood, based on the integration of fragmented structures through common activities.

328 8. Developed in parallel with Situationist International, for which the “play” element and the “playful man” (homo ludens), prepared the site to turn into a city full of ludic possibilities. For the IS, play is a subversive strategy to change the modern, spectacle city. See “The Theory of Moments and the Construction of Situations”, Internationale Situationniste, Paris, n. 4, june 1960. Available at: www. notbored.org/moments.html.

Accessed on: March 3, 2018.

9. Geographer Milton Santos argues that the territory is formed by the technical basis plus social practices, or a combination of technical and political. Milton Santos, A natureza do espaço: técnica e tempo, razão e emoção.

São Paulo: Edusp, 1996. p.260.

10. Id., ibid. p.22.

11. Wellington Cançado, op. cit.

12. Marc Augè describes lieux (places) as spaces defined through their relationship with the history and identity formed by that relationship.

See Marc Augè, Não lugares. introdução a uma antropologia da supermodernidade. São Paulo: Papirus, 1994.

Marcos L. Rosa (SĂŁo Paulo-sp, 1980) is an architect and urban planner (FAU USP) and holds a doctorate degree in Regional Planning and Urban Design (Technical University of Munich). His work includes research, teaching, publishing and design, with focus on urban strategies. He has researched at the Alfred Herrhausen Gesellschaft (with the London School of Economics) and taught at the Technical University of Munich, Escola da Cidade and the Swiss Federal Institute (ETH). He has published extensively, given lectures, participated in critiques and workshops worldwide.

His books include Microplanejamento: PrĂĄticas Urbanas Criativas (2011), Handmade Urbanism, From Large Scale Infrastructures to a Operational Networks (2013) and Co-designing the City (2017).

Bridging and Rodrigo breaking down Agostinho barriers

People have chosen the city. Over 84% of the Brazilian population lives in urban areas (IBGE, 2010). According to the United Nations, by 2050, cities will gain an additional 3.1 billion inhabitants.

Unfortunately, the driving force behind this trend is not always so noble, and largely ignored by decision-makers. Millions of people have adapted as they can to a life packed together in large urban centers, many subject to an appalling scarcity of quality public services and high rates of exclusion in every sense.

In 5,570 Brazilian cities, 11 million people live in slums (IBGE, 2010), whole areas lacking basic sanitation. In the absence of the state, indicators for violence are horrifying: over 60,000 homicides annually (IPEA, 2017). Brazil also has 12 million unemployed (IBGE, 2018), the worst traffic jams in the world—which rob years of life from everyone— and the fourth highest motor vehicle fatality rate on the planet, with 47,000 victims per year (WHO, 2016), more than any armed conflict today. What can be done? How can we address these problems and challenges? What are the real obstacles? How do we deal with the lack of resources and affordable projects? (And all of this without considering the new—and major—challenges that may arise in the future, with climate change: cities without water, threatened by forest fires or submerged under rising seas. Perhaps the most resilient are prepared for the change, but what about the rest?)

On the other hand, Brazilian cities are also the largest public and private hubs for health, education, science and technology, with more and better jobs, transportation, digital inclusion, spaces for

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1. Edward Glaeser, Triumph of the City. New York: Penguin, 2011.

2. Jan Gehl, Cities for People, Washington: Island Press, 2010.

3. Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York: Vintage Books, 1992.

practicing sports and a diverse and cosmopolitan culture. It is in this sense that Edward Glaeser holds up the city as society’s best invention in his book Triumph of the City.1 Cities need to reconnect people with each other, with efficient services and quality public spaces. According to Glaeser, the mixture of ideas, values and cultures that occurs in the urban environment does not only expand the frontiers of knowledge but also makes us more empathetic, productive and creative.

Many successful experiments recently conducted in Brazilian cities point to more sustainable paths and solutions. Organizations like Instituto Ethos, Rede Nossa São Paulo and Rede Social Brasileira por Cidades Justas e Sustentáveis have demonstrated this with their Sustainable Cities Program, which uses an immense database of good practices and management approaches based on indicators for the 17 Sustainable Development Goals of the United Nations (Agenda 2030). Today, 172 Brazilian cities, responsible for 50% of the country’s population, have already joined the program.

Never before has there been so much talk about habitability, mobility, inclusion, protecting rights and entrepreneurism. Strategies to cope with these challenges are being discussed everywhere.

Cities are now receiving titles—intelligent, creative, healthy, educational, resilient, sustainable. So it would appear that people already know what they want. But how do we get there? How do we make cities more attractive than repellent, integrate more than segregate and unite more than disperse, as Jan Gehl proposes in his book Cities for People?2 According to the author, cities possess a human dimension. First we shape them—and then they shape us.

“How can we ensure the health of these large living organisms that are cities?” asks Jane Jacobs in The Death and Life of Great American Cities.3 Written in 1961 and the first to call for change in the way we build our cities, the book is still current today.

How do we produce quality urban planning, capable of providing affordable solutions and transformations for large urban agglomerations, as proposes Anthony Ling, creator of the website Caos Planejado? And moreover, how can we recycle and renovate existing spaces under a new paradigm of cohabitation? How do we make the city, this real manifestation of human culture, actually serve its purpose, without walls and visible or invisible barriers? According to Ling, there

are urban management tools, involving public and private spaces, that could help us with this challenge: equalization and optimization of urban land use; elimination of zoning that segregates residential and commercial activities and mandatory setbacks; land legalization; the creation of shared spaces; municipal ownership of sidewalks and the elimination of parking spaces. These measures may appear controversial, but would help to change urban planning.

For other problems, solutions can be found through technological development: in the Fourth Industrial Revolution, everything will be monitored, cars will be autonomous, lighting will be controlled at a distance and cities will be self-cleaning.

Everything will be operated through the Internet.

But experiences from around the world show that solutions to these problems already exist and they don’t necessarily need to be associated with technology. Oftentimes small, simple and cheap is best. And sometimes, the solution is hidden in plain sight. A current example is the war on cars. Streets and avenues are being closed to cars, to make room for cyclists and pedestrians, and parking spaces are being eliminated; in turn, the public is increasingly occupying public spaces in a healthy manner. These are relatively simple approaches, but can change people’s lives and the face of cities.

Perhaps the pursuit of more inclusive and sustainable cities requires the participation of the public in all phases of drafting public policies. Yes, that same dialogue that existed in the Agora of ancient Greece over 2,000 years ago, and which has been gradually left by the wayside. Bureaucrats, designers, the real estate market and authoritarian public administrators stopped listening to people.

And this is how our cities have gotten to this place.

Jane Jacobs emphasizes: “We cannot treat cities as one big architectural problem.” To face the unexpected urban challenges that arose with the rural exodus of the 1960s, many types of rules were created for cities—zoning laws, municipal codes, construction regulations, land apportioning laws and master plans—but always with a great distance from the public and local reality. It was urban planning conducted behind closed doors.

History shows that this does not work. It is important to work with residents, with each of the living sectors of a city. Planning has to take into account the needs of people. Unfortunately, despite this knowledge, the recently implemented

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program Minha Casa Minha Vida [My Home My Life], the largest affordable housing program in the country’s history, involving millions of units, repeated the same mistakes of programs of the past—notably, taking people to distant locations away from central areas, where the price of land is low and the availability of basic public services is poor. The program could have taken advantage of urban spaces to make cities more compact, for shorter commutes. It is not a matter of disparaging the project or its merits: thanks to this program many people who did not have a place to live now have a roof over their head. But everything could have been different if the public had been sufficiently consulted.

In 2001, after a broad debate and long maturation period, and with engagement from institutions like Instituto Pólis, Federal Law no.

10.257 was passed, establishing the Statute of the City, and regulating articles 182 and 183 of our Federal Constitution. The law is clear. It is designed to promote full development of the social functions of cities and urban property, whereby urban policy is conducted through democratic management, with participation from the public and representative associations from various segments of the community in the formulation, execution and monitoring of plans, programs and projects for urban development. In this way, participation was established in law and required in transforming instruments, such as master plans. But what kind of participation are we talking about? The kind that legitimizes political processes? Or the kind that takes advantage of local knowledge to build sustainable strategies?

Perhaps we should consider this for a moment.

Participation that involves a wide variety of social actors and government is key to determining strategic measures capable of breaking down existing paradigms and barriers. And this process of building and empowering spaces with multiple levels and actors is more transparent. It is a pursuit of innovative and sustainable solutions coproduced by citizens and government. Civil society knows this. In many Brazilian cities, even in the absence of government, people gather together, discuss and propose creative solutions to urban challenges. In the megalopolis of São Paulo, hundreds of entities discuss and transform the city, even when the government doesn’t appear to be interested in listening.

Experiences with Rede Nossa São Paulo, which recently monitored the entire process of developing the city’s Master Plan, and that of Arq.Futuro, which transparently discussed each of the major urban themes, deserve a round of applause. Even local initiatives, like efforts by Fundação Tide Setúbal to transform a very underprivileged neighborhood, like São Miguel, in the city’s eastern zone, into a national benchmark, show that it is possible to make a difference.

Recently, the World Bank recognized, in its World Development Report (WDR 2017), that the decision about who is allowed a seat at the negotiating table, in the process of designing and implementing public policies, can determine the effectiveness of the solutions ultimately proposed by authorities.

In other words, participation in the formulation of public policies is decisive for their success. The report also said: “The success of policies depends on governance. To be effective, they need to improve commitment, coordination and cooperation.”

This is nothing new: many other studies have concluded the same thing, defending democratic societies. None of them, however, had the backing of such an inscrutable institution as the World Bank, which in the past has financed government projects marked by an absence of social control, by accusations of corruption and for irreversible damage to the environment and traditional communities—in addition to not necessarily being very successful at promoting development and quality of life.

In the same direction, initiatives began to emerge that dialogue with the New Urban Agenda adopted during the United Nations Conference on Housing and Sustainable Urban Development (Habitat III), in Quito, Ecuador, at the end of 2016. The document advocates that cities and settlements be participative; promote civil engagement; engender a sense of belonging and appropriation among all of their inhabitants; prioritize safe, inclusive, accessible, green and quality public spaces, appropriate for families; strengthen social and intergenerational interaction, cultural expression and political participation.

In Brazil, the pursuit of participation in the life of cities is relatively recent: gathering strength only 30 years ago, with the approval of the Federal Constitution of 1988. Cities began to create thematic councils with the participation of civil society organizations. Many of these

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councils evolved from mere advisory functions, or exclusively consultative, into deliberating bodies, with equal standing and social control.

In some cases, the formation of councils for urban equipment became common. It is true that amongst this large group of councils there were some that were unmotivated and devoid of agenda, existing only to legitimize the investment of resources. But the progress is undeniable. Public hearings, conferences, participative budgets, ombudsmen, applications and participative plans became routine in Brazilian cities. These are institutional spaces that emerged and have become ingrained, in theory, despite little tradition of participation. In many cities, Social Observatories began to emerge, formal or informal structures that provide a clear analysis of the effectiveness of governmental spending and the results of public policies. Perhaps this is the right path to take in a country where corruption has historical roots and in many places is almost routine, a metastasizing cancer draining resources that could make a difference to the most vulnerable portion of the population.

Instituto Arapyaú, an NGO that works in this area, is assessing the participation of residents of cities founded on the building of strategic plans with a long-term vision of the future. It is little different from conventional plans, in which participation is a mere ingredient required by law. One of these assessments was conducted in Sobral, in the state of Ceará, made famous internationally for having been the place where Einstein’s theory of relativity was proven, in 1919, and also for its high indicators of education today. In partnership with Instituto Votorantim, Arapyaú conducted 56 workshops with over 2,000 residents to develop the document “Sobral de Futuro” [Sobral of the Future]—which, then, served as inspiration for government plans for those seeking the office of city mayor, and is now being transformed into budgetary law (PPA – Participative Pluriannual Plan) and into a plan of objectives, with the support of Instituto Pólis.

In Três Lagoas, in the state of Mato Grosso do Sul, the capital of cellulose, another experiment along the same lines is underway, with a different methodology. A survey carried out—also in partnership with Instituto Votorantim—in 1,060 households and territorial and thematic workshops resulted in 129 indicators and strategies for the future, laid out in the document “Três Lagoas

Sustentável” [Sustainable Três Lagoas]. The content served as the basis for the city’s Master Plan and for the development of the Participative PPA and the Plan of Objectives for the city. In this case, a methodology developed by the Inter-American Development Bank (IDB) under its Emerging and Sustainable Cities Program, is present today in six Brazilian cities: Florianópolis, Vitória, João Pessoa, Goiânia, Palmas and Três Lagoas.

To evaluate these plans for the future, a partnership was created with the Center for Sustainability Studies at FGV—Fundação Getúlio Vargas (GVces), which resulted in the publication online of Construindo a participação em agendas para cidades sustentáveis [Building participation in agendas for sustainable cities].4 It extracts important lessons from these and other initiatives. In addition to Sobral and Três Lagoas, the proposal focused on projects in Curitiba and in the metropolitan region of Rio de Janeiro, like Casa Fluminense.

Among the lessons learned is the need for sectorial planning to harmonize policies, instruments and spaces for decisions; for resources that ensure the means necessary for participation and implementation; for an inclusive dialogue, which balances technical knowledge and the real experience of citizens; and, finally, to generate fundamental mechanisms of social control, transparency and monitoring, catalysts for social capital and capacity building. In other words, it is not only participation, but a qualified process that will produce sustainable spaces.

Despite being isolated cases, these experiences demonstrate the importance of using participative processes in decision-making on the future of Brazilian cities. Public participation is long overdue.

Technical and political decisions need to be built in conjunction with the community if we want to live in sustainable cities.

Together perhaps we can overcome and break down these barriers.

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4. Available at: mediadrawer. gvces.com.br/publicacoes/ original/2017_participacaocidades-sustentaveis-final.pdf.

Accessed on: March 3, 2018

Rodrigo Agostinho is an environmentalist and specialist in strategic management. He has served as City Councilman (2001-2008), Secretary of the Environment (2005-2008) and Mayor (2009-2016) of Bauru, São Paulo.

Building free spaces

Bruno Santa Cecília

Architecture cannot be dissociated from the urban environment and social life. Although it is generally the result of individual actions, its effects are felt collectively.

This is because built objects shape our experience of the urban space, establishing gaps through which we move, act and interact with others. That which we recognize as a city—walkways, streets, squares, plazas, parks, etc.—is nothing more than a collection of free spaces which are left over between the walls that delimit private property.

In this sense, land use in Brasília stands out as one of the most masterful, insofar as it expands the presence of free spaces and prevents architectural objects from creating excessive barriers in the urban space. The Pilot Plan (1956) drawn up by Lucio Costa proposed eliminating the land lot as the basic urban unit in favor of a spatial arrangement that coordinated architectural objects and free spaces, while also anticipating desirable relationships between them. Particularly in the superquadras [superblocks], elevated buildings create public space at ground level, overthrowing one of the fundamental principles of the capitalist city. This precept – which has received little scrutiny from modern vanguards – considers the gaps situated between architectural objects and the street as naturally private [fig. 1]. The interdiction of private areas in the Pilot Plan, especially in the superquadras, returns to the community all the areas that would be wasted with lot-by-lot land use, eliminating the private areas between the buildings and the street as provided for in almost every Brazilian land use code. Contrary to popular perception, Brasília’s spatial configuration was designed to make it a walkingfriendly city. What makes walking unappealing in the city is the lack of diversity and large areas of single-purpose use that have resulted from the monofunctional zoning

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found in many different sectors. In this sense, recurring criticisms of Brasília are aimed at the wrong target, its spatial structure, when they should be directed at the barriers created by the urban legislation.

In addition to the invisible barriers created by urban land use codes, we are faced daily with a series of other barriers produced by elements that shape the urban space, such as specialized transportation infrastructure: overpasses, expressways and railways. It is important to note how these elements interrupt the continuity of free spaces and significantly affect the daily experience of the city, shaping our perceptions and guiding our movements through the public space. Architecture that results from the parceling of urban land into blocks and lots is, however, just as obstructive as the fissures caused by the elements of transportation infrastructure. Even though in that land use model most buildings do not fully occupy the area on which they stand, the ubiquitous presence of fences and walls configures an exact correspondence between the perimeter of the lots and private property. Therefore, in that model, the urban environment is reduced to a few free spaces situated between an impenetrable mass of walls and buildings, limiting the use and the enjoyment of the city almost exclusively to its transportation system.

Although free spaces are responsible for hosting a large part of human interaction and public events, they make up only a tiny fraction of the land area, especially in Brazilian cities. Restricting the experience of urban space to streets and sidewalks—split unequally between vehicles and people—diminishes the freedom of action and interaction of individuals, since this is only possible on a very small portion of the land area. This disproportion between public spaces and private enclaves ends up being perpetuated by the immobility of the urban land structure itself. Today, not only are the great urban renovations of the past—such as Hausmann in Paris, Cerdá in Barcelona, or Lucio Costa in Brasília—improbable and in many cases undesirable, any kind of effective transformation of the collective environment is inevitably blocked.

To understand this context it is necessary to assign to each individual architectural gesture, to each built space— and not only to planning and urban design—the task of expanding the availability of free spaces that shape the daily experience of cities. In this sense, the breakup of the unnecessary barriers between public and private domains, or between the city and buildings, could return more free spaces to the public and positively impact the experience of the urban space. In dissolving the physical barriers that segregate this space, some types of architecture are less obstructive than others when they are implanted in the city. A set of design strategies can be used to integrate the

[Fig. 1] Superquadra [superblock] SQS308, Architects Marcelo Campello and Sérgio Rocha.

Photography: Joana França.

[Fig. 2] Edifício Copan, Architect Oscar Niemeyer. Photography: Joana França.

[Fig. 3] Museu Brasileiro da Escultura, Architect Paulo Mendes da Rocha. Photography: Joana França.

buildings with the city, preventing architectural creations from becoming barriers to the free space of human events.

Below are some good examples of Brazilian architecture to illustrate other ways of building cities.

BREAKING UP THE BLOCK A concrete example of this dissolving of borders between public and private domains, or between the city and its buildings, are the galleries and urban passageways that took hold in major European cities throughout the 19th century and currently help to maintain the vitality of the central areas of some Brazilian cities. The idea behind creating these spaces is to break up the solid occupation of the urban space with shortcuts and alternative routes, in general conveniently protected against the elements, in order to attract the largest possible number of passersby.

David Libeskind did this with the Conjunto Nacional (1954–58) by making the ground floor an extension of the urban space. Besides the absence of obstacles to the free circulation of people, Libeskind cancels out the opposition between building and city by creating generous internal passageways with the same paving as the adjacent sidewalks to bring together passersby, residents, workers, shop owners and clients in the same space.

Oscar Niemeyer adopted a similar strategy in the design of Edifício Copan (1951–66). Opening directly onto the city, the Copan building’s galleries feature an internal pedestrian pathway that is completely independent from the street system, enabling commerce that would otherwise remain invisible and inaccessible [fig. 2]. In the Copan building, the ground floor employs a complex geometry in order to accommodate the difference in elevation between Avenida Ipiranga and Vila Normanda. In this way, Niemeyer broke up the excessive differentiation between vertical circulation and habitable horizontal planes, avoiding a simplistic solution of creating impenetrable floors linked only by specialized circulation elements. The topographical shape of this artificial terrain emphasizes the public character of the building by dissolving the differences between city and architecture in favor of a spatial and perceptual continuum.

REDESIGNING THE GROUND In certain circumstances, the strategy of manipulating the design of the ground itself to disguise the presence of architecture can contribute to preserving the integrity of free spaces in a city. In other words, using the building as a topographic intervention in order to intentionally

dissolve the borders between the built object and the urban landscape. This strategy can be seen in the Museu Brasileiro da Escultura (Brazilian Museum of Sculpture – MuBE), by Paulo Mendes da Rocha (1986–95). The design is based on a topographic reconstruction of the area in order to create a free space that is joined on two levels: a lower plaza, which receives visitors, and an upper plaza which is used as a public garden [fig. 3]. As the architect himself explains, the museum does not reside in the closed spaces of the built object, but rather in the open spaces that unfold onto the garden of sculptures in the upper plaza, in the amphitheater outside and in the shade created by the roof. Taking advantage of the topographical variation of the adjacent streets, Mendes da Rocha placed the building in a vertical space between these two plazas, making it disappear as a built object.

This apparent disappearance of the building prevents the architecture from creating obstructions that compromise the use and enjoyment of the free spaces. Expanding on its function as cultural equipment, the MuBE attests to the possibility of a peaceful coexistence between built artifact and free spaces.

ELIMINATING THE WALL Generally associated with public buildings, the strategy of eliminating walls as a way of expanding the availability of free spaces in a city can also be applied to private buildings, as Oscar Niemeyer did in the residential building located in Praça da Liberdade, in Belo Horizonte [fig. 4]. The unusual absence of dividing walls at ground level dissolves the borders between the public and private domains, leaving an area with pilotis on the ground floor as a natural extension of the walkway. At the same time, the gap between the horizontal platform on the plaza level and the unevenness of the terrain generates a habitable space in the basement, partially used as a parking lot, originally freeing up the ground floor for use by people. Like a covered public square, the building favors continuity and openness to the exterior over a closed space—a Brazilian architectural tradition since Oscar Niemeyer’s first experiments in Pampulha. Almost entirely lacking in external closures, marked by the continuity of the Portuguese sidewalks leading inward, the building introduces features that are commonly associated with urban spaces.

Perhaps the most noteworthy example of the dissolving of the wall in architecture, however, is in the design of the Ibirapuera Park Marquee (1952), in São Paulo [fig. 5]. With a built area of around 28,000 m2, the marquee serves

as a link between the park’s various cultural facilities and offers real shelter against sun and rain. Niemeyer conceived the building merely as a roof, without any sort of compartmentalization or lateral closure. It is surprising that an architect was able to erect a building of this size with no predetermined function, except perhaps to project its own shadow on the ground. This type of relaxed mediation between different domains—built and not built, interior and exterior, building and landscape—takes advantage of the pleasantness of the Brazilian climate, which enables the use of exterior spaces practically yearround. Undoubtedly, it is the absence of walls and other determinations that allowed the marquee to significantly expand the capacity of Ibirapuera Park to host all sorts of events.

INHABITING INFRASTRUCTURE

1. For an extended discussion on the infrastructural character of this and other buildings, see: Carlos Alberto Maciel, Arquitetura como infraestrutura, doctoral thesis. Belo Horizonte: Escola de Arquitetura da UFMG, 2016.

Besides the design of buildings, there are situations where urban infrastructure can be transformed from a barrier into habitable space. The most notable example of this strategy is, undoubtedly, the Bus Station Platform in Brasília [fig. 6]. Situated on the main crossroads of the federal capital, it is the result of the appropriation of the shadow generated where the Freeway and Monumental Axis cross over each other. Although it occupies the most important crossroads of the Plano Piloto, the building is not immediately recognizable and almost imperceptible to passersby. The invisible nature of the building as an object is one of its main virtues, since it reinforces its status as urban infrastructure and intensifies the set of relationships that it establishes with the city.1 It is a strategy that deliberately avoids the monumental, individualistic and self-referencing work, and instead concentrates on building the landscape by weaving the urban fabric.

Although architecture is unable to determine how human interaction will occur in these spaces, an excessive physical presence can easily inhibit this interaction. The wall is, by far, the most perfect manifestation of the obstructive capacity of architecture. Recognizing the conflicts that result from this excessive presence instates a new perspective concerning which unnecessary material infrastructural works can be undone and how cities can be composed essentially of free spaces. Proposals for building these free spaces are based on the principle that excessive materiality in architecture is one of the greatest obstacles, if not the greatest, to the spatialization of human events.

The idea of designing an absence of construction can be understood as a reaction to the excessive determination

[Fig. 4] Edifício Niemeyer, Architect Oscar Niemeyer. Photography: Joana França.

[Fig. 5] Ibirapuera Park Marquee, Architect Oscar Niemeyer.

Photography: Nelson Kon. [Fig. 6] Brasília Bus Station Platform, Architect Lúcio Costa.

Photography: Joana França.

imposed by the solidity of the built material, because it is in these free spaces that all the possibility of indetermination lies. Affirming the leading role of free spaces as an essential urban reality implies that what a building looks like is completely irrelevant. This is because the value of architecture is not in its image or materiality, but in the free spaces that it shapes and the relationships that it creates.

Creating architecture consists, therefore, of building free spaces to host human events.

There is a beautiful and well-known poem by João Cabral de Melo Neto which describes, in my opinion, the essence of the work of an architect:

2. João Cabral de Melo Neto, “Fábula de um arquiteto,” in: Obra completa: volume único. Rio de Janeiro: Nova Aguilar, 1994, pp.345–346.

Architecture like building doors, that open; or like building openness; building, not to isolate or imprison, nor building to keep secrets; building open doors, as doors; homes simply doors and roofs. 2 Building doors instead of walls, openings instead of closures, continuity instead of breaks, integration instead of segregation. Cities resulting from this type of architecture are environments that promote collective life better than the ones we now inhabit. Although cities without walls, with open doors, only exist in the domain of literary imagination, the power of this poetic image inspires the building of spaces with greater freedom. If cities like this someday become a reality, it will not be the result of grand urban gestures, but the sum of small actions that build each of the spaces that shape them. The task of expanding the supply and the quality of free spaces that shape the daily experience of the city is therefore a matter of each individual architectural gesture, each built element. Building openness, not only as a poetic image but as a concrete action, is the architecture we need today.

Bruno Santa Cecília (Belo Horizonte-mg, 1977) is an architect and urbanist (2000). He holds a master’s in project theory (2004) and a doctorate in theory, production and experience of space (2016) from the School of Architecture at Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais (UFMG), where he is also a professor in the Project Department. He is also a partner-holder at Arquitetos Associados. He lives and works in Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais.

Cutting, filling and boring

GRU.A + OCO

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THE ACTIONS THAT TRANSFORM AND THE TRACES THAT REMAIN IN THE CITY OF RIO DE JANEIRO Situated on a wetland, with the presence of large rocky massifs, the city of Rio de Janeiro has been marked, over the course of its urbanization, by a series of operations that radically transformed its geomorphology: cutting and boring of hills and filling of the ocean, lagoons. If, on one hand, these operations allowed a growing population to settle, on the other, they radically modified the distribution of the population, generating important political and social impacts. In this city, a transformative approach forged a landscape based on human desires, where the limits between nature and action are not clearly defined.

The present essay is part of a study conducted by two associations of architects, GRU.A and OCO, both headquartered in Rio de Janeiro.1 In addressing the theme, we strive to steer clear of foregone conclusions and face the contradictions that these operations raise. If, on one hand, the cutting, filling and boring activities were responsible for bridging physical elements that were seen as obstacles to urbanization, on the other, they resulted in the creation of new barriers—or walls of air—since many of our examples are infrastructure projects that show little regard for mediation between different scales.

Although they created extraordinary possibilities in terms of urban experimentation—as in the case of the Flamengo landfill project—these interventions were also responsible for changing distinctive elements of the landscape, showing little interest in reconciliation with pre‑existing elements. Nevertheless, we strive to build an open discourse and contribute to deepening our understanding of cities and their multiple layers of significance.

1. Participants in the study, for GRU.A (Grupo de Arquitetos), Caio Calafate, Pedro Varella, André Cavendish, Júlia Carreiro and Isadora Tebaldi; and for OCO, Juliana Sicuro and Vitor Garcez.

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03. morro do senado 10. morro do castelo 11. morro de santo antônio

01. túnel martim de sá 04. túnel joão ricardo 05. túnel nina rabha 06. mergulhão z. portuária 15. túnel santa barbara 16. túnel noel rosa 17. túnel rebouças

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26. túnel de são conrado 27. túnel do joá 29. túnel da covanca 30. túnel geólogo enzo totis 31. túnel enaldo c. peixoto 32. corredor tancredo neves 33. túnel jose alencar

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04. perfuração do túnel joão ricardo 05. perfuração do túnel nina rabha 06. perfuração do túnel 450 anos 07. aterro da região portuária 08. perfuração do túnel josé de alencar 09. aterro da lagoa da pavuna 10. perfuração do mergulhão da praça xv

01. perfuração do túnel martim de sá 02. aterro da lagoa da sentinela 03. desmonte do morro do senado

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11. aterro da lagoa de santo antônio 12. desmonte do morro do castelo 13. desmonte do morro de santo antônio 14. aterro da lagoa do boqueirão da ajuda 15. aterro da lagoa do desterro 16. aterro do flamengo 17. perfuração do túnel santa barbara

[Fig. 1] Mapping of geo-morphological transformations in the city of Rio de Janeiro.

[Fig. 2] Main geo-morphological changes in the center of the city of Rio de Janeiro.

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P_perfurar 01. túnel martim de sá date 1977 size 304m

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25. túnel dois irmãos date 1971 size 1 522m

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30. túnel geólogo enzo totis date 1997 size 161m

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06. mergulhão z. portuária date 2015 size 1 480m²

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11. morro santo antônio date 1950 volume 11 259 960m³

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16. túnel noel rosa date 1970 size 720m

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21. túnel major rubens vaz date 1963 size 220m

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02. lagoa da sentinela date 1779 area 8 168m²

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07. região portuária date 1910 area 175 000m²

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12. lagoa do boqueirão date 1780 area 55 866m²

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17. túnel rebouças date 1962 size 2 800m

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22. túnel sá freire alvim date 1960 size 326m

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26. túnel de são conrado date 1971 size 165m

27. túnel do joá date 1967 size 344m

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31. túnel enaldo c. peixoto date 1997 size 153m

[Fig. 3] List of geo-morphological transformations in the city of Rio de Janeiro.

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32. corredor tancredo neves date 2016 size 1 337m

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03. morro do senado date 1880 volume 6 005 960m³

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08. lagoa da pavuna date 1749 area 28 913m²

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13. lagoa do desterro date 1643 area 23 421m²

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18. túnel do pasmado date 1952 size 220m

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23. lagoa rodrigo de freitas date 1922 area 1 497 295 m²

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28. ilha do fundão date 1952 area 3 703 120m²

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33. túnel josé alencar date 2012 size 1 112m

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04. túnel joão ricardo date 1921 size 293m

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09. lagoa de santo antônio date aprox. 1600 area 20 665m²

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14. aterro do flamengo date 1920-65 area 2 581 165m²

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19. túnel novo date 1906/49 size 250m

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24. túnel rafael mascarenhas date 1971 size 500m

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29. túnel da covanca date 1997 size 2 187m

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34.ilha do governador date 1978/99 area 5 536 337

2. The following cartographic, bibliographical and audiovisual references were fundamental to the writing of this essay: Mauricio de Almeida Abreu, Geografia Histórica do Rio de Janeiro (15021700). Rio de Janeiro: Andrea Jakobsson Estúdio & Prefeitura do Município do Rio de Janeiro, 2010. Verena Andreatta, Atlas Andreatta: Atlas dos planos urbanisticos do Rio De Janeiro de Beaurepaire-Rohan ao Plano Estrategico. Rio de Janeiro: Vivercidades, 2008. Eduardo Barreiros Canabrava, Atlas da evolução urbana da cidade do Rio de Janeiro – Ensaio – 1565-1965.

Rio de Janeiro: Instituto Histórico e Geográfico Brasileiro, 1965. Entre morros e mares, Ana Luiza Nobre (concept and script). Available at: www.youtube.com/watch?time_ continue=1&v=9CWZdZDdI6w.

Accessed on: March 11, 2018.

ImagineRio. imaginerio.org.

Accessed on: March 16, 2018.

In this sense, we tackle the theme in question by delving into two different sources: on one hand, a rich iconographic and textual body of work produced over time by geographers, architects-urbanists, literati and historians,2 and, on the other, records of the daily life of people who inhabit the city, the impressions of a present time that, in addition to producing irrefutable proof about a past to be uncovered, leave traces that allow us to imagine voids and point to possibilities.

In the following pages, a set of figures will be presented, the first of them a table that lists each of the 37 operations of cutting, filling and boring found in the research, including quantitative data and dates. Together with the table, a general map of the city and an enlarged view of the center of Rio indicates the location for each of these operations [fig. 1, 2, 3]. Together, the map and table are designed to quantify the operations and situate them in time and space.

Three different periods, during the entire urbanization process for the city of Rio de Janeiro, concentrate most of the interventions in question. In the first period—between the mid-17th century and mid-18th century—the city expanded from Castelo Hill toward the nearest lowland.

Wetland zones are filled, one after another, and the five lagoons that existed there—Pavuna, Desterro, Santo Antônio, Boqueirão da Ajuda and Sentinela—disappear from the area where today sits the city’s financial center.

At the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century, a new sequence of transformations occurred, which was more intense and similar to urban renovations that occurred in certain European cities. During this period, Senado Hill and Castelo Hill were leveled to create a flat, dry zone in the central region of the city.

Contemporaneously, various transportation infrastructure projects were built that expanded the city to the south and north, and involved both the creation of tunnels—like the Velho Tunnel and the Rua Alice Tunnel—and landfills, such as the one that gave rise to Beira-Mar Avenue and to the new Port of Rio. Again, in mid-20th century, the city underwent largescale transformations. Cutting began on Santo Antônio Hill—which had been slated for leveling since the start of the century. With the land from the cutting, a landfill was created along Beira-Mar Avenue, where Flamengo Park sits today. At the same time, large infrastructure projects were built, like the Perimetral Avenue and Rebouças Tunnel, which were designed to link vehicle traffic between the southern, northern and central zones.

Over the last decade, Rio de Janeiro has undergone an intense process of urban transformation, this time driven by the hosting of major sports events—2014 World Cup

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ladeira da misericórdia

[Fig. 4] situation – Castelo Hill.

[Fig. 5] trail – what is left of the Misericórdia Slope.

and 2016 Olympic Games—and the city’s 450th anniversary.

These recent works demonstrate that a certain culture of transformation is as present as ever and reinforce how current the theme still is.

Finally, we have selected three cases as examples: the cutting of Castelo Hill, in the center of the city, today known as the Castelo Esplanade; Pavuna Lagoon, in the area surrounding Uruguaiana Street; and the opening of the Santa Bárbara Tunnel, between the neighborhoods of Botafogo, in the city’s southern zone, and Catumbi, in the central zone. In describing these cases, it is our aim to explore graphically the layering of time in space, in order to provide a complementary interpretation to the twodimensional cartography.

To these assessments, short stories on daily life are added to help us shine a light on the material presence that underpins the transformations made in the city—and encourage us to think about the layering of time in the space that we inhabit. These are traces that, devoid of their original functions, end up opening a sphere of symbolic possibilities.

THE CASTELO ESPLANADE AND THE ENDLESS HILL

3. One of the celebrated writings on Castelo Hill dates from 1905: a set of short stories published over the years by Lima Barreto. See Lima Barreto, O subterrâneo do morro do Castelo, Correio da Manhã, April 28-29 1905, May 2-10 1905, May 12 1905, May 14-15 1905, May 19-21 1905, May 23-28 1905, May 30 1905, 1/6/1905, June 3 1905.

The leveling of Castelo Hill (1922) is one of the most important geomorphological transformations of the Rio landscape. Interest in this part of the city dates back to before its demolition, and is justified by the importance that the hill had in the earliest occupations of the area by Portuguese colonists.3 One of the routes up Castelo Hill was the so-called Misericórdia Slope, of which only the initial stretch remains today, measuring a little over 100 m. If you were to walk up the slope today, you would find your ascent interrupted unexpectedly, without any type of physical mediation between the remaining section and the demolished stretch. Today, the slope is an oblique plane that cuts through time and history; however, contrary to what the reader may think, there is nothing here that would suggest a concern for the past that is common in areas of historic relevance in large urban centers of the Western world. For those who inhabit the city, as well as those who visit on holiday, the endless slope—referred to here both in the sense of its absence and its specific purpose—is rarely included on any itinerary.

Only in recent years, in the context of the proliferation of street carnival blocks that spread through Rio during Carnaval, have we had the opportunity to revisit the place.

It is relevant that it is in this context, when our wandering is freed from our daily pragmatism, that the endless slope

SAARA

[Fig. 6] situation – Pavuna Lagoon.

[Fig. 7] trail – waters return to the surface in a wetland area.

reappears in our imagination, presenting itself both as a remnant of time that we did not experience and a tragic reminder of a current urban condition of the center of Rio. The unmistakable stench announces that the slope, which we thought served no purpose, is actually being used systematically as a huge unofficial bathroom for the homeless.

SAARA AND THE PERSISTENT LAGOON In the region today known as Saara, although few are aware, there once stood a lagoon bordered by a street.

Today, Uruguaiana Street is home to a popular market of the same name, and perhaps the city’s most important commercial center. In 1749, then Governor Gomes Freire de Andrade ordered that the Pavuna Lagoon be filled in on the pretext of extending the urban fabric into the center of town.

The area covers almost 30,000 square meters. Today, in a place where this grid composes the vibrant fabric of commercial streets, the well where indigenous peoples and outsiders once bathed lies inert. Layers of urbanization erase from view the largest of the filled-in lagoons in the center of the city, of which there were five. Its existence, however, resonates in secret, clandestine subterranean fabrics, which man does not see, but that in the blink of an eye appear as a trace of the erased landscape.

This resonance is felt in Rio de Janeiro every summer, when the tropical climate tends to bring intense storms.

Ten minutes of a typical Rio downpour is enough to turn the streets of the Saara into veritable canals, which quickly and, without asking permission, enter the buildings. Shop owners try to shut their doors, but the slats cannot hold back the water that slowly corrals people down the back of their premises. Water seeps from the asphalt that covers the ground above the old lagoon and, to be able to leave, one must cross improvised bridges or wait for the waters to slowly subside.

THE CATUMBI NEIGHBORHOOD AND THE LOOKOUT SMOKESTACK Catumbi, one of Rio de Janeiro’s oldest neighborhoods, experienced the city’s different phases of urbanization.

Its name, indigenous in origin, is a direct reference to the geographical condition of the humid and shaded valley.

On the wet ground, country houses and stately homes were built during the colonial period. With the expansion

chaminé da fábrica

[Fig. 8] situation – Santa Bárbara Tunnel.

[Fig. 9] trail – silo of demolished industrial building.

of the city toward the seashore, the neighborhood lost the prestige it had achieved as an enclave for the wealthy, giving way to factories, such as Cervejaria Brahma and Refinaria Ramiro, also known as Fábrica de Açúcar Brasil, inaugurated in 1888 and 1855, respectively.

The construction of the Santa Bárbara Tunnel, together with the roadway that provides access to the neighborhood, coincides, however, with the expropriation and subsequent demolition of the sugar refinery in the 1960s. What remains of this building is a fragment that today stands in full public view. Its presence does not hinder the pragmatism of metropolitan flows. The old smokestack is one of the few vertical references in an essentially horizontal landscape, protagonized by transportation infrastructure. Having lost its specific function—carrying the vapors produced in industrial processes into the sky—the tower has become an element suggestive of an ascendant movement, accentuated by the steel ladder clinging to its brick surface. It has become something of an improbable lookout of dizzying height.

Caio Calafate (Rio de Janeiro–RJ, 1987) studied architecture at PUC-Rio (2010) and is a partner at Grua (2013). Pedro Varella (Rio de Janeiro–RJ, 1987) studied architecture at UFRJ (2012) and is a partner at Grua (2013).

Juliana Sicuro (Rio de Janeiro–RJ, 1988) studied architecture at PUC-Rio (2010) and is a partner at Oco (2014).

Vitor Garcez (Rio de Janeiro–RJ, 1988) studied architecture at PUC-Rio (2011) and is a partner at Oco (2014).

Contributors: Julia Carreiro (Rio de Janeiro–RJ, 1993) and Isadora Tebaldi (Niterói–RJ, 1993).

10 The encryption of power: disobedience and exclusion in the city How liberating can pixo be in revealing the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s power logics?

It’s like São Paulo is a giant notebook, and the pixador fills in the blanks.

– Pixobomb, pixador1 As put by a long-time pixador from São Paulo, the activity of pixo regards the city as a notebook and each wall is a sheet, chosen and marked with notes that are simultaneously personal and collective.

All literal walls that make up the city are the focus of The Encryption of Power.

It analyzes how pixo—black letterlike sprayed graphics—challenges the power dynamics in the city, as well as its potential in breaking the boundaries between public and private while denouncing critical issues in the urban environment.

Often concentrated in central areas of the city, pixo is at the same time revealing and concealed. Pixadores (those who practice pixo) consider the practice of painting messages in the walls of the city as a form of protest. This dates from the resistance against the authoritarian military regime in the 60’s. Back then, however, the writings were clear and supposed to be read by anyone. In the early 80’s, influenced mainly by the punk movement, a young, marginalized portion of the population started to explore these messages as a means of communication that would reach only their own social group. Thus the messages started to be encrypted, in a type of personal coding that functions both as a personal signature of the pixador and as a mark of their group—one that belongs to a socioeconomic spectrum excluded from civil society and overlooked by the State. The messages encrypted on the city walls are intended to be seen by many, but only understood by a few.

Although codified, pixo reveals the underlying power dynamics that define inclusion and exclusion in the metropolis.

It exposes issues such as the abandonment of buildings due to market dynamics and the uneven distribution of capital among different areas within the city; bureaucracy, and urban legislation; the privatization of public spaces; and finally, the government’s negligence towards a class that has few

outlets of expression. In an activity that involves a statement of civil disobedience— after all, pixadores appropriate both public and private spaces without permission—a marginalized population is able to express themselves, occupying a territory in which they are usually not welcome.

In his interview for this chapter, São Paulo-based pixador Cripta Djan—one of the biggest names of the pixo scene—talks about pixo as a response to such spatial segregation, and its role in reclaiming the right to the city. The symbolic occupation of spaces where the pixadores are unwanted is, according to him, their contribution to the public space.

In fact, as pixo spreads in the city both horizontally and vertically, it confronts many of the symbolic roles of architecture within the urban environment. Much in the same way tall buildings have been long regarded as architecture’s expression of humanity’s ambition, corporate power and modernity in materials, their height is of value to pixadores, too. Appropriating these significances, pixadores make the act of “spraying” mostly in black paint at the top floors of multi-story buildings as an assertion of their power to contest the establishment of the socioeconomic order, as well as its spatial expression.

The other aspect appropriated by pixadores is the defiance of the law. On the one hand, Cripta Djan explains that as part of the pixo culture, on the other, Judge Kenarik Boujikian from São Paulo’s Justice Court discusses the challenges of the Brazilian judiciary system regarding activism, and punishment in the cities. Her description of the spatial concentration of punishment in the margins of cities suggests that the concentration of pixo in their centers is also an expression of the reclamation of space on the part of the segregated communities taking part in the practice.

The presence of this specific portion of the population as antihero activists on the streets is further discussed by Victor Carvalho Pinto, Judge specialized in infrastructure and urban development. The author, in his essay for this chapter, details

the manners in which legal aspects of city administration complicate the role of law and public policy in recovering lost public spaces in the city, as the social aspect of the urban area is increasingly transferred into private ones.

And while pixo takes place in these lost public spaces, its private aspect is guaranteed in the encryption of the messages sprayed in the walls. The specificity of the language of each pixador is an expression of their identity in the group and of the pixo community. Paulo Orenstein writes about the process of decodifying encrypted inscriptions found in Rio de Janeiro’s walls, revealing an unexpected mathematical complexity behind the outlaw expression of the urban peripheries communities.

All these aspects are made visible in select artworks that bring yet another perspective to the research. Ivan Padovani photographs the “blind façades” that characterize the city of São Paulo and constantly serve as one of the white sheets of a pixo notebook. Pablo López Luz, on the other hand, photographs the encrypted messages on the walls of downtown São Paulo, picturing the aesthetic level of this spatial phenomena.

The research proposes a new reading of pixo, associated to a broader vision of the urban context where it is employed. It avoids the discussion about the presence or absence of art in pixo to investigate instead the social divisions that generate it in the first place. With the wall as an indispensable element of the pixo practice, “The Encryption of Power” considers the theme Walls of Air, both materially and conceptually, through a marginalized form of expression in the urban environment.

THE MAP In order to reveal the places where the Pixo attacks happened and to reflect on the city’s power logics through Pixo, the map focuses on the expanded central area of São Paulo, the city that is emblematically

known as the birthplace of this practice.

Using data collected from 12.853 Instagram posts—also highlighting the importance of social media in contemporary urban culture—it is possible to visualize the geographic distribution of the mentions of “pixo”, “pixação”, and “xarpi” through their locations in the city. On top of that, the fines applied to the offenders and news from the last thirty years mentioning Pixo are georeferenced and displayed with their date, media vehicle, and headline. Combined, this information provides a depiction of the ways in which society sees this practice and the logics of punishment that it entails.

Lastly, the map cross-references this data with over 40.000 entry points of building’s square meter prices as well as with emblematic cultural institutions the pixadores have sprayed at in the past in order to reflect on the concentration of power and the expression of this marginalized activity in the city.

1. From Joao Wainer’s movie PIXO (2009). Such is the description of the city as seen by Pixobomb, a pixador in São Paulo.

Ivan Padovani Campo cego [Blind Field], 2014 Digital photograph. Inkjet print on cotton paper over aluminum plate and composite of cement and cellulose

Pablo Lรณpez Luz Pixo III, 2015 Photograph

interview: Cripta Djan

Djan Ivson (São Paulo-SP, 1984), or Cripta Djan (as he is known in the streets and in the art world), is a pixo artist and activist. He began with pixo at 13 years of age, when he entered the gang Cripta, to which he still belongs today. He has participated in emblematic pixo movements in São Paulo, such as the invasion of the Centro Universitário de Belas Artes and the 28th Bienal de São Paulo (2008); the documentary film Pixo, directed by João Wainer (2009); exhibitions such as Né dans la rue, at Fundação Cartier, Paris (2009); and the Berlin Biennale of Contemporary Art (2012). Currently he records his pixo on video and works to bring this culture to other parts of the world.

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What are the social and the political barriers you are trying to expose and contest with pixo? What do you confront first with your work?

The first act of confrontation is civil disobedience: confronting the government, not following established laws. There is the issue of visibility, the pursuit of existential promotion. Pixo decries rights to the city, which are denied to most people. The city is governed by private property and real estate speculation that push people to the outskirts. Public space is becoming a utopia; everything is private. Pixo is a retaking of the city by those who are excluded. We symbolically occupy places that were not designed for us. It’s a public way of participating in the city.

Evidences What are the signs of geographic separation that you want to challenge with pixo? What are the criteria for the choice of location to be sprayed with pixo?

Pixo takes on a life of its own. The wall separates people by class, pixo creates dialogue through conflict. Every time a wall emerges, it will be sprayed with pixo.

Do you get it? It’s a consequence. These divisions are increasingly reinforced: gated condominiums, places completely monitored. I believe that pixo is the best response to the spatial segregation of São Paulo. We use guerrilla tactics, an M.O.— traditions, codes of conduct. In relation to the city, we have an instinctive artistic vision. We want beautiful pixo, we want to follow the pattern of the architecture of the location. We always view the city as being in a state of transformation. Each wall that emerges, each building that is erected, always evaluating the structures, where to climb up, the best place to spray pixo. Once you become a pixo artist, you look at the city like this. It is a type of extreme sport from the outskirts of the

city. You confront, disobey laws. Crime is the price that we pay for our freedom.

Side effects What are the different ramifications of pixo as a political statement and as artistic expression?

The act is political, it is a popular resistance movement, it is self-taught. You have the opportunity to re-create your name, be someone different, with your own aesthetic identity. This takes time. I’ve been doing pixo for 21 years. You write under pressure, upside down, hanging. You use your body, put your life on the line. Maturing your identity involves lots of love and dedication. Pixo is born out of the absence of the state. When we go out to spray pixo, confrontation and hate fuel our occupation of a place that was not built for us. The way we are oppressed and attacked on the outskirts of town.

Inequality is violent. Without equality there is no democracy, there is no way for the city to become a collective body. These divisions serve to increase the pressure. The guy is down and out, he lives in a geographically disadvantaged place, pushed to the riverside, to flooded areas, to the forgotten outskirts.

There are people getting rich off of this poverty—how can you not be angry? Pixo is the response. We are considered criminals, pixo artists have already been killed for doing pixo. The values are inverted, they value a car or a wall more than a life.

Experience in the discipline With regard to the aspect of cryptography—and the fact that pixo is incomprehensible to non-pixo artists— what kind of dialogue does the pixo artist establish with other inhabitants of the city?

Actually it’s an internal dialogue. The language developed and became increasingly codified due to the competition in creativity. Originality is very important, you have to have your

own style. Understanding the language requires study; today, many supporters of pixo have developed their eye for it, they are able to read something. Each pixo artist has their own aesthetic world; if someone says that something is an R or an L, we have to accept that. What’s cool is this openness. Pixo addresses a very human issue: despite living in collective environments, we have an individuality that we need to accept, however much we judge. Today I view ugly as a style: if the guy changes he’ll be ridiculed, if he uses beautiful script it’s not him.

Behavior and micro-politics What experiences of bridging borders do you believe occurred in the attacks on the art exhibition spaces, like the Centro Universitário de Belas Artes and the 28th Bienal de São Paulo?

These incursions into the field of art occurred in a kind of predestined manner.

Our friend, Rafael Pixobomb, went to study at Belas Artes and saw the status of pixo there. He began with a vision for his final paper: since we had already sprayed pixo everything else—buildings, stairs, windows, churches, police stations, courthouses— why not spray pixo on a thesis presentation?

I said, “Rafael, they will expel you, what will you tell your mother?” and he said, “Fuck it, it’s for the good of pixo.” We did it. He was expelled, failed and arrested. There was a huge amount of coverage in the media. In a debate on MTV, the curator of the art gallery Choque Cultural questioned the stance of Belas Artes. That gave us the idea of conducting an intervention there. Our gang went there and sprayed pixo on everything: paintings, ceiling, magazines. We took it by storm. It was the breaking down of a paradigm. The gallery reported it to the police, they showed us their true colors.

Later Rafael said that we had been invited by the Bienal because the curatorial proposal Em vivo contato [In Living Contact] was open to urban interventions.

Our “point” leaked, the curators then held

a press conference threatening us. We did it anyway. The guys were ready for a confrontation, in the first pixo a brawl broke out with security, it was a fight from beginning to end. These attacks created a wave within pixo: we turned away from our internal struggles to defend pixo collectively in areas that we had never imagined. It was a different kind of magic.

Even after receiving recognition from the biennales, pixo continues to be a transgression, continues to be a crime, continues to be despised. We don’t want this to change. We are not interested in dialogue with the arts to gain acceptance.

It was so they couldn’t ignore us. The more they repress us, the more visibility we have, because what drives us is refusal.

Transformative potential By attempting to reveal the exclusion experienced by certain segments of society, how do you believe that pixo can contribute to changing inequality between social classes and activate a space of common struggle?

I believe that pixo can be used increasingly as an instrument of political change, using confrontation to pressure the state. It is, above all, a symbolic and peaceful war. Pixo may be an assault on aesthetics, but it’s just paint on a wall. I think it’s very democratic to raise political issues with paint. For as much as people say that pixo is authoritarian, it is offensive, it is a silent cry. It is symbolic vandalism, not physical. The sprayed place can still serve its function, what changes is the meaning. It is a fight between dominators and the dominated: you simply don’t accept the aesthetic of the upper classes, you impose your own aesthetic standard on the city. When they build a building or a shopping mall, the public is not consulted.

They go there, build a wall on that path, and I cannot spray pixo on it? The wall is a permanent, physical intervention, pixo is an ephemeral, aesthetic intervention.

The wall is authoritarian, an imposition.

People accuse pixo of being aggressive, but it is the wall that is really aggressive.

interview: Kenarik Boujikian

Kenarik Boujikian (Kessab, Syria, 1959) is a judge at the Tribunal de Justiça de São Paulo [São Paulo State Court]. Graduated from Pontifícia Universidade Católica de São Paulo (PUC-SP). Volunteered in the now extinct Carandiru prison, is co-founder and president of the Associação dos Juízes pela Democracia [Association of Judges for Democracy] (AJD) and advisor of Fundo Brasil de Direitos Humanos [Brazil Fund for Human Rights]. She takes part in the Imprisoned Women Study and Work Group. She was granted the 19º Franz de Castro Holzwarth Human Rights Award, from the Ordem de Advogados do Brasil [Order of Attorneys of Brazil] (OAB) de São Paulo, in 2002, Year of Peace, among other prizes.

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Walls What are the major challenges facing the Brazilian judicial system in terms of guaranteeing human rights? How far can the judicial court go to defend citizens from possible arbitrariness of executive power?

As I understand it, the urgent challenge is the need need to change the culture inside the judiciary itself. We notice that many members don’t see clearly their role as guarantors of fundamental rights, human rights. This goal will be hardly attained if it’s not seen as the judiciary system’s real mission in democratic society.

The Judicial system has no limits of power in relation to the executive, since the court is the last to decide on any issue.

Its only limit is the federal Constitution, where the fundamental guarantees are kept. For instance, the budget is submitted to the Executive and the Judiciary for approval, but the judiciary can interfere if other powers don’t act properly. An iconic case decided by the judiciary was on the lack of nurseries, a problem faced in many cities. Many say the judiciary should not act upon such issues, because it would interfere in the budget, a bill voted each year. So how far can it go? It was decided that basic education is a fundamental right. It is written in the Constitution that children have the right to a full development. The integral development of a child is a right granted by the Constitution.

Evidence Which situations disclose the culture of punitivism in city spaces?

Punitivism is not an exclusivity of the judiciary. It’s a culture that cuts across every power, from the creation of laws up to their approval and the way they are executed, until reaching the judiciary.

Punitivism in the cities reflects the place where the system chooses to act. And it

acts mostly in the suburbs, even though the fact doesn’t necessarily take place there. Punitivism finds marginal people and begins the selection from there. The state, such as the police, begins to act upon these people, followed by the public prosecutors, and then the legal process brings in the judiciary. It’s a kind of network, a web. This design is reflected by the punitive system, in convictions and inside the prisons.

Side effects What does a military intervention in Rio de Janeiro represent to Brazilian democracy today? How is it possible to regulate the practices and impacts of this measure of exception?

It will be very difficult to regulate something that was not meant to be regulated. Military intervention is inserted in the whole—the state of exception established in Brazil since the deposition of president Dilma. A series of changes start in the structure, which becomes deeper in order to strengthen this state of exception, involving the three powers.

Since the ouster of the president, we lost many validated rights, meaning more and more intense setbacks everyday. CLT reform [Consolidation of Labor Laws] breaks with the historical achievement of fundamental rights. Freezing the budget for 20 years will have an impact on all fundamental rights. The International Charter of human rights states there should be no withdrawal concerning rights; we should always step forward.

The military intervention is the state of exception deepening to the brink of force. Military power means maximum use of force. What they want is not little: free access to people’s lives, without being subjected to any Comissão da Verdade [Truth Commission]. They already foresee, because they know the proposals. We will collect the bodies.

We will collect the pain. We’re already doing it.

Behavior and micro-politics How do selective justice and arbitrariness affect power relations in society, especially considering the most vulnerable citizens, those living in urban conflict zones?

Who is in charge of issuing collective search and seizure warrants? The judiciary.

And collective warrants are issued only in shantytowns. Who does the military intervention reach? The shantytowns, where the state is different for a selected population.

Children being searched? Can I imagine this happening to me? Human rights implies being just like the other, putting yourself in someone else’s position. The damage is done. Now the Federal Supreme Court infringes upon the Federal Constitution by deciding for the applicability of jail sentences after the ruling of the first appellate court, which I expect to be reverted.

Disciplinary experiences You were sentenced by São Paulo State Court for having released eleven inmates who had already served their sentences. What does this controversy say about deadlocks in Brazilian justice?

Eleven were considered in the process, but documents proved there were almost 50 cases. It was evident there are two different worldviews inside the judiciary. In the National Justice Council (CNJ) trial, it was said I was being judged for my worldview.

This case shows the punitivist thinking.

The state elected an enemy, someone with different thoughts, as in the recent past under the civil military dictatorship, when an enemy was present. Today, the new enemies are certain people, treated almost as if they had no rights, dignity or human value. If I don’t see you as human, I do as I please with you, in my most convenient way.

Either for you or to show society something through your absence of value. The enemy is chosen. The walls are up. The wall is clear in the military intervention in Rio de Janeiro, although it can’t be seen.

Transformative potential What struggles are advancing in guaranteeing human rights, in and outside the judiciary? How can society strengthen and protect the struggle for rights in a country where activists are increasingly threatened?

I don’t know if there has been any advance.

Brazil is one of the champions in the number of murdered activists—either rural or urban, in any activity. All related to fundamental rights, particularly economic rights. Why are so many indigenous people dying, so many people linked to land issues? Now we’ve the murder of Marielle Franco, someone engaged in monitoring the violations of the military intervention, a voice to control and show the danger Brazil is going through.

There is a strong group of people struggling and an increasing number of citizens rising up in relation to everything that has been happening in the last years.

We have to break the barrier, nobody will do it in our place. All inside our own limits, whatever is possible—talking to family members, engaging in public demonstrations. My position as judge can be useful only to guarantee fundamental rights and fight for human rights. We have to gain the streets. In fact, we already had the path set in 1988. Everyday we watch the Constitution being torn apart. We still have time, we have to keep on reacting, can’t lose heart.

This map was developed and designed in collaboration with Mapping-lab (www.mappinglab.me) for this catalogue to highlight a layer of the main exhibition map The Encryption of Power.

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Irregular settlements

S Ă&#x192;O PA U LO M E T RO P O L I TA N A R E A

The probabilities in pixo

Paulo Orenstein

I can still vividly recall the first time I saw the mysterious symbols, hidden in an underpass in the heart of Rio de Janeiro. It was clearly a language to conceal meaning, with characters that combined the otherworldliness of hieroglyphs and the decisiveness of runes. They could be found on the city’s walls in crowded streets, abandoned alleys, by the banks of a lagoon or facing the city’s Botanical Gardens. The strokes themselves had a geometric precision to them, buried in a haze of meaningless characters. One could spend a long time contemplating them, but to me, more than just art over a concrete canvas, those symbols were a tantalizing, sprawling puzzle. [fig. 1] It was 2011 and I was halfway through my undergraduate studies. A professor close to me had read an article about an enigmatic artist, called Joana César, who wrote the ciphered inscriptions I had seen all over the city’s walls. Pixo is not usually written to be broadly understood, but this was different: these weren’t disfigured letters upon the walls, but an entirely new alphabet. In the article, Joana said she was laying bare all of her innermost feelings for the city to see, but hidden so no one could read them. Her diary was coloring Rio’s urban landscape: she wrote in giant letters about her childhood goals, failed dreams, grievances, recollections and wishes, even erotic fantasies. Yet, no one could know. She was playing a game of hide and seek with the entire city.

The professor, Carlos Tomei, challenged me and one of his postdocs, Juliana Freire, to make sense of this intimate and intentional mess. After all, seen through the right prism, this was a fascinating mathematical problem. His advice: to read through the muddle of characters using the algorithmic precision of a computer.

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1. See Persi Diaconis, “The Markov chain Monte Carlo revolution”, Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society, n. 46.2, 2009, p.179.

2. There are many other encryption methods she could have used, besides the plain substitution of a symbol for a letter; she had told a reporter that she invented this alphabet when she was very young, which lead us to believe this was such a cipher, known as a substitution cipher.

So how does one turn street symbols into mathematics, and then mathematics into language? Years prior, a Stanford professor wrote a paper suggesting a way to do it.1 The author, Persi Diaconis, was trying to read ciphered messages exchanged by inmates in a Californian prison; our task didn’t seem that much different. And, as mathematical ideas run at an abstract level, they can be reshaped to fit many purposes. In our case, we wanted to make this distinct kind of pixo legible.

Here is one way to start: collect all the characters used by the artist. For now, let’s assume we have 26 symbols, just like our alphabet, and fix them in any order we want [fig. 2]. We can write all possible ways of organizing the 26 letters in our alphabet to match Joana’s cipher: [abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz] is one, where the first symbol is ‘a’, the second ‘b’, etc; [bacdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz] is another, where the first symbol is ‘b’, the second ‘a’, etc; and [mlpnkobjivhucgyxftzdrseawq] is yet another, where the first symbol is now ‘m’, the second ‘l’, etc. Of course, there are many ways to organize these 26 letters, but we know one of them must be the actual cipher being used by the artist.2 [fig. 2] We have now turned the symbols into mathematics: the task of finding the right cipher is as simple as finding the right configuration of the 26 letters in the alphabet.

We can think of each possible combination as a point in space [fig. 3]. We could then just get a sample of the artist’s writings on the wall, and use a computer to try each possible configuration to turn her symbols into our alphabet. Most of the attempts will be incorrect, and return a completely meaningless array of letters, but, once we stumble upon the correct one, we should just get back faultless Portuguese. [fig. 3, 4] The problem with this approach is that there are many, many possible combinations of the 26 letters in our alphabet to try. If we went about decoding at random, even with a computer trying a million ciphers per second (and a person checking whether the result resembles Portuguese at the same speed!), it would take far longer than a trillion years to get it done. What could be a better way?

First, while computers are really fast, humans are generally not. Hence, it would be helpful if we taught the computer to automatically recognize Portuguese. That way, once it tries decoding the artist’s symbols with a given cipher, it can automatically detect whether what it reads looks like Portuguese or not (much like Figure 4, with runic characters being translated to English). Put another way, we wanted the computer to look at a collection of letters and decide how much it resembles Portuguese as opposed to just a random string of characters. We had to give the

[fig.â&#x20AC;&#x160;1] examples of the ciphered symbols across Rio de Janeiro. [above] Map of Rio de Janeiro with location of pixos reproduced on the opposite page.

[fig. 2] transforming the symbols back to our alphabet, with many possible ciphers. [fig. 3] visualizing ciphers as points in space; there is a single correct one we are looking for, marked in the figure.

[fig. 4] trying to decode a text with runic characters using two different ciphers; the first guess doesn’t look like English, but the second does.

computer a way to assign a number, or a grade, that should be high if the characters were from a Portuguese text and low, if not.

Intuitively, if pairs of letters that appear often in the decoded text also appear often in Portuguese, then it is more likely the decrypted text is in Portuguese. In English, the most popular pairs are ‘th’, ‘er’, ‘on’, ‘an’, and a configuration used for decryption should be deemed more plausible if the text contains many such pairs.

More mathematically, here is a way to assign such a “plausibility grade”: Plausibility (C) = ∏ (port(pair)codC(par)) letter pairs

3. For what a “usual Portuguese text” looks like, we used the frequencies of pairs of letters found in Machado de Assis’ Dom Casmurro, which is as representative a text in Portuguese as Melville’s Moby Dick is in English.

In words: call C a given configuration of letters, say, [mlpnkobjivhucgyxftzdrseawq]. Now use that configuration to transform the artist’s codes into a text with our usual characters, so, after fixing an arbitrary order for her symbols, the first one becomes an ‘m’, the second an ‘l’, etc. To assign a grade to C ​ , go through every pair of letters in the alphabet, aa, ab, ac, …, zz, and count how many times we see that pair in a usual Portuguese text,3 and exponentiate that by the number of times we see that pair in the decrypted text; finally, multiply together the resulting number for each pair. This way, configurations with high grades are the ones that make pairs of letters that show up frequently in Portuguese appear often in the decrypted text. To summarize, the above formula lets the computer assign a grade to each configuration, with a higher grade if that configuration returns a text that resembles Portuguese. [fig. 5, 6] Now that the computer can judge whether a particular configuration of letters is likely to be correct, we just need to navigate through them until it finds the right one. As we saw before, trying ciphers at random would take forever. How can we make the computer navigate these possibilities in a smarter way, using our grades? Here is an idea: to define a notion of ‘neighbor’ cipher, start with any given configuration, let’s say [abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz]. Consider the combinations that could result from switching any two letters, so, switching ‘a’ and ‘b’ in the configuration gives [bacdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz], switching ‘a’ and ‘c’ gives [cbadefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz], all the way to switching ‘y’ and ‘z’ to get [abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxzy]. There are 325 such combinations. Suppose the computer adds a line from one point to the other if they are connected this way [fig. 7]. This means the computer can navigate through the points by getting to a configuration, looking at the 325 neighbors, and then picking one at random and trying it.

[fig. 5] for each cipher, we can assign a grade; it is, the more correct the decrypted text looks. [fig. 6] pictorially, each dot (a cipher) now has a grade attached to.

[fig. 7] joining points (that is, ciphers) that can be reached by swapping a pair of letters. [fig. 8] we assign a grade and a set of ‘neighbors’ to each cipher; the computer can walk around looking for the cipher with the highest grade.

The advantage is that now, at every point, we only need to consider moving to its neighbors, not all possible ciphers.

By itself, however, this idea doesn’t add much: we’re still just navigating randomly. [fig. 7] But here’s a better way to pick which neighbor to follow using our plausibility grades: select one of the 325 at random, and if the grade is higher than the point where we’re currently at, go to that configuration (that is, switch the letters in the cipher). If it doesn’t, pick another neighbor. Keep doing that for a long time, until there are no neighbors with higher plausibility grade; then stop and use that final configuration as your solution. Note that, by design, whenever we switch to a different configuration, the plausibility grade increases, so hopefully after a long time we find a configuration with a very good plausibility grade. This seems like a straightforward idea, but note we now only need to search through a much smaller number of configurations, since we never follow the ones with low grades. That is enough to reduce the computation time from trillions of years to mere seconds. [fig. 8] Finally, we add one extra ingredient to our algorithm. If we always go to a configuration that improves the grade among the neighbors, we might end up trapped in a configuration that is strong relative to its neighbors, but still not quite Portuguese—just because there are no better neighbors doesn’t mean it is right. Hence, instead of never following configurations with lower grades, every once in a while we allow the algorithm to pick a configuration whose grade is worse. Remarkably, adding just the right amount randomness to this otherwise deterministic process usually helps.

Now, we are done with the algorithm! We can pick a configuration at random, and let the computer keep switching letters in that configuration to generate new ones. If we randomly pick a neighbor to the current configuration that has a higher grade, change to that configuration; if we randomly pick a configuration with a lower grade, then with high probability pick another neighbor, but with low probability change to that configuration. Run this for a minute or two, and then print the pixo from the artist using the cipher found.

Although the algorithm is finished, in reality there is much more to the problem than that. From a mathematical standpoint, deciding just how often we go to the neighbors with lower grades is far from a trivial matter, and requires intricate calculations. There were other, non-mathematical challenges, as well: for example, Joana, the artist, wasn’t using 26 characters, there were 32. Some could be punctuation marks, or accents, or they could just be bogus symbols intended to confuse anyone that tries to read it. We also didn’t know if she was actually writing in

Portuguese, or English, or any other language. Perhaps she was writing from right to left? We didn’t have much information to go with, but we did make some adjustments to the algorithm to account for these possibilities.

Furthermore, we needed data! For everything to work, the algorithm must first translate her ciphered texts, so we had to go through the streets of Rio de Janeiro photographing and copying down what she wrote, until we had almost 2000 characters. Then, finally, we were ready.

After running the algorithm for a minute, we got back some meaningful sentences. Translated to English, it would look like: NIMNAPERSONVROMTHISCRAZYCITY or VAMILYOVVILTHYPIGGS. It was clear there was some work to do. For example, we were getting Vs in place of Fs. Also, some letters seemed duplicated, while others lacked duplication.

But these were fixes we could solve with some manual modifications to our solution cipher, and soon we could read almost all of her secrets. From then on, every time we walked about town, we would discover something new about her: some first love memories forgotten on a bridge, some medical issues left on a bus stop. Each corner of the city gave us a new perspective on this unknown, but now intimate, person.

While the puzzle was solved, the story was far from over. Over the following months, and after some hesitation on both sides, Joana and I communicated, and finally we agreed to meet. At first, we were both apprehensive: when I showed her the broken cipher, she reacted with a snarl— “bastard!”. However, the fact that we intended to keep her cipher a secret created an immediate bond between us.

Very soon, Joana and I became good friends. In fact, she once told me she had considered erasing everything she had written when she learned someone could read it, but after our meeting she realized there was no need. It was still an intimate and intentional mess, but now shared with three more people.

Indeed, a recurring theme in Joana’s work is the idea of concealing. There was more to it than just using a madeup alphabet: for example, she would often paint over her works, sometimes dozens of times, so her thoughts became literally buried. Fortunately, after having her words read by us, she became more willing to expose her paintings in art galleries. Today, she is a well known artist in Rio de Janeiro. While her work can still be seen in Rio’s urban landscape, she has lately been hugely successful painting on canvases.

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In the following months after we met, Joana would often take me on many of her painting forays. She had her own alphabet, and I had one too: mathematics. I didn’t invent mine, however: many amazing people had helped craft that language, and it indeed stands out as one of humanity’s greatest accomplishments. We painted together in many places, from architectural exhibitions to favela rooftops.

I’m now pursuing a PhD at Stanford, being advised by Persi Diaconis—the same professor who wrote the original paper with the idea we used to make meaning out of Joana’s codes. He’s fond of saying one can find mathematics everywhere: from the stars above, to the rivers below, from arcane magic tricks to the mundane bubbles in a coffee mug. Now, if you pay some attention, you can also find it spattered across the walls in Rio de Janeiro.

Paulo Orenstein (Rio de Janeiro-RJ, 1989) holds a bachelor’s degree in economics and a master’s degree in mathematics from PUC-RJ. A doctoral student in statistics at Stanford University, he develops research in the areas of stochastic simulation and machine learning.

His fields of interest include artificial intelligence, probability and randomness.

The city and the law: the role of law in the recovery of lost urbanity

Victor Carvalho Pinto

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THE PROCESS OF URBANIZATION AND THE FORMATION OF THE DISPERSED AND FRAGMENTED CITY Since the middle of the last century the urbanization of the main Brazilian cities has been characterized by lowdensity horizontal sprawl, with the poor living in suburbs without infrastructure, often formed by clandestine settlements and slums, and the rich occupying central, well-equipped areas.

More recently, this arrangement has been replaced by another, equally noxious one, represented by closed condominiums or subdivisions, and shopping centers far from the urban perimeter, aimed at higher income classes and accessible only by car, while the central areas become degraded and occupied by the low-income population.

The result of this process has been the emptying of public spaces, with all sociability transferred to private spaces. The buildings, isolated or assembled as condominiums, close themselves up and do not dialogue with the streets, which become merely a road system pushing the pedestrian away.

THE DEGRADATION OF PUBLIC SPACE In the traditional model of the city, the space for urban life par excellence are the common spaces, which belong to the municipality: streets, squares, parks, sidewalks, cycle paths, etc., are classified as “public property for common use”.1 These spaces are the physical means for the exercise of some of the civil and political rights that are dearest to democracy, such as the freedoms of movement, assembly, and demonstration, and for recreational and cultural activities typical of modern urbanity.

1. Law 10.406/2002 (Civil Code): “Art. 99. Public property are: I – those of common use by the people, such as rivers, seas, roads, streets and squares […]”.

The breakdown of the Brazilian public space can be explained by a series of factors. Among them is the fact that in many subdivisions the entrepreneur is not required to build sidewalks or bicycle paths, but only the road system. The lands destined for squares and schools are left abandoned, favouring the formation of slums or their transformation into garbage dumps.

In addition, several municipalities accept the parcelling of the land in the form of condominiums and not as subdivisions, thereby giving up the right to gain any public land in exchange. Although built by the local authority itself, many housing estates for the low-income population reserve insufficient public space for communal sites and amenities.

Zoning regulations push buildings away from the sidewalks by demanding setbacks on the front and sides of buildings, and by tolerating the construction of walls and electric fences that destroy the urban landscape and make the public space less safe.

In informal settlements, there are no public lands, but alleyways, many of which are too narrow for car traffic. Although this impairs access to public servicesâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; health, safety, and garbage collection, which depend on ambulances, patrol cars, and trucksâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;these pedestrianonly accesses have in many cases produced pleasing and communal public spaces. The growth of violence, however, has emptied these spaces, which have now become controlled by criminal organizations.

The pedestrian is the main victim of this process, since many areas of the city do not even have sidewalks, and those that exist have their conservation left to the owners of the contiguous lots without any standardization, guidance, support, or inspection. The condition of some sidewalks is so precarious that pedestrians, especially those with disabilities or reduced mobility, are left to use the road system intended for cars.

Even when the sidewalks are satisfactory, the absence of stores open to the street, due to strict zoning regulations, and retail confinement in large shopping centres and hypermarkets, makes the pedestrian experience monotonous, uncomfortable and often dangerous.

It is not surprising, in this context, that the streets are progressively taken by marginalized segments and that the walls come to serve as screens for unauthorized pixo.

THE ROLE OF URBAN LAW Although Brazilian law is imperfect and defective in many respects, it provides enough elements to contain this perverse process of urbanization.

The Constitution requires that every city with more than 20,000 inhabitants be endowed with a master plan for development and urban expansion, and that private property observe its provisions. In addition, to ensure proper use of urban land, it authorizes municipalities to make subdivisions and building compulsory.

The City Statute offers municipalities various tools for managing urban land and for real estate value capture.

Through agreement with the landowners, the Statute also allows the Local Authority to directly promote land subdivisions or construction on idle land, replacing original properties by new units of equal value.3 The Urban Land Subdivision Law submits any urbanization to an urban project compatible with the master plan, based on guidelines established by the municipality, in which various duties can be outlined for the developers, such as the allocation of public lands and the implantation of urban infrastructure.4 The Land Regularization Law facilitates the integration of informal settlements into urban land planning and requires that this be done through appropriate urban design.5 HOW TO FOSTER THE COMPACT CITY The revitalization of public space in Brazil is subject to a set of known but difficult to implement measures and a necessary revision of concepts.

In the first universe, it is necessary to prevent the formation of new subdivisions and condominiums far from the urban perimeter, focused on the private car. To this end, the perimeter of urban expansion areas should be outlined in the master plan, and applications for subdivisions whose execution proves to be inopportune or inconvenient should not be granted permission.

The absolute priority should be the occupation of existing lots and the recovery of degraded areas, in order to promote the best possible use of the installed infrastructure.

In the case of idle lots, it is important to raise taxation based on the value of the land, and reduce or eliminate taxation on building, in order to discourage the retention of land as a store of value and to stimulate its occupation. Degraded areas, in turn, may require land redevelopment operations to generate public areas, and the amalgamation of old lots, thus enabling the construction of higher buildings. In both cases, it is necessary to revise and possibly eliminate building restrictions that prevent the occupation of the lots at high density, and which make public transport and

394 2. Federal Constitution: “Art. 182. […] § 1 The master plan, approved by the Câmara Municipal, mandatory for cities with more than 20,000 inhabitants, is the basic instrument of the policy for development and urban expansion. § 2. Urban property fulfils its social function when it meets the fundamental requirements of city ordinance expressed in the master plan. […] § 4 – The municipal Local Authority, by means of a specific law for any area included in the master plan, is allowed, under federal law, to require the owner of un-built, underutilized or unused urban land, to promote its proper use, under penalty, successively, thereof: I – compulsory allotment or construction; II – progressive urban and territorial property tax over time; III – expropriation with payment through public debt securities […].”

3. Law 10.257 / 2001: “Art. 46, § 1. A real estate consortium is considered to be the way to make urbanization planning, land regularization or renovation, conservation or building construction viable, whereby the owner transfers the property to the municipal Local Authority and, after completion of the works, receives, as payment, real estate units duly urbanized or built, with the other units remaining incorporated as a public asset. “

4. Law 6,766 / 1979: “Art. 7. The City Hall […] shall indicate, in accordance with the state and municipal planning guidelines: I – the existing or projected streets or roads, which make up the city and municipal road system, related to the intended allotment and which must be respected; II – the basic layout of the main road system; III – the approximate location of land intended for urban and community amenities and free areas for public use; IV – the sanitary land strips necessary for the drainage of rainwater and non-buildable strips; V – the zone or zones of predominant use of the area, indicating compatible uses. “Art. 22.

From the date of registration of the allotment, the roads and squares, public spaces and areas for public buildings and other urban amenities included in the project and its technical plan shall be included in the Municipality’s domain. “ 5. Law 13.465 / 2017, arts. 9 and 36.

6. Anthony Ling, Guia de gestão urbana. São Paulo: Bei, 2017.

walking unfeasible, such as lateral and frontal setbacks around the buildings, minimum parking spaces, and low‑density rates.6 Development, when necessary, should concentrate on the lands contiguous to the urbanized area and be conducted by the Local Authority. This is a possibility opened by the Constitution and regulated by the Statute of the City, through the combination of two instruments: compulsory subdivision and real estate consortium.7 The first requires the owners of lands, necessary for the execution of public plans, to individually or collectively carry out their development. The latter offers these owners the option of swapping their land for lots of equivalent value, transferring to the Local Authority the responsibility for carrying out the works.

If revitalization of the formal city is a difficult task, the integration of the informal city is a much greater challenge.

Built without any urban or environmental care, clandestine settlements and slums not only lack infrastructure and public spaces, but also in many cases are located in risk and environmentally sensitive areas.

Regardless of the causes of this phenomenon, it is necessary, first of all, to contain it, through the control of land use and of public utilities, which should not contribute to consolidate illegal settlements in the absence of urban planning.8

7. Law 10.257 / 2001, arts. 5 to 8 and 46.

UNEXPLORED OPPORTUNITY: SELF-FINANCED URBAN DEVELOPMENT

8. Victor Carvalho Pinto, “Ocupação irregular do solo e infraestrutura urbana: o caso da energia elétrica”, in Temas de direito urbanístico 5. São Paulo: Imprensa Oficial/Ministério Público do Estado de São Paulo, 2007.

The proposed measures are feasible despite the context of fiscal crisis, since good urban planning generates value that is greater than its cost. The challenge for the Local Authority, therefore, is to find ways to recover the real estate value generated by the interventions, so as to enable them independently of budgetary subsidies.

Several techniques of urban self-financing are employed internationally and are included in Brazilian legislation.

In a country whose main cities are still in an accelerated growth process, it is fundamental that land development results in sufficient public lands and infrastructure to serve the population. In addition to land intended for public places and institutional uses, lots should also be required for private use, which may be resold on the market or incorporated into housing policy.

In the areas that require redevelopment, concessions can be made to private companies, enabling them to expropriate the real estate necessary to carry out the urban plan, as well as offering the affected owners the option to exchange them for new units yet to be built, or

for a share in the capital of the development. The private company would carry out the works without public resources and would be paid by the sale of the units built.9 An important element that induces this type of development is public investment in public transport, such as metro stations, trams or bus lanes, which demand higher urban densities in order to be financially viable and add value to nearby properties. In these cases, it is possible to establish an economic-financial equation that incorporates tariffs and real estate revenues, giving the company responsible for the public works the urban concession of the surrounding land.

396 9. Ibid., O reparcelamento do solo: um modelo consorciado de renovação urbana. Brasília: Senado Federal, 2017.

THE CHALLENGE OF CONSERVATION: PRIVATELY OWNED PUBLIC SPACES Another dimension that demands paradigmatic change is the ownership model of common spaces. In the traditional system, they belong to the municipality and are conserved with budgetary resources, except for the sidewalks, whose conservation is attributed to the owner of the lot. Whether due to the scarcity of public resources or the lack of standardization and supervision of sidewalks, the result has been neglect and deterioration.

It is possible to conceive, however, an alternative model in which residents collectively own public spaces and are responsible for their conservation, but cannot restrict free access and usufruct by the general population. The sidewalks and squares would belong to a condominium composed of all owners of plots in the block, but would be subject to terms of use instituted by the Local Authority by which any person, resident or not of the condominium, would be allowed to circulate through these spaces and make use of the existing amenities.10 Similar urban techniques have already been widely used in Brazil. On a small scale, we have the example of the commercial galleries of the center of São Paulo and the pilotis required in the superblocks of Brasilia.

On a larger scale, but with access restrictions, we find shopping malls, horizontal condominiums and closed subdivisions. Although the closure of these ventures is to be condemned, it must be acknowledged that they are able to offer and maintain open spaces of excellent quality and without burdening the public budget. The changes promoted in the Federal Urban Land Subdivision Law in 2017 allow this bonus to be used, but require the local authorities to make an incisive effort to curb the closure of subdivisions and to establish terms of use on land condominiums for the benefit of the general population and the urban landscape.

10. Ibid., Condomínio de lotes: um modelo alternativo de organização do espaço urbano. Brasília: Senado Federal, 2017.

Victor Carvalho Pinto (SĂŁo Paulo-SP, 1966) is a jurist specialized in infrastructure and urban development. A PhD in economic and financial law from the Universidade de SĂŁo Paulo (USP), he is a legislative advisor to the Federal Senate in the area of urban development, and author of the book Direito urbanĂ­stico: plano diretor e direito de propriedade and articles in specialized magazines and websites.

A lawyer with experience in the modelling of infrastructure and urban development projects, he followed a career as a specialist in public policy and government management in the Federal Government, having served the Presidency of the Republic and the Ministries of Planning and Justice.

Installation outside the Brazilian Pavilion

NSDC Atelier Marko Brajovic

São Paulo suffers from a pathological urban segregation that manifests itself through extensive walls and fences, emphasizing the already critical distinction between public and private areas in the city. Paradoxically, we found cases in which fences divide public space from public space.

Such segregation elements are spread all over the city of São Paulo, on different scales and in diverse locations, separating our parks, squares, monuments and finally the pubic space from their citizens.

The project called NSDC (an acronym alluding to Lina Bo Bardi’s stage setting design for the play Na selva da cidade [In the Jungle of the City]) proposes a re-design of the city fences, converting them into public furniture by considering the design process as a tool for transformation, used to shape the urban landscape and its uses.

The design concept by Atelier Marko Brajovic is based on the continuous process of folding— Deleuze’s fold—, where a single element is folded onto itself to form a new shape. The Atelier was in charge of all process development and technological solutions, while each product was developed through a community action. The citizens themselves are the ones who best know their needs in specific areas and the project responded to those local demands.

Politically, when we fold fences, we redefine their use; from a segregating and separational urban element into a place of meeting and aggregation. More than a form, the project presents itself as a tool for urban civic transformation.

The NSDC project was commissioned to Atelier Marko Brajovic by São Paulo City Hall and Museu da Cidade in 2015, and it was installed in several sites of the city.

400

The edges of objects

403

Selected projects from the open call

406 Pedro Varella, Gru.a Arquitetos Installation “From where you don’t see when you are” over Niemeyer’s MAC 408 Sem Muros Arquitetura Integrada School Without Walls 410 Studio MK27 Children’s Square 412 Bernardes Arquitetura The Brincante Institute 414 Brasil Arquitetura Terreiro Òsùmàrè 416 H+F Arquitetos Unifesp Student Housing 418 Rosenbaum + Aleph Zero Children’s Village 420 Triptyque Architecture Amata Wooden Building 422 SIAA + HASAA Sesc Ribeirão Preto

424 Pedro Évora Maré Observatory 426 SP Urbanismo São Paulo Open Downtown 428 Una Arquitetos, LUME da FAUUSP, Una Arquitetos, H+F Arquitetos e Metrópole Arquitetos From Planning to Design / Sesc Parque Dom Pedro II 430 Corsi Hirano + Candi Hirano Arquitetos Liberdade Boulevard 432 sauermartins + Metropolitano Arquitetos Santa Efigênia Crossing 434 Vigliecca & Associados Parque Novo Santo Amaro Housing Complex 436 Boldarini Arquitetos Associados Ilha Comprida Waterfront 438 Libeskindllovet Arquitetos, Jansana, de la Villa, de Paauw, arquitectes Urban Plan for Pirajussara

The Edges of Objects approaches the theme Walls of Air from the scale of the architectural and urban interventions. This chapter attempts to measure the ability of Brazil’s recent architectural production in mediating conflicting relationships between public and private domains.

As opposed to the cartographic approach, which maps the multiple types of barriers that build the Brazilian territory, this section presents architectural objects that encourage the transposition of walls present in our cities. The selected proposals share the drive to investigate new ways of dealing with the limits, divisions and ruptures within urban fabrics. At the same time, they raise to surface the pressing need to use design as a way to transform conditions of exclusion into possibilities of bringing people together.

The projects were selected through an open public call—an unprecedented initiative for a Brazilian pavilion in the Venice Biennale—with the clear goal of widening and democratizing the dialogue about contemporary Brazilian architecture.

Widely publicized throughout Brazil, the call invited architects to submit projects through the website www.murosdear.org.br, which hosted a series of sections for public participation in the Walls of Air research.

The open call considered any project within the Brazilian territory eligible for submission, regardless of the nationality of the architect. Either built or unbuilt, projects were accepted for selection as long as they were grounded in reality, meaning it had to have a real client or be part of a competition—academic projects or ideas proposals were not accepted. The submission period opened on December 19th, 2017, and closed on January 19th, 2018, with 289 proposals received from more than 60 cities in the country.

The submitted projects confirmed the high concentration of architectural firms in the southeast region of the country, the rare presence of foreign firms building in Brazil (especially if compared to regions like North America, Asia or Europe) and, lastly, the hardship of turning proposals into real buildings, demonstrated by

the high number of unbuilt projects.

Nevertheless, they also represent the high quality of the contemporary architectural scene in this country.

Seventeen projects were chosen for their inspiring and tangible ideas, sharing the clear desire to transform their environment into one that is more fluid and inclusive.

These projects, displayed in the first room of the Brazilian Pavilion at the Giardini in Venice, aims to show a plurality of solutions that engage—through different lenses—with the concept of Walls of Air. The projects address issues such as: how to bring people together to fight for a common cause against forces of pure financial land speculation; how to rethink our technological limitations; how a community can learn by building collectively; how to merge industrialized construction processes with vernacular techniques; how to disrupt legal frameworks through the proposition of innovative architectural and urban forms; how to make use of punctual strategies to generate a network for fostering urban renewal; how to use the void as a way to stitch two sides of an informal community; how to bridge large infrastructure corridors; how to densify uses as a means of bringing a community together; and how to rethink preserved areas as carefully calibrated public spaces, among other strategies.

Finally, the presentation of the 17 projects was developed in a collaboration between the curatorial team with each architecture firm. The choice of a graphic representation with few but impactful line drawings, each specifically crafted to establish a dialogue with all other projects, aims at highlighting not only the nuances of design with its variations in scale, but also to focus on the actions that connect them with the broader exhibition theme. The actions of fostering, seeding, revealing, interpreting, stitching, repurposing, framing, interconnecting, articulating, comprehending, bridging, densifying, converting, and learning, ultimately reveal each projects’ ability to break down walls and build a more generous and collectively Freespace.

Installation “From where you don’t see when you are” over Niemeyer’s Museum of Contemporary Art

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Repurposing an omitted modern roof as a contemporary public space Architects Pedro Varella + Gru.a Arquitetos LocaTIOn Niterói – RJ Niterói Contemporary Art Museum (MAC) was designed in 1991 by Oscar Niemeyer and represents one of the most famous icons of Brazilian architecture.

The boundaries between the building and the Guanabara Bay landscape are clearly defined by the sharp edges of its reinforced concrete structure. The visitors’ movement within the space are controlled: the access from the dry plaza, the sinuous ramp, and finally the landscape, framed by the edges of the structure. It was designed to be seen only by those who finish this sequence thought by its architect. Although original design conditions are difficult to ignore, they are precisely a starting point to formulate an instigating challenge: how can we free ourselves from MAC’s prominent image? How can we challenge the limits imposed by the greater Brazilian master’s design, offering new experiences to people?

The project offers visitors the opportunity to be on this iconic building, although, at the same time, they also lose sight of the its outlines. To make this possible, a tubular structured ladder was installed, providing a continuity to the ascending movement of the ramp, leading people to the museum’s roof slab. On the roof slab’s perimeter, a tubular handrail system was attached to the existing structure by a tensioned cable system, allowing the handrail to stand still without any interfere in the slab surface.

From the rooftop, the distinction between figure and background is lost and an unexplored field of reflections and sensations opens up. The architecture, which usually is recognized by its visual appearance or its iconic status and predetermined views, is subverted as a support to imagination, revealing formerly hidden interpretive layers.

School Without Walls

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Learning by building collectively Architects Sem Muros Arquitetura Integrada Location São Paulo – SP

The project School Without Walls in Jardim Damasceno Cultural Center aims to potentialize the local movement of resistance in the periphery in northern São Paulo, Brazil. Through recognizing the context and integrating elements, from the macro to the micro scale, the architectural project reflects the space between building and inhabiting. A choice of where, what, how and why to build: to use architecture’s aesthetics to value and amplify a local community’s fight to its right to (other) city, as a political force which legitimates a territory together with its inhabitants.

The Jardim Damasceno Cultural Centre wooden shed has existed for 25 years next to a stream. It is occupied by local inhabitants, who maintain an open and free space inside the dense neighborhood, providing social assistance, political articulation and conditions to the integral development of the community. Even when the space suffers continuous expropriation attempts, it houses a daily diverse use: activities for approximate 60 local children and cultural manifestations for youngsters

and adults. The space though has difficulty in maintaining its precarious infrastructure.

While designing, it was important to connect different knowledges and integrate popular participation; while building, it was important to make a physical construction as a mean for a social one. The result was a bamboo meta-structure (produced inside the metropolitan region of São Paulo) to be built during a pedagogical immersion program, involving a multidisciplinary group from inside and out the community. The construction is to be made from local materials, to allow the people to appropriate the new space, to develop a sense of belonging, to give it meaning.

After the building is concluded, the aim is to define together the next steps: how to sustain and give permanence to what was built?

How the constructed space can still foster an area to potentialize the community towards building a learning territory? To find answers, it is necessary to recognize the importance of a politics of care to sustain the project’s effects and impact on the life of the ones involved.

Children’s Square

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Articulating a void into a whimsical arena Architects Marcio Kogan + studio mk27 Location São Paulo – SP

A public square conceived as a playful place to children’s free exploration—that was the idea behind Children’s Square’s design, soon to be built in a 900m2 urban site in the middle of a residential neighborhood.

A circular and visually permeable wooden wall, with a 23m diameter and a height of 2.5m, defines the square’s organization.

All paths converge into a center, creating an image similar to a primitive distribution of meeting places: a storytelling circle around a bonfire or indigenous houses around a large central open space.

Leading to the outside, the wood wall has some portals which allow children to search for new worlds. These passageways also embrace some wild flowers gardens and water fountains.

Some children may play hide-andseek and suddenly invade a small secret maze. When the amusement

turns into a game of tag, they once again return to the square’s center, running and jumping on the open, free, and uncovered grass lawn.

In between the walls, inside the empty space, other openings, portals offer even more activities.

Children’s creativity is catalyzed by this recreational environment, which doesn’t impose any specific use, but encourages exploration.

On one side, set into the wooden concave gable, is a small puppet theater; in front of it, another niche with slides and swing sets.

The Children’s Square is not a boring place for children to just waste their time. Instead, it is a living garden filled with open-air discoveries, which offer children unforgettable experiences. Their imagination leads into spaces, each with different possibilities, where children get wet, slide, scream, climb, and explore this place of little joy.

The Brincante Institute

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Seeding local resistance Architects Bernardes Arquitetura Location São Paulo – SP

The Brincante Institute, created in 1992 by artists Antonio Nóbrega and Rosane Almeida from a homonymous spectacle they staged, is dedicated to Brazilian culture experiences in its most diverse modalities. Like the regional meaning of the term “brincante”—a type of popular multi-artist of the Brazilian Northeast who sings, dances, and plays instruments—the Institute proposes an expansion to traditional Brazilian artistic practice. Thus, it offers courses about popular art, which aim to upskill performers and educators - capable of thinking about contemporary society in a new way.

The owner of the old warehouse where the Institute used to operate for over a decade in Vila Madalena (a neighborhood in São Paulo) sold the place to a construction company in 2014 without consulting Nóbrega and Almeida. Strongly attached to its neighborhood, the Brincante Institute saw its legacy threatened with the possibility of an eviction.

After a very hard legal process, the institute failed to reverse the owner’s decision, this became an opportunity to reaffirm its local role—to resist.

A few years earlier, Nóbrega and Almeida had bought two small

houses just next to the warehouse, hoping to expand Brincante. In a cynical move, the same builder who bought the warehouse also made offers to acquire the small houses.

It was the last straw. Strengthening its commitment to Vila Madalena, Brincante decided to stay.They launched a fundraising campaign— #FicaBrincante (#BrincanteStays)— focused in raising funds for the Institute, to be built on these two sites.

The new Brincante building has expanded its participation in the urban life of Vila Madalena by binding it spatially, programmatically, and definitively to public life through meeting spaces and its theater-school, which now also accommodates shows to the public, as well as rehearsals and courses. Attached to a small square and an open mezzanine that connects the street to its interior, the theater-school makes Brincante a milestone for resistance in the midst of an environment of real estate speculation. In the words of Nóbrega himself: “We will continue seeding Brazil, after all, it is from this place [pointing to the street] that we see and experience the world, despite the damn real estate speculators who think they own it all!”

Terreiro Òsùmàrè

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Interpreting history through the layering of walls Architects Brasil Arquitetura Location Salvador – BA Throughout human history, walls have been indicating divisions between properties and territories—barriers for protection and defense. Nevertheless, there are also walls that, in separating, connect. These walls frame the landscape, validate passageways, regule contact, define neighborhoods and ensure crossings. These walls are also connections, adding and unifying common interests; physical and symbolic landmarks of human accomplishments, full of social impacts; recording the historical and technological events. These walls structure aqueducts, retaining walls, and bridges. Even those created to protect, such as the one surrounding the boroughs, acquired some new meanings.

These walls became a living statement of man’s existence, focused on building a more comfortable life.

Walls arise from one of the most archaic actions of humanity, associating human work with the stones of nature.

Occupying one of the city’s hillsides, the green area of the Òsùmàrè Terreiro* (one of the oldest in the city) represents what has been, for centuries, the rationale for occupying the rugged territory of Salvador: small constructions on the ridges of the hills next to access roads, lined by lush vegetation sloping down to the bottom of river valleys and streams. This intelligent model of occupation, adapted to the topography and geographical situation, and combining construction with

preservation of nature, has been disappearing in the last decades, destroyed by unrestrained and massive urbanization. In the urban area of Salvador, it has been preserved thanks to the traditions of the Candomblé rituals—and the Òsùmàrè Terreiro is one of the last remnants of this type of occupation.

The intervention aims at the physical and symbolic preservation of the site (listed as heritage by the Institute of National Artistic and Historic Heritage - IPHAN) and its expansion, seeking comfort, forcefulness, and delicacy at the same time: the levels and retaining walls will mark the future life of the terreiro, making it more comfortable, accessible, and dignified in its facilities. The new complex can be divided into three large blocks, which correspond to the three topographical levels: the Upper Part, the Central Historical Part, and the Lower Part.

The “Dark Forest” (Mata Escura), as it was known until the beginning of the twentieth century, will be recovered and densified, receiving paths on gentle ramps for walks and contemplation of nature and the sacred. Leading downhill or uphill through the Dark Woods, the long staircase will represent the snake / a path to cross the sacred lands of Ilê Òsùmàrè.** * Terreiro—a place for Candomblé rituals, dedicated to a particular orixá (or saint). ** Òsùmàrè—an orixá that symbolizes the infinite and is represented by the snake and the rainbow.

Unifesp Student Housing

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Framing space for enabling a collective student life Architects H+F Arquitetos Location Osasco – SP

Located on the edge of a new campus of the Federal University of São Paulo (unifesp) in Osasco— part of the São Paulo metropolitan region—the Student Housing Project offers the opportunity to facilitate, through its architecture, a set of interactions between the university’s self-referencing culture, usually marked by isolation, and the daily life of the neighborhood where it is located.

The building was organized in tiers conforming to the slope of the plot, and configures two spaces with markedly distinct characteristics: the courtyard and the square. While the former is dedicated exclusively to students, the square opens to the neighborhood and offers a direct route for those who come from the metropolitan train station, making it one of the main access “doors” to the campus.

In addition to its public use facilities, the square offers common activities for residents of both the campus and the neighborhood. Thus, the student

housing’s collective spaces, including community library, cinema/theater, event hall, and art studio, potentially serve as resources for the sociability of students and the surrounding community. Accompanying the gradient of the street, these programs unfold in successive levels, each linked to a specific space of the square.

By extending the public sphere into the boundaries of the campus, the square acts as a vestibule, a space of unforeseen interactions.

Together, the square and building form a habitable wall, a border that is both resistant and porous,* capable of offering the city an interactive and lively interface with the university environment. *Sennet, Richard. Boundaries and Borders. In: Burdett, Ricky e SUDJIC, Deyan (Ed.) Living in the endless city : the Urban Age project by the London school of economics and Deutsche Bank’s Alfred Herrhausen society. New York: Phaidon Press Limited, 2011.

Children’s Village

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Fostering togetherness by merging technological and vernacular processes Architects Rosenbaum + Aleph Zero Location Formoso do Araguaia – to

The continuum, the vast, and a thin imaginary line in the background embraces the journey and the practical know-how and techniques of Brazilians living in the central region of the country. In a place not only marked by rural and indigenous memories, techniques, aesthetics, and rhythms, but also where rich cultures fade in the face of a blind desire to modernize, architecture has to confront the existing contradictions and create alternatives to the current ordinary solutions. With these concerns, the project to house 540 children who study at Canuanã boarding school aims a cultural dialogue, which encourages local construction techniques, indigenous beauty and traditions, as well as creates a sense of belonging, essential for the students’ development.

To better understand the inherent complexity of the place, the “A gente transforma” [We transform] methodology embraced stages of research, immersion, and open collaboration with the locals - community, teachers, and students. The process also included workshops and

open presentations seeking a common facing up the project’s specificities, which resulted from the dialogue between contemporary techniques and a rich vernacular knowledge of the place.

The continuous exchanges led to a solution: the first step in a broader organization for its territory. The two required villages were set closer to the school farm’s boundaries, leaving a central axis to be filled solely with educational programs. Each village has fortyfive units, arranged around three large courtyards where local flora provides a fresher air. The housing units, for six students each, were built in soil-cement bricks, made from the site’s soil.

These bricks improve thermal performance and avoid a complex and expensive logistics process.

On the second floor, different areas for interaction, such as TV rooms, playing and reading spaces were displaced. Above, a thin, white metallic roof supported by a glued laminated wood structure provides a great shadow which, besides covering the building, composes a generous transition between inside and outside.

Amata Wooden Building

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Breaking technological paradigms Architects Triptyque Architecture Location São Paulo – SP

Amata Wooden Building was designed through an important collaborative process between architects and their clients— Triptyque Architecture and Amata, a sustainable forestry company, which gave its name to the project.

Located in Vila Madalena, a neighborhood in São Paulo, Amata was conceived in an unusual and irregular site, which morphology enables a diverse connection between city, citizens, low and high topographies. The 4,700 sq meter mixed-use building is organized into 13 floors, embracing a shared program—co-working and co‑living—besides restaurants.

Differently from the usual, Amata is a vertical building conceived to be built on wood. It became a choice, once wood brings new

possibilities to a sustainable and urban architecture, as an alternative to “decarbonize” the construction in Brazil (wood’s productive cycle already begins adding an enormous carbon credit to atmosphere, since 1sq meter soaks up 1 tonne of carbon dioxide during its growth).

In addition, the technology applied for CLT and Glulam manufacturing, allows a very efficient structure, even for a high building.

As other materials developed between 19th and 20th centuries, this project reinforces the use of wood as an innovation to the 21st century, so that Amata Building may be just the seed for a new experience on architecture—which overlaps building techniques, urban laws and emotionalphysical-empirical benefits.

Sesc Ribeirão Preto

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Densifying uses as a means of strengthening the community Architects SIAA + HASAA Location Ribeirão Preto – SP

Diversity marks the experience of strolling around Sesc Ribeirão Preto, a cultural and sports center located in the northwest of the state of São Paulo. The building offers a range of paths and routes, multiple forms and spaces, and a variety of provocative openings and enclosures. There is no typical floor plan, nor replication of stairs or corridors. There is, however, the ever-present intention to create internal terraces connecting spaces and providing open environments with unique vantage points .

Yet, more than anything, the Sesc Riberão Preto is a project within a project. This is the seminal issue guiding the architects’ intervention for adaptive reuse of a pavilion designed by architect Oswaldo Corrêa Gonçalves in 1966. Selected through a public competition in 2013, the new proposal aims to reorganize, update, and expand Sesc’s existing activities. The project turns the linear two-story modernist building into a primary transition point between Sesc and the city.

The new activities are concentrated in the new vertical building: a volume constituted by the stacking of spaces for multiple functions. Each of these activities generates a unique

geometry, ideal for its function.

The result is a complex cross section that intersperses closed spaces with voids, openings, and paths that connect public and administrative programs.

The ground floor is organized around a series of interconnected swimming pools, where new internal pools follow the existing outdoor pool. The rooftop of the original pavilion allows the creation of a public plaza that connects the building’s various programs: an act of suspending and dispersing activities, typical of a foyer.

The scenic box theater is located in the core of the tower, and the upper floors accommodate a multi-use dark room and a sports court at the top. New exterior fenestration is modulated by a 3×3 m structural grid, alternating louvers, perforated or opaque red and black panels, blunt concrete areas, and the literal transparency of glass.

By juxtaposing new and existing elements—horizontal and linear, vertical and compact—the building’s strategy allows them to interact and reinforce one another.

As a result, the building creates a new interface between users, the Sesc program, and the city around them.

Maré Observatory

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Comprehending the totality of the territory through a vertical displacement of the body Architects Pedro Évora Location Rio de Janeiro – RJ

Like the towers of an ancient city or palm trees taller than a forest, observatory structures emerge between houses and abandoned industrial sheds. Where the neighborhoods are opaque within the dense and labyrinthine periphery, vertical elements signal new horizons and guide other possibilities of navigation. This image, projected as a tale, belongs to the reality of the Complexo da Maré [Maré Complex], a set of favelas in the city of Rio de Janeiro, where the Maré Observatory project takes place.

The Maré Complex is a set of sixteen communities that house about 130,000 people in an average of three-story constructions, in an area equivalent to Copacabana.

Established from the north shore of the Guanabara Bay, near the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro, also known as Fundão University (because it is located on Fundão Island), its boundaries are defined

by Avenida Brasil, Linha Vermelha, and Linha Amarela, the main access roads to the city. Seen from the highways, it appears as a thick territory whose real dimensions

are impossible to measure.

Internally, it is characterized by the juxtaposition of different constructions and circulation paths, which unite and distinguish its spaces, communities, and armed commands. From any given point, it is impossible to perceive its wholeness. The Favela da Maré is commonly known for its opacity and violence.

The Maré Observatory project creates other viewpoints for the region with the installation of observatories attached to public facilities, creating a network of vertical visual references for the sixteen communities that make up the Maré Complex.

The project emerged from the demand to expand the Bela Maré Contemporary Art Center, an industrial warehouse converted into a cultural center in the Nova Holanda community in 2012. It proposes to build a thirty-meter high metallic tower that will house a public belvedere and institutional activities, in addition to establishing itself as a new element for residents and for the Maré landscape.

São Paulo Open Downtown

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Converting residual spaces into pockets for social interaction Architects SP Urbanismo Location São Paulo – SP

The city offers its residents many opportunities—for housing and work, access to leisure and culture, shopping and services, meeting spaces, and training and education. These opportunities result in the residents’ need not only to move around the urban territory but also to remain in its many spaces.

The Open Downtown Program implements a set of uses and activities for underutilized spaces, replacing existing fences and obstructions with open areas for intense activity in a continuous invitation for permanence. Thus, it intends to emphasize the importance of these places for the fruition of the city, as well as to reinforce its public character.

This program was implemented through a participatory process, developed through dialogue between the various agents involved in the production and use of space. In the Open Dialogue workshops and seminars, actions were defined in three directions: prioritize and protect nonmotorized means of locomotion (pedestrians and cyclists); create conditions for the permanence of people in the public space; and promote new uses and activities for these spaces. An effective and

strategic issue helped define a first attempt at applying these actions. The São Francisco and São Bento plazas, where the program was implemented, together with the former Largo do Carmo (near today’s Cathedral Plaza) constitute the historical triangle where São Paulo’s development began. The city’s downtown area presents the largest offer of commerce, services, transportation, historical and cultural heritage.

The program proposes the use of fixed and movable furniture: wooden decks, benches, ping pong tables, information center, tables and chairs, beach chairs, patio umbrellas, chess set, and equipment to support cultural events. In addition, the project promotes greater pedestrian safety through new horizontal signage, bollards, and expanded crossing lanes.

These elements help create environments with new functions, intensify public use, and encourage spaces for meeting and leisure, providing users with different experiences: shaded areas, artistic presentations, film sessions, open classes, yoga classes, games, food, and energy and internet access.

From Planning to Design / Sesc Pq. Dom Pedro II

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Managing multiple scales to generate urban value Architects Una Arquitetos (urban project by Laboratório de Urbanismo da Metrópole / LUME FAUUSP, Una Arquitetos, H+F Arquitetos and Metrópole Arquitetos) Location São Paulo – SP

The old floodplain area of Tamanduateí River was the fluvial port of São Paulo Village. At the beginning of the XX century, the region was transformed into a large public park of French inspiration, becoming a transition between the historical center and the former industrial zone of the city. In the late 1960s, the park was totally transformed by violent urban infrastructure interventions, which turned it into a fragmented and fragile region. Thus, the Urban Plan presented several coordinated interventions, as the expressways demotion; viaducts demolitions; new streets and bridges, an intermodal terminal along the existing subway station, a retention lagoon and two priority development sectors, the northern and western arcs.

The northern sector of the plan, headed by Una Architects, includes the proposal of a new unit of Sesc (Social Service of Commerce) as an anchor of the urban requalification proposed for the area. The surroundings of the park have an immense potential for housing densification, especially for the low-income households, with areas reserved by law for this use.

The project under development for this new Sesc unit seeks to

maximize the qualities inherent to the public program, which characterizes the institution.

The Sesc units are large multifunctional buildings, where cultural, sports and leisure activities coexists, always associated with an educational purpose. The visitation in some Sesc units reaches five thousand people per day.

Occupying an entire triangular shaped block, Sesc D. Pedro II is circumscribed by three roads.

With accesses to each of them, the ground floor results in a partly sheltered square, animated by the flows converging to its interior.

In order to house the sectors with free access to the public and to maximize the offered activities, a two-layered horizontal volume spreads out over the block. The workshops, cafe and the foyer of the experimental theatre are located on the ground floor. These uses are located around an open, tree lined patio, which allows a relation of visual contact among activities in distinct floors.

Escalators connect the street level to the large terrace on the second floor. The walk through the terrace, around the treetops, reveals views above this city stretch, including great historical

buildings, such as the “Palácio das Indústrias” and the “Mercado Municipal”. Located between the ground floor and the terrace, the first floor accommodates the restaurant, library and administrative areas.

The proposed theatre has a flexible setting, with several possibilities of staging scenes and public assembly, also allowing connections among the outdoor areas. The gymnasium, in addition to the sports court, has areas reserved for multiple sports activities and a large gym. The rooftop of the building is occupied by the aquatic complex, which includes an indoor pool and two outdoor leisure pools. The level of this floor allows surprising city views.

Within its compact emplacement, the Sesc building dialogues and values its surroundings, densely occupied with retail and services, offering visitors the enjoyment of new views towards an important set of landmarks, especially to the historic hill, São Paulo’s Downtown. Its volumetry graduates its heights in relation to the immediate environment, offering a delicate insertion as shape, and transforming the urban quality of this part of city.

430 Liberdade Boulevard Stitching urban fabrics by disrupting the current legal framework Architects Corsi Hirano + Candi Hirano Arquitetos Location São Paulo – SP

The relationship between the lack of use, of activity, and the sense of freedom and expectation is fundamental to understand all the evocative power that empty terrains have in the way the city is perceived in recent years. Empty, however, as absence, but also as promise, as an encounter, as space of the possible, as expectation.

— Ignasi de Solà-Morales Solid walls built on the landscape or invisible walls excavated in the urban geography are both walls that a large-scale metropolis such as São Paulo is capable of

erecting: abyssal borders in its time and space. The proposal for Liberdade Boulevard results from the disappearance of public spaces and the quality of the urban landscape in our cities.

A public initiative after the creation of a specific law allowing the occupation of existing voids, the project proposes an important reconstitution of the urban fabric.

It is guided by the recognition of walls and fractures in the city—in this case a negative space. An empty wall in critical condition is recognized as a potential stage to challenge its infrastructure,

and as an opportunity to create meeting points. Even from existing barriers, cities can construct new unifying elements able to generate social encounters, facilitated by public space and its expansion.

Approaching a recurring condition in the city, we propose the appropriation of airspace over the freeway that connects the city from East to West. The creation of urban squares that welcome urban diversity is complemented with elements –programmed or not—defined by the multiplicity of activities that

are supported by both local and metropolitan scales.

It is necessary to clarify that the dilution of the existing social, political, and economic urban walls must also be based on physical strategies that generate situations and places where full conviviality is possible in the reality built around us. Here, architecture constitutes Freespace in its essence: democratic space. Requested by neighborhood associations and organizations engaged in uniting public and private initiatives, the project continues to to embrace both.

432 Santa EfigĂŞnia Crossing Bridging heavy infrastructural corridors Architects Sauermartins + Metropolitano Arquitetos Location Belo Horizonte â&#x20AC;&#x201C; MG

Considering the rupture of the urban fabric generated by the existing overpass and road infrastructure, the Travessias (Crossings) project is a mechanism intended to attenuate the urban landscape by offering paths closer to the human scale. It overcomes physical barriers by introducing a pedestrian overpass, creating an urban crossing.

Based on a study of viaducts and areas adjacent to the EastWest highway in the city of Belo Horizonte, the competition held by the City sought strategies for interventions that activated and

improved public space and the urban landscape, minimizing the idleness of these residual areas and preventing illegal occupation.

The proposal developed for the FulgĂŞncio Overpass takes into consideration the critical degradation and abandonment of its surroundings, caused by the juxtaposition of the Andradas Avenue, the Arrudas creek, and the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s train tracks. The overpass provides continuity to the Francisco Salles Avenue, connecting two neighborhoods equipped with important healthcare

facilities and ample public transportation connections.

As an intervention strategy, the pedestrian overpass connects both sides of the avenue, unifying the urban fabric and providing accessible routes for pedestrians and cyclists. It is located underneath the existing viaduct, where metal elements are fixed to the original concrete structure, thus highlighting the different uses and allowing for a simple construction. At its ends, where the metal structure meets the street level, the resulting slope accommodates bleachers that

can be used as a venue for cultural events. Instead of an urban void, the area underneath the viaduct becomes inviting and encourages a new type of urban life. To activate it, new programs propose a variety of uses, including spaces for social gatherings, shopping, and leisure.

The project considers architecture as an instrument capable of fostering the discussion of existing urban flows in Brazilian cities, and aims to present opportunities for urban regeneration through multipurpose spaces that minimize physical and social barriers.

434 Parque Novo Santo Amaro Housing Complex Separating as a means of qualifying the moments of exchange Architects Vigliecca & Associados Location São Paulo – Sp

Parque Novo Santo Amaro Housing Complex project not only provides dwelling for those families who used to live in a precarious and risk situation or in an incessant worry of flooding-collapsing possibilities.

It also improved the community’s urbanity—especially considering its particular location, within an environmental protected area.

By valuing the site’s existing resources, the project fits to the urban landscape without ignoring

its previous reality. Originally, this area used to be a green area, which, due to irregular occupation, was extinct. Considering this past, the project recovers the site’s landscape through a linear park, which also establishes an infrastructural central axis to the Complex. The park’s program— playgrounds, skate lanes, soccer field, club and school—stimulates dwellers in using the space and introduces them a new sense of belonging.

Before the projects implantation, in order to go to school, children used to have two options: pass through a polluted stream or taking a long time to walk around the block.

Considering this context, the project created a new circulation flow through new connecting bridges. The five and seven floor buildings that hold 200 habitational units are divided into many typologies, such as: two-floor apartments with two

or three bedrooms and units adapted disabled people’s use.

Surrounding these buildings, the semi-public paths stimulate a pedestrian flow.

Now, in addition, a new street covers the existing polluted stream. In order to preserve the neighborhood identity and to improve their water supply, some artificial water ponds permeate the site and the many existing natural water springs were restored.

436 Ilha Comprida Waterfront Revealing a preserved seafront as an accessible public space Architects Boldarini Arquitetos Associados Location Ilha Comprida â&#x20AC;&#x201C; SP

Ilha Comprida occupies a narrow stretch of sand approximately 72 kilometers long and 3 kilometers wide and is unique for having one hundred percent of its territory inside an area of environmental protection (APA).

The requalification project of its shoreline seeks to organize and promote seaside activities, with objectives that go beyond this maritime front and summer tourism. Since the island plays an important environmental role as a breakwater, protecting the

mainland from the wind and seas, it is fundamental to preserve its dunes that face the winds and protect the area behind it from the effects of these coastal agents.

The requalification project for Ilha Comprida shoreline is thus conceived as a pilot project to transform this ocean frontage.

It employs strategies that contemplate the natural conditions as well as the needs of residents and visitors, providing structures that positively intervene in the natural flows while simultaneously

guiding use and visitation of this public space par excellence.

Land parceling in the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s downtown area is characterized by an orthogonal grid with 50 meter wide blocks, configuring a number of streets perpendicular to the beach that lead a large number of users to Beira-Mar Avenue, where services for mostly summer tourists are located in a disorganized way, creating a number of conflicts between pedestrians, vehicles, cyclists, sellers, kiosks, and temporary structures, in

addition to the already mentioned environmental problems.

The project begins with the ordering of these seaside usages. The bus stops for public transportation are taken as a mediating element between the beach (the natural environment) and the urban occupation (the built environment). It intends to carry out an urban transformation based on the public issue of mass transportation, which will allow for a truly democratic approach to the designed space.

438 Urban Plan for Pirajussara Interconnecting fragments along the river to free space in a dense informal settlement Architects LLA Arquitetos + JDVDP Arquitetos Location São Paulo – SP

Informal urbanization is the dominant development mode in the world’s fastest growing cities. As architects and urban planners, we are concerned about how to improve life in informal neighborhoods through the landscape, since having an open space is a rare and precious resource in these areas.

The Pirajussara 5 project considers the Diniz River as a structural axis of the proposal, through the connection of public spaces, existing dwellings, and

new resettlement housing. As the river is partially hidden by the existing houses, the goal is to rediscover it and bring it closer to the people, requalifying its’ banks with the implementation of a linear park. Thus, in the resulting space are funded civic axes of social relations, coexistence and cultural exchange, benefiting the neighborhood with a close public space, as the intervention creates a new facade to the river, considered as background these days.

Through these axes, the design concept establishes “emptiness” as a priority for areas that lack open spaces.

Therefore, new public areas are created in order to stimulate centrality poles, which reinforce the identity of each neighborhood.

Meticulous urban procedures, such as eliminating physical barriers, landscaping, and implementing public services including sewage and water systems, play an essential

role in achieving environmental quality and connecting the urban fabric. Additionally, the design applies the concept of “greenway” or “promenade”, redefining the sections of the streets and implementing traffic-calming strategies so that the public space, until now dominated by the perspective of the car, can be revitalized. Thus, the slum can reestablish a dialogue with its surroundings and become part of the formal city, where it belongs.

installation “from where you don’t see when you are” over niemeyer’s museum of contemporary art –– project: Pedro Varella –– development: GRU.A (grupo de arquitetos) –– collaboration: Caio Calafate, André Cavendish, Julia Carreiro –– evaluation board for the reynaldo roels jr award: Lisette Lagnado, Pablo Leon de La Barra, Michelle Sommer –– consultants: Rodrigo Affonso (structural engineering); Bruno Contarini (structural consultant); Jirau (equipment and structures); New Alfa (structure assembly) –– original project: Oscar Niemeyer –– location: Museu de Arte Contemporânea de Niterói (MAC), Niterói–RJ, Brazil.

–– area: 1,885m² (rooftop slab) –– year: 2017 –– status: built school without walls –– ESM Program plan and management: Andressa Capriglione, Marcella Arruda, Ranyely Araújo –– architectural project: Tomaz Lotufo, Cassio Abuno –– consultants: Ana Beatriz Giovani, Flavia Burcatovsky, Victor Presser (Project registration and communication material); Marjory Mafra, Nádia Recioli (permasampa support); Payacán Artes em Bambú, Jair Vieira, Pedro Burgos (design consultancy and construction of bamboo structure); Noêmia Mendonça, Nivalda Aragues, Ana Sueli, Fernando Ferreira (ECJD community organization); Pepe Guimarães (photos and movies) –– location: Brasilândia, São Paulo–SP, Brazil –– area: 160m² –– year: 2017 (ongoing) –– status: unbuilt children’s square –– architecture: Studio MK27 –– architect: Marcio Kogan, Eduardo Gurian, Marcio Tanaka –– design team: Carlos Costa, Laura Guedes, Mariana Simas –– studio team: Beatriz Meyer, Carolina Castroviejo, Diana

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Radomysler, Eduardo Chalabi, Eduardo Glycerio, Elisa Friedmann, Gabriel Kogan, Lair Reis, Luciana Antunes, Marcio Tanaka, Maria Cristina Motta, Mariana Ruzante, Mariana Simas, Oswaldo Pessano, Renata Furlanetto, Samanta Cafardo, Suzana Glogowski Location: São Paulo–SP, Brazil area: 900m² year: 2012 (ongoing) status: unbuilt

brincante institute –– authors: Bernardes Arquitetura –– design team: Thiago Bernardes, Dante Furlan, Rafael Oliveira, Maria Vittoria Oliveira, Marcelo Dondo, Ana Paula Endo, Mary Helle Moda, Flavio Faggion –– exhibition illustrations: Gabriel Duarte, Vitor Cunha, Gabriel Gomes, Juliana Biancardine, André Vuaden –– institutional support: Instituto Alana –– consultants: Alfama Construtora (general contractor); LHG Engenharia (structural design); Appogeo (foundations); Smart Service (electric and hydraulic); Tottal Tecnologia Térmica (mechanical); Acústica e Sônica (acoustics); AtendTudo (stage design); Cenário Paisagismo (landscape architecture); Foco Iluminação (lighting design); Tecnosystem / Jansen and SC Esquadrias (window systems); Hormann (special acoustic doors); Isofibras (acoustic panels) –– location: São Paulo–SP, Brazil –– area: 342m² –– year: 2015-2016 –– status: built terreiro òsùmàrè –– authors: Francisco Fanucci, Marcelo Ferraz –– co-author: Roberto Brotero –– design team: Anne Dieterich, Cícero Ferraz Cruz, Gabriel Mendonça, Julio Tarragó, Laura Ferraz, Luciana Dornellas, Pedro Renault, William Campos, Guega Rocha, Heloisa Oliveira, Juliana Ricci –– physical model: Antonia Romer –– location: Salvador–BA, Brazil –– land area: 3,935m² –– building area: 3,883m²

–– year: 2017 (ongoing) –– status: unbuilt unifesp student housing –– H+F arquitetos: Eduardo Ferroni, Pablo Hereñu; Camila Reis, Camila Paim, Amanda Rodrigues, Levy de Lima Vitorino, Bianca Fontana, Nathália Grippa, Leonardo Navarro, Lucas Cunha –– consultants: Steng Pro (structural design); Fit engenheiros (building services); Feuertec (fire protection); K2 (Sustainability Consultant); Exato engenharia (quantity surveying); Ricardo Viana (landscape); Proassp (waterproofing) –– location: Osasco–São Paulo, Brazil –– area: 10,155.33m² –– year: 2014 (ongoing) –– status: unbuilt children’s village –– Fundação Bradesco / Canuanã students’ homes –– authors: Rosenbaum + Aleph Zero –– consultants: Ita Construtora (design, manufacture and construction of wooden structures); Raul Pereira Associated Architects (landscaping); Lux Lighting Projects (lighting design); Meirelles Carvalho (foundations project); Ambiental Consultoria (Environmental); Lutie (MEP); Trima (concrete slabs); Inova TS (general contractor); Rosenbaum and Fetiche (FF&E); Fabiana Zanin (project registration and communication material); Leonardo Finotti, Diego Cagnato, Gallery Experience (photos and movies) –– location: Formoso do Araguaia– TO, Brazil –– area: 23,344.17m² –– year: 2014-2016 –– status: built amata wooden building –– authors: Carolina Bueno, Sávio Jobim, João Vieira Costa, Victor Hertel, Alice Sallustro –– consultants: Equilibrium/ Carpinteria (design, manufacture and construction of wooden structure,

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engineering); PS2 Projetos e Consultoria / Amata (project registration and communication material) location: São Paulo–SP, Brazil area: 4,700m² year: 2017 (ongoing) status: unbuilt

sesc ribeirão preto –– authors: César Shundi Iwamizu, Eduardo Pereira Gurian, Helena Aparecida Ayoub Silva –– competition team: Helena Ayoub Silva & Arquitetos Associados (Alexandre Gaiser Fernandes, André Desani Ariza, Elisa Haddad, Gustavo Madalosso Kerr, Kim de Paula, Luisa Amoroso Guardado, Thomas de Almeida Ho); Siaa Arquitetos Associados (Alexandre Gervásio, Andrei Barbosa da Silva, Bruno Valdetaro Salvador, Daniel Constante, Rafael Carvalho) –– project coordination: Cecília Prudencio Torrez, César Shundi Iwamizu, Eduardo Pereira Gurian, Helena Aparecida Ayoub Silva –– design team: Helena Ayoub Silva & Arquitetos Associados (Gustavo Madalosso Kerr, Thomas de Almeida Ho, André Desani Ariza, Fernanda Bianchi Neves Taques Bittencourt, Flávia Falcetta); Siaa Arquitetos Associados (Andrei Barbosa da Silva, Bruno Valdetaro Salvador, Fernanda Britto, Leonardo Nakaoka Nakandakari, Luca Caiaffa, Rafael Carvalho, Maria Fernanda Xavier) –– consultants: Addor (masonry); Ambiental (thermal comfort); CAP - Consultoria Ambiental e Paisagística (landscaping architecture); Crysalis (audio, video and multimedia); CTE (LEED and PROCEL consulting); Empro (vertical transport); Fernando Machado (technical design of kitchens); Franco Associados (lighting); Jugend (electronic security system, fire detection and alarm, building management); Mag Projesolos (concrete floor); MBM Engenharia (hydraulic, electrical, climate control and fire fighting installations); MK Engenharia (consulting in vehicles flow); Pedro Martins Engenharia (consulting in framing); Polis Engenharia (logic,

telephony and stabilized energy); Proassp (waterproofing); Siaa Arquitetos Associados (framing); Simone Carvalho (consulting in odontology); Solé e Associados (acoustic confort and scenographic technology); Statura Engenharia (concrete and metallic structure); ZF& Engenheiros Associados (foundations and earthmoving) –– Sesc coordination: Amilcar João Gay Filho (engineering and infrastructure manager); Grisiele Cezarete; Rita Palavani; Giorgio D´Onofrio; Sergio José Battistelli, Vicente Paulo Aráujo Girodo (technical and planning advisory –– text: Francesco Perrotta-Bosch –– location: Ribeirão Preto–SP, Brazil –– area: 15,000m² –– year: 2013 (ongoing) –– status: unbuilt maré observatory –– author: Pedro Évora –– client: Observatório de Favelas –– producer: Luiza Melo (Automática) –– collaborators: Rua Arquitetos (Pedro Rivera, Fabiano Pires, Olivia Vigneron) –– consultants: Samuel Betts (lighting project); Geraldo Filizola (structural engineering) –– location: Nova Holanda, Maré, Rio de Janeiro–RJ, Brazil –– area: 1,050m² –– year: 2012-2017 –– status: unbuilt são paulo open downtown –– SP Urbanismo –– president: José Armênio de Brito Cruz –– development: Fernando Mello Franco, Gustavo Partezani Rodrigues, Luis Eduardo Surian Brettas, Eduardo Pompeo Martins, Jihana Yussif Abou Nassif, Patricia Lutz Vidigal, Cristiana Gonçalves Pereira Rodrigues, André de Paula Andreis, Luana Moreira Pereira, André Gonçalves dos Ramos, João Porfírio da Silva –– development support: Patricia Saran, Thomas Len Yuba, José Eduardo de Sousa Costa, Cristina Tokie Sanomie Laiza, Potiguara Mendes Ponciano

–– administrative, financial and legal support: Fabio Nascimento, Valdemir Lodron, Ricardo Simonetti, Adriana Ferreira dos Santos, Ricardo Grecco Teixeira, Nivaldete Sanches C de Jesus, Maria de Fátima Claro Cabral, Tercio Ruiz Ruggeri, Isabel Cristina de Souza, Rita Alves de Lima –– interns: Bibiana Araujo Tini, Douglas Vieira Farias, Hannah Brito Montenegro Campos, Horrana Porfírio Soares, Juliana Souza Matayoshi, Natalie Henia Lagnado, Paula de Arruda Castro Giavarotto, Pedro Cezar de Andrade Cipis, Ana Paula Siqueira, André Moreno Bonassa, Davi Hastenreiter Sampaio, Diego Fontgalland Dias, Flávio Johnsen Barossi, Gabriela Mem Barbosa, Giulia Lorenzi, Heloísa de Souza Oliveira, Jéssica Schroeder Selingardi, Júlia Kaffka, Juliana Custodio Miranda, Mariana Wandarti Clemente, Nicolas Costa Panseri, Pamela Lopes da Silva, Paola Trombetti Ornaghi, Rodolpho Rodrigues Baptista do Prado, Rodrigo Marinoni Mandelli, Suzi Meire Correa, Vitória Raíza Marques Novo –– collaboration: PR-SE - Prefeitura Regional da Sé; SMT / CET Companhia de Engenharia de Tráfego; SMADS – Secretaria de Assistência e Desenvolvimento Social; SMDHC – Secretaria de Direitos Humanos e Cidadania; SMSO / AMLURB – Autoridade de Limpeza Urbana; SMSO / ILUME Departamento de Iluminação Pública; SSU / GCM – Guarda Civil Metropolitana; Polícia Militar do Estado de São Paulo; Gehl Architects (active engagement consulting) –– implantation: SP Urbanismo –– operation and research: LR Eventos –– location: Largo São Francisco/ Largo São Bento, São Paulo–SP, Brazil –– year: Largo São Francisco – 2014/Largo São Bento - 2016 –– area: Largo São Francisco (2,705m²)/Largo São Bento (3,900m²) –– year: 2018 (ongoing) –– status: built

from planning to design / sesc pq. dom pedro ii urban plan: –– Secretaria Municipal de Desenvolvimento Urbano: Miguel Luiz Bucalem – secretário –– Laboratório de Urbanismo da Metrópole - LUME da FAUUSP: Regina Meyer, Marta Grostein –– administrative coordination (fupam): José Borelli –– Una arquitetos: Cristiane Muniz, Fábio Valentim, Fernanda Barbara, Fernando Viégas / collaborators: Ana Paula de Castro, Carolina Klocker, Eduardo Martorelli, Fabiana W. Cyon, Filipe dos Santos Barrocas, Igor Cortinove, Miguel Muralha, Roberto Galvão Júnior / interns: Bruno Gondo, Henrique te Winkel, Luccas Matos Ramos –– H+F arquitetos + Metrópole arquitetos Anna Helena Villela, Eduardo Ferroni, Pablo Hereñu / collaborators: Bruno Nicoliello, Cecília Torres, Liz Arakaki, Renan Kadomoto, Thiago Moretti, Tammy Almeida / interns: Carolina Yamate, Carolina Domshcke, Felipe Chodin, Karina Kohutek, Luisa Fecchio, Natália Tanaka, Nike Grote Sesc Pq. Dom Pedro II: –– design architects: Cristiane Muniz, Fábio Valentim, Fernanda Barbara, Fernando Viégas –– design team: Barbara Francelin, Camila Martins, Clóvis Cunha, Joaquin Gak, Julia Jabur, Julia Moreira, Manuela Raiteli, Marie Lartigue, Pedro Ribeiro, Rodrigo Carvalho, Sarah Nunes –– consultants: SOMA arquitetos / UNA ARQUITETOS (landscape design); Passeri Arquitetos Associados (acoustic consultant); Addor&Associados (masonry); Acústica e Sônica (acoustic confort and scenographic technology); MK Engenharia (vehicles flow consultant); Pedro Martins Engenharia (consulting in framing); Estúdio Carlos Fontes Luz + Design (lighting); Machado de Campos (technical design of kitchens); Júlio Kassoy e Mário Franco (concrete and metallic structure); ZF & Engenheiros Associados Fundações e

Contenções (foundations and earthmoving); Proiso (waterproofing); ETP Climatização (mechanical); Crysalis / aVM (audio, video and multimedia); Jugend (electronic security system, fire detection and alarm, building management); PHE (hydraulic, electrical consultant); EACE (vertical transport); CTE (LEED consultant); ASA Estúdio (PROCEL consultant) –– location: São Paulo–SP, Brazil –– area: 24,000m² –– year: 2018 (ongoing) –– status: unbuilt liberdade boulevard –– authors: Daniel Corsi, Dani Hirano, Candi Hirano –– collaborators: Marina Nunes, Elis Cristina Morales, Caroline Jun, Nathália Melo, Jessyca Lin, Marina Martorelli –– location: São Paulo–SP, Brazil –– intervention area: 17,406m² –– construction area: 38,580m² –– year: 2011-2013 –– status: unbuilt santa efigênia crossing –– architecture: sauermartins + Metropolitano Arquitetos –– design team: Cássio Sauer, Elisa T. Martins (sauermartins) + Camila da Rocha Thiesen (Metropolitano Arquitetos) – collaborator: Ignacio de la Veja –– designers: Bárbara Remussi, Luísa Pasqualotto, Augusto Pereira –– development: Prefeitura de Belo Horizonte; PUC-Minas, NGO Arquitetos sem Fronteiras, Flávio Agostini (M3 Arquitetura), Carlos Teixeira (Vazio/SA) –– location: Belo Horizonte–MG, Brazil –– area: 6,500m².

–– year: 2014 –– status: unbuilt parque novo santo amaro housing complex –– project: Vigliecca & Associados –– authors: Héctor Vigliecca, Luciene Quel, Neli Shimizu, Ronald Fiedler –– design team: Thaísa Folgosi Fróes, Caroline Bertoldi, Kelly Bozzato, Aline Ollertz Silva,

Pedro Ichimaru Bedendo, Mayara Rocha Christ –– administration: Paulo Eduardo de Arruda Serra, Luci Tomoko Maie –– client: Prefeitura do Município de São Paulo – Secretaria de Habitação –– superintendency: Elisabete França –– management: Consórcio JNS Hagaplan –– consultants: Procion Engenharia (MEP engineering); Berfac (foundations and earthmoving); Camilo Engenharia (concrete structure); Projeto Alpha / Flavio D’Alambert, Prometal (metallic structure); Consórcio Mananciais – Construbase Engeform – José Roberto do Nascimento e Adriano R. Marques (general contractor) –– location: São Paulo–SP, Brazil –– intervention area: 5,4ha –– number of housing units: 198 –– built area: 18,710m2 –– year: 2009-2012 –– status: built ilha comprida waterfront –– authors: Marcos Boldarini, Lucas Nobre and Larissa Reolon –– design team: Flavia Cavalcanti, Juliana Junko, Marta Abril, Renata Serio and Rodrigo Garcia –– interns: Patricia Tsunoushi and Pricila Anderson –– general contractor: Prefeitura de Ilha Comprida –– consultants: CAP – Consultoria Ambiental Paisagística (landscaping project); Linear Engenharia e Tecnologia (storm drainage); Wagner Garcia (structures and foundations); DMA Engenharia (eletrical); HPROJ Engenharia (hydraulic); Tecnowatt Iluminação (lighting); BLK Construção e Empreendimentos (constructor); Pezzi Consultoria, Mariângela Oliveira de Barros, Pablo Garcia Carrasco (consultants) –– location: Ilha Comprida–SP, Brazil –– area of intervention: 283,000m² –– extent of intervention: 3.2km –– year: 2011-2015 –– status: built

urban plan for pirajussara –– co-creation: Libeskindllovet Arquitetos + Jansana de la Villa, de Paauw Arquitectes –– authors: Claudio Libeskind, Sandra Llovet, Robert de Paauw, Imma Jansana, Conchita de la Villa, Toni Abelló, Carlota Socias –– design team: Adriano Soares, Marina Rosa, Natália Leardini, Ariane D’Andrea, Vinicius Libardoni, Bruna Bimeghini, Luana Pereira, Beatriz Vanzolini Moretti, Gabriel Faria de Paula, Guilherme Filocomo, Márcia Endrighi, Camille Bianchi, Gabriela Barbosa Amorim, Francesco Fontana, Stefano Muzzi –– consultants: EGI Enginyeria, Bac Engineering Consultancy Group, Maccaferri do Brasil, Consgeo Engenharia –– location: Campo Limpo, São Paulo–SP, Brazil –– area: 176,874m² –– year: 2012-2018 –– status: unbuilt

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––VARGAS, Heliana Comin, 1997.

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on: November, 2017]. Available at: http://preview.grid.unep.ch/index. php?preview=data&events= socec&evcat=2&lang=eng ––Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística (IBGE), 2011-2015.

CEMPRE - Companies National Register Statistics. [Accessed on: November, 2017]. Available at: http://preview.grid.unep.ch/index. php?preview=data&events=socec &evcat=2&lang=eng ––Associação Brasileira de Shopping Centers Centers (ABRASCE ), 2017.

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Avaliação do Programa Minha Casa Minha Vida em seis estados Brasileiros. Rio de Janeiro: Letra Capital.

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Available at: https://cbic.org.br/ wp-content/uploads/2017/11/ Perenidade_dos_Programas_ Habitacionais_2016.pdf ––CUNHA, Gabriel Rodrigues, 2014.

O Programa Minha Casa Minha Vida em São José do Rio Preto/SP: Estado, Mercado, Planejamento Urbano e Habitação. Doctoral thesis, Instituto de Arquitetura e Urbanismo, Universidade de São Paulo. [Accessed on: April, 2018].

Available at: http://www.teses. usp.br/teses/disponiveis/102/ 102132/tde-11122014-100257/ publico/TeseGabrielCunhaFinal Corrigida.pdf ––Caixa Econômica Federal (CEF), 2018. Apresentação. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: http:// www.caixa.gov.br/sobre-a-caixa/ apresentacao/Paginas/default. aspx ––GARBIN, Rafael; SAUGO, Andréia; FERRARI, Dustin; LOLI, Gisele; KLEIN, Luciana Cristina; XAVIER, Monique Danielli, 2016. Avaliação Pós Ocupação dos primeiros empreendimento do Programa Minha Casa Minha Vida, faixa 1 e 2 na cidade de Erechim-RS. [Accessed on: April, 2018].

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São Paulo; Boitempo.

––SHIMBO, Lúcia Zanin, 2010.

Habitação Social, Habitação de Mercado: a confluência entre Estado, empresas construtoras e capital financeiro. Doctoral thesis, Escola de Engenharia São Carlos, Universidade de São Paulo. [Accessed on: April, 2018].

Available at: file:///C:/Users/ usuario/Downloads/tese_lucia_ shimbo_jun10_final.pdf ––VILLA, Simone Barbosa; SARAMAGO, Rita de Cássia Pereira; GARCIA, Lucianne Casasanta, 2016.

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TDs/07102016td_2234.pdf exhibition map ––LEHAB / Departamento de Arquitetura e Urbanismo (DAU) / Universidade Federal do Ceará (UFC), 2012-2015. Mapping of Fortaleza’s PMCMV bands 1, 2 and 3 developments [shapefile].

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Mapping of Rio de Janeiro’s PMCMV bands 1, 2 and 3 developments [shapefile].

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Mapping of São Paulo’s PMCMV bands 1, 2 and 3 developments [shapefile]. [Shared: February, 2018] ––LabCidade / Department of Design (AUP) / University of São Paulo (USP), 2009-2012. Mapping of Campinas’ PMCMV bands 1, 2 and 3 developments [shapefile].

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bases-cartograficas/malhasdigitais.html ––Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística (IBGE), 2017. Estimated Population - Since 1991. [Accessed on: March, 2018]. Available at: https://ww2.ibge.gov.br/ home/estatistica/populacao/ estimativa2017/default.shtm ––United Nations Development Program, Human Development Report, 2016. Human Development for Everyone, Briefing note for countries on the 2016 Human Development Report - Brazil.

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Available at: http://hdr.undp.org/ sites/all/themes/hdr_theme/ country-notes/BRA.pdf ––UN-Habitat’s Global Urban Observatory, 2018. United Nation’s Millennium Development Goals Database, Urban Data Indicators since 1950. [Accessed on: March, 2018]. Available at: http:// urbandata.unhabitat.org/exploredata/ ––Sistema de Informações Sobre Orçamento Público Federal (SIGA), 2018. Federal Budget Reports 2006-2015. [Accessed on: March, 2018]. Available at: http://www8d. senado.gov.br/BOE/BI/logon/start. do?ivsLogonToken=WWW8D. senado.gov.br%3A6400%409005 430JoNhmf74Lz75gQp9QSthA WN9005428JwgFB8tdHWj qjLpy1skg75z ––World Bank Global Development Data, 2018. Urban Development, Social Development, Poverty, Economy and Growth Indicators - Brazil. [Accessed on: March, 2018]. Available at: https://data. worldbank.org/indicator ––Ministério das Cidades, Secretaria Nacional de Habitação, 2017.

Minha Casa Minha Vida General Data. [Shared: January, 2018] intro map ––AMORE, C. S., SHIMBO, L.Z., RU, M. B. C., 2015. Minha casa… e a cidade? avaliação do programa minha casa minha vida em seis estados brasileiros. Rio de Janeiro: Letra Capital.

––Caixa Econômica Federal, 2017.

Minha Casa, Minha Vida Program (MCMV) projects. [Accessed on: February, 2018]. Available at: http://www.minhacasaminhavida.

gov.br ––Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística (IBGE), 2016.

Administrative boundaries.

[Accessed on: February, 2018].

Available at: ftp://geoftp.ibge. gov.br ––IBGE Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística, 2010.

Cities socioeconomic data.

[Accessed on: February, 2018].

Available at: ftp://geoftp.ibge. gov.br ––Fundação Sistema Estadual de Análise de Dados (SEADE), 2010.

Paulista Social Vulnerability Index - IPVS. [Accessed on: February, 2018]. Available at: http://www. seade.gov.br 9. Solid Divisions intro text ––BIZZIO, Michele R., ZUIN, João Carlos Soares, 2016. A apropriação do ideário cidade-jardim nos condomínios residenciais fechados brasileiros. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: http:// vitruvius.com.br/revistas/read/ arquitextos/17.198/6300 ––BRASIL, 2002. Lei nº 10.406, de 10 de janeiro de 2002: Código Civil. [Accessed on: April, 2018].

Available at: http://www.planalto. gov.br/ccivil_03/leis/2002/l10406. htm ––CALDEIRA, Teresa Pires do Rio, 2000. City of walls: crime, segregation, and citizenship in São Paulo. Los Angeles: University of California Press.

––LEITE, Maria Angela F.P, 2011.

O espaço dividido nas cidades do século XXI. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: https://periodicos.ufsc.br/ index.php/geosul/article/ viewFile/24659/21839 ––SIGNORELLI, Carlos Francisco; SILVA NETO, Manoel Lemes da, 2012. Por um urbanismo a partir do outro. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: http://www. vitruvius.com.br/revistas/read/ arquitextos/12.140/4199 ––TORQUATO, Manuela Lourenço Pires, 2006. Análise do Direito de Vizinhança no novo código civil quanto a muros, paredes e plantas divisórias. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: http://egov.

ufsc.br/portal/sites/default/files/ anexos/9198-9197-1-PB.pdf ––VARGAS, Heliana Comin, 2006.

Centros urbanos: por quê intervir? Palestra apresentada no Seminário Internacional de Reabilitação de Edifícios em áreas centrais. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: http:// www.labcom.fau.usp.br/wpcontent/uploads/2015/08/2006Interven%C3%A7%C3%A3o-emcentro-urbanos-imagens.pdf ––WHITAKER, João Sette, 2011.

Perspectivas e desafios para o jovem arquiteto no Brasil. Qual o papel da profissão?. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: http://vitruvius.com.br/revistas/ read/arquitextos/12.133/3950 exhibition map ––Brazilian Landscape Research Lab, FAUUSP (Quapá). Urban Block Morphology Analysis. [Shared: February, 2018] ––Open Street Map, 2017. Brazilian Streets. [Acessed on: February, 2018]. Available at: https://www. openstreetmap.org/ ––Flanders Marine Institute, 2016.

Marine Regions: Economic Exclusive Zones. [Acessed on: December, 2017]. Available at: http://www.marineregions.org/ downloads.php ––Google Earth, 2017. Satellite Images. [Acessed on: March, 2018] intro map ––Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística (IBGE), 2016.

Administrative boundaries.

[Accessed on: February, 2018].

Available at: ftp://geoftp.ibge. gov.br ––Atlas de Desenvolvimento Humano no Brasil, 2014. Human Development Atlas in the Brazilian Metropolitan Regions: São Paulo. [Accessed on: February, 2018]. Available at: http://www. atlasbrasil.org.br/2013/en/ download/base/ 10. The Encryption of Power intro text ––Pixo [documentary], 2009.

Directed by Roberto T. Oliveira and João Wainer. São Paulo.

––exhibition map ––Instagram, Inc. API, 2016-2018.

Data extracted using hashtags #pixo #pixosp #pixacao #xarpi.

[Accessed on: April, 2018] ––Departamento de Produção e Análise de Informação (DEINFO) / Prefeitura Municipal de São Paulo (PMSP) via Geosampa, 2018. Buildings in each neighborhood. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: http:// geosampa.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/ ––Departamento de Produção e Análise de Informação (DEINFO) / Prefeitura Municipal de São Paulo (PMSP) via Geosampa, 2018. Building blocks in São Paulo. [online]. [Accessed on: April, 2018]. Available at: http:// geosampa.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/ ––Prefeitura Municipal de São Paulo, 2017. Infractions related to pixo in São Paulo. [Shared: January, 2018] ––Data Zap, 2018. São Paulo’s Metropolitan Area real state database. [Shared: March, 2018] ––Escola da Cidade, 2018. News about Pixo in São Paulo. [Shared: April, 2018] intro map ––Centro de Estudos da Metrópole (CEM), 2018. Base de Logradouros RMSP. [Accessed on: February, 2018]. Available at: http://web. fflch.usp.br/centrodametropole/ ––Centro de Estudos da Metrópole (CEM), 2016. Favelas e Loteamentos irregulares no Município de São Paulo.

[Accessed on: February, 2018].

Available at: http://web.fflch.usp. br/centrodametropole/ ––Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística (IBGE), 2016. Limites Administrativos. [Accessed on: February, 2018]. Available at: ftp:// geoftp.ibge.gov.br ––Instagram, Inc. API, 2016-2018.

Data extracted using the hashtag #pixo. [Accessed on: February, 2018].

image credits Francis Alÿs (p.14) The Leak (São Paulo), 1995 Documentation of an action (São Paulo) Courtesy: the artist and Galerie Peter Kilchmann, Zurich Manoela Medeiros (p.16) Fronteira [Frontier], 2017 Excavation on wall and coating Photo: Eduardo Ortega Courtesy: the artist Marcius Galan (p.20) Seção diagonal [Diagonal Section], 2008 Installation view of the exhibition Do Objeto para o Mundo, Inhotim Collection at Itaú Cultural, São Paulo, 2015 Photo: Edouard Fraipont Courtesy: Instituto Inhotim, Brumadinho

Photo: Julien Devaux Courtesy: Galerie Peter Kilchmann, Zurich and Galeria Nara Roesler, São Paulo Cássio Vasconcellos (p.114) CEASA, 2012 Photograph Courtesy: the artist Carolina Caycedo (p.132) A Gente Xingú, A Gente Doce, A Gente Paraná [The People Xingú, The People Doce, The People Paraná], 2016 From the series A Gente Rio – Be Dammed [The People River– Be Dammed] Satellite photographs Commissioned for the 32nd Bienal de São Paulo Courtesy: the artist

Lula Buarque de Hollanda (p.22) Fragment of the installation O muro [The Wall], 2017 Courtesy: the artist

Helena Wolfenson (p.136) Paracatú de Baixo, 2015 Marlon, Bento Rodrigues, 2015 From the series Rastro de lama [Mud Trail] Photograph Courtesy: the artist

Cildo Meireles (p.24) Através [Through], 1983-1989 Installation view at Fondazione HangarBicocca, 2014 Photo: Agostino Osio Courtesy: the artist and Fondazione HangarBicocca, Milan

Aline Lata (p.140) Bento Rodrigues, Mariana – Brasil, 2015 From the series Rastro de lama [Mud Trail] Photograph Courtesy: the artist

Nicolás Robbio (p.34) Plano expandido (Questões ao traçar uma linha) [Expanded Plane (Questions when Drawing a Line)], 2016 319 pieces of wire Photo: Edouard Fraipont Courtesy: Galeria Vermelho, São Paulo

Runo Lagomarsino (p.168) ContraTiempos [Setbacks], 2010 Dia projection loop, 27 original images in a Kodak carousel slide projection with timer Courtesy: the artist and Mendes Wood DM, São Paulo

Rivane Neuenschwander (p.74) Mapa-Múndi BR (Postal) [World‑Map BR (Postal)], 2007 Postcards and wood shelves Courtesy: the artist, Fortes D’Aloia & Gabriel, São Paulo, Stephen Friedman Gallery, London, and Tanya Bonakdar Gallery, New York Melanie Smith (p.112) Stills from Fordlândia, 2014 HD 30’

Paulo Nazareth (p.172) Premium Bananas / Mapa Guarani [Premium Bananas / Guarani Map], 2012 Sewing and mixed media on tissue Courtesy: Mendes Wood DM, São Paulo Jonathas de Andrade (p.204) 1a Corrida de Carroças do Centro do Recife / O levante [1st Horse-Drawn Cart Race of Downtown Recife / The Uprising], 2012

Photographic documentation and video Photo: Josivan Rodrigues and Ricardo Moura Courtesy: Galeria Vermelho, São Paulo, and Galleria Continua, San Gimignano Renata Lucas (p.230) aqui havia um projeto de cidade [here, there was a project for city], 2018 Cortesia da artista e Galeria Luisa Strina, São Paulo Bárbara Wagner and Benjamin de Burca (p.236) DESENHO/CANTEIRO [PLAN/PLAT], 2014 Video collage, HD, color, sound, 12’12’’ Courtesy: the artists, Fortes D’Aloia & Gabriel, São Paulo, and Amparo 60, Recife Photo: Marina D’Imperio Mauro Restiffe (p.238) Itaquerão #2, 2014 Estacionamento Oficina [Oficina Parking Lot], 2014 São Paulo – Viaduto Antártica, 2014 São Paulo, fora de alcance, a project commissioned by Instituto Moreira Salles Photograph Courtesy: the artist and Fortes D’Aloia & Gabriel, São Paulo Tuca Vieira (p.268) Marabá, 2013 Marabá, 2013 From the series Viagem ao Brasil [Voyage to Brazil] Photograph Courtesy: the artist Carol Quintanilha(p.270) concreto armado [reinforced concrete], 2014 Photographs Courtesy: the artist Antoni Muntadas in collaboration with Paula Santoro (p.310) On Translation: Comemorações urbanas, 1998-2002 Bronze plaque, postcard, and website Courtesy: the artist and Galeria Luisa Strina, São Paulo

Pedro Victor Brandão (p.312) Untitled #3, 2013 Untitled #12, 2013 Untitled #20, 2013 Untitled #16, 2013 Untitled #24, 2013 Untitled #22, 2013 From the series Mitigação sem impacto (Convite à pintura) [Mitigation Without Impact (Invitation to Painting)] Inkjet print on cotton paper Courtesy: Galeria Sé, São Paulo Ivan Padovani (p.362) Campo cego [Blind Field], 2014 Digital photograph. Inkjet print on cotton paper over aluminum plate and composite of cement and cellulose Courtesy: the artist Pablo López Luz (p.368) Pixo III, 2015 Photograph Courtesy: the artist

map credits Maps 1-10 Walls of Air Cartographies Team: Gabriel Kozlowski, Laura González Fierro, Marcelo Maia Rosa, Sol Camacho, Gabriel Duarte Bárbara Graeff, Chiara Scotoni, Haydar Baydoun, Heloisa Escudeiro, Olivia Serra, Miguel Darcy, Manoela Pessoa, Rafael Marengoni.

Map 08 Walls of Air Cartographies Team, Marc Angélil, Rainer Hehl, Patricia Lucena Ventura, Rede Cidade e Moradia, Cota 760 Map 09 Walls of Air Cartographies Team, Escola da Cidade Team (Pedro Vada (coordenador), Newton Massafumi, Pedro M. R. Sales, Beatriz Dias, Bruna Marchiori, Giulia Ribeiro, Isabela Moraes, Karime Zaher, Marilia Serra, Mateus Loschi, Pedro H Norberto) Quapa FAUUSP Map 10 Walls of Air Cartographies Team, Escola da Cidade Team

General credits

454

Fundação bienal de são paulo team Chief Executive Officer Luciana Guimarães

Communication Felipe Taboada · Manager Adriano Campos Ana Elisa de Carvalho Price Caroline Carrion Diana Dobránszky Eduardo Lirani Julia Bolliger Murari Victor Bergmann Institutional Relations and Partnerships Flávia Abbud · Manager Eduardo Sena Irina Cypel Mariana Sesma Raquel Silva Rayssa Foizer General Secretariat Maria Rita Marinho · Manager Carlos Roberto Rodrigues Rosa Josefa Gomes Paula Signorelli · Chief Executive Office’s Advisor

Chief Project Officer Dora Silveira Corrêa

Chief Financial and Administrative Officer Emilia Ramos

Bienal Archive Ana Luiza de Oliveira Mattos · Manager Ana Paula Andrade Marques Fernanda Curi Melânie Vargas de Araujo Pedro Ivo Trasferetti von Ah

Legal Counsel Bruna Andrade · Intern

Production Felipe Isola · Planning and Logistics Manager Joaquim Millan · Artwork Production and Exhibition Manager Bianca Volpi Dorinha Santos Felipe Melo Franco Gabriela Lopes Graziela Carbonari Heloisa Bedicks Veridiana Simons Viviane Teixeira Waleria Dias

Planning and Operations Marcela Amaral · Coordinator Danilo Alexandre Machado de Souza Rone Amabile

Educational Program Claudia Vendramini · Manager Laura Barboza Bianca Casemiro Regiane Ishii Cristina Fino · Editorial Coordinator Thiago Gil · Researcher

Finance Amarildo Firmino Gomes · Manager Fábio Kato Silvia Andrade Branco

Human Resources Albert Cabral dos Santos · Assistant Materials and Property Valdomiro Rodrigues da Silva · Manager Angélica de Oliveira Divino Daniel Pereira Larissa Di Ciero Ferradas Vinícius Robson da Silva Araújo Wagner Pereira de Andrade Information Technology Leandro Takegami · Manager

Exhibition credits Title Muros de Ar / Walls of Air Commissioner João Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz Fundação Bienal de São Paulo Curators Gabriel Kozlowski Laura González Fierro Marcelo Maia Rosa Sol Camacho

Caycedo, Carol Quintanilha, Cássio Vasconcellos, Cildo Meireles, Francis Alÿs, Helena Wolfenson e Aline Lata, Ivan Padovani, Jonathas de Andrade, Lula Buarque de Hollanda, Manoela Medeiros, Marcius Galan, Mauro Restiffe, Melanie Smith, Nicolás Robbio, Pablo López Luz, Paulo Nazareth, Pedro Victor Brandão, Renata Lucas, Rivane Neuenschwander, Runo Lagomarsino, Tuca Vieira

Collaborators Curatorial team Coordinator Gabriel Duarte Architects Bárbara Graeff, Catarina Flaksman, Chiara Scotoni, Giusepe Filocomo, Haydar Baydoun, Heloisa Escudeiro, Olivia Serra, Miguel Darcy, Manoela Pessoa, Nitzan Zilberman, Rafael Marengoni, Leonardo Serrano Interns Júlia Figueiredo, Larissa Guimarães, Luiz Filipe Rampazio

Participants Open call: Selected projects, Bernardes Arquitetura, Boldarini Arquitetos, Brasil Arquitetura, Corsi Hirano Arquitetos, H+F Arquitetos, Libeskindllovet Arquitetos, Jansana, de la Villa, de Paauw, arquitectes, Pedro Évora, Pedro Varella, Gru.a Arquitetos, SIAA + HASAA, Sauermartins + Metropolitano Arquitetos, Rosenbaum + Aleph Zero, Sem Muros Arquitetura Integrada, SP Urbanismo, Studio MK27, Triptyque Architecture, Una Arquitetos, Laboratório de Urbanismo da Metrópole – LUME da FAUUSP, Metrópole Arquitetos, Vigliecca & Associados Outdoor installation Atelier Marko Brajovic Artists in the catalogue Antoni Muntadas, Bárbara Wagner and Benjamin de Burca, Carolina

Multidisciplinary committee Ailton Krenak, Antonio Risério, Antonio Donato Nobre, Carla Caffé, Claudio Bernardes, Claudio Haddad, Cripta Djan, Drauzio Varella, Eliane Caffé, Gilson Rodrigues, Luiz Felipe de Alencastro, Sérgio Besserman, Kenarik Boujikian Research consultants + Essays Alvaro Rodrigues dos Santos, Ana Luiza Nobre, Bruno Santa Ceciíia, Carlos Eboli, Carol Tonetti, Celma Chaves Pont Vidal, Danilo Igliori, Eduardo Aquino, Elisabete França, Eudoxios Anastassiadis, Gabriel Duarte, Gru.a + Oco, Iris Kantor, Ligia Nobre, Marc Angélil, Marcos Rosa, Paulo Orenstein, Paulo Tavares, Philip Yang, Rainer Hehl, Raquel Rolnik, Rodrigo Agostinho, Sergio Castelani, Victor de Carvalho Pinto Research groups & institutions Data Zap, Global Forest Watch, Mapping Lab, Nexo Jornal, Rede Cidade e Moradia, VIVA Projects, MIT – School of Architecture + Planning (Clarence Yi-Hsien Lee, Collyn S Chan, Cristina Grace Clow, Jaehun Woo, Maia Sophie Woluchem, Marissa Elisabeth Reilly, Nitzan Zilberman, Robert Alva Cain, Yeah Nidam), ETH (Marc Angélil, Patricia Lucena Ventura, Rainer Hehl), FAU USP (LabCidade, Quapa), Cota 760 (Luis Guilherme Alves Rossi, Nicolas Andre Mesquita, Paula Lemos), Escola da Cidade (Pedro Vada (coordinator), Newton Massafumi, Pedro M. R. Sales, Beatriz Dias, Bruna Marchiori, Giulia Ribeiro, Isabela Moraes, Karime Zaher, Marilia

Serra, Mateus Loschi, Pedro H Norberto), QGIS consultants, Pedro Camargo, Geology consultants (Cássio Roberto da Silva – CPRM, Serviço Geológico do Brasil, Cristina Boggi da Silva Rafaelli – Instituto Geológico, Eduardo Soares de Macedo – Instituto de Pesquisas Tecnológicas, Lidia Keiko Tominaga – Instituto Geológico), Universidade Federal do Pará (Graciete Guerra da Costa, Ligia T. Simonian Lopes, Bernadeth Beltrão Rosas Bentes, Rodrigo Augusto de Lima Rodrigues, George Bruno de Araújo Lima, Rebeca Barbosa Dias Rodrigues, Luciane Santos de Oliveira, Stephany Aylla de Nazaré Carvalho Pereira, Glenda de Souza Santos, Rebeca Barbosa Dias Rodrigues, Luciane Santos de Oliveira, Stephany Aylla de Nazaré Carvalho Pereira, Glenda de Souza Santos) Interviews & workshops: Coletivo ENTRE (Ana Altberg (coordinator), Mariana Meneguetti (coordinator), Joana Martins, Juliana Biancardine, Manuela Muller, Michel Zalis, Nathalia Perico, Stephanie Marques) Photography & video Arq.Futuro, Marina D’Imperio, Murilo Salazar Immigration workshop Angela Quinto, Carmen Silva, Cássia Fellet, Juliana Caffé, Preta Ferreira, Nathalia Lima, Thalissa Burgi, Rafael Migliatti, + 63 Immigrants Architects stories Alexander Pilis, Claudio Acioly, Flavio Coddou, Mauro Resnitzky, Oscar Oiwa, Ricardo de Ostos , Rodrigo Louro, Taneha Kuzniecow Bacchin, Zeuler Lima Exhibit graphic design Curators visual identity + Catalogue graphic design Celso Longo + Daniel Trench Website programming Create – Soluções Online

Production

Publication credits

Local Architect Martin Weigert Graphic Production Ligia Pedra

Edited by Gabriel Kozlowski Laura González Fierro Marcelo Maia Rosa Sol Camacho

Catalogue Printing Opero

Editorial coordination Fundação Bienal de São Paulo Team

Maps metal work and assembly Euroimmagine S.r.l

Assistant editor Rafael Falasco

Physical models Paola Acevedo (coordinator), Ada Demetriu, Alba del Barrio, Alberto Martínez, Carles Truyols, Daniel Escribà, Gerard Graells, Jean Craiu, Mariona Mayol Battle, Simon de Jong

Design Celso Longo + Daniel Trench

Realization Fundação Bienal de São Paulo Funarte Embassy of Brazil in Rome Ministry of Culture Ministry of Foreign Affairs Support Haddad Foundation Tereos

Design development Manu Vasconcellos Translation Alexandre Barbosa de Souza, Anthony Cleaver, Glenn Johnston, John Norman, Rodrigo Maltez‑Novaes, Suzana Vidigal Copyediting and proofreading Anita di Marco, Anthony Doyle, Bruno Tenan, Débora Donadel, Teté Martinho Graphic production Ligia Pedra

Partners MIT – School of Architecture + Planning MIT – MISTI Brazil Jonathan Franklin

Image processing and printing Opero srl, Verona, Itália

Media partnership IAB – Instituto de Arquitetos do Brasil ArchDaily Brasil

Paper MultiOffset 300 g/m2 (cover) MultiOffset 90 g/m2 (inside)

Font Fakt

acknowledgements Abilio Guerra, Adélia Duarte, Adèle Naudé Santos, Ana Miljacki, Ana Paula de Haro, Anália Maria Marinho de Carvalho Amorim, Andrade Morettin Arquitetos, André Correa do Lago, Camilla Barella, Carlos Viana de Carvalho, Caroline Passos, Cecilia Tanouri, Cinthia Marcelle, Ciro Miguel, Ciro Pirondi, Claudia Rabelo Lopes – Jardim Botânico RJ, Claudio Haddad, Cristina Gebran, Eduardo Lourenço, Edson Emygdio Pereira Junior, Elisabete Dos Santos, Eugenio Queiroga, Evaldo Lima, Fábio Tadeu Araújo, Fernando de Mello Franco, Fernando Túlio, Galeria Fortes D’Aloia & Gabriel, Galeria Luisa Strina, Galeria Nara Roesler, Galeria Vermelho, Gilberto Belleza, Giulia Foscari, Global Forest Watch, Guido Otero, Guilherme Falcão, Haroldo Pinheiro, Hashim Sarkis, Hector Zamora, Instituto Bardi/Casa de Vidro, Isabela Billi, João Felipe Campos Villar, Joao Queiroz, Jonathan Franklin, Luciana Rubino, Luis Fernando Villaça Meyer – Instituto Cordial, Marcio Soares, Marcos Kahtalian – Brain Bureau Inteligência, Maria Célia Fonseca, Marisa Moreira Salles, Maya Dávalos, Meejin Yoon, Mendes Wood Dmab, Michelle Mendlewicz, Paula Miraglia, Pedro Cavalheiro, Pedro Moreira Salles, Philip Oetker, Philippe Petalas, Pierre Santoul, Rafael Vogt, Rafaella Crepaldi, Regina Parra, Renato Anelli, Ricardo Heder, Silvio Macedo, Tania Haddad, Tomas Alvim, Velia Oynick, Vladimir Santana

from left to right: Ailton Krenak Luiz Felipe de Alencastro Antonio Donato Nobre Claudio Haddad Eliane and Carla CaffĂŠ SĂŠrgio Besserman Claudio Bernardes Drauzio Varella Gilson Rodrigues Djan Ivson Kenarik Boujikian

Dados Internacionais de Catalogação na Publicação (CIP) (Câmara Brasileira do Livro, SP, Brasil) Walls of air : Brazilian Pavilion 2018 / edited by Sol Camacho… [et al.]. -- 1. ed. -- São Paulo : Bienal de São Paulo, 2018.

Other editors: Gabriel Kozlowski, Laura González Fierro, Marcelo Maia Rosa. Vários autores.

ISBN 978-85-85298-60-9 1. Arquitetos - Brasil 2. Arquitetura - Brasil 3. Arquitetura - Exposições - Catálogos 4. Arquitetura contemporânea 5. Arquitetura Projetos 6. Bienal Internacional de Arquitetura 7. Política urbana 8. Urbanismo I. Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. II. Camacho, Sol. III. Kozlowski, Gabriel. IV. González Fierro, Laura. V. Rosa, Marcelo Maia.

18-15411 CDD-720.981 Índices para catálogo sistemático: 1. Bienal Internacional de Arquitetura : Exposições : Catálogos 720.981 Iolanda Rodrigues Biode Bibliotecária - CRB-8/10014