If, like some omnipotent supervillain, I set out to design the conditions necessary for the collapse of human civilization, I would almost certainly begin by eroding trust in public institutions. I would convince older generations that young people are self-interested and gullible. I would persuade younger generations that everything they’ve been taught is an awful lie. That would be easy enough.
Then, I’d create a global system for disseminating information to tell people what they already believe — deepening fears and fueling existing prejudices. I’d bring divisive demagogues into power via rancorous politics and whisper to people on all sides that the system is rigged against them.
Once contempt for our common life prevailed, I’d engineer a mysterious illness to frame the interests of the masses against those of the weak. People everywhere would cling to their tribe’s chosen experts, becoming even more insulated. Families would crumble, businesses succumb, and instances of abuse would explode.
Finally, I’d broadcast a continuous loop of heartbreaking episodes of police brutality, destructive protests, shocking violence, and elusive justice. I would systematically dismantle our belief in the possibility of acting benevolently on behalf of others. By the time I was through, no one would trust a single institution of any scale or purpose.
Quite obviously, I don’t need to engineer these terrible conditions. One need only to open a newspaper to find that it is just so. In the midst of this swirling storm of manic outrage and crippling anxiety, one would expect the worst from the mostly unseen civic infrastructure on which we rely. But — and this does seem like something of a miracle — this is simply not the case.
Our institutions are working.
In fact, from my vantage point at Journey Group, where I spend a great deal of time serving governments, schools, and other stewards of our common goods, the designation of “essential work” has never seemed more apt. I am beginning to think that the many forces of chaos this past year have only tempered and, in many cases, proved the mettle of these humble bulwarks. As I have opportunities to design with and for them, a phrase often comes to mind: adaptive reuse.
It’s a phrase that’s on my mind in large part thanks to this year’s Pritzker Prize-winning architecture firm, the French duo Lacaton & Vassal. Their work focuses on doing what is essential and nothing more. They prefer to rework existing spaces and structures — layering the latest insights, materials, and innovations onto the best of what has come before. Their quiet admonishment to “always add” has become something of a guiding light for me.
In a recent interview, Anne Lacaton was asked if she’s ever tempted to work “tabula rasa, starting from scratch?” She responds, “Nearly never. Because we always start to look at things positively. We always start looking for the good.” Listen to her underlying conviction: Those working before left something worth finding and preserving. Far from sentimentalism, this approach has led Lacaton and her partner of 32 years, Jean-Philippe Vassal, to observe before acting in ways that have built resilience into the people and places with whom they’ve worked. It is an instinct away from ego and toward preservation.
In one famous example, the pair was invited to overhaul a town center in Bordeaux called Léon Aucoc Plaza. After conducting a careful study, they declined — believing that no new design was necessary. Rather, they suggested the town simply update their existing maintenance regimen to make the plaza even more delightful for its current residents. Pruned lime trees and fresh gravel pathways provided sensory enhancements without the need for change. The architects began by looking for the good and in this particular case, that was all that was required.
This past year has forced us to strip back to essentials — essential workers, essential services, essential hours and locations. This has often been painful, but I believe we will look back with gratitude. We are, even now, uncovering the stories we will tell about this time.
What has been removed that cannot be re-used and should perhaps be discarded? How might we do this thoughtfully? What can be reworked and redeployed to render greater usefulness and joy? Which mission statements need updating?
Speaking of which (and always happy to capitalize on our name), Journey Group’s own mission statement includes the phrase “destinations vary, but our essential commitments do not.” I have long thought that our work was primarily opposed to something I might have called apathy. We enumerate our commitments in terms of informing, influencing, and invigorating. That’s still true, of course, but increasingly I have a sense that our work is at least as much about pushing back against cynicism.
In our day, the flavor of apathy that has become most troubling is an unwillingness to act for relationships with our cultural enemies. When we become cynical about those different from us and their capacity for good, our mediating institutions become all the more necessary. They remind us of our own stories, provide meaningful ways to participate, and focus us on our shared life — and the vast benefits of countervailing views.
Every day, we’re invited to invest in a fuller telling of our past through our many cultural institutions and to share hope for a brighter future with educational institutions. And for nearly 30 years now, we’ve had the great privilege of shaping stories about how humans are attending to the broken places of our present.
We toil then, somewhat awkwardly, between history and hope.
And in my experience, the fuller the narrative, the greater the hope. Even in the midst of a terrible season, and without wishing to diminish all of the real suffering, there has never been a better time to be alive. Our governments are becoming more accountable, our corporations more responsible, our lifestyles — and the places that enable them — better integrated.
When it comes time for you to design and redesign the institutions of which you are a member, I would encourage you to adopt a process like that of Lacaton & Vassal. Look closely at what is already there and your most gracious recollection of why. What might you deem essential? And where can wholeness come from a place of adaptive reuse?
It is, perhaps, closer than you think.
This essay was originally published in a COVID-inspired collection entitled New is Normal: A Celebration of Resilient Institutions. Let me know if you’d like a copy.